“Oh, Mickey…oh, Mickey…No…No.” She crested, and her cry rang out harsh and ragged in the stillness of the room.
❖
Rising up on her palms, Mickey hovered over her, watching in wonder as she slowly regained her breath.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Mickey hated that she couldn’t see her eyes. She hated so many things about these ties and binds. It would all change. It would all change.
“No. No, you didn’t hurt me.”
“I’d never hurt you. Never.” She lay down beside her, watching her profile, hungry for clues of how their lovemaking had affected her. Wondering if she was as amazed as she was.
She became mesmerized by the tilt of her nose rising from under the blindfold, the curve of her cheek, a peach-fuzzed lobe of her small ear. It all distracted and fascinated her, and had from the start, if she were to admit it. And her mouth, that beautiful mouth.
She didn’t need to see the covered eyes to know the pleasure and sensuality she had given her. The swollen bee-stung pout of her lips told all. She could feel the aftershocks rippling through the stomach beneath her hand. She watched her descend back into her body, back into reality.
In that moment, she wanted to give it all away, wanted to give up everything she had, everything she’d done, live only to please her, to pleasure her, to love her. To love her? I want to love her. Oh God, how did it all get into such a mess?
She quickly withdrew from the thought and rose on her knees, gazing in awe at the exhausted but sated body before her.
“Untie me. Please. Please, for just a moment.” The voice was small, lost. Mickey uncuffed her.
“Yes, yes, sure. Are you okay?” Her voice was almost a whisper as she pulled the freed wrists into her hands, massaging them. “Can I get you anything?” She held the smaller hands in her own.
“Maybe water, please.”
Mickey could hear the stiffness, the awkwardness in the voice, and knew she was struggling with her emotions. She dropped a little kiss on the spent blond head.
“I got bottled water in the fridge. Nice and cold. Give me a minute.” Moments passed before she returned, wrestling with a stubborn bottle cap.
“I brought the whole bottle except I can’t get the lid to—” The rumpled bed was empty. She froze. “Ginette?”
“I’m not Ginette.”
The voice came quietly from behind Mickey. She spun around and had only a shocked instant to register the swing of the replica pistol before it caught her on the temple. She went down like a mudslide. Before consciousness seeped away, plunging her into darkness, somewhere above her the words floated, “I’m Victoria. You grabbed the wrong one, moron.”
Chapter Five
“Hey, Michaela? Wake up.” A voice was pulling Mickey back into reluctant consciousness. But her head hurt more with every semilucid second. She didn’t want to follow the light. She wanted to lie here forever in the murk and never have to exist in the real—and painful—world again.
“Michaela? Michaela?” the voice continued. She tried to ignore it and burrow deeper into the soothing balm of nothingness.
Blissful meditations. Sublime metta bhavana. Free me, for I am lost.
“Michaela Rapowski. I’ve got your money for you.” Mickey’s eyelids felt as if they’d been stapled to her cheeks, but she managed to painfully peel them open. She moaned as the drumming in her head attuned to each heartbeat. What had happened? Was she hungover? She had sworn never to drink like that again.
“Aha, I thought that might catch your attention.” That voice.
Her eyes flew open. The voice hovered just outside her field of vision. Victoria! Shit! What? Hey, I’m tied up?
“Hello, sleepyhead.” The bed squeaked a little as Victoria perched on the edge, helpfully leaning into her line of sight.
Squinting through her fog of pain, Mickey looked up into a calm gaze as green as summer meadows. It washed softly over her, and for a hallucinogenic moment, it felt as if the best nurse in the world had come to soothe her, to love her, to take all the pain away.A small, private smile quirked the corner of the nurse’s mouth as she stared down, then a warm hand landed smack, flat on Mickey’s belly, causing her to jerk against her binds, setting off another torturous wave of head pain and moans.
“Well, Michaela,” Victoria continued cheerfully. “Actually, I think I prefer Mickey, so Mickey it is. Strange how the tables turn. Here we are, you tied to the bed, me up and about. Making decent coffee, using the bathroom unattended, ransacking your hovel of a home.” She scoffed at Mickey’s wide-eyed alarm. “Oh yes, I’ve been through all your papers, but apart from confirming you’re one Michaela Rapowski, and a big fat loser, I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for.”
Victoria stared at her ex-captor, a thin sheet covering Mickey’s nakedness. Victoria quite liked this situation. It was new to her and a little thrilling. She hadn’t played kinky games with Ginette, or any other of her few lovers, for that matter. But the concept of power play, in a sexual context, was intriguing to her. With a small shake she brought her thoughts back into focus.
She frowned at her mental drift back to last night. Mickey had a strange effect on her that way; she took her mind off to exciting new places. She had to be careful around her. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. Especially not now. She tore her eyes away. This would not do, not do at all. She had to concentrate better than this.
She refocused her thoughts. “If you were intelligent enough to ask me what I’m looking for, and let’s pretend you are and you have, I’d say I need to know the details of this ransom demand you’ve made. I need to know the reasons behind it and why it’s not been paid. And believe me, these details are the only reason your ass isn’t on display at the nearest women’s penitentiary shower block.”
Victoria smiled as Mickey’s eyes flashed with anger and more than a little trepidation. Mickey might be keeping silent, but her eyes spoke volumes, and Victoria found herself more than skilled in the translation . If only I could’ve seen her eyes instead of being blindfolded. All this would have been over in fifteen minutes flat. I can read her like a crisp new dollar bill.
Last night, for the first time, she could examine the features of her unconscious captor. Or was it captive? And she had to admit she found the woman attractive. Not in an obvious supermodel way like Ginette, but with a homespun cuteness. Mickey’s long, dark blond hair was laced with honeyed highlights from the long summer. Her features gave clues as to her childhood face, a short, straight nose spattered with pale freckles, and a wide, upturned mouth with little laughter creases, and best of all, one errant dimple in the left cheek. In slumber, the little indent was adorable and made Victoria want to dip the tip of her tongue in it. Combined with her big baby blues, Mickey was outright crack candy, and twice as addictive.
Victoria actually had to forbid herself from reaching out to stroke the softly flushed cheek after she had grunted and sweated and manhandled Mickey’s lanky frame back onto the bed. And Mickey’s body was another landmark discovery. To finally look at it, touch it, after it had been pressed against hers in urgency all night. She was tall, all legs really, but with soft curves and velvety tanned skin. Her breasts were slightly oversized for her rib cage, with small brown nipples. Her hips were curvaceous, with dark curls covering her sex. Slight tan lines showed she sun-worshipped topless but not naked. Three small moles nestled in an arc under her navel. Victoria had traced them gently with a fingertip. They reminded her of Orion’s belt. And finally, those big, ugly duckling hands and feet. Somebody came from farming stock. Victoria had smiled, running a finger over a ridge of relaxed knuckles before tucking a sheet around the prone body. For the rest of the night she sat quietly contemplating the woman who had split her open like volcanic crust.
This woman was her enemy, she reminded herself over and over again. An enemy who had somehow crept under her skin and under her defenses like a Trojan horse. It confused her, the immediacy of her feelings, the need
to be close, to simply sit and watch Mickey sleep. Victoria remembered her touch, and with a blush, each and every detail of last night.
She had to be very, very careful around Mickey. She had skills Victoria had never experienced. Ways and means to emotionally undermine her. To make her want things she blushed to even think about. To make her forget her cold, ruthless life and act like someone she could barely remember. Thankfully, Mickey, you are blissfully unaware of all this. But believe me, I will do my damnedest to flush you out of my system like the filthy little narcotic you are.
The only way Victoria knew to negate her emotions was through hard, relentless work, so she turned back to the task at hand. Michaela Rapowski, aka Mickey, and the unpaid ransom.
Victoria Gresham was worth millions. Her business empire was worth much, much more. She had been missing for over forty-eight hours. Why then was the world still spinning? How had Ginette missed the ransom e-mails? Where was she? Her ex hadn’t moved out of Victoria’s home. She should have received these demands.
Why had the police, the FBI, the media, not broken down the door of this shabby little shack and whisked her away in her private jet? The whole situation confounded her. Something was wrong, and she didn’t like it. And she intended to get to the root of the problem and resolve it.
“So what say you deal with me, and not the police, and cooperate, hmm? You mentioned something earlier about infringed intellectual copyright. I assume you were referring to yourself and your own…intellect?”
Silence. Victoria sighed. She trailed her fingers across the sheet, up along the flat belly, through that breathtaking valley, up a tanned column of throat, to cup Mickey’s stubborn chin. “First of all, I need to know your log-on and password.”
“No way,” Mickey spluttered. “If you think for one moment—aak.” Victoria wrapped a lank of honeyed hair around her fingers and gave a firm pull.
“Log-on.”
“Aah. Stop that. You’re hurting me. I never hurt you,” Mickey squeaked in a wounded voice, on the verge of tears at the sudden hurt.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I never realized there was a code of conduct for kidnappers. Is there a rulebook I need to read? Perhaps it’s the A to Z of Abduction? No? Then maybe Kidnapping for Dummies? But wait, I believe you still have to write that…from your prison cell. The one you’ll be sharing with Big Bertha the Bitch Breaker. Tell me the log-on, right now.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so nasty. I was good to you. I could have left you in the garage on that chair, but—”
“Oh, stop the whining. I need that log-on, and I’ll extract it like a stubborn tooth. It’s as simple as that.”
“Well, maybe I’ll exchange it for the money you owe me.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not in the market, because this information…” She gave another small tug, smiling at the corresponding yelp. Jeez, I’m not even yanking hard here. “…I can get for free. So tell me before I get bored and call the police. The only bargaining chip you have is that I want to know what’s going on from the inside. So be smart, Mickey, and spill.” She finished with another tug to underscore the demand.
“Ow, ow, okay, okay, it’s Victoria, password grabber, with a one instead of the second i, and a three instead of an e.”
“Good girl.” Geez, she has a pain threshold so low an earthworm couldn’t limbo under it. What a big baby. I can’t believe she crumbled over a little hair pulling.
Victoria stood over her, the cool air delightfully pebbling Mickey’s nipples under the thin cotton sheet. For a split second, Victoria had a flashback to her thunderous, mind-numbing orgasm last night. It was the best sex she’d had in her life. Before, she’d actually believed earth-shattering orgasms only existed in lesbian fiction. Her body blazed, and she blinked hard to clear her head. No, no, no. The witch is doing it again. For God’s sake, concentrate, Victoria. Distance yourself.
She turned and left the room, returning to the office with this new information. She needed to know what Ginette had or hadn’t been up to. Why the ransom demands were being ignored.
Something was not adding up.
❖
Mickey ruefully watched Victoria leave. Oh my God, what a monster! I can’t believe she pulled my hair…that’s…that’s torture.
She’s a bitch, pure and simple. She dropped her head onto the pillow. She was flummoxed and worried. This whole crappy, out-of-control escapade had just taken a turn for the absolute worst.
How could she rein it back in and turn her luck around? What were her actual chances of survival?
Mickey spent the rest of the morning blindfolded and tied to the bed, listening to a perpetual loop of Swiss cowbells that Victoria had especially downloaded for her.
“It’s esoteric.” She had smiled cheerfully. “You can meditate.”
Drained of all hope, Mickey lay wondering at the type of mind that could so casually conjure up such torment. Victoria Gresham was a grade-A little bastard if ever there was one. A monstrous aberration of Frankensteinian proportions! Despite her musings, she couldn’t stop the smile at the memory of last night.
Mickey found it hard to equate the small woman passionately trembling in her arms with the little bitch so casually torturing her now.
Mickey knew that last night the tables had been turned on her long before she was clubbed with a replica gun. She’d ambushed herself with the unexpected emotions she’d felt for her prisoner. No matter where she stood, as captor or captive, she couldn’t escape her growing attraction for Victoria. The true torture was that Victoria would never see her as anything more than an opportunistic thief.
Sighing heavily through the thirtieth rendition of melodious cowbells, she finally admitted she had been sucker punched. A full roundhouse to the head and the heart. She was seriously attracted to her tormentor. She had dropped her guard, lost her senses, momentarily set aside her plan, and was paying dearly for it now. Victoria Gresham was a witch, an evil, spellbinding sorceress, and Mickey was as witless as a newt around her. The nature of her need alarmed her, dulling her senses and fuzzing her brain. But the real question was how smart would she be when the opportunity came to run? Because it would come and come soon.The ringing of cowbells was mercifully and abruptly cut off and the blindfold was whipped away. Mickey looked blearily up into Victoria’s alarmed face.
“She took it all!” Victoria blurted, eyes wild with disbelief.
“What?”
“She cleared the account. Accounts.”
“What?”
“Ginette has cleared all the money out of my bank accounts.”
“What?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, any more watts and you’d be a lightbulb.” Victoria flumped heavily down onto the mattress so that Mickey bounced slightly.
“You’re telling me she cleared all the money out of your bank accounts when she should have been paying me my ransom?”
“Ransom? Your ransom? Who’s the one chained to the bed, doofus? You know something? I wouldn’t leave you in charge of a church collection plate, never mind a ransom note. ‘Please, can I have some of your money?’ Was that the best you could do?”
“Well, it’s not like I write them every day,” Mickey shot back. “And I didn’t want to sound threatening because I’m not a threatening person.”
“You drugged me, you maniac. And tied me up in a cellar. And had a gun. And a bomb. You’re telling me that’s not threatening?”
“I did not drug you. And it was a pretend gun, and anyway, you hit me with it. Hard. And the bomb was a vibrator. And I don’t even have a cellar. It was a garage.”
“You raped me.”
Silence, then, “I never.” Mickey’s eyes darkened with distress.
“I never Gin—Vict—I never. Don’t say that,” she finished softly, hurt and shame pulsing from her face in waves of scarlet.
Victoria shifted uncomfortably. Her accusation didn’t fit well with her either. But she would never admit that to Mickey.
“Well, I was blindfolded and tied up and…” she muttered, feeling suddenly very cheap and dishonest.
Mickey sighed. “How do you know she took your money? Did you check online?”
“No, I sent a carrier pigeon to my bank manager. Of course I checked online. I wanted to know why she was ignoring your pathetic bleats for money. And now I do. The bitch took the opportunity to clean me out while you had me conveniently tucked out of the way.”
As Mickey wisely digested this in silence, Victoria continued vehemently, “And the real charm is she’ll tell the authorities she took it all to pay the ransom demands you so kindly supplied. Not that you’ll see a penny of it.”
“And she’s cleared all the money out of your bank accounts?” Mickey seemed stuck in a perpetual loop at Ginette’s blatant abuse of kidnapping rules. Victoria glared and waited for Mickey to catch up.
“The bitch.” Finally, Mickey managed to break out of her circling pattern with suitable outrage. “We’ve gotta stop her!”
“And how do we do that, Daisy Duke, when you have us stuck out here in the rectum of Moonshine County? The money is already gone. Besides, some of the accounts she’s plundered… well, I can’t exactly go to the police, let’s put it that way.” Victoria sighed bitterly. “She knows exactly what she’s doing, taking advantage of my absence to get away with millions.”
“Millions?” Mickey squeaked. “We’ve got to trace it. She has to put it somewhere traceable. I mean, it sure ain’t in the glove compartment of her car!”
“The whole idea is that it can’t be traced. The accounts she’s tampering with belong to intermediary organizations. Shell companies I created to hold my…bonuses.”
Green-Eyed Monster Page 5
