CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(74)

"And I was so looking forward to watching you use the toilet," he said.  "Hayati, I promise you your privacy, but I can't let you leave here  without me."

"Because of the Crimson Hand," she said, unable to keep the misery out of her tone.

"They would have Ramadi stay in the dark ages forever. They do not care  for you as my queen. You are in danger from them until we get you back  to the palace and under protection." As he talked, he freed her other  hand.

She made a show of rubbing her wrist.

"The cuffs were not tight, Max. You are a terrible liar," he said. "Or an Oscar-worthy actress."

She held back a snort and gave up trying to make him feel bad. She got  to her feet, but sitting for so long, plus the bike ride, and maybe the  leftover drugs, had turned her knees to goop. Her legs gave way.

Just as she thought she was doomed to do a face-plant on the Turkish  carpet, she felt herself caught around the waist by Sayd's muscled arm.  Rescued.

In her relief, she leaned on him. She didn't have a choice; her legs refused to hold her up.

His solid, warm chest pressed against her larger-than-usual breasts.  They each wore a tee shirt, but that seemed like nothing now. They might  as well be skin to skin. And his skin smelled great. A little smoke  from the bike, a little pine from the forest, and some spicy undertone  that seemed to be his natural smell. She just breathed it in, helpless  to stand on her own.

He lowered his face as if he couldn't bear to look at her. "Forgive me," he said simply. "I have missed you so much."

She opened her mouth to ask what she should forgive him for-and he took advantage of the moment to kiss her.

He pulled her even closer to him as he pressed her lips with his own.  The kiss was hard and insistent. He gave her no choice. He explored her  mouth with desperation, as if she might disappear at any moment.

He tasted even better than he smelled. Every molecule in her body  responded on cue, turning into a charged particle. Her cuffed hand,  carrying his along with it, clamped against the back of his neck,  feeling the contrast of hard muscle with the silk of his hair.

It wasn't a tender, tentative first kiss. It was the kiss of long practice, of knowledge of secret desires. Of intimacy.

And then he broke it off, leaving her legs even more jelly-like than before.

"I'm sorry, hayati." He leaned his forehead against her own, his  beautiful grey eyes closed in something like pain. "I shouldn't have  done that. But I once vowed I would never lose you again. Now it seems  that I have. And I was a fool for so long, thinking I would forget you,  that my life meant anything without you in it. When I admitted to myself  it was hopeless, that I could love you only... That was the day I truly  began to live. Yet I had known it all along. I studied in school only  so you would think me intelligent. I worked hard so you would not think  me a useless person who had only inherited his position. And I trained  my body so you would want me in your bed."

She was too stunned to say anything. All she could do was hang on and try to absorb the insanity coming out of his mouth.

"So, I did stalk you, as you say. I had kept up with your life by  sending detectives to tell me about you every few years, telling myself I  did it out of friendship. But once I admitted it was a love I could  feel for no other, I arranged for you to win tickets to a resort."

"You're a liar," she said, but her voice came out weak as dishwater. "It took me three tries to win that radio contest."

"And if I'd had to pay for ten more tickets before you won, I would  have. Radio WYOW found me an excellent patron. They kept their silence  well."

She stiffened. When she'd finally gotten through on the line, she'd  known the answers to all seven trivia questions, no problem. Like the  contest was designed for her to win it.

"I knew that if you could return my love, no man would be happier than  me, but if not, no man was more wretched." He bent his face into her  shoulder, inhaling her scent. "It was no difficulty for me to find you  at the resort. Charming you into spending time with me was more  difficult. But once someone gets past your defenses, you have the  warmest heart. I still don't know why you fell in love with me, hayati,  but I will always be grateful."

Max's pulse beat in her ears like the countdown to an explosion. Even  though she wasn't sure of her legs, she shoved him away. He was deluded,  even if it was a tempting delusion. She couldn't believe a word he  said. This was the man who kidnapped her, she reminded herself, trying  to call up the terror being abducted, of having a drugged cloth pressed  to her face and losing consciousness and control.

Pain crossed his features, but he masked it quickly. "Yes. It is too soon. I know it is too soon. I apologize."

"I need the washroom," she said, unsteady on her feet and in her mind.



Sayd gave her privacy, in a way. He stood outside the door; she closed  it as best she could, but the chain between the handcuffs held it open a  crack. Luckily, he had planned well, since...

"Why did you free my left hand instead of my right?" she asked, a little afraid of the answer.

"Because you're left-handed."

She was. But he could have seen that or something. He'd admitted to  stalking her, after all. It was a 50/50 chance, really. It didn't mean  he knew her better than that.

Once she flushed and arranged her clothes, he came in, filling the small  room with his large body. I trained my body so you would want me in  your bed, he'd said. If he wasn't insane, she would want him, she  admitted. Hard to get past the whole "abduction" thing, though. No  matter how certain he seemed that she belonged to him.

Sayd stood behind her at the sink and they washed her hands together. He  entwined his fingers with hers. His hands were even warmer than the  water. He took his time sliding the soap over her palms like they were  an erogenous zone. With his arms around her, it felt like they were.

"Sayd." Her voice was barely louder than the water. "Why was I in the hospital?"

"Routine check-up," he answered instantly, as if he'd prepared to say it.

She let it go. Just his imagination, after all. If she'd been in the  hospital, she'd remember. Besides, there were more important things. "If  you're royalty, where are your bodyguards?"

"I slipped away from them to come to you."

"But the Crimson Hand?" There, she said it without laughing. Almost as if she believed he was being followed by terrorists.

"Have never attempted to kill me," he clarified. "Only you."

His crazy was air-tight; she had to give him that. "Something you said confused me."

"Just one thing?" He gave her a half smile as he turned off the water  and began to wipe every drop of moisture off her fingers with the  softest towel she'd ever felt. She didn't have to do anything but hold  her hands out.

"You said we met for the second time in the Dominican. Where was the first?"

The effect of her question was immediate. His hands and body froze. That  muscle in his jaw ticked with raw emotion. After the barest instant, he  threw the towel back on the rack like it disgusted him, and stepped  away from her. "That's not important. I shouldn't have said it."

She looked up in the mirror and smiled at him, pretending to accept what  he said. It seemed to her if she could make him tell her, and figure  out where she knew his name from, she could help him with his mental  illness.

He rolled handsome grey eyes. "You can't even lie when you say nothing. You won't let it go, will you?"

"Sure I will." She did her best to act offended. It didn't even sound authentic to her own ears.



Max didn't kid herself that he would uncuff her for bed. Nope, she'd be  sleeping with him for sure. At least she'd be fully clothed. And he  hadn't restricted her to the chair again.

Of course that meant that she'd been attached to him, forced into  intimacy as they moved around the cabin. He insisted on washing the  dishes, though he'd tried to use the hand soap on the plates and  glasses. She'd shown him how to squirt the dish soap into the water,  thinking he really had this "Arab Prince" act down pat. Of course a  Middle Eastern sheikh would have servants to do this stuff for him.

Then, he'd declared it was time to sleep. They'd gone into the bedroom  to find the sheets carefully folded on a mother-of-pearl inlaid chest at  the foot of the enormous bed. Seductive mouth turned down in a frown of  grave distress, he'd admitted he had no idea how to make up a bed.

"Lucky I'm here, then," she'd said, laughing.

Way too seriously, he'd agreed. "I'm very lucky you're here."

Cuffed together, they'd had a hard time tucking in the fitted sheet,  which kept coming off on the other side. She didn't bother suggesting it  would be easier if he unlocked her. He might be insane, but he wasn't  stupid.

So they muddled it out and she showed him how to make a hospital corner  with the flat sheet. He mastered the technique just by watching, and  tucked the sheet under the mattress flawlessly on the other side. The  way he crossed his arms and nodded his great satisfaction at his work  made her smile.