Green-Eyed Monster

by Gill McKnight

  “C’mon. Dinner time. I can hear your belly gurgling already.” Mickey sighed, mumbling absently as she led her from the room.

  “I made us a nice casserole for tonight.” This time she was led to the kitchen by a large hand cupping her bound ones. It felt warm and secure, and it brought a small smile to her lips. Hmm, holding hands now, are we? Isn’t this cozy? Cozy and interesting. So, someone had no backup plan, and someone was hanging on to her now? The tide was finally turning.

  Out loud she asked, “What kind of casserole? Chicken?”

  ❖

  “You sound remarkably cheerful about breaking up.” Mickey’s glum voice drifted over the table toward her. “Sounds like you’re glad to be rid of her.”

  “Trust me, I have never missed Victoria Gresham’s checkbook so much in my entire life, thanks to you. Ever thought of couples therapy? You’d make a fortune with your uniquely radical approach.”

  “What was it like?” Mickey asked.

  “Are you asking about the experience of being kidnapped? Let me see—”

  “No, what was it like being with her? Victoria Gresham. I mean, she’s one of the top five hundred wealthiest women in the country. They say negotiating with her is like walking a high wire over your own open grave. So what was it like being her partner?”

  Tonight’s meal was hands free, a hard-won victory. The other bonus was the obvious froth Mickey was in at the news of her single white female status.

  “It was like any relationship. We slept, ate, worked, relaxed together. Money doesn’t make people love each other any better. Sure, we could afford whatever we wanted, but work always came first. It has to, to have that sort of income, so there’s no quality time, and your relationship suffers.” She grew flustered as she felt pushed to defend…what? A privileged lifestyle? Another failed relationship? She’d worked damn hard to feel this empty.

  “Sounds real romantic. Money and love—the American dream.” Mickey snorted.

  “Well, you seem invested for at least fifty percent.”

  Mickey ignored the jibe. “So why did you split up?”

  “You know, I was joking about the couples therapy thing. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, tell me. What happened?”

  “Why are you asking this? No answer I give is going to get you your money. Give it up and let me go. You suck at kidnapping. Just accept it.”

  “Tell me.”

  She sighed, deciding to plow on and answer the questions, unsure where they would lead or what Mickey hoped to learn.

  Maybe her captor just needed to accept the inevitable: it was over. All of it was over. Her relationship, along with Mickey’s glorious revenge plans, had spun out, derailed, and now lay in a ditch, smoking. Now she had to somehow persuade Mickey to think about damage control, loss limitation, and letting her go.

  “We simply didn’t love each other enough. Not for a long time. But sometimes the heart’s a little slow to confess. Sometimes it just craves that cozy old comfort zone, and you end up going through the motions, like a tired old dance.” She suddenly, unexpectedly, found herself being honest. “Okay, it was simple, really. She was bored. She stopped loving me a long time ago. But she just kept hanging on.”

  “Out of habit? That comfort zone thing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What about you? Are you still in love with her?”

  “No. I’m guilty of the same sins. But at least I did break my habit eventually and ended it between us. Now my heart’s in withdrawal.”

  “When did you stop loving her?”

  “As soon as…as soon as I met my replacement.”

  “Who was your replacement?”

  “You mean what was my replacement. Money. She simply loved the money more.” As quickly as she’d opened up, she closed down again. She didn’t like the direction of this conversation but couldn’t put her finger on the moment she’d lost control of it.

  Why all these questions? What use could they be? Idle curiosity?

  Panicked plotting? Where was Mickey going with this?

  “So what are you going to do now that I’m worthless?

  Kill me?” She decided to force Mickey to look at the cold consequences. “If you’re not prepared to free me, what else is there? Have you really thought this through? Because one thing I’ll literally bet my life on is you’re no killer.” Jeez, you’re barely a competent criminal.

  “You’re not worthless. You’re never that.” Mickey’s voice sounded suspiciously lighter. Had she gleaned something from the intimate conversation? Quickly, she returned to business.

  “But why is she not answering the e-mails? What the hell is she up to?”

  ❖

  “I can’t believe you’re putting me to bed early, like some toddler. I’ve done nothing but lie on that freaking bed all day. I’ll get bedsores.”

  “It’s not early. It’s late. Now shut up and go to sleep. I got tons of work to catch up on.”

  “It’s not even dark. This blindfold doesn’t shut out the light, you know. It must be only eight o’clock at the latest.”

  “Just can it, okay?” Mickey was not going to be swayed.

  “Get back into bed this minute. I’ll leave the radio on. You can listen to Late Nite Chatline if you’re good.”

  “Late Nite Chatline? That won’t start for a million years. It’s the middle of the day, remember?”

  “Christ, you’re one moaning little bitch. You’ll listen to whatever’s on, okay? Now shut up. I got work to do.”

  “Hey,” she whined, shaking her cuffs against the bed rail.

  “Please? Cut me some slack? Just enough to scratch my nose or change radio channels?”

  “The blindfold—”

  “Does it matter that much now that you have the mask? Please, Mickey, I promise not to take it off. Just one hand free, please? Please?” Silence greeted her pleas. Good, she’s thinking about it. Sucker.

  “No.”

  “What!”

  “No. I can’t trust you not to mess with the blindfold again. I can’t risk you seeing me. Sorry, kiddo, no can do.”

  “Nooooo. My arms are going to fall off, my shoulders are killing me, my neck hurts, my tummy’s—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Look, I’ll lengthen this tether by a few inches. Okay? I’ll set the radio right up close to your hand on the bedside table right here. You can reach the buttons now. Hit enough of them and you can figure out the stations.” This was explained with what sounded like a smile. “Now I gotta go to work. I’ll check in on you later. Okay?” She lay there glowering.

  “Yes, okay,” she grumbled at the retreating footsteps.

  Dammit. She wanted a free hand, a hairpin, and a minute to work on the cuffs—then voila! Freedom. It always worked like that in the movies. But then the movies didn’t have a big, stupid, doofus to spoil the script.

  The Late Nite Chatline show was a favorite, and she might as well try to catch it. She’d been on an easy listening channel most of the evening, but now she wanted to hear human voices and find out what was going on in the world outside. Though for her, it felt like she was tuning in from another planet.

  Taking advantage of her new freedom, she reached over easily to the bedside table. She found the radio. A quick swipe with her freer hand revealed the rest of the tabletop was bare.

  Then she realized the little cabinet was on castors. Cautiously, she began to maneuver it around with her hand until the drawer handle was facing her. It opened easily. Oh thank God, it’s full of junk. With any luck I might find a hairpin. The movie escape script was back on track.

  The small drawer was stuffed to overflowing, and being blindfolded made it feel like a game as she tried to identify the contents. A knot of silk scarves, no doubt her blindfolds, a container of pills, rubber bands, a bookmark. Then her hand came across cold metal. She withdrew instinctively, recognizing the chilly texture of a handgun even though she had never held one in he
r life. Holding her breath, she reached out again. Checking she had it by its barrel and not any trigger-happy bits, she gently withdrew it from the drawer.

  It was heavier than she imagined a gun should be. Criminals must be really strong. She couldn’t imagine waving something this heavy at a bank teller. Gingerly, she set it down beside the radio. What if it suddenly went off and shot her in the head? What on earth was she going to do blindfolded with a gun anyway, except play Russian roulette with doofus out there? And if it came down to it, could she actually shoot doofus if she had to?

  Probably.

  Setting the question aside along with the gun, she dipped her hand back into the drawer. This time she found a cylinder shaped thing. She cradled it in her hand, turning it with dexterous fingers. Was it a component of the gun? Was it a silencer? An ammo holder? She felt relieved at the thought the gun might not be loaded after all. Her Braille-like examination found and fumbled a small switch. When she flicked it almost accidentally, the object buzzed into angry action and leapt out of her hand.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs. It was an incendiary device! The nut job had guns and explosives tucked away everywhere! Her screaming continued as she vainly tried to lunge from the bed. Her cuffs bruised and grazed her wrists, and the metal headboard shrieked alongside her. The device had rolled under the bed like a hand grenade. For all she knew she only had seconds left on this earth before the timer buzzed and the blast began. Both feet on the floor, her back at an unnatural twist, she almost lifted the bed off the floor in her panic to get away.

  Footsteps came thundering down the hallway.

  “What the hell!” A quick dive under the bed, and instantly the buzzing stopped. The heaving sobs didn’t.

  “Hey, hey.” She was hushed, as Mickey’s warm arms wrapped round her. “Hush now, it’s okay. I’m here.” The cuffs were released and she was turned and enfolded in strong arms, her tear-streaked face buried into a soft T-shirt.

  “Was it a bomb?” she hiccupped between receding sobs.

  “No.” Mickey’s voice trembled with a suppressed laughter she could feel reverberating in the chest under her cheek. “It was a vibrator.”

  This did nothing to quell her upset, and a fresh round of crying ensued.

  “I…I found a gun, and then that thing just went off in my hand. And you’re a lu…lunatic, and you’ve brought me here and kidnapped m…me.” Fat, heavy tears seeped under the drenched blindfold. She was tired of toughing it out, of plotting and planning, and trying to stay one step ahead. Tired of simply surviving this ordeal. So tired of it all. She wanted to go home, to somebody, anybody. She wanted it to be all over. Mental exhaustion made her entire body shake in mild shock.

  “Hush, now, hush. You were never in any danger. And you never will be. I promise.”

  “You had a gun. I found it.”

  “No, it’s just a World War II replica. I’m surprised you could even lift it.”

  Her tears, hiccups, and a runny nose were mopped up, her back rubbed, and slowly she was maneuvered over to the bed.

  Her wet, puffy eyes were covered with fresh, cool silk, and she was laid down to be re-cuffed.

  “Please don’t tie me up. Please. I’m scared. It’s cruel, Mickey.”

  “Hush now. Stop crying. It’s all right. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  “But what if something happens to you?” she wailed inconsolably. “I’ll be stuck here and starve to death, and your dog will eat me before my body’s found.”

  “I don’t have a dog.” Mickey’s gentle voice reassured, barely hiding the laugh bubbling under the surface. “I’ll hold you till you sleep.”

  “Flies then, flies will lay eggs in me.” The bed creaked as Mickey lay down behind her and spooned around her.

  “Nope, no flies this time of year. Hush now.” Mickey’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into a warm belly and breasts. Long, strong thighs cradled the back of her bare legs. Both were wearing boxers and T-shirts for night attire. It was warm, intimate, and comforting. She relaxed into the human contact she hadn’t realized she’d missed during the chilly disintegration of her relationship. Cried out to the point of exhaustion, and soul-weary with the tension of the past two days, she drifted off to sleep on what was no more than an exhaled breath.

  ❖

  The wispy blond hair tickled Mickey’s chin, so she moved her head slightly, careful not to wake her bedmate. The subtle movement accidentally grazed Mickey’s lips against a pulsing neck. She was so small and defenseless, curled up like a shell.

  Her skin and hair smelled delicious. The touch raised goose bumps along the arm cradling her sleeping captive.

  Mickey listened breathlessly. The touch had not disturbed her. Taking a chance, she reached in again, and placed a deliberate kiss on the same delicate pulse point. She sighed at the rush that ran through her body, and she curved her thighs up tighter, caressing the underside of the legs next to hers. A warm tingle spread through her groin, familiar, although she hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time. Mickey cuddled her stolen cargo closer, her hand resting gently on a rising and falling belly.

  She frowned as she thought of the scheming deception that had placed this woman in such a vulnerable position. She felt the mysterious pangs of…guilt? Worry? What? She admitted to herself she now felt ill at ease with the whole damned plan. Something lay unsettled in her guts, heavy on her heart, something totally unexpected. She knew exactly what it was. She was hopelessly attracted to the spunky little spitfire wrapped in her arms, and that hadn’t been part of the plan.

  At first, she decided it was probably eroticization of the power she held over this pretty woman, who fought her every inch of the way. Now she wasn’t so sure. Worse than the physical attraction, much worse, was the fact she actually liked her. Liked her a lot. Mickey respected her indomitable spirit and fiery character, her sharp wits and indefatigable intellect. And she hadn’t been prepared for that. No, not at all. As with all of their interactions, nothing had been as expected. And now her heart had been overpowered and sneakily ambushed. It was all such a mess. Soon, Mickey knew she would have to let her go.

  Eventually, she too drifted off to sleep. Soon a long absent inner peace stole into her dreams and painted them the soft emerald of her captive’s eyes.

  ❖

  Deep into the night Mickey’s legs entwined with hers, and their mutual body heat became a solder. Clasped in a warm and protective embrace, contentment and the physical stimulation combined into a lethal cocktail. The firm thigh that had crept between her legs became a supple saddle. With a slow undulation, she rode it through her dreamscape.

  Mickey responded to the soft grind, pushing her thigh higher into the growing heat. Her lips began a sleepy baby suck, until they found the shoulder of her sleeping companion. As she brushed the skin, the suck turned into an open kiss on the sensitive spot where throat met clavicle. Mickey’s eyes fluttered open, but her kiss remained, lips cupping the creamy skin. Her hand drifted up to cup a full breast, the hardened point sitting perfectly in the heart of her palm drawing a throaty, sleep-laden moan from its owner.

  ❖

  Her own moans awoke her. Hands still tied, eyes still blinded by silk, as soft lips trailed up her throat. She was eased onto her back, and she gently opened her mouth to the kiss, to the tender sucking of her lower lip. The hand that cupped her breast began to sensuously circle through thin cotton until she pulsed with every feather touch.

  Her lips were stroked by tongue and her breast by fingertips.

  Slowly, deliberately, the flame inside her was fed. Mickey’s body covered hers, increasing their connection between her legs.

  She opened to accept the pressure upon her center. Their kiss intensified with this primal invitation. A sheen of perspiration coated her body as she moaned into Mickey’s mouth, gently pushed her hips up against her. Their tongues touched and rolled and tasted. She was drowning in sensation, drifting on a sea of libidinou
s need. Her cuffs jangled on the metal headboard, and she broke away to draw in air. To suck up reality.

  “No. This is crazy.” The words came out dry and hoarse.

  “Can’t stop. Want this. Want you. Please let me.” Mickey’s husky whisper slid away into another kiss of caramel sweetness.

  It pulled her under again, into that swirling sea of need, drinking in lungfuls of this intoxicating torment. Did she want to sink or swim? To drown in these carnal depths by simply handing herself over to her keeper?

  “Yes, Mickey. Yes.”

  Her T-shirt was pushed up, breasts pebbling in the cool air.

  She arched her back, pouring her flesh onto Mickey’s tongue, making her own demands. Now her bonds and blindfold freed her. Without the need to hold on to control, she unconditionally offered up her body.

  Long hair brushed across her face and over her breasts and shoulders, before whispering across the fluttering muscles of her belly.“Oh”—a quiet murmur from below as a flushed face pressed against her stomach. “Beautiful”—another whisper, before kisses were delicately dropped all around her navel. She moaned luxuriously as waves of liquid pleasure washed over her. Her shorts were peeled away and teasing lips traced the fine line of soft down from her navel to her curls. She felt Mickey hesitate, then sensed her inhale her scent. A thick tongue enveloped her clitoris, and all rational thought was lost to the heavens.

  Fiery spikes danced along her body as Mickey’s tongue explored the length of her sex, in long, luxuriant swirls.

  She felt Mickey’s finger push through soaked folds and slowly find shelter deep inside. Her hips dictated the rhythm, her moans the music. Once more, Mickey’s mouth covered her swollen clitoris, her tongue lying still on its pulse. A second finger pushed hard to load her, to fill her, to stimulate her.

  Cupping the exploring fingers, her inner walls melted around them. Exquisite friction built up slowly, rippling through her body, turning her muscles and bones to paste, her blood to opium. She felt it coming, distant, like a brooding storm, then charging toward her faster than her mind could grasp. It was going to engulf her, going to wash her away, break her into little pieces. I can’t do it. I can’t let it can’t happen. No…No… But she clung to Mickey tighter than ever. Knowing she would hold her, would see her through.