Second Nature (When Seconds Count)

by D. L. Roan

  “Get off her, Winston.” The monkey chirped and scurried off the bed. Thalia’s eyes darted to the new threat. Six foot two, maybe three, broad chest, corded muscles in his arms and legs, and the deadliest amber eyes she’d ever seen. Fuck, I’m screwed. This was no tourist or zoo keeper. She knew a killer when she saw one. Judging by the amount of pain radiating through her body and the sweat soaked sheets, she was in no shape to fight him off. She’d have to be delirious to even think about it.

  The sound of his boots scuffing against the floor as he approached had her muscles coiling against the pain in a fight or flight preparation. He would win, but she was determined to give him one hell of a fight.

  Grant stood over her for a moment, studying her reaction to him. “Relax,” he finally ordered, squatting down onto the edge of the mattress. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Damn if he couldn’t get lost in those eyes. They were a paler blue today than he’d seen yesterday. Almost silver and filled to the brim with a fear-laced determination he couldn’t help but admire. “What’s your name?” His hand paused above her leg when she flinched away from him.

  “Jill,” she bit out, searing him with another icy stare.

  Lie number one. “Ah, she speaks English.” Grant nodded. “Okay, Jill.” He slowly lowered his hand to the sheet and lifted it away from her thigh. “I guess that makes me Jack,” he mumbled as he carefully laid the back of his hand to her torn flesh. “Oddly enough, I’ve never been one of those.”

  He watched her closely as he felt for signs of heat or infection. She had nearly knocked his lights out the night before when he’d gotten up to check her wounds. He’d had to tie her arms to the head rail on his cot to keep her from tearing out her stitches before she’d finally passed out again. Not wanting a repeat performance, he kept a wary eye on her unbound legs as he checked her stitches.

  “Well, Jill.” He re-covered her bare leg and reached for the top of the sheet. Ignoring her wordless protests, he peeled down the white cotton sheet, sparing only a quick glance at her plump, bare breasts as he examined the cut over her ribs. “The good news is the swelling above your eye has gone down enough so that you no longer look like a science fiction experiment. The bad news is your leg is infected. You need a doctor.”

  “No. No doctors. I can…”

  “Yeah, I figured as much.” Grant watched her struggle against her bonds. She froze when he pressed his hand to her bare chest. “I said relax. Do you want me to untie you?”

  Her eyes darted up to the cord around her wrists in another wordless plea. “Well, see, I only have one problem with that.” Grant smirked and pointed to the cut on his cheekbone. “Seems you have one hell of a right hook, Jill.”

  At least she had the decency to look contrite as she studied his face. He knew it was an act. She would fight balls to the wall as soon as he released her. He counted on it, in fact. “That’s okay, I don’t need an apology. I know you didn’t mean it. You were pretty out of it last night.” He reached for the knot above her head but stilled, searching out her gaze. “You won’t do it again, will you?”

  He almost laughed at the puppy dog eyes she gave him as she silently shook her head. Well, here goes the neighborhood. He took a little longer than necessary to work the knot free, watching as her muscles bunched and coiled. He could almost feel the energy rolling off her body as she prepared to strike. It was one of the things he missed about his job. Reading the people he was hunting, feeling the energy around him shift and move as the final fatal scene unfolded.

  One last tug and the cord fell free. She pulled her hands down to her chest and calmly worked at the strands until they slid from her wrists. Almost teasingly, Grant shifted and turned his back to her. She certainly didn’t disappoint. Striking like a cobra, she jackknifed from the mattress, looping the cord over his head and wrapping it around his throat.

  With a knee in his back, she pulled hard against the cord. Grant had to admit, he’d underestimated her strength a bit. The hand he’d slipped between his neck and the cord began to lose feeling as the cord cut into his palm. He was beginning to think twice about playing games with this chick. With a twist and a shove he was out of her snare and had his hands wrapped around both her wrists. He dodged her knee as she shoved it at his groin, but he couldn’t hold back the curse when she bit down on the back of his hand.

  “Goddammit!” She was like a damn fossa mongoose; lean, mean, and quick as hell! Grunted curses filled the air as he hoisted her from the cot and then pushed her back into the mattress. No more games with the rabid carnivore. Her arms pinned beside her head, he straddled her hips and hooked his ankles over her shins to keep her from kneeing him in the back. “Enough,” he growled as he hovered above her.

  Her nostrils flared as she dragged in a series of frantic breaths. Her skin, which had been so pale and gray, was now flushed pink with excitement. He watched as her silver eyes flared with heat, her pupils dilating to encompass the hypnotizing swirls of gray. Grant was astonished. Every misconception he’d had of her being a broken victim flew right out the window. Christ, she was playing him. And she was enjoying it every bit as much as he was.

  His cock, hard and aching, pressed against her pelvis as the heat from her naked body washed over him. He was suddenly aware of her bare breasts pressed against his chest and found himself wishing he’d decided to go shirtless that morning. Her pink lips parted, her warm breath washing over him as their eyes locked. He fought hard against the need to kiss those lips, to slide his tongue into her hot, wet mouth and devour the taste of pure wildness that radiated from her soul. She didn’t need a snare to capture him. He felt himself being drawn in like a bee to an exotic wildflower.

  His body warred with his mind as his head dipped a fraction closer. His instincts screamed for him to back away from the edge of the cliff. He knew what she was doing. It wouldn’t work, but damn if he wasn’t tempted to call her bluff. He could almost taste her breath on his tongue before her eyes shifted, breaking the spell as she relaxed against his hold and turned her head away. “What do you want?”

  Grant blinked away the fog that had wrapped around his brain. “Your name,” he said with a sigh, laboring to keep his heart rate down and his dick in his pants.

  “I told you—”

  “Your real name.” Gathering his wits, he tightened his grip on her wrists. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. It doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it. I’m not going to rape you. I’m not going to hold you prisoner. You’re free to stay as long as it takes for your wounds to heal, although you’ll probably die soon without antibiotics, but you’re also free to leave whenever you want.”

  When she wouldn’t look at him he gathered both her wrists in one hand and turned her chin to him with the other. He could see the muscles tick in her jaw as she clenched her teeth against the forced acquiescence. “If you attack me again, I’ll have no choice but to tie you to this fucking cot and call the civil police to come get you. Is that what you want?”

  He sensed her surrender the moment it happened, could see when the panic returned to her eyes. She was definitely not a fan of law enforcement. Not that he blamed her. He’d lost count of the different thugs, groups and countries that had put a bounty on his head. Lucky for him, no one knew who he was. Hell, even he couldn’t remember his real name at times. He’d used so many aliases and disguises over the years that it was hard to keep track. When he’d left the States after cleaning up the mess he’d caused for Daniel, he’d decided to stick with his Grant Kendal identity. Grant had woken him up to who he’d become and he never wanted to forget that. He had a feeling she didn’t quite have that kind of anonymity to hide behind.

  He watched her struggle to give up that small piece of herself. There was no rush. He had all day if she needed time to work it out. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she stared at the wall beside them and his cock twitch back to life. If she kept that shit up she might not have all day. Either way, he was going to have to rub one off before t
he day was out. The sooner the better. The last thing he needed was to let this fossa lead him around by his dick.

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze as she took in a shuddering breath and focused on the ceiling above him. “Thalia,” she breathed out a sigh, her eyes then locking onto his like lasers. “Thalia Brezlin.”

  Grant studied her expressions. Almost the truth. It was close enough. “Thalia,” he nodded. “I like it. It fits you.” He slowly released his grip and rolled to her side, crashing to the small mattress beside her, crowding her against the wall. Folding his arms behind his head, he smiled and gave her a flirty wink. “Well, Thalia. Welcome to Isle de Grant.”

  Chapter Five

  Christ! The past two days had cost her every shred of dignity she’d ever possessed. She’d never considered herself a vain or prideful person, but damn it all if she wouldn’t rather die than let this jerk-off listen to her pee…again. It was bad enough she couldn’t even stand on her own. This guy had to rub it in by watching her every handicapped move. He’d even tried to feed her soup; actually held the damn spoon to her mouth like she had the dexterity of an anteater. Now she wished she’d told him where he could put that spoon. Sweat beaded on her clammy skin, the heated ache in her leg screaming to a boil as she pushed herself from the ramshackle mess of a mattress the asshole passed off as a bed.

  “I got it!” She shoved Grant’s hand away as soon as she was able to shift her weight off her screwed up leg. She could hear her teeth popping and grinding as she clenched her jaw, biting back an even more humiliating scream.

  Thalia stopped to regain her balance, a long wisp of her hair billowing out from the frustrated breath she forced past her lips. God, she needed space. She didn’t know which was worse – the damn monkey watching her as if she were a freak show, or the oversized baboon beside her.

  “You ready to go see that doctor yet?” Grant, if that was even his real name, stood towering over her, with less than three inches between them. His arms and hands floated in the air around her, just waiting for her to fall on her ass like a toddler just learning to walk.

  “You ask me that one more time and you’re the one who’s going to need a doctor.” She hopped a step and dragged her injured leg along, her toe picking up splinters as it slid along the shabby wood floor. She couldn’t stop the groan that billowed from the pit of her stomach.

  “Fuck this.” She heard his grunted curse just before she was swept off her feet. Her hands clutched at Grant’s shirt as he cradled her against his broad chest and stomped towards the open door.

  “Put me down, asshole!” She kicked out her uninjured leg and twisted in his arms, gaining absolutely nothing for her efforts but a sharp sting in her side from the pull on her stitches. “I need to walk, dammit!” If she didn’t push herself beyond this, it could take her weeks to recover. She didn’t have weeks to waste. Not when she was so close to hitting her target.

  She’d pieced together enough information to know she’d already lost four days. She had been scoping out the location where she would meet Jauhar with the thumb drive when she was jacked by that dog, Hamisi. That was Wednesday. She’d washed up onto this godforsaken island the next morning, which meant today was Sunday. She had four days to pull herself together and get to that drop.

  He’d told her they were within an hour’s boat ride from the Madagascar. It would take her at least a day, if not more, to procure passage back to the mainland and get back to Nampula. She couldn’t miss this meeting. She owed it to her uncle, and she couldn’t take the chance of Hamisi finding her again. She needed to get back on her feet, literally.

  “No you don’t,” Grant said as he marched her to the makeshift outhouse he’d constructed nearly two hundred feet from his shack. “What you need is a damn doctor.” He pulled open the flap at the front of the green tarp he’d strung up around what she could only describe as a shithole.

  Thalia jerked away from his hold the moment her foot touched the ground. “Why don’t you go screw your monkey friend and let me pee in peace?” She hated that monkey. No, that wasn’t true. That thing frightened the life out her. She’d never been an animal person. She couldn’t understand why it was always staring at her. It also had this incessant habit of pounding its fists against its stomach anytime it came near her. Talk about slapping your monkey. And what was with the name Winston? “I’m in some Castaway spoof film…nightmare from hell!”

  Grant backed away, his hands held up in surrender as she jerked the tarp closed. “You’re all rainbows and lollipops when you wake up, huh?”

  Ignoring his jibe, she turned and nearly gagged at the smell rising from the hole at her feet. Thankfully, he had thrown together a planked bench with a space between the slats for her to sit on. She could hear him shuffling around outside the curtain as she untied the braided rope that held up the shorts he’d given her to wear. Damn. She knew she was being a bitch. He owed her nothing, yet he’d been nothing but kind since that first day she’d awoken…tied to his bed.

  She hadn’t wanted to fight him, was crazy to even try. If the last year and a half on the streets had taught her anything, it was letting someone know she wasn’t an easy target. If she somehow managed to kill him, or at least escape in the process, all the better for her.

  The instinctual lethality that lurked behind his golden eyes made him the scariest man she’d ever met. Hamisi was a clown compared to this guy. The only thing that scared her more was her body’s reaction to him.

  Locked beneath the mass of lean muscles and sun-kissed skin, his sweat fusing with hers, their heated breaths mingling as they fought for control, she felt an unfamiliar warmth rush over her skin. Her body burned to unite with his, her nipples straining to feel his bare skin. A longing ache contracted and stretched through her pelvis and thighs, sending a raw need for his touch singing through her veins.

  Sex to Thalia was purely mechanical when the rare occasion warranted it. She wasn’t above using sex as a tool to disarm her would-be attackers or distract an unsuspecting bystander while she lifted his car keys. And when she did indulge in a little play she was always in control. Being trapped under a man for whatever purpose, pleasure or otherwise, was suffocating. A few talented lovers had managed to get her off once or twice, but she truly hadn’t been all that impressed with the results. Not enough to seek out an encore performance. A sexual relationship had never been at the top her agenda, if on the list at all. And certainly not within the last year and a half.

  Never once had her body responded as it had when Grant was lying on top of her. She could sense the suffocating feeling hovering just out of reach, but the panic she usually felt with so much crushing weight had never surfaced. Her body craved more of him. That, above all else, was the scariest thing about the man standing on the other side of that curtain, listening to her pee. How fucking embarrassing.

  “You writing a book in there? I can always come back at lunch.” Thalia rolled her eyes. Holding back a groan, she pushed to her feet and retied her shorts. She had never wanted to hurt someone as much as she did at that very moment. Considering her past, and what drove her toward her future, that was saying a lot.

  She pushed back the flap, and any thought of hurting this man was shoved right back into the shithole behind her. Grant, six feet three inches of golden god, stood before her holding out two wooden poles shaped mercifully like a pair of crutches. She clung to the dirty, green tarp as her mind swirled with confusion.

  “These ought to help you some,” he said and held them out for her to take. “I can cut them down if they’re too long. You’re pretty tall though, so I think I got it close.”

  She felt her stomach tighten into an angry knot. Why would he do this for her? She had been nothing but a bitch to him. “What do you want from me?” The accusing words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. She had learned in her first week on the run that people didn’t do nice things for other people unless they wanted something. At least not for her. Not people like him. />
  “Helping me, stitching me up, giving me clothes, and…and food. Now this?” Thalia could see his eyes cloud over as her voice got louder. She couldn’t help it. None of this made sense. “What is this supposed to get you? Who do you work for? Jauhar? Hamisi Morsai, the bastard who cut me up? What, he couldn’t beat what he wanted out of me so he sent you to…to what? I don’t know…somehow…”

  Grant’s thick fingers wrapped tight around the tops of her arms, the makeshift crutches thrown carelessly to the side. With little effort he lifted her to her toes and pulled her to his chest, his face a mere inch from hers. “I’m trying to be nice!” he growled, his expression fiercely twisted, his eyes blazing with the color of fire. “It’s something I apparently have little understanding of and I thought…I would try it…with you.” His eyes strayed to her lips, and for the second time in two days, God help her, she thought he was going to kiss her.

  Her whole body tensed in his hands, the strange, warm feeling that came with being so close to him washing over her skin. At that moment, to her absolute disbelief, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him back. Her eyes lingered on his lips, the masculine angles of his face. She wanted to trace the line of stubble on his jaw with the tips of her fingers, to taste the outline of his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Just as she’d decided not to deny him, he uncoiled his hands, dropping her to her feet as he backed away. “I sure as hell hope you know how to swim, lady. Because if the police aren’t here to collect your crazy ass by the time I get done eating dinner, I’m loading you into my boat and dropping you off at the nearest channel marker. You can wait for them or swim the forty miles to shore. Either way, you’re leaving my island today.”