“So, you’re a real bounty hunter,” she said with a note of sarcasm. “Or is this just a side job when you’re not doing private shows on the stripper circuit?”
He sighed. “The stripper thing was a cover story so you’d let me in.”
“How resourceful.”
“Would you rather I have busted down the door with a team of guys waving their guns around?”
She laughed without the slightest hint of amusement on her face. “As opposed to you waving your cock around? Not a lot of difference there, from where I sit.”
Unlike most of his perps, he deserved every bit of venom she was throwing his way. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a jolt of amusement at her sharp sarcasm. Most skips didn’t have enough wit, let alone humor, during an arrest to manage such a feat.
She lifted her chin. “Tell me, Nate, do you always capture fugitives by fucking them first to subdue them?”
“No, I usually prefer to hold a cloth in front of their face and say, ‘Gee, does this smell like chloroform to you?’”
He knelt on the couch beside her, trapping her legs with one of his knees so she couldn’t kick him. He pulled back hard on her ponytail so she couldn’t bite or head butt him while he tugged the fabric of her suit into place.
“Leave me alone,” she said, jerking her torso wildly. “Get your perverted hands off me. I’ll scream!”
“Do you want me to drag you out in public with your breasts hanging out?”
She sniffed haughtily, but she stopped wiggling around while he finished covering the luscious breasts he’d had in his mouth not long before. Yes, he was going to hell for this. But despite her scathing glower, part of him still believed it had been worth it.
He got up off the couch, leaving her sitting there on her cuffed hands, and regarded her for a moment while he tried to picture driving back to Colorado with her wearing nothing but two skimpy pieces of fabric. One of which had been soaked with her pussy juices when she’d been begging him to fuck her. And she had begged for it, hadn’t she? Let her shoot murderous, accusing glares at him all she wanted. There was no way he was taking the fall for this one.
“Come on,” he said, and he helped her to her feet. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”
“You must be joking,” she said with a deadpan expression that almost made him laugh.
“I can take you back just like this, but all things considered, I think we’d both prefer it if you had some clothes on.”
She glared a moment longer and then nodded silently before leading him down the hall. It was the right thing to do, allowing her modesty. Still, on the way he couldn’t help but consider the downside to his belated chivalry. Not only would he be unable to turn his back while she stripped down, he’d actually have to help.
Chapter Three
A sick twist in Lydia’s stomach hit her halfway between the bathroom and her bedroom.
“Wait, please,” she said. “I’m going to be sick.”
She didn’t even wait for her bastard captor to answer. Instead, she yanked on the arm he had in a tight grip while she changed course and bolted for the bathroom. He followed her without missing a beat, and she didn’t even make it onto her knees in front of the toilet before she started retching. Nate—if that was his real name—held her ponytail back in an oddly helpful gesture while her stomach gave up the “good stuff” to the porcelain gods.
When she was finished, she headed to the sink without a word and suffered the indignity of having him help her rinse out her mouth. Her cheeks burned while she used some mouthwash to swish and spit the sour taste that matched the overall tone her life had taken. Maybe she shouldn’t bother. Let him deal with vomit breath all the way back to Colorado.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked calmly.
She looked up into the mirror, where she ignored her pale, bedraggled reflection to glare at his cool, still-too-handsome face. “No. I am so far from better that I can’t even begin to describe it.” Her voice was thready and a little hoarse from the bile that had burned its way up and out of her throat. “Let’s just say I thought getting arrested was the most humiliating experience of my life. But getting drunk, spreading my legs for a stranger, and then vomiting my guts out in front of him has become a new all-time low.”
In truth, though, she did feel a little less drunk. That was something, at least. The room wasn’t spinning, and her head hadn’t yet started pounding from the inevitable hangover in the morning. At this point, she was in the eye of the alcohol storm. And a personal storm to boot.