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“Sydney?” He lifted her chin with his forefinger.
Her eyes widened.
“Don’t think about trying to escape.”
She shook her head and jerked away from his touch.
“Good girl.” He shrugged out of his shirt. Her gaze immediately went to the undone snap of his Levi’s, and she blinked.
Unable to resist, he started unzipping his fly before he turned away. A bright blush filled her cheeks and she quickly averted her eyes.
Laughing, he headed for the bathroom.
Sydney was so angry she almost forgot to breathe. The heat stinging her cheeks no longer had anything to do with embarrassment. She waited until he’d disappeared into the bathroom, and then she started twisting her hands like crazy.
It was no use. He’d tied the scarf too tightly, and she was succeeding only in making her skin raw. She sank against the counter and stared at the open bathroom door. She figured Luke had already gotten into the tub, and if she didn’t free herself now, it would be too late. But then she caught his reflection in the mirror.
He was turned toward the tub so she could only see his profile. The unguarded pose fascinated her and she stared with new interest at the thoughtful furrow of his brow as he appeared to be fiddling with something. The showerhead, probably. It hadn’t looked as though it had been used in a while.
When he reached up to make an adjustment, Syd got quite a view of his lower chest and stomach, the arrow of hair pointing lower. The same fluttery feeling she’d had earlier returned to her belly. Luke wasn’t in any better shape than her personal trainer, but Larry sure never made her feel kind of squishy.
Maybe because Larry was gay.
At least he wasn’t a kidnapper.
She shuddered at the reminder, but still kept her gaze trained on Luke as he stepped back and unconsciously rubbed his chest and then his beard-roughened jaw. He leaned toward the mirror to look at his face.
His eyes slowly met hers.
She heard his curse even though his reflection promptly disappeared. Obviously he knew she was watching him. A second later, he came through the door, a white towel wrapped around his hips, thunder in his face.
Sydney tried not to cower. “I wasn’t watching you,” she said, as he roughly yanked the scarf loose. “I swear I wasn’t. I was only—”
She frowned. If she could see him from this position in the kitchen, then he obviously had seen… “You bastard!”
Amusement briefly replaced the scowl on his face, and then he dragged her to the bed and tied one of her wrists to the post. She didn’t bother struggling. He’d already tied the knot tighter than necessary, enough to make her skin sting.
He still said nothing, but by the way he clenched his jaw, she knew he was pretty damn angry. Too bad. She wasn’t thrilled, either. Who knows how much he saw?
Finally, he stood back. The towel had slipped a little and Sydney had trouble keeping her gaze raised…until he pointed a finger in her face. “Don’t move. Not one muscle, or I’ll have you trussed tighter than a whore’s corset.”
She shrunk back and shook her head. “I won’t,” she whispered, and then waited silently for him to leave.
Her heart still pounded and she tried to calm herself by recalling what he’d said. A whore’s corset? What an odd term. Made her wonder about his slight accent again. Maybe he was Cajun, but if so, what did he have to do with the unions in Dallas?
It took her a good minute to realize he’d only tied one of her wrists. Probably because he’d been so angry. Or maybe he thought she was too frightened to try anything. He wouldn’t be too far off the mark on that account…if she weren’t so desperate.
She rotated her wrist and winced with pain. It didn’t matter. She had to try. Slowly, she reached up with her other hand while keeping an eye on the bathroom door. The binding was so tight it was impossible for her to slip even one finger between the fabric.
Finally, after two broken fingernails, she worked her little finger into the knot. Slowly, painfully, with no awareness of how much time passed, she began to loosen it. Twice she had to slow down her breathing and force herself to concentrate. Freedom seemed so close she could almost taste it.
With one more thrust of her finger, the knot loosened and she quickly freed her hand while trying to sit up.
“Shit!”
Her gaze flew toward the bathroom.
Luke stood naked, his tanned body damp and glistening. She sucked in a breath and tried to scramble off the bed. But he was too quick.
He lunged across the mattress, caught her around the waist and flipped her onto her back. And then he swung one of his powerful, muscled legs over her hips and straddled her while he readied the scarf.
His sex lay heavy in the valley between her ribs, half resting against her left breast.
She swallowed, closed her eyes, and prayed.
Chapter Four
Luke cursed under his breath. “Stop it.”
Sydney heard every pithy word and slowly opened her eyes, and tried to keep her gaze lifted to his face. “Wh-what?”
“You’re shaking so damn hard I can’t tie this.” He yanked the scarf tight.
She jerked from the pressure. “It isn’t my fault.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He glared down at her and when she turned away, used her chin to force her gaze to his. “I told you to cooperate and you wouldn’t get hurt.”
She blinked and tried not to think about his warm naked flesh pressed against her belly and her breast. “I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t trying to get away. I just wanted to get some water.”
A humorless smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Right.”
She took a shuddering breath, the pressure of his weight making it difficult to breathe deeply. “What are you going to do to me?”
His brows furrowed slightly. Then he eased off, dazedly, almost as if he’d forgotten that he was naked and pinning her to the mattress with his body. “I don’t know.”
She lowered her lashes. Not that he seemed bothered by his nudity. “I’m sorry,” she said, again. “I won’t try anything.”
“Damn right.” He leaned over and cinched the scarf tighter.
She gasped. Not in pain. Semiaroused, his sex brushed her arm, swung perilously close to her face.
“Stay put, Sydney. Or you’ll get more than a warning next time.” He meaningfully held her gaze for a long, agonizing moment and then let his eyes briefly roam her breasts and hips before turning away and heading back toward the bathroom.
He had a perfectly sculpted backside—like those guys in the beefcake calendars. He either had a lot of time to work out or was into athletics. Of course, not having an honest job allowed time to work out.
She closed her eyes and tried deep, even breathing. Was she going insane? She didn’t care about this man’s body or how he spent his time. He’d taken her by force. He’d threatened her. She didn’t know that he wouldn’t harm her. She could cooperate, follow his instruction to the letter, and he could still kill her.
She shivered and drew her knees up to her chest, curling up as best she could, even though her raised arm ached. She blinked, painfully recalling another time she’d claimed this position and refused to get out of bed for three days. She’d finally forced herself up to go to her parents’ funeral.
Of course, she’d been hospitalized, banged and broken after the boating accident, but alive. She’d been nineteen, a sophomore at Yale, ready to take on the world, firmly planted in the invincibility of youth. With a jolt, her life had been turned upside down, and she’d ruthlessly learned that no amount of money or privilege could make her immune from pain and suffering.
“What’s wrong now?”
She opened her eyes. He stood right in front of her, thankfully in jeans, zipped but not snapped, his chest still bare.
“Nothing,” she muttered, closing her eyes again, wishing he’d just go away. Leave her alone for the next week. Assuming he really would let her go then. She sniffed and curled into a tighter ball.
“Sydney?”
She tucked her chin lower.
“Sydney.” His voice was closer, and she slowly, cautiously opened her eyes.
He had crouched beside her, at eye level, and she reflexively drew back. His sharp intake of breath made her shrink back as far as her bound hand would let her.
“Look, Sydney, I’m not trying to frighten you.” His expression gentled. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have,” she said in a small voice that made him flinch.
Abruptly, he stood. “We’ll eat in about twenty minutes.”
She watched him walk back to the bathroom, her curiosity growing. It hadn’t been her imagination. He’d actually flinched. Odd. Maybe he was new at this kidnapping business. Maybe he was having second thoughts about his involvement. Maybe she could…
“Luke?”
He turned around and met her eyes with a hardness that wasn’t there a minute ago.
“Never mind.”
He said nothing, his gaze staying on her a moment longer, and then he disappeared into the bathroom.
Sydney relaxed against the pillows, her brain and body drained of all energy. What the hell was she going to do? Wait around and hope he didn’t kill her? Worse, stay wrapped in the false sense of security that he wouldn’t?
Deep down, her every instinct told her this man wouldn’t harm her. The belief belied all reason. Was that what her therapist would call denial?
She hadn’t seen Rhonda for nearly six months. The psychiatrist had been her lifeline after Syd’s parents’ death. And then, after the pain of loss eased, she became more of a friend, a confidante. The mother Sydney no longer had.
Willard was great. He’d always been there for her. But he was very much like her father. Concerned with her financial security, with both enjoying and exploiting the Wainwright name. No surprise. They’d been college fraternity brothers, both born into wealth with a talent for compounding their money.
Dr. Rhonda Levine reminded Sydney of her mother, a simple country girl, the daughter of a farmer, who’d caught Harrison Wainwright’s eye. Like Sydney’s mother, Rhonda had been raised in a middle-class family and understood the struggles of the working class. She’d put herself through school, established her own successful practice and, taking up where Sydney’s mother had left off, coached Sydney into self-reliance.
“I have to make a phone call.”
At the sound of Luke’s voice, she looked up. He’d pulled on a worn black T-shirt that molded to every muscle in his chest and arms, and showed off his slim waist. But she was more interested in the cell phone he had in his hand.
As if reading her mind, one side of his mouth lifted and he said, “You need the code in order to use it.”
“You get an A for efficiency.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he ran a hand through his still damp hair. “I’ll be right outside the door so give that scheming brain of yours a rest.”
“Then it wouldn’t matter if you untied me.”
He snorted and left.
She kept perfectly still, trying to listen, but all she heard was the creak of the porch floorboards. Followed by several minutes of silence. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be sitting on the steps.
She twisted around to scope out the window and saw him standing near the car, watching her. He continued to talk into the cell phone. Probably reporting in to someone. His partner? Or was Luke just a hired hand? He didn’t strike her as a man who’d be content as someone’s flunky.
The position was awkward and uncomfortable, and she slumped back against the pillows. Let him stare at her all he wanted. She didn’t care. For now. He had to sleep sometime.
The door opened, startling her, and she raised herself on one elbow to watch him enter the cabin and head straight into the small galley kitchen.
“Who’d you call?”
Over his shoulder, he gave her an amused look.
“Your partner?”
Shaking his head, he got something out of the refrigerator. “You’re something else.”
“Your employer?”
“Enough.” Impatience darkened his face.
“Pizza delivery?” she asked quietly, rubbing her bound wrist.
“Don’t you ever shut up?” He came around the counter toward her.
She dug her heels into the mattress and scrambled back against the wall. And then she saw that he had a plate in his hand. He stopped to pick up a tray and brought both to her.
“Don’t be so jumpy.” He tried to hide a smile. The bastard.
She straightened into a sitting position and peered at the plate. Some kind of sandwich made with whole wheat bread and baby gherkins that were her favorite.
“Here.” He set the tray down in front of her. “What do you want to drink?”
“Why can’t I sit at the table?”
“You have a choice of water, Coke or orange juice.”
“Water, please.” She stared down at the tray, avoiding his eyes. “I’d really like to eat at the table.”
He stayed silent for so long that she finally looked up. He studied her, his brows slightly furrowed, as if considering her request.
“It’s not as if I can escape.” She gave him her best smile. “You’re right here, and I couldn’t get far on foot, anyway.”
Snickering, he shook his head as he went to the refrigerator and got out a bottle of Evian. Her hope faltered and then resurfaced when he set the water on the table.
