Uncut Bundle

by Susan Stephens

  “You can come out now.”

  “What happened? Why did the alarm go off?”

  The look on his face changed. It became…sheepish?

  “It was an accident. Evalina—”

  “Evalina?”

  “Yeah. Evalina saw the Escalade going through the village, then turning down the road. She decided to drop by to see if it was really me, but she didn’t punch in the security code in time.”

  Evalina, Mia thought, and hated herself for the swift rush of anger that swept through her.

  “See, she knows I haven’t been here in—in a very long time, so when she saw the SUV—”

  “She was too thrilled to think straight.” Mia started to flounce past him. “How nice for you bo—”

  Matthew’s hand closed around her shoulder. “What’s the matter, baby?” His voice was lazy with amusement. “Jealous?”

  “Saddened. That any woman would be so thrilled to see you that she’d break into your house.”

  A grin spread across his face. “You are jealous.”

  “You wish.”

  “Evalina,” he said, “is my housekeeper.”

  His housekeeper. The explanation brought a flood of relief, and that only made her more angry. Why should she care?

  “She comes by each week, cleans the place, whatever.”

  “It’s none of my business what she does or what she is.”

  “You’re right,” he said, turning her to him. “It isn’t. Just so we understand each other…” He paused. “If she were my lover, I wouldn’t hide it. And I wouldn’t have made a move on you.”

  Mia felt her face heat. “An unfortunate incident,” she said stiffly.

  “That I made the move?” A cool smile angled over his lips. “Or that you responded to it?”

  He could tell by the burn in her cheeks that she knew better than to answer. Instead she pulled away from him. He let her do it. What had happened before was just what she’d called it, an unfortunate incident, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let it happen again.

  The best way to ensure that was to keep his hands off her.

  “I assume you want to wash up.” He jerked his head to the side. “The powder room’s there. I’ll wait for you.”

  “There’s no need to wait for me.”

  “Of course there is.” He gave her a taut smile. “A gentleman always escorts a lady to dinner.”

  “Is there a gentleman here? I hadn’t noticed. Besides, I’m not hungry.”

  “You afraid of my cooking? Don’t be. Evalina’s making dinner.”

  “I said, I’m not hungry.”

  “Fine. You can sit and watch me eat.”

  “I won’t do any such thing.”

  “Yes,” he said grimly, “you will. You’ll sit when I sit, walk when I walk, do what I do or I’ll take the easy way out, tie you up, stash you here and inactivate the exit button. It’s called a safe room,” he said, reading the question in her eyes. “Come to think of it, maybe it’s where I should keep you on general principle.”

  “On second thought,” she said, her words dipped in acid, “I might be a bit hungry.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a thin smile, “that’s what I thought.”

  There was a formal dining room off the kitchen, but Matthew said they’d eat in the breakfast nook.

  The king, Mia thought coldly, playing at being humble before his subjects… although Evalina seemed to treat him without any formality.

  She was a round, cheerful woman who babbled incessantly as she prepared and served their meal.

  Mia could only understand some of what she said. She’d taken two years of Spanish in college and a crash course before she went to work for Douglas in Colombia, but what people spoke in the sophisticated restaurants and offices of Cartagena had little in common with Evalina’s Indian dialect.

  Matthew, on the other hand, slipped into it easily. He grinned and laughed, and Evalina blushed with delight each time he did.

  It was easy to see she had a crush on him.

  If only she knew what he was really like, Mia thought as she ate. And she did eat, despite what she’d said. The food was wonderful, and she was famished. All she’d had since last night was coffee.

  And now, night was closing in again.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for Evalina. Knowing the housekeeper was sleeping under the same roof would surely keep Matthew from—from—

  What was the woman doing?

  “Evalina?” Mia’s fork clattered against her plate. “Evalina, wait…” Too late. A cheerful wave and the housekeeper slipped out the kitchen door. Mia stared at Matthew. “Where did she go?”

  “Home.”

  He was mopping up the last of his sancocho with a chunk of arepa, as if the beef stew and corn meal biscuits were all he had on his mind.

  “Doesn’t she live here?”

  “She lives in a village a couple of miles away.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I know what you thought.” He put down his fork, patted his lips with his napkin and flashed the kind of smile that turned her spine icy. “Sorry to disappoint you, baby, but you and I get to spend the night alone.”

  The man who’d joked with Evalina, complimented her on her cooking, was gone. He’d been replaced by the stranger who’d abducted her hours ago, a lifetime ago, from a dingy room in a nameless town.

  Mia forced herself to look directly at him.

  “If you try anything,” she said, “I’ll kill you.”

  A lazy grin curved his lips. “With what? Your bare hands?”

  If she were a real agent, she could. Agents learned things like that. But she’d been trained in less than two weeks, snatched from her quiet secretarial desk in Intelligence and dropped into a nightmare.

  Still, you didn’t have to be a spy to know that backing away from a challenge was almost always a mistake.

  “I’ll do whatever I have to,” she said, with what she thought was admirable coolness.

  His smile disappeared as he shoved back his chair and got to his feet. “In that case,” he said softly, “let’s get started.”

  So much for bluffing.

  His hand closed on her shoulder. She tried not to wince at the pressure.

  “Stand up, Mia.”

  “No.” The breath hissed from her lungs. “I swear, if you—”

  “Stand up!”

  The pain was almost unbearable. Gritting her teeth, she did as he’d ordered. He marched her from the kitchen, along the hall, back into the library. Her heart raced. Was he going to lock her in the safe room?

  “Sit.”

  She sat, almost falling into a chair that faced an enormous fieldstone fireplace.

  Matthew went to a cabinet. Took out a bottle and filled two balloon-shaped glasses. Held out one to her. She stared at it as if it might burst into flames at any minute.

  “For God’s sake,” he growled, “it’s brandy. Watch.” He brought one glass to his lips, drank and swallowed, then did the same with the other and offered her the glass again. “Drink. Maybe it’ll put some color back in your face.”

  She accepted the glass and took a small sip. The brandy was wonderful, warm and darkly rich. She shut her eyes, let its fire trickle down her throat, then licked the taste from her lips.

  When she lifted her lashes, she saw Matthew watching her. Watching the progress of her tongue across her mouth.

  His eyes met hers. “Good?” he said, his voice husky.

  She nodded, and he sat down across from her, rolling his glass between his palms to heat the brandy before finally lifting it to his lips and taking a drink.

  “It’s time to get down to business.”

  Her heart thumped and she fought to keep the fear from showing in her face.

  “We don’t have any business.”

  “Wrong.” His eyes narrowed. “We do.”

  The glass she’d wrapped both hands around began to tremble. The thing to do now was stay calm. Impre
ss him with her honesty.

  “Look,” she said, striving for sincerity, “I understand that Douglas hired you to find me. Well, you found me. Tell him that. Call him up, tell him you did what he employed you to do and then tell him—tell him I don’t want to go back to Cartagena.” Did she sound sincere or desperate? “Then you just let me walk away.”

  He smiled thinly. “You walk away and I return to Cartagena, empty-handed.”

  “He’ll still pay you. I mean, he’ll see that you’ve done your job.”

  “He’s not paying me.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Then why…?”

  “Why did you run away?”

  She stood up. “We’ve been over this already. I left him.”

  “You ran. There’s a difference. I want to know the reason.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Matthew shot to his feet. A second later, he had her backed against the wall, his hands hard on her shoulders.

  “Did he beat you?”

  “No.”

  “Abuse you?”

  “No. Damn it, let go of me.”

  “Is that the reason you became a thief?”

  Mia’s heart tripped. She thought of the miniature computer disk, concealed in the compact in her purse, and the information it contained.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Give me a break, baby. Hamilton told me everything. He caught you using the embassy mail pouch to smuggle cocaine. He put his neck on the line, covering for you, and you repay him by running away.” His fingers bit into her flesh. “He doesn’t know the reason, but I do. You ran with a stash of coke.”

  Did she laugh? Did she cry? Which was better, that Matthew think she’d stolen drugs…or that he learned that what she’d actually stolen would put Douglas Hamilton and a cartel drug lord in a federal prison forever?

  It didn’t matter.

  She couldn’t tell him anything. Besides, why would he give a damn? His job was to find her and bring her back to Cartagena.

  No way was she going back. She knew, all too well, what awaited her there.

  “Where is it? Where did you hide the dope?”

  “Douglas lied,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “He told you that story so you’d find me and take me back, but it isn’t true. There are no drugs. I ran from him because—because he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  Matthew’s mouth twisted. “Those separate bedrooms,” he said softly. “Hell, who could blame him? You’re his fiancée.”

  She swallowed dryly. Maybe the truth, as much as she could reveal of it, would work.

  “I worked for him in the States. When I came to Cartagena as his personal assistant, he said he had a big house with lots of empty rooms, and that it would be simpler if I lived there.” Simpler for her to get the dirt on him, too, as the Agency wanted, but she wasn’t about to reveal any of that.

  Was it true? Matthew’s eyes narrowed. It would explain the separate bedrooms, but he wasn’t born yesterday.

  “That’s a nice story.”

  “It’s what really happened. It was fine, for a while, but then—then he began saying things. Doing things.” That was the truth, too. Just remembering it made her skin crawl—and now, it was time to start embellishing the story. “I told him I’d report him.”

  “And?”

  “And, he said nobody would believe me. I’m a nobody. He’s an army colonel with a brilliant career record.”

  Matthew let go of her and folded his arms. “So you decided to run.”

  “Yes.”

  “To take a little road trip through an area thick with bandits and insurgents.” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “Exactly what most women do, when their fiancés suggest a little hanky-panky.”

  “Didn’t you hear a word I just told you? He’s not my fiancé.”

  He smiled coldly. He didn’t believe her. Well, why would he? He was right. Taken at face value, her story was full of holes but what else could she tell him? She’d already come dangerously close to forgetting that he worked for a man who wanted what she had badly enough to kill her for it.

  For all she knew, Matthew was toying with her. Good cop, bad cop. Nobody ever said that one actor couldn’t take both roles…especially if he discovered that his prisoner trembled at his touch.

  All at once, everything came into sharp focus. The darkness, closing in around the house. The silence. The seemingly endless forest and mountains that separated them from the rest of the world.

  The man standing inches from her, arms folded so that every muscle in his torso stood in sharp relief.

  Mia’s heartbeat quickened. She took a step back.

  “It’s late. And I’m exhausted. Do you plan on letting me get some sleep, or is this interrogation going to go on until I collapse?”

  “Interrogation?” His lips drew back from his teeth. “Baby, you don’t know what the word means. All we’re doing is having a conversation.” He glanced at his watch. “But you’re right. It’s late and it’s been one hell of a long day. I’d say yeah, it’s definitely time to call it a night.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Let’s go to bed.”

  This time, her heart leaped into her throat.

  “What—what does that mean?”

  “Why, sugar, what do you think it means?”

  His smile was one part sex, one part torment. He clasped her elbow but Mia refused to move.

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Mr. Knight.”

  “Can’t get that name straight, can you, baby? It’s Matthew. I mean, considering the circumstances, it would be foolish to stand on formalities.”

  “I said—”

  “Yeah. I heard what you said.” His tone, and his smile, hardened. So did the grip of his hand. “Seems to me we’ve been over this ground already. You’ll do what you’re told.”

  “No.” Her voice was shaky but she forced her eyes to stay steady on his. “I won’t sleep with—”

  She gasped as his hand slipped to her wrist. His fingers dug into the tender flesh.

  “Get moving.”

  “Matthew. Please—”

  “Enough,” he growled, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder.

  Shrieking, she pounded her fists against his back. He ignored her, carried her through the dark house and into an enormous room where he dumped her on her feet and flicked on the lights.

  “My bedroom,” he said tonelessly. “I hope the accommodations suit the lady.”

  “Don’t do this! You aren’t the kind of man who’d—who’d—”

  “Aren’t I?” Matthew locked the door. Then he turned to Mia, his eyes like slivers of emerald ice. “So far, you’ve accused me of being everything from muscle for hire to a killer. Why wouldn’t I be happy to add rape to that list?”

  “Because,” she said, heart thumping. “Because—”

  “Never mind.” He strode past her, his body brushing hers, and fell back against the pillows ranged along the teak headboard of a massive bed. “I’m too tired for this crap. You want to make this out to be rape, that’s your problem.” He yawned, folded his arms behind his head and toed off his boots, which clattered to the tiled floor. “The shower’s through there. You first.”

  “If you really think I’m going to—to get myself ready for—for—”

  “Sweet mother of God,” Matthew roared. Mia shrank back. Too late. He grabbed her, hustled her into a bathroom that seemed bigger than most people’s houses, and turned on the overhead spray in a shower stall big enough for a party.

  “Get your clothes off.”

  “I won’t. I told you—”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  She gasped and put up her fists, which would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so damned tired.

  Instead he swatted her hands away as if they were nothing but fruit flies, then undressed her with clinical efficiency, tugging off her T-shirt, peeling off her sandals, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them down her l
egs.

  She fought hard. Slapped. Kicked. Cried and shouted and called him names.