“Follow me.”
He steps around me and strides toward the far side of the vast room. We round the corner to the modern shower that features a foot-wide rainforest showerhead and two limestone benches. Smooth pebbles in shades of soft cream and tan make up the floor of the cavernous space. There is no door, just a six inch tiled step.
As I’m taking everything in, he addresses me in his commanding voice. “Take everything off and shower. You need to clean those cuts. You have exactly five minutes.”
With that curt command he turns and disappears around the corner. I’m relieved to hear his heavy footfalls move back across the room, soon becoming imperceptible.
I’m hesitant to get naked, but he’s right. Who knows what type of infection could be setting in? I gently unravel the stained remnants of his t-shirt and place them in the small steel wastebasket that rests between two square, white sinks suspended by mahogany bases. According to Mr. Bossy, I only have five minutes, so I purposefully avert my eyes from the gore until I’m inside the shower. There I can assess and tend to my wounds.
It takes me a minute to undo the tie on my dress with only one hand but I manage. It pools at my feet. Next I shimmy out of my lace Tanga panties and drape them across one of the sinks.
It takes a second to figure out the foreign dials and levers, but soon a steaming cascade of water pours down from the fabulous showerhead. I cringe as the water hits my scrapes and bruises and I watch, detached, as swirls of blood disappear into the steel grate. As I inspect everything, I see that there is really only one cut that could use stitches, but my wrist is my biggest concern. It is quite swollen and feels very warm as I gingerly touch the joint. The sprain most likely needs to be tended to by a physician, but I can’t imagine that Mr. Cordial will be taking me to an ER anytime soon.
I reach for a bar of white soap that smells like ocean air. It’s a daunting task to lather but I manage and gently clean the myriad of cuts to the best of my ability. Next I tip a bottle of what I believe is shampoo onto my damp hair and go to town, doing my best to remove the dirt and matted blood.
Several times I catch myself swaying like a drunken freshman, clearly exhausted and low on fluids. Bracing a hand against the glass, I try to steady myself because I need to be quick. I really don’t want to give him any incentive to seeing me stark naked, so fainting isn’t an option.
Turning off the water, I peek out and spy a carved wooden ledge embedded in the stone wall nearby. Helping myself to the stack of fluffy white towels, I do my best to wrap up my torso. I hear movement in the room through the constant sound of rushing water, which must be coming from a river or waterfall. I go motionless as he rounds the corner and stares at me.
I watch him warily, fighting the urge to slink away. I’m in no position to throw sass or even to flee … just yet. So I wait as his scorching gaze rakes over me, traveling down to my bare feet and back up. The towel provides little protection, but I clutch it as if it’s my last lifeline.
His gravelly voice cuts through the air. “Come to the bed.”
Noooooo!
I refuse to see where this might be leading. Is this why he wanted me to shower? To be clean for him? Could he be so ruthless as to have his way with me hours after a car crash? What a sick bastard!
When I remain still, clearly defying him, he takes one large step into my personal space. With a firm downward tug, he rips the towel clean off me. I gasp and grab for it, but he’s faster and flings it behind him. I let out a single, shocked cry as his thick fingers harshly pinch my left nipple.
The pain is so searing and unexpected that it causes me to immediately yell, “Oh, okaaaay!”
I step forward quickly, right into him, trying to show that I’ll listen. He’s watching me with a displeased frown on his painfully handsome face, yet he says not a word. Only when I fully comply, blinking rapidly to fight the tears, does he release my throbbing little bud.
Nearly racing the fifteen feet to his bed, I turn to face him. Once I reach the end of the huge frame, I’m not sure if he wants me to climb up onto the mattress or not. The fact that I’m totally nude does not escape his attention. His eyes are latched onto my breasts. I ever so slightly shift my shoulders back and forth, which allows long wet strands of air to fall forward and brush against my stomach. Some kind of shield is better than nothing.
As he closes in on me, he seems to be wrestling hard for internal control. His broad shoulders are tight, and his steps are slow and measured. He locks eyes with me. The light streaming in through the windows illuminates his vivid, clear gray eyes, teeming with heady lust. I shiver in both trepidation and unchecked arousal. There’s something about him, something so luring and potent that causes every cell in my body to cry out for his touch.
“Sit on the bed and hold your arms out to me,” he says in a rough whisper.
I hop up on the high bed and raise both my arms, uncertain where this is going. My eyes silently plead for mercy. He has a black Tiger Paw—a martial arts wristguard—clasped in one of his big hands.
He gently slips it around my injured wrist and straps the Velcro band around twice, securing it firmly in place. It’s not a proper brace or Ace bandage by any means, but it will do. Next he reaches into the pocket of his slacks, revealing a large white sterile gauze pad and a roll of surgical tape. He places the dressing over the one deep cut that is still bleeding and uses the tape to fasten it around my arm.
“The others will heal with air.” He inclines his head slightly back toward the shower area and adds, “There’s pain medicine in the cabinet.”
I remain silent, not wanting to provoke him as he steps away from me. He purposefully keeps his eyes on my face, avoiding my nude body. Curious. I want to race over to the discarded towel to shield myself from this moody stranger, but I hold stock-still. My knees, which are firmly pressed together, begin to quiver from nerves.
Without a word, he turns and crosses the extensive room. I exhale a sigh of relief that he’s not going to molest me. Yet. He stops at the top of the steps, with his back to me.
His low voice shoots through the room like an arrow whizzing through a forest.
“I’m heading back to Zagreb to return the boss’ car. I will return later today. Should you try to run, the dogs will rip you to pieces. But if you were to somehow get past them, the closest building you would find is a military outpost three miles up the road. I dare you to walk into that place, wearing that provocative dress, without a male escort. You would be raped until your body was no longer warm.”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip at his morbid words. Maybe he’s bluffing? Regardless, his graphic warning is convincing. Without waiting for a response, he disappears down the steps.
I nearly collapse on the spot from the tension of the situation. Thoughts of fleeing flood my head as I race for the discarded white towel. I’ve got to find a way to turn the tables on him.
What does he want with me?
After wrapping the soft towel around my body, I turn to stare out the wide window at the misting waterfall below. For a long time I fight back the tears that threaten to spill over.
Chapter Five
Bluffing
“You took care of the bitch?”
I take a deep breath, not liking how this is starting off. “Yeah, she was half dead anyway after I shot out her tire. You saw the photos of the wreck.”
Juric uncrosses his legs and leans forward. He takes a small sip of his espresso before reviewing the images of the accident for the third time.
“I would like details, please.”
Sick fucker. Good thing I’m prepared to give them to him.
In an almost bored tone I say, “She was dragged over to the Maserati, thrown in—hence the mess—and driven out of town to a remote part of the Sava River. Couldn’t chance that someone would find her body in the car.”
He watches me with deadly interest.
I continue on, “She was coming around in the car, so I reached ov
er and snapped her neck. It was quick. I kept her purse and threw her body into the water. The current was swift last night. By the time someone finds her, she will be unrecognizable. There will be no link. One call to Goran at the Wet Works Club and the security tape of her talking with us last night will be erased. I’ll make certain of it.”
Juric purses his lips in thought and finally nods. “Okay, Zoran, very well then. Be certain to pay off Goran for the favor. Excellent work. I’m sure you realize that the rest of your men lost her team in their pursuit last night?”
“Yes. I am aware of this.”
“I want her belongings.”
I hand over the black leather clutch purse, knowing exactly what is left in it. More importantly, what has been removed. Juric would lose his fucking mind if he knew what she accessed on his computer. Seeing as nothing was done with it and the design is safe in my competent hands, there is nothing further to discuss. I stand to leave.
Juric begins to speak, obviously not finished with me. “Sonia Reese, 512 Oak Street, Chicago, Illinois. This is undoubtedly a fake identification card, Zoran. She thought she could mess with a bull and look what it got her. Stupid, beautiful girl. What a waste. She would have been a fantastic fuck, too, with that tight body of hers.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, and struggle to reveal nothing. It’s not a difficult task. I’m more accustomed to masking emotion than showing it.
“I’m taking two weeks off, effective now.” My look dares my pompous employer to challenge me.
Lowering his pansy-ass espresso cup, he asks in an annoyingly refined tone that’s all business, “Do you think that is wise? After what just occurred with the American? What, did the death of the pretty girl affect you?”
Is he dense enough to try and antagonize me? Fuck him. He may sign my hefty paychecks because he can’t defend himself but that doesn’t give him the right to start up with the insinuations. I’m shutting this shit down. Now.
In a tight voice, I reiterate my earlier statement, “I told you what I’m doing. I won’t say it again. I took out a woman for you last night and now I’m taking a long overdue break.”
I turn to make my way off the sunlit, stone veranda without so much as a goodbye.
Juric knows not to fuck with me. He could hire more expensive security, but he certainly couldn’t find more experienced and ruthless guards. My four men will keep things secure while I’m away. They’ve been well trained to act in my absence, but I plan to contact them later today and give them explicit instructions on how to keep on top of everything while I’m away.
For now my top priority is to get back to Villa Vranic, right after a few necessary stops in town. The V-8 engine of my matte black H1 Hummer roars to life and I waste no time ripping out of the ridiculously detailed circular driveway.
As soon as I get home, a shower and a hot meal are at the top of my list. And afterwards, a long overdue chat with my princeza ….
***
“Fire now, Carew!”
My father, in his starched, tan military uniform, stands behind me, instructing me on how to best hit the moving target. I take the shot … and miss. Again.
“Focus! You’re distracted. In combat, a distraction will get you the top prize, my girl: death. Now go again. You’ll stay here until you land ten in a row.”
I redouble my efforts, wanting to succeed, wanting so desperately to please him ….
Through a fog, a loud crunching sound registers in my sleepy brain, jerking me fully awake and banishing the old memory. My eyes fly open. I lift my head from the down pillow and blink twice. Leaning casually on one hip against the rail at the top of the steps is a man. A supremely hot man, who looks a hell of a lot like Zoran.
While munching on a vivid, red apple, he watches me clutch the white duvet in open amusement. He’s wearing a fitted gray t-shirt and dark green cargo pants that have a multitude of pockets. His feet are bare and his black hair is cut precisely with a little bit of wave that pushes it back off his flawless face.
Zoran’s brother. It must be. Only their eyes are different. This guy’s are a soft hazel color. Not nearly as severe or as beautiful as his frightening brother’s. He’s younger for sure. It’s hard to tell but he might be thirty-two or thirty-three. Same imposing height but a leaner build, like a surfer or a soccer player. Zoran looks like a daunting cage fighter, or to be even more accurate, a gladiator.
He speaks to me first in Croatian. “Jeste li Hrvatica?” Are you Croatian?
“N-no.” I push up from the soft mattress with my good arm. Clearing my throat, I answer in English, “I’m American.”
He watches me for a long moment and thankfully switches to English. “American, huh? I’m Balthazar, but you can call me ‘B.’ Everyone does. I see that Tigar got you. What’s your name?”
I shake my head, not understanding his statement. A tiger got me? Does he think that’s what happened to my cut-up arms? I’m still trying to wake up from my deep sleep.
“I’m s-sorry?” I stammer.
He still looks amused, and he chuckles as he says, “My brother. His given name is Zoran but anyone close to him calls him Tigar. That’s why you’re here, right? Tigar brought you? Because nobody in their right mind would ever attempt to break into this house. I asked your name. You have one, right?”
Tigar? Perplexing. Pronounced with a rolled ‘R,’ it is even sexier than the English version of the word.
“It’s Carew. Do you live here?” I ask curiously, right before I question myself for offering up my real name to this stranger!
“No. I just got off work and swung by to hit the basement gym for a workout. Carew? Never heard that name before. It’s different. You’re a long way from home, blondie.”
I sit up and the soft blanket moves down a bit. His eyes sweep over the bandage on my arm and the guard on my left wrist. He tenses visibly, and his aspect becomes more menacing. He pushes off the doorframe and straightens as he asks, “Somebody hurt you?” His voice sounds tight.
“Not exactly. I was, ah, in a car accident last night. Listen, could you give me a ride to the nearest town? I need to get back to Zagreb International Airport.” Like yesterday. “I already missed my flight. I’m really late, actually.”
Act calm ….
Intelligent eyes assess me for a moment. Without answering, he pulls out his mobile. My hope is unraveling like a ball of yarn, and B is the cat. I listen to his rapid conversation in his native tongue, only catching, “She’s here,” along with, “Yeah, all right.”
I stare at the ceiling and puff out an annoyed breath. Shit, back to square one! I should have known they would be on the same page.
“Come on, blondie. I’ve been instructed to get you something to eat. Follow me to the kitchen. Tigar will be home in a few hours. He had some errands to run in downtown Zagreb.”
I pull the puffy comforter farther up, hesitant to step out. My towel is on a chair nearby. “I only have a towel.”
“No problem.”
He strides over to a large, beautifully detailed armoire and opens it up. From what I can see there is a lot of black … and camo. Ugh! This Zoran guy is ex-military for sure. This day just keeps getting better.
“Here. This will have to do.”
Without coming close to me, he tosses a neatly folded white bundle my way. I watch it sail through the air and land on the foot of the bed with a flop.
“See you downstairs. Chop-chop, blondie, because I need to do my workout and I still have to make something for you to eat.”
Bizarre. At least he seems normal and not threatening in the least. How in the world can one brother be so lighthearted and the other such a force of nature?
I cautiously reach for the t-shirt as he disappears down the staircase.
Flipping back the comforter, I rise slowly to my feet and unfold the shirt. As I slide the soft cotton over my head, I immediately pick up that intoxicating vanilla and spice scent that is so disti
nctly Zoran. I shiver as it affects me in an almost primal way.
The XL white shirt hits just above my knees. Thankfully the four Advil I took earlier are still coursing through my system. The pain is bearable now and I’m grateful, because it really sucked in a bad way.
Before I passed out, I had the forethought to rinse out my dress and black undies in the sink. I nearly fainted when I saw the quantities of blood that came out of my dress. The panties are dry now and I slide them on, tugging on the hem of the t-shirt to pull it down as far as it will go.
Earlier, just after Zoran left, I briefly snuck downstairs and peeked out the front window. The ‘beast patrol’ was in full prowl mode. He was right; they wouldn’t think twice about snacking on me.
I was too weak to explore the rest of the house at that point, so I crept back up and downed the Advil with a handful of water from the sink. Then I rummaged about for a weapon. I found a pair of sharp scissors in a drawer in the armoire and tucked them beneath the pillow before collapsing in much-needed sleep. Thank God Balthazar didn’t come in while I was searching through his brother’s house.
Looking in the suspended oval mirror of the bathroom area, I study my reflection. I look nearly normal after the long rest. Well, with the exception of the apprehensive look in my eyes and the gash on my arm. Both are definitely not things I’m used to seeing. A wooden-handled bristle brush rests on a shelf near where I found the towels, and I go to work on my hair. Thankfully my hair is straight and has dried without matting up.
Why the hell should I even care? For one reason alone. I’m unbelievably attracted to Zoran and on some level I know that he saved my life. He could have killed me. Probably should have, since it was within the parameters of his job. But he didn’t.
I will never let him know this, of course, but still …. I’m fully aware of the facts. His dominant nipple tweak was unbearably hot, and even if I hadn’t been sure before, there was no mistaking my attraction after that. But what the hell was that? Am I into kink? Probably just a fluke reaction to this jacked up situation. Let’s hope so ….
Captured in Croatia Page 6
