CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(72)

She tried to lean away from him so he couldn't feel her heart pounding a  crazy beat under her ribs. Her entire body had turned traitor. How  could her hormones go into overdrive for the guy who'd just drugged and  abducted her? It wasn't fair. She looked at the floor, praying the blush  incinerating her cheeks wouldn't betray her.

No hope. He caught her chin in one hand and forced her to look into his.  For an instant, she thought she saw a spark of amusement there, before  he narrowed his gaze to grey slits.

"On your knees, Maxine Rosalie Foss," he ordered.

Kneel? But that would put her at eye level with his... What did he want her to do?

Incensed by the unfairness of it, she wanted to scream 'never,' but she didn't trust her voice with that many syllables. "No."

"Do you prefer to be locked together like this forever? I don't mind if you don't." His seducer's lips quirked up at one corner.

In a flash, she saw what he wanted. She was supposed to lower her arms  so he could step out of the circle made by the handcuffs. She hadn't  thought she could blush any harder. Damn, she must be purple in the face  by now.

"You could unlock me instead," she suggested, without much hope.

"But hayati." A scarlet tongue wet his full bottom lip. "That would be so much less fun for me."

He was in control-she couldn't do a thing about it. The more she  resisted, the more he'd enjoy watching her writhe. Before she could  think too much about it, she lowered herself to one knee and put her  hands on the floor. Her cheek touched muscled thighs encased in dark,  soft denim. She tried not to think about that, either.

He took his time stepping back, drawing out her mortification as long as  possible. Before she could stand again, he planted a leather boot on  the chain of the cuffs. She couldn't misread the message. He had all the  power. She could submit, or suffer.

On instinct, she looked up to see pitiless grey eyes smoldering at her. "Are you certain you will never apologize to me, Max?"



Ten minutes later, Max was handcuffed to a sturdy wooden chair in the  center of a luxurious living room with a picture window view of a  private lake. The man had removed her Sketchers and disappeared into the  kitchen. While listening for him to return armed with a huge knife to  carve her up or a mallet to start breaking bones, she looked around for  anything that might help her escape.

It seemed like the place had been prepped for her arrival. Every flat  surface was empty of safety pins that might pick locks, glass  knick-knacks to make into weapons, and anything else she could hide in  her palm.

She'd asked where they were, what he wanted to do to her. He didn't  answer. When she asked why he was doing this, he'd given her a killing  look, clenching both hands, and left the room as if he needed to regain  control of himself.

When he returned, he carried two glasses of wine and a china plate with  sandwiches. She'd always been a sucker for a guy who at least tried to  cook, and the sight of him in his tight black tee, carrying food,  tightened something inside her. It would have been perfect, though she  hated to admit it. Except then there was those handcuffs.

She hadn't eaten in what seemed like forever, but no way would she admit  her hunger. Her stomach had a different plan. It growled, betraying her  weakness. He smiled in response.

"Now," he said, as he pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, hanging  over the ladder rungs of the chair's back, spreading his legs wide in  casual style. "We can talk in a civilized manner, I think. I have some  questions for you to answer."

"I wish I'd stayed in the Dominican," she told him.

He froze for an instant, one hand fisting dangerously on the chair back  as it had on the clipboard earlier that night. "No more than I do,  hayati."

She was too pissed off to worry about irritating him any more than he already was. "Why, was it easier to stalk me there?"

"It has always been so easy to stalk you." He waved a hand in  exaggerated dismissal. "In the Dominican or Newark. It is the same. But  now I find myself wondering if it was too easy."

Too easy to stalk her? That made zero sense. You're dealing with a crazy  person, she reminded herself. No matter how hot, or how her treasonous  body reacted to him, he was insane and she had to escape. Or to get a  message to someone so they could rescue her.

As if in response to that thought, he pulled out a cell phone and held  it up to her. Wow, did it have great resolution... You could practically  read the rivets on the back pockets of the jeans of the guy she was  dancing with in the Dominican. Which made the photo that much creepier.  It was definitely a stalker photo, taken in secret from a distance.

"Explain this in a way that makes me understand it." His voice was  caramel again, but poured over shards of glass. "I'm waiting,  breathlessly."

Her heart stuttered. She'd been so focused on being kidnapped that part  of her hadn't truly believed she had a stalker until this second. Now  she found herself locked in a room with him. The air seemed too thick to  breathe.

"I can dance with a guy if I want to," she spat out. "No man owns me, no matter what you imagine."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think? I wonder where you got that  idea. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough with you. I won't make that mistake  in the future," he said, a silky smooth threat.

She hated herself for it, but he sizzled on her awareness like a sixth  sense. Every tiny movement he made registered on her brain, from a  slight shift of his weight to the motion of his Adam's apple. His body  was plain amazing, lithe and sinewy, slim-hipped and wide-shouldered.  Masculine and powerful. Not your typical pasty white stalker who spent  too much time on the internet. Or hiding in bushes with a telephoto  lens.

"Am I going to have a future?" she asked.

"That depends on your answers to my questions." He lowered his eyelids, but his gaze turned to steel. "Why did you leave?"

Okay. Weird question. Then again, was she really expecting normal ones  from Mister Hot-and-Insane? "I was only booked at the resort for a  week."

One big hand shot out, encasing her throat in a clenching heat. Terror  squeezed her chest. This was it. He could crush her windpipe in an  instant without even noticing. He would kill her now, and she'd never  even know why.

For three long heartbeats, he seemed to consider the situation, tipping  on the edge of a fatal decision. She said nothing, but just held his  gaze, hoping he had some humanity in him.

Just as quickly, he dropped his head and let out a sigh. He didn't  release her throat from his grip, but it softened, turning into the  touch of a lover. "You know what I'm talking about. Explain it. After  everything we've been to each other, you owe me that much." His thumb  moved on her skin. Not violent, but gentle. Caressing. "This is why  we're talking instead of you being dead already. The things you did... I  can't understand. You made me believe you loved me. Even now, I want to  make excuses for you, believe you did this for the good, that you were  being threatened and did it to save us. But then my people show me  pictures of you dancing with other men. It makes no sense. Why would you  give me such a gift and then just leave?"

Over the course of his speech, his intimidation had turned to something  like vulnerability. If her hormones had been in overdrive earlier, they  were burning jet fuel now. Her neck had turned into an erogenous zone,  and the gentle trail his fingers traced on her skin stole her breath.  There seemed to be such... care behind his touch. As he spoke, his  threats circled the drain, as if he had steeled himself to say these  things to her, but he would never have the heart to actually hurt her.

With her body reacting to him as if she'd known him forever, she barely  managed to keep his words in her head. Barely managed to speak. "What  gift is that?"         

     



 

With a mocking snort, he pulled his hand away from her throat. "All this  time I thought you were a bad liar. You are wasted in Newark. Have you  thought about Hollywood?"

She responded with all the heat of her betraying body's response. "Have you thought about a mental institution?"

"I fear you will drive me to one." He cocked his head at her. "Did you sleep with any of them?"

For some reason, she knew exactly what he wanted to know. That muscle in  his jaw twitched, revealing this last question was ten times more  important than anything he'd asked her yet. She fought the urge to lie  just to hurt him. Not a good plan. It might make her life take a turn  for the painful.

"Did I sleep with any of the men at the resort, you mean?" She'd  definitely gotten a couple of offers, from guys who seemed great. They  hadn't interested her, though, something she hadn't been able to explain  to herself. She'd enjoyed flirting, but didn't feel like going any  further. "No," she told him. "I just wanted to dance."