Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic

by Donna Kauffman

  Well, maybe it was still slanted a little, she reluctantly admitted. “I guess the first challenge will be getting my clothes off,” she said.

  “Looks like I tossed away the knife too soon.”

  A thrill shot through her at the thought of him slicing clothes from her body. He made her feel … wicked.

  No, her little voice corrected. He makes you feel alive.

  Maybe it was she who needed a challenge. As if single-handedly rebuilding her entire team hadn’t been challenge enough. That, however, had been professional.

  She stared into his black eyes and knew the truth of it. This—he—was personal.

  For the past ten years, personal and professional had meant the same thing to her. The team. Work. Since joining them she’d worked solo and was content with that arrangement. Every need she allowed herself to have, the team fulfilled.

  She continued to stare into his eyes and felt starved. In fact, she couldn’t stop the thought that she’d never been so hungry in all her life.

  “Then again,” he said, his voice no more than a purr, “keep looking at me that way and clothing or the lack thereof can become optional.”

  She’d started this as a strategy to gain her freedom. Now all she could think about was what his hands would feel like on her. What would he feel like inside of her?

  She swallowed in a desperate attempt to wet her throat.

  He lowered his head. She felt his breath on her lips. He was going to kiss her. Stop this before it’s too late. Why was he taking so long? His eyes were half-closed, his lips warm when they brushed hers. Her eyes began to drift shut.

  He lifted his head a fraction. “Wait a minute.”

  Startled, she opened her eyes. Some strategy, Giardi. “Stalling, Blackstone?”

  “You don’t bite, do you?”

  “Only when provoked.”

  He chuckled. It made her shiver. Damn him.

  “Cold?” he asked, though he had to know she was anything but. “You’re the one with all the clothes on.”

  “I thought you were going to remedy that.”

  “Must have lost my head.”

  “It’s time I started to use mine.” Without warning, she rammed her forehead up under his chin. Fortunately it worked, his head jerked backward and he released her hands. She didn’t stop to ponder what would have happened to her if he hadn’t let go.

  Following through on the motion, she hooked her ankle around his and flipped him over, then clawed her way onto the bed. He recovered quickly and rolled to a crouch, ready to pounce.

  She leveled the gun and fired. The bullet hit the wall beside his head. He froze. She lowered her aim to directly between his legs.

  “Get dressed.”

  FOUR

  “Most women just say no.” Logan rubbed his jaw and worked hard to keep her in focus as lights winked in his peripheral vision. She’d administered a chin jab you didn’t learn from a training manual, but he’d be damned before he let her know how effective it had been. Hell, if he was honest, he’d admit she’d already had his head spinning before she had tried to coldcock him.

  “I thought you’d figured out I’m not most women. Be thankful I didn’t go for your nose. That was my first choice.” She slid backward off the bed, then moved around to the end. Ten feet separated them. “Get dressed.”

  Her demeanor was as no-nonsense as her tone, the gun was as steady as her gaze. If he hadn’t been half of the intimate twosome they’d just made on the floor, he’d have never believed she was capable of gasping in pleasure-seeking anticipation. “My clothes are under the bed.”

  “Slide the bag out with your foot where I can see it.”

  He did so, careful to move slowly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been forced to put my clothes on at gunpoint.”

  “First time for everything.”

  He toed open the zipper flap, keeping his eyes on hers. She didn’t so much as glance at the duffel bag. He didn’t regret his professionally unwise tussle, and doubted he’d do things differently if given another chance. Well, he might kiss her first next time. If he lived that long.

  “Move the bag back toward the wall next to you and slowly pull out the bare essentials. Try anything funny, and I’ll shoot the first body part I can aim this gun at.”

  He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t going to shoot him. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him. A broken nose was the least of the damage she could have inflicted on him, but she hadn’t even done that.

  No, she apparently wanted him whole and healthy. For what, he had no idea. He didn’t need to be the one on top to get his answers.

  “And let me guess,” he said as he shoved the bag toward the wall with his foot, “you were first in your class at the firing range.”

  “I was the range instructor.”

  He slowly bent down, keeping his eyes on hers, and felt around for his jeans. “What force were you with?”

  “One item at a time, and I want to see it.”

  He didn’t expect an answer, but it was worth a try. He pulled a pair of worn blue jeans out and straightened.

  “Toss them to me.”

  “I took all the string and frogs out of my pockets already, Ma.” They landed on the bed beside her. She scooped them up one-handed and draped them over her shoulder, feeling the pockets and seams before tossing them back to him, never once breaking eye contact.

  He caught them. “Do you want to feel up my underwear too?”

  “Just get dressed.”

  Fairly confident she wouldn’t put a bullet in him—yet—he broke eye contact and bent to his bag. He felt her watching him as he pulled out briefs and a thickly woven, deep green rugby shirt.

  “Give me the shirt. Put on your underwear and pants. No socks.”

  “Barbarian. My feet are still cold.” He tossed the shirt to her, and she patted it down as he pulled on his other clothes. He caught her return toss and pulled the shirt on, leaving it untucked, the long tails hanging down to his thighs.

  “Going barefoot in the snow was your own brilliant idea.”

  He smacked his forehead. “Gee, what was I thinking? I could have stayed in my nice, warm bed, strapped in all nice and cozy. Silly me.”

  “We can return to that arrangement, but that means another needle.”

  He barely covered a flinch. “Thanks, but no.”

  She waved her gun at him. “Walk, hands at your sides.”

  She stayed a good ten feet behind him. Very well trained, he thought. With her reflexes, even a rear flying kick from that distance would probably miss her. A bullet from the same distance would not miss him.

  “Stand beside the couch. There,” she said, pointing with her free hand.

  “You missed your calling, you know,” he said, following directions as casually as he thought he could get away with. His nonchalant attitude irked her, even if she didn’t show it. It was a small weapon, but over time it could be very effective. He wondered how much time he had.

  “Put these on.” She pulled a pair of standard issue handcuffs from her bag and tossed them to him. “And what calling was that?”

  He hadn’t expected her to follow up. “Curiosity, Detective Princess?”

  “Analysis, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m not a lieutenant. I’m a bartender, remember?”

  “You’re a lot of things, Blackstone. Right now what you are is under my protection. Put on the cuffs.”

  He put the cuffs on, eyeing her with a taunting smile as he pushed them to a fairly tight slot.

  Her only reaction was to toss him a pair of ankle cuffs with a long chain between them. “These too, Houdini. Chain over the handcuffs.”

  “Boy, you really have a thing for bondage, don’t you?” He sat on the couch. He snapped one cuff on, looped the chain over the links between his wrists, then put on the other cuff. He made sure his jeans were tucked into the cuffs. No use in carving up more skin than he had to. “I can’t wait to find out what else you have in yo
ur toy bag there. Whips?”

  The hint of a real smile was buried beneath her dry response. “Sorry, I left them at home this trip.”

  “Lucky me.” He shifted his back to the armrest and swung his legs up onto the couch, making as much noise as possible. He took his time settling in, then said, “So, you say I’m under your protection. I gotta tell you, you have a really unique way of protecting people, Detective.” The frown lines carved deeper into her forehead every time he called her that. He planned to call her that often.

  “Not everyone realizes they require protecting.” She pulled out a chair and sat facing him.

  Less than ten feet separated them now, but the gun resting on her knee kept him pinned to the couch. “Well, I guess I definitely fall into that category. Who are you protecting me from, Detective? And who’s going to protect me from you?”

  She stood. “I’m starving.”

  “You’ve drugged me, beaten me, and chained me up. Don’t you think I at least deserve to know why I was so lucky to qualify for your generous protection services?”

  Turning her back to him, she walked to the small counter in the kitchen where she’d stored her supplies. She kept the gun. There was no way he could move more than an inch without the chains alerting her to the fact. It was basic captive restraint, but simple was often the most effective.

  “I like my steak medium rare,” he said.

  “I don’t cook.” She pulled a foil-wrapped power bar out of the box on the counter and tossed it at him. It landed on his outstretched thighs, right in front of his fingers.

  “Good aim, Detective.”

  She smiled. “A wise thing to remember.” A juice pouch followed, landing in exactly the same spot.

  Logan shook his head and tore open the foil wrapper. In the past two months his entire being had been exclusively focused on one thing: finding his brother. In hunting him down, he’d discovered that Lucas didn’t want to be found, but he did need to be rescued. His twin had been brainwashed by some lunatic fringe cult, operating up in the mountains somewhere. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could let themselves get so messed up that they could be swayed by these fanatics, but that didn’t matter right now. He’d save Lucas, whether his brother wanted to be saved or not.

  He was all Logan had left. He wouldn’t lose Lucas. He couldn’t.

  So why was he sitting there, chained up, eating cardboard food and actually enjoying himself? He chewed slowly and watched his captor, who was rooting in her black bag of tricks. He should be going ape, being trapped the way he was. Instead he found he was more than content to watch the good detective. He’d never met a woman like her. He was both captive and captivated.

  He shook his head and popped the last bite into his mouth. Maybe he’d finally lost it. Maybe when you lost your mind it didn’t make you crazy with pain, as he’d long suspected—expected. Maybe it just made you crazy. Suddenly it wasn’t so hard to fathom the weak-minded after all.

  He raised his eyebrows as she sat back in the chair and unwrapped another candy bar. The look of bliss that briefly crossed her face as she chewed the first bite stirred a hunger of a completely different kind in him. He shifted slightly on the couch. The sound of his chains made her eyes snap back open.

  “So, how come you get chocolate and I get fused pasteboard?”

  “It’s good for you. Chocolate will rot your teeth.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, Detective, except the questions I most want answers to.”

  “Sorry. And stop calling me detective.” She turned her back to him, pulled another small stash from her bag, and carried it to the counter.

  “You don’t like Detective Princess? I’m wounded. And here I thought I was being charming and sociable, not to mention creative and incredibly observant. All of which I deserve credit for, seeing as you’re being so rude to me. Don’t you think so, Detective? It is detective, isn’t it?”

  She slammed a box on the counter then looked upward, her eyes closed. “Scottie,” she said with exaggerated calm.

  “I don’t think he can beam you up from here, Captain. No’ enough power.”

  She groaned. He smiled. He thought his burr was pretty good. Considering his Scots father was only a second-generation American, it should be. A sharp pang pinched his heart at the thought of Blackie. Now the only third-generation American Blackstone was Logan. And Lucas.

  Scottie turned and leaned against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her. The gun was still at her fingertips. “My name is Scottie. Are you happy?”

  He pushed aside the resident ache in his heart and focused on his current plan of attack. “Happy? No. I’m Logan. Though I think the dwarves had a pretty good thing going there. Seven guys, one woman. Hey, you wanna play Snow White?” He lifted his hands, rattling his chains. “I’ll be Sleazy.”

  She curled her fingers into fists and turned slowly back to unpacking.

  He grinned. Goading her was a strategic plan, but he had to admit he was enjoying the role. She was fun to rile up. He supposed it was because she was a worthier adversary than he’d come up against in … well, in too many years to count. Sarah’s smile taunted the fringes of his mind. He shoved those memories away too.

  His smile was slightly more forced when he said, “I’m getting to you, aren’t I? Women say I drive them crazy.”

  “This is not a surprise.” She faced him again. “Though I wouldn’t sound so smug. There’s a difference between lust-crazed and just plain crazed.”

  In response, Logan took a leisurely visual inventory, his gaze finally settling back on her face. Her flat expression faltered. “You speaking from personal experience?”

  She crossed her arms. “Only on the latter.”

  He dropped his voice to a dark whisper. “Liar.”

  She stiffened, but to her credit her skin didn’t flush. He was mildly disappointed by that. He realized he wanted her more than just bothered. He wanted her hot and bothered.

  “I’d say you have more pressing things to worry about than whether you can seduce me.” She shot a pointed look at his ankle and wrist chains. “Regardless of what you might have been led to believe, bondage does nothing for me.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, “seeing as I am chained and you won’t talk to me about the details of my incarceration, I have little left to do other than indulge in my fantasies.”

  She crossed the short space to the table and hefted her black pack. “Penthouse will no doubt be thrilled with your next letter.”

  He watched her as she moved to the small refrigerator and lifted the pack on top of it. Chained as he was, even if he was allowed mobility in the cabin, he’d be lucky to reach the handle of the fridge, much less anything higher. The only thing she’d left within easy reach were power bars. Boxes of them. Oh yum.

  “Just how long do you plan on keeping me here?” He shifted his back and carefully crossed one leg over the other.

  The sound of the heavy links clanking made her pause. After a moment, she said, “Eight to ten days. And don’t even think about moving.” She went into the bedroom.

  His eyes widened, more because he’d finally gotten some information out of her than at the answer itself. “A man can’t live on power bars alone,” he called to her.

  She was a real mystery, one he’d love to spend time solving. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a week to spend deciphering her clues. He figured he had another two days before he could hike farther up and continue his search for the best entry into the compound where Lucas was being held. Two days was plenty of time to get himself out of this mess and find out what the hell she was doing. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it had something to do with his search for Lucas.

  What in the hell have you gotten yourself into, Brother, if the government has agents out after you?

  “Lucky for you, you have all those fantasies to keep you occupied,” she responded.

  Smiling again, he leaned forward so he could see he
r. She was retrieving his hiking boots from under the bed. The semiautomatic was on the bed within easy reach.

  He waited until she’d finished checking out the room. She was quite thorough. She grabbed his bag and boots and carried them to the kitchen table.

  He shifted, rattling his chains a little. She looked up. When her eyes met his, he said, “Thinking about those fantasies will only make me hungrier.”

  He watched her hold herself even more still, keeping her gaze emotionless, but the swallow she took belied her disaffected pretense.

  “I make you crave more than chocolate, don’t I, Scottie?”

  He wished he was closer, wished he could see her green eyes, watch her pupils dilate in reaction. It was the only one she couldn’t control. His gaze drifted down, snagging on her tight black turtleneck. His body twitched. There was one other reaction she couldn’t control either. He looked back into her eyes. “I won’t rot your teeth either, princess.”

  He noticed her white-knuckled grip on the table. He lifted his wrists. “Why don’t you take these things off of me?” He nodded to the window. “I can’t go anywhere anyway.” He had several dozen questions he wanted to demand answers to, not the least of which was how in the hell had she gotten to the cabin after a blizzard. But right at that moment, none of those questions seemed to matter. He wanted to get his hands on her … but not to force her to talk.

  No, he didn’t want to force her to do anything.

  “You want me to stay here, fine. You say you are only protecting me. You must be telling the truth, or you would have done more damage to me by now. You’ve had ample opportunity. Hell, you had me dead walking in the bedroom door.”

  He didn’t have to be close to see her reaction to that reminder. Only he didn’t think her slight intake of breath was due to her thinking about him dying. Just how long had she been standing there, staring at him, naked in his bed?

  “I’d like some answers, but I won’t hurt you in order to get them.” He held his wrists out. “Cut me loose, Scottie.”

  Scottie stared at him. “You really are crazy.”