Unfortunately, she lied. His laughter was rich and deep as if proving that he knew better.
With him standing near, she couldn’t help but stare—in her defense she needed to in case she had to describe his characters to the police. His silken black hair was tangled with grey strands and touched his shoulders. His chiseled features, strong jaw line and full mouth made him appear rugged. Disgust wasn’t what she felt, far from it. Moisture between her thighs did make her cringe. What was she thinking? Truth was, she wasn’t thinking at all.
Dragging her gaze away, she scorned her body for betraying logic. “Well, since I don’t meet the standards of this ludicrous scheme, I suggest you let me go and continue your search for the flawless beauty.” Could she hope?
“The choice was not mine,” he said as he grabbed her wounded hand. She flinched and he loosened his hold. He dragged the wet cloth over her skin and she was surprised at how gentle he was as he cleaned the dried blood. “Fate has drawn us together.”
“Fate is a lousy matchmaker,” she said with a sigh. “And why are you helping me?”
His gaze met hers. “It’s my duty to treat you like a precious jewel until my child is born.”
“And you call having your thugs grab me, tie me up and stick a rag over my head is being treated like a jewel?”
He paused in tending to the cut. “First, those men are not thugs. I’m not a gangster. Second, they did that for your protection. They wouldn’t have hurt you.” He went back to cleaning the wound. “You hurt yourself more by fighting.”
“I guess I should have smiled, held out my wrists for bondage and agreed to anything they’d asked. Oh silly me. What was I thinking by resisting being abducted?”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“Sheesh…it’s a good thing you understand. Can I leave now?”
“Not going to happen,” he said.
“This is crazy. Taking someone hostage and planning to use their body as a host for an unwanted baby isn’t considered fair or upright treatment. Do you really think I’d ever agree to something as absurd as this?”
“There are many things you don’t realize, and some I don’t understand myself. Yet, here we are, in this together. If you believe I’m doing this for my own desire, you’re wrong. I’d rather have died many, many years ago because it’d been more pleasure than this.”
Blinking, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
He brought her hand closer and examined the cut. “It’s worse than I thought. You need a few stitches.”
She started to deny the claim when a thought came to her. “Yes, take me to a doctor.”
“A doctor? Medical assistance from those modern day monsters isn’t needed. I can take care of the wound. Don’t worry. I’ve done this many times. I’m actually good at sewing.”
Her jaw dropped. Did she hear him right?
He crossed the room, opened a closet door and pulled out a clear box. She watched in curiosity as he rummaged through it, then pulled out a needle and thread. Her body warmed and she felt faint. “You touch me with that and I’ll make sure your southern region is out of order for a serious amount of time.”
“Bronte, don’t be a baby. You need the cut sewn or you risk infection.” He took a step toward her. She scooted as far back on the seat as she could manage. “Okay then.” He placed the medical items on the sink. Relief spread through her. She couldn’t have some lunatic stitching up her skin. “Bronte?”
She brought her chin up. Her captor was barely inches from her face; his stare was deep and magnetic. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t think. Everything turned black. The last thing she remembered before she faded was his voice in her ear. “Sleep, darling. All will be well.”
Chapter 3
BRONTE SNUGGLED DEEPER into the nest of pleasing warmth. She’d never felt such comfort. Stretching her muscles, she sighed languidly as a rush of indulgence whirled through her. The nightmare of being held hostage by an arrogant ass couldn’t even fade the glorious feeling. No other time had she slept all night.
Rolling over, her face pressed against something iron hard. Inhaling deeply, she froze. Her heart skipped a beat. The smell was familiar—woodsy mixed with mint. And who the hell was breathing in her ear?
Sliding one eye open, she jerked. Shit! She darted across the bed, pulling the red satin sheet with her. The kidnapping wasn’t a dream. The arrogant ass was here, in bed, with her! Worse, she was in his bed and he was sleeping soundly. Damn! He was naked!
She raked her gaze downward, soaking up every inch of his nudity.
Hell, she didn’t want to look at him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t help herself. Admiring his physique broke some unwritten rule about captive not ogling her captor, but if he wasn’t aware, maybe it wasn’t so wrong. He was the description of perfect male, making her self-conscious of her own less-than-perfect body. From his broad shoulders, over massive chest, narrow waist, and—she jerked her glance away. Oh hell! He was hard and a size that matched every other large part of him. It was so wrong that such a jerk had a body of Adonis.
“Forget the body,” she whispered. She wondered how he’d gotten naked. She lifted the sheet. And how the hell did I get naked?
She was going to be sick. Stomach twirling, she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. She couldn’t remember anything after he’d pulled out needle and thread and—
Biting back a moan, she held up her bandaged hand. With haste she’d never known, she tore off the white gauzy material. Shit! Shit! Her heart beat faster. She stared at her wounded hand neatly stitched and covered in clear salve. Looking over at the sleeping man, her mind fabricated ways she could teach him a lesson on boundaries, and so proudly flaunting his goods. Her eyes naturally fell to his long cock. She should follow through with a few of her own evil ideas. Wonder how he’d like a few stitches in his tool?
No use. She was a wimp. At the mere sight of blood she’d probably pass out, and ending up unconscious was the last thing she wanted.
A horrible notion flashed through her mind. Was it possible they had sex? If she was out while he stitched her wound, anything could have happened. She reached down and touched her inner thighs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no swelling or sensitivity, and with a cock his size, she’d have physical evidence.
Some tension left her muscles. Although he didn’t violate her, would he next time?
How had he knocked her out? Had he hypnotized her?
There was no time to stick around and debate her questions. She knew this could be her one and only chance to get the hell away.
Bronte gave the sleeping figure one more glance. He still slept. His breathing was heavy and his chest rose and fell evenly. As quietly as possible, she slid to the edge of the bed, eased her legs over the side and placed her feet onto the cool floor. She stood and wrapped the sheet around her body as she scanned the room for her clothes. They were gone. She guessed Roark had hid them from her, thinking she wouldn’t escape without clothes. Dressed or not, she’d get out of this place. Nudity was nothing compared to spending more time in Roark’s loony bin.
With a quick glimpse over her shoulder to make sure he was still asleep, Bronte started across the room toward the door. She took each tiptoed step with great care, but every breath and every time her foot pressed against the wood, it sounded like an explosion in her ears. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Her heart fluttered at the possibility of freedom. Reaching the exit, she placed her palm on the knob, twisted and her hope dropped. Nothing happened. It was locked. The bastard! Maybe she could stand the sight of blood, just this once, if it meant getting revenge. She turned on heel and ran into a wall of flesh and muscle. Bringing her gaze up into an expression of pure wickedness, she gulped loudly.
“You didn’t think I’d allow you to walk out of here, did you?” His voice was husky from sleep. He yawned and wiped his eyes.
His laid-back attitude made her want to rip his
eyes out. And having him stand there naked and proud, made her fury multiply. How dare he be so smug! “You can’t keep me here forever.”
“How long you stay is completely up to you, sweetheart. You’re in control more than you think.”
She slanted her eyes, wishing she could shoot daggers into his head. “I’ll never have your child. You said you have plenty of willing women so why not find someone who is eager to have your baby?”
The corner of his lips curved downward. “I also told you that I didn’t pick you.”
Holding the sheet over her with one hand, she used the other to rub her aching temple. It wasn’t possible to have a conversation with someone who was in serious need of mental help. “Okay, you’ve told me that. You didn’t pick me.” It was no use. “Where are my clothes? I am allowed to wear something, right?” He lowered his eyes over her sheet-covered body and every part of her quivered, in a very bad, but good, way. She tugged the satin material tighter as if it was a shield from his view. He brought his gaze back to hers and his twinkling eyes offended her, yet excited her. She’d need to see a therapist after this.
He laughed. How could he think this was humorous?
“Of course clothes are permitted. That is until you decide you want to frolic naked. It’s such a feeling of freedom, not to mention, without all of that material in the way it’s much easier to gain access to the lovely parts.”
Her face flamed with heat. She wanted to tell him just what she thought, but knew he’d give her some egotistical response. For now, she needed to get dressed. “Clothes? Where are they? White top, black pants.”
“You can’t wear those.” He turned his back to her and went to the wardrobe. “I’ve already thrown them out.”
“Thrown them out? Why?” Bronte wanted to scream. She watched him take out clothes from the cabinet, thinking he was going to give her something to wear, but instead he shook out a pair of dark denims and started to put them on. Her eyeballs itched to watch his tight backside, but she refused herself the pleasure. Nope, she wouldn’t do it. But as the jeans moved upward, her gaze went downward. She swore the man was a devil with power. And to top it off, his sex was hard…again. Did it ever deflate? She wondered how he’d fit himself inside the pants?
He turned and she made sure her stare was on his face. “They were spotted with blood.”
“Huh?” Her mind was confused.
“Your clothes. That’s what we were talking about.”
“And whose fault is it that they were bloody?” She huffed.
“Relax, Bronte. That color of pale doesn’t work for you,” he said as he passed her to the door. With his back to her, she wondered if she had time to find something to crack him over the head. She scanned the room until his voice snapped her into reality. “Tsk, tsk. Such brutal thoughts for a wisp of a woman. I’m not sure you could reach high enough. I liked you admiring my body much better.”
She opened her mouth to blast him with a four-letter word when her mind wrapped around the fact that he’d just read her thoughts. Every hair on her body stood erect. It wasn’t the first time he seemed to know what she was thinking.
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Do you think you can behave outside of the confines of this room? I’d hate to tie your wrists again. Touching you is much more tempting when you’re bound and pissed off.” He wriggled his brows.
“You’re unbelievable,” she snarled.
“Unbelievable is not the right word, sweetheart. I haven’t lied to you once to earn that label.” He smirked. “Now, answer the question or I’ll leave you in here until you lose some of that ladylike charm.”
“I deserve answers to my questions as well.” Her strength was weakening. Her hope of getting away was fading. This man had her right where he wanted her, but she refused to give up. Maybe he’d come to his senses.
His jaw loosened and his features softened. “You’re right. In time, you’ll get the answers you want. For now, let’s go to your room. Your new clothes are in there.”
“My room?” The words spilled out like a bitter morsel of veracity. She had a room. He planned to keep her. The madness grew deeper.
He reached above the frame of the door and grabbed the key. She bit her bottom lip. So that was his hiding place. He opened the thick wooden door and stepped back, motioning for her to lead the way into the hall. “Remember what I said, fiery wench. Bounds and defiance are irresistible to me. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you cocked me in the jaw.”
He only mocked her, but she wasn’t ready to test him. “Get over yourself and show me this room,” she said with animosity. “And then I hope I can have some privacy.”
“Ladies first.”
Walking into the hall, she looked around her. She half expected a camera crew to jump out from behind the scenes, yelling, “You’ve been punked.” No such luck. She moved farther down the corridor, fully aware he was following her, like a predator.
“Here we are,” he said and she stopped at the closed doorway. It figured he’d have her next door to his own bedroom. He pushed past her and unlocked the door, then dropped the key back into his front pocket. He opened the door. “After you, sweetheart.”
Bronte wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting of the room. She wouldn’t have imagined it’d be extravagant, yet it was a bedroom fit for a queen—superbly designed and tastefully furnished. He’d gone to great lengths in every detail, making her wonder if he’d done all of this for her. She’d only seen rooms like this in magazines.
From the doorway, she admired the white wall with the intricate pearlescent stencil design, which was contemporary and sophisticated. Silk curtains framed the queen bed, which was adorned with matching bright mulberry colored bedding. Delicate crystal beads hung on one side of the bed, catching the rich colors of the blanket. Beautiful oil paintings of flowers and cherubs hung on the walls, elaborating on the romantic theme. French doors led to a balcony.
“Well, are you going to go in?” Roark asked from behind her.
“Yes, I guess I should.” She was in awe as she strolled further into the suite, wanting to bask in its beauty but she wouldn’t allow him the pleasure. “So, where are my clothes?”
“You’ll find everything you need in here. Clothes are in the drawers. The bathroom is here.” He pointed to a door to her right.
“Okay. You can go now.” The quicker he was out of her hair the sooner she could get dressed and get plotting her getaway.
He seemed to hesitate and then nodded. “Come downstairs in thirty minutes.”
“Sure, Master.”
“Your attitude is improving already.”
She gritted her teeth. He stepped out, closed the door behind him and she heard his laughter all the way down the hall. “Bastard,” she whispered. She half expected him to pop back in and scold her.
Standing in the middle of the room, time ticked by. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Snapping out of her murky outlook, she went to all of the windows. Not surprising, they were locked and bolted. The French doors did open. Walking out onto balcony, she peered over the wrought iron railing and onto the lot below. There were no cars parked in the driveway. Climbing down would be impossible and she’d probably break her legs if she jumped. Then her situation would be worse. Staring out, the house was closed in by woods. She listened closely, hoping she’d hear traffic in the distance. Nothing but birds chirping.
Going back inside, she went to the cherry walnut wardrobe and opened the drawers. She found them full of luxurious, delicate panties and bras of all different colors and designs. How arrogant of him. Of course he’d like to see her wearing sexy lingerie. She rolled her eyes as she grabbed a bra and panty off the top.
Next, she examined the walk in closet, lined with designer outfits and shoes. It was three times larger than the one at her apartment, and stocked with labels she couldn’t afford.
Oddly, everything was in her size.
She didn’t want to wear any of th
e clothes, but her only other choice was to go naked. Nudity wasn’t an option, she didn’t care how much “freedom” it’d give her. A pair of jeans and a lightweight blouse was the simplest things she could find. She wasn’t out to impress Roark. She certainly wouldn’t be using the fancy evening dresses and stilettos.
The bathroom gave her another round of admiration. It wasn’t just a bathroom, but more of a retreat or spa. From the granite counters, glass vessel sink with high-arc waterfall faucet, to the multi-head shower, it was sleek and elegant. However, what enticed her more was the deep freestanding tub big enough for not only two, but three or maybe four. She visualized herself bent over the side, pinned—by Roark. “Oh holy mother of all good, what in the hell is wrong with me?” An image of his thick cock came to mind and her thighs quivered. Her temperature rose a few degrees and she wanted to pound her head against the wall to dislodge any thought of the ogre penetrating her.
She was impressed—with his dick and choice of décor— and she sure wished she wasn’t. Did Roark think he could persuade her to like being his captive? He was an evil, egotistical man who was holding her against her will and he was going to be arrested, she’d see to that. He was a lunatic who believed in some madcap way that she was “chosen” to have his offspring. Did he even realize he was on Earth, not Mars?
Sliding out of the sheet she’d taken from Roark’s bed, she climbed under the hot mist of the shower. With one nozzle targeting her head, another at her back, and if that wasn’t enough pleasure, a pulsating spray aimed directly at the apex of her thighs. She didn’t know such things existed where she could get clean and satisfied at the same time. A giggle erupted and she closed her mouth to stifle any noise. She didn’t trust the ogre. He was probably lingering like a pervert, listening. On second thought, Roark wasn’t the peeping type. She had a feeling that if he wanted something, he wouldn’t be passive aggressive.
Wicked Pleasures Page 3
