by Kylie Scott
“I can handle Neil. I’m not afraid of him.”
Nick’s eyes bored into her, brooking no nonsense. She got the distinct impression he could see straight through her skin. Not a comfortable feeling. Being open to him in any way was anathema. “Don’t lie to me, Ros. You can tell me it’s none of my business, but don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Alright?”
“How did you know I was lying?”
The man gave her a wide, toothy grin. Her need to know usually rubbed people the wrong way. Trust him to be amused.
His two front teeth had a slight gap between them and little lines radiated out from beside his eyes. He was closer to rugged than handsome, of Irish stock, perhaps, with his ruddy skin. Far too raw for any sort of elegance, but he seemed totally at home in his own body. A body she noticed far more than she should. The man had no moral compass whatsofuckingever. Important to keep such relevant facts in mind while she discreetly ogled him. Stupid hormones.
“You shouldn’t have spied on me,” she said.
“Let’s agree to disagree.”
“Why couldn’t you just come and talk to me like a normal person? Why the grand Machiavellian scheme, huh?”
“You needed to know what those people were capable of.”
“You keep saying that. It doesn’t justify a damn thing.” She just shook her head in disbelief. “Your mind is so warped.”
He didn’t reply.
“You’re wrong.”
“He would have hurt you, Ros. And the rest would have just made excuses,” he said, his voice horribly calm. “I had to get you out of there.”
“Oh, please. Do not try to convince me this is all some altruistic crusade on your part.” Her hands curled into fists, making the bruises ache. “This, what you’re doing here, it’s all about you, Nick, and what you want. You are not my knight in shining armor. You’re not saving me from shit.”
He stared back at her in silence for a moment. “I nearly talked to you. A couple of times I almost did. But I’m not the best with words. Besides, it was better to show you. Now you’ve seen what your friends are like firsthand. Eventually, you’ll have to accept it. You can’t trust them.”
Maybe she couldn’t. But she sure as hell couldn’t trust him either. “So why me? Why didn’t you want Janie?”
He frowned then winced, lips pulled wide in pain. Tentative fingers massaged below and above his mighty wound. “Who? The little blonde?”
She nodded.
“Give me some credit. How old is she, seventeen? Eighteen?”
“About that.”
“Not interested.” He took a deep breath then clapped his hands together, startling her so bad that she jumped. “So, are you on any kind of birth control?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Are you?”
“No. And I have every sexually transmitted infection known to mankind. Things are awful messy downstairs.”
“Excellent.”
“I’m never touching you.”
The bastard smiled the sort of smile that reeked of thinking with his prick. 176: Sexual Ethics. He had none.
“Ever.”
He snapped his fingers and cocked his head. “What’s the line about protesting too much?”
She snarled. Hopefully like a lion but more likely a cranky kitten. Childish and futile, but, damn it, what was she supposed to do? Frustration had her furious. She could have thrown herself on the floor, toddler-tantrum-style, with limbs flailing at the unfairness of the world.
Nick licked his lips and looked away for a moment. The smile never faltered. Much more of this and she’d begin to think she was a constant delight. “Pick out some clothes, Roslyn. I’ll take the chain off long enough for you to get changed. Deal?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Or I can dress you. Your choice. And you know the tie-on panties will be involved.” He stalked a couple of steps closer and loomed. “Fight me on something else, Ros. You being cold or hungry isn’t negotiable.”
“You’re such a great guy.”
His expression altered oh so subtly. She could have sworn he flinched.
“Hurry up,” he said.
With a futile huff she returned to the cupboard, grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, a T-shirt and the rest. Searched out the baggiest bloody sweater she could find. Not one of those tight pin-up-girl boob-enhancing babies. Forget it. This required layers and lots of them.
“Good girl,” said the patronizing son of a bitch.
“I meant to ask. How’s your head?”
The asshole just laughed.
CHAPTER SIX
“Do you always have this much trouble getting to sleep?”
Roslyn wriggled about on the bed, finally rolling onto her side, facing him. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he knew. The noise of her shifting on the sheets and rustling the blankets sounded so loud in the quiet, along with the clinking of the chain.
“Can’t say. I haven’t been held hostage before,” she said.
Whatever sultry, flowery scent she’d lathered on herself had him happily high. How nice it would be to lick her all over. Start with her cute, cold toes and work his way up. Leave no inch of her skin untasted.
“Smartass,” he mumbled.
Their first full day together had been largely uneventful. No further head wounds, at least, which was something to be grateful for. They’d talked a little. Not a lot. Mostly she’d given him shit about the chain. Fair enough. It wasn’t coming off, though. Not a goddamn chance in hell of its removal anytime soon, given her furtive looks at the door. Thankfully, his headache had evened out to a dull skull-splitting roar.
“They’re still out there,” she said, talking about the low, occasional moan coming from outside their back door.
“There’re usually a couple about. I gave up killing them. More just come to take their place. Maybe they smell the smoke from the fire. I dunno.”
“Mm.” Her voice was soft, sleepy. So how come she hadn’t fallen asleep already? Because no damn way could he let his guard down until he knew she was out for the count. Not if he could help it. He heard the clink of the chain again. A small disgruntled noise. Who knew what it was about, but he needed sleep desperately.
Then sheer fucking genius struck him blind. “You want the chain off?”
The noises stopped. “Yes.”
“Alright.” He sat up and flung back the bedding, clicked on the camp light sitting on the bedside table.
Roslyn blinked and scooted up, backing into the headboard. Her red hair stuck out like crazy. Bed hair, from his bed. A strange sort of satisfaction rolled through him.
“You mean it?” she asked.
“Of course.” He rose and retrieved the key, stashed beneath the mattress. Unoriginal, but close by if needed.
She cautiously stuck her foot out as though she were half afraid he’d chop it off. For bed she’d changed into a pair of truly unattractive sweatpants and a gray sweater large enough to swallow her whole. It left everything to the imagination. He’d still take her over Junie—or whatever the hell her name had been—any day of the week.
Nick picked up the padlock and unlocked it, slipped it free of the links of chain. The long length of metal clattered to the floor and lay silent. Ros made a small noise and looked at him, mouth slightly open, holding perfectly still.
“Um, thank you,” she said eventually.
“No problem.”
The woman stared at him like he was suddenly a stranger. One she clearly didn’t know how to take. Her eyes were wide but the little line was back, sitting between her brows. He’d baffled her. Confused would work fine. He could use that. She stretched her toes, rolled her ankle.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” With a tight nod she slipped back beneath the blankets. “Night.”
“Night.”
The cuffs were likewise stuffed beneath the mattress, waiting. Her arm lay atop the b
lanket, hand curled into a fist. He snapped one end around her left wrist before she knew what had happened. Locked the other around his own limb and they were a done deal. Her elbow jerked back and smacked into his arm. Her fist flew at him, the one she’d bruised bashing Neil. He caught it midflight before she could do herself any further damage.
“What are you doing!” she screeched.
“Noise, Roslyn.”
“What are you doing?” She tugged hard on the sudden, unwelcome connection between them. Lips drawn back, enraged.
“You didn’t think I’d just let you run loose?” He didn’t smile, kept it matter-of-fact. “Ros, you did attack me. And I am holding you against your will.”
“But—”
“Of course, we’re going to have to sleep closer together.” He slid across the bed, laying their joined hands down between them. Or his half of the pairing, at least. Hers wavered in the air, unsettled. “There we go. More comfortable?”
“No. I want the chain back.”
“Too late.”
Her jaw hung open and her eyes were bright with hate. He’d seen it often enough from her to know it. “No. Nick …”
“Actually, I sleep on my side. Just a minute.” He lay down on his side and wound his arm around her middle, pulling her toward him. From this close her flowery scent gave him a headspin. “You can lie on your back with my arm over you, or you can be on your side with my arm around you. What would you prefer?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s done, Ros. Move on.”
Her eyes promised murder. A brutal death without a hint of remorse.
“Well?” he asked.
Her lips screwed up like a cat’s ass. With a growl she turned onto her side, presenting him with her back, because she always slept on her side too.
“Good choice.” Nick moved in for the kill. He molded his body to her back, keeping his arm tight around her. Of course she squealed and scrambled to try to escape him, getting nowhere. “Easy. Take it easy, Ros.”
She continued to fight, squirming and kicking back at him. He trapped her feet beneath his legs. Slid his other arm beneath her neck and held her against him with both arms. Without bringing his dick into it, they couldn’t have been humanly closer. His beauty bucked, twisting and turning for a few moments more. Pointlessly. The back of her neck dampened with sweat.
Shoulders heaving, she panted for air. “You fucker, you promised! No touching in a sexual manner.”
“I won’t take it any further.”
“How can I trust anything you say? You’re a goddamn liar.”
“This is your second night with me, Ros. It’s time to move things on a little. We’re sleeping together. Only sleeping. Nothing more.”
“So you’ll move it on until you’re raping me?”
“No,” he said. “Never.”
Fingernails dug deep into his arms as she tried to work her way free, again getting nowhere. “I repeat. A fucking liar.”
“Hush. Go to sleep.”
“Nick …” A pleading tone intruded on her anger. He already knew what she would say, or close enough to it. Either way, things were staying the way they were.
“It’s done. Sleep.”
She growled again, low in her throat. If there’d ever been a sexier noise, he hadn’t heard it. He shifted his hips back from her ass to hide the tell-tale state of his dick. It involved loosening his grip on her a little, but not a lot. Her hair smelled nice and the back of her neck even better. Salty-sweet perfection, not helpful at all to the state of his libido. “Is that better?”
“Awesome, you asshole.”
Silence held for a few minutes. He could almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in her head. Without a doubt, she was the noisiest thinker he’d ever met. Or maybe it was the grinding of her teeth again.
“Let it go,” he advised.
“Inflicting yourself and some semblance of intimacy upon me will not engender any sort of bond between us, Nick.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Huh,” he said. “You ever noticed how your words get bigger when you’re feeling cornered?”
She apparently had nothing to say to that.
“Tell me about your father,” he said. “You mentioned he was army?”
More silence.
“Go on.”
She sighed. “He generally wasn’t around. When he was, he was an asshole. A lot like you. So certain he was always right and everyone else could go to hell.” The fingernails digging into his arm eased a little, becoming more like a cat’s claws flexing. Testing, not teasing. “The only thing that mattered was what he wanted.”
“Harsh.”
“Truth.” She shifted, her feet twisting beneath his. Nick drew back a little, giving her more space. Earning himself a begrudging, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What about your family?” she asked. “I’ve told you my messy tale. Turnabout is fair play.”
He cleared his throat. If anything would get his cock under control it was thinking about his family. “My father was a builder. My big brother became his apprentice. I had an uncle in the army. He was always traveling all over the place having adventures. He made it sound so great. So when I was old enough I enlisted.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah. Mostly. I didn’t see myself doing anything else.” He smiled in the darkness. He’d been counting on her curiosity. “But I wasn’t interested in settling down then. Priorities change.”
“Do you know what happened to your family?” she asked, ignoring the settling-down comment. “When this all went down?”
He nudged a strand of her short red hair with his nose. The scent of honey swept through his system. “They died. I went back a few months ago to check. To see if …”
Roslyn turned and looked over her shoulder, all the better to give him a pitying stare. “That was brave, going back.”
“Hmm.” His mother had been a good woman. Maybe even a great one. She didn’t deserve that sort of ending.
“My father got bitten,” she said. Her voice was cool, distant. The look in her eyes, not so much. “Mum called me on the mobile, managed to get through. Dad was locked in the bedroom. She’d taken a handful of sleeping pills, wanted to say goodbye. They had a place in the city. No chance of getting out. I can’t say I really blame her.”
“I’m sorry.” Inadequate, but true.
“There was another woman in the school,” she said. “After a couple of weeks, when it became clear help wasn’t coming, she killed herself. Drank a bottle of bleach. The others were furious, but I didn’t really blame her either.”
He stared back at her. “The early days were hard on everyone. What did you do to get through?”
“I had my library. I just kept reading, lost myself in my books. Mostly it worked.”
“I drank. Took pills.” His honesty caught her by surprise—he could tell by the way she looked at him. But he wasn’t going to lie. “I can barely remember January and Feb. Still can’t forget the shit that came before, when the plague first hit, but those months straight after, they’re pretty much gone.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I noticed you didn’t have a glass of wine with dinner. Figured you were staying on the ball in case I attempted another attack. Why did you stop?”
“I realized I wanted to live. Wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but just giving up … I couldn’t do it,” he said. “So I dried out. Haven’t touched anything in months. Even stopped smoking.”
She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak.
“What?” he asked.
“I can’t be your reason for living, Nick. That won’t work.”
He didn’t answer.
“Can you shift the cuff to the other hand?” Her face was calm, perfectly reasonable. “We’d both be able to sleep on our backs then, with a bit of room.”
“No.”
With lips slammed shut she tur
ned away.
Behind him the camp light continued to glow. He’d have to sit up and drag her halfway across the bed to switch it off. Stuff it. It was a waste of resources, but he enjoyed watching her. The movement of her shoulder beneath the bulky-ass sweater as she breathed. The red of her hair, so dark in the low lighting. He tried to keep his arm light on her, perched on her hip, not pressing down all uncomfortable-like.
When was the last time he’d spooned with someone? Never.
Spooning had never been a priority before.
“This isn’t going to work,” she whispered.
“We’ll see,” he whispered back to her. “Are you warm enough?”
She gave a little nod.
No point telling her to go to sleep. Expecting her to relax with him wrapped around her would be sheer stupidity. Her shoulders inched forward, or tried to. His arm didn’t let her get far. Outside the moaning went on and on. You could pretend it was the wind if you tried. It didn’t always work.
“So do you think,” she asked, “if we’d actually met somewhere back in normal times, you’d have been interested in me?”
Nick stopped and thought it over—or at least pretended to. “Yes.”
She muttered something along the lines of “fucking liar” beneath her breath. She was so cute sometimes.
“You’re a smart, good-looking woman,” he said. “I’d have been all over you.”
“Bollocks. I bet you went for the mouth shut, legs open, easygoing lay nine times out of ten.”
He tried not to laugh. “Of course I did. I’m male. But you grow up and your tastes mature.”
“Oh, please. Admit I’m here because I’m the only uninfected female under fifty in the vicinity.”
“You forget your friend Jeanie.”
Roslyn’s sock-covered foot kicked back, catching him in the shin. “Janie.”
“No kicking.” He threw a leg back over hers for good measure. “She’s your friend. What does it matter if I get her name wrong? Said she didn’t interest me.”
No comment.
“Are you jealous?” he asked.
She snorted. “Of what? That you didn’t kidnap someone else?”
