by Linda Cajio
“Okay,” he said, and got up.
“I want my own room,” she said.
He grinned wickedly. “Only if it’s mine.”
“Miles!” she screeched at him, but he calmly walked out of the room.
This was only supposed to happen in pirate stories, she thought, frustration and panic running through her. She felt too much like a heroine helplessly trussed to a pirate king’s bed. So when did Errol Flynn come crashing through the window to rescue her? No time soon, she bet. Instead, she was at the mercy of Miles Kitteridge.
She closed her eyes and shuddered. He was just trying to scare her with this prisoner business, she told herself. He really didn’t mean to keep her until she confessed. He couldn’t. He would probably only keep her until the morning to put the fear of Miles into her.
She leaned her head back, weary from the lack of sleep, weary from wrestling in the dirt with him, and weary from the aftermath of tension. She was worried about her car too. That wasn’t the best place to abandon a vehicle for any length of time.
What frightened her the most was being alone with Miles. Turning her in to the family wasn’t the worst thing he could do to her. Sitting close to her, touching her, that was the worst he could do. She knew all of her anger would melt away if he showed her the slightest tenderness, gave her the lightest kiss. She was simply much too vulnerable with him.
She would just have to stay awake, she vowed. Very awake.
• • •
Miles walked back into the study, carefully balancing a loaded tray.
“I brought you some cheese and crackers,” he began, then looked up. Catherine was sound asleep, her head back between her arms. “But I guess you’re not hungry.”
He set the tray on a small table, then picked up a bottle of beer and an apple. Settling onto the sofa, he said, “You’re missing one heck of a snack.”
A very faint, very genuine snore answered him.
“Thank you for that editorial comment.”
He took a sip of beer, then a bite of the apple, the bitter and the tastes clashing in his mouth.
Just like Catherine, he thought.
Catherine slowly surfaced from a black void.
Soft sweet kisses brushed along her cheek, her jaw. Enticing lips grazed hers, strayed away, then returned, teasing and tormenting. She sighed as the kiss deepened, those wonderful lips moving over hers in a rhythm that swirled through her senses. Tongues mated in a slow, sensual dance. Strong hands caressed her back, the curve of her hip. She tried to reach up and embrace her dream lover, but she couldn’t move her hands …
The night came back with a vengeance.
Her eyes snapped open to meet Miles’s amused gaze. She scooted away from the warm hard body next to hers, but she didn’t scoot far.
Her tied wrists jerked her back. She was no longer tied to the file cabinet. Instead, she was tied to Miles, her two wrists to one of his. They were lying together, pressed disconcertingly close, on his couch.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
“Miles, you son of a—”
“Tsk, Catherine. Such language.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t get to say it yet.”
“But you will.”
“You bet.” Her head was full and pounding as if she had a bad hangover. She desperately wanted to yell and scream her frustrations at him, but she refused to appear anything but calm and cool in front of him. “Miles, I cannot believe you are doing this.”
He ran his forefinger down her cheek. “I know. Brilliance comes along only once in a lifetime. Maybe twice. Do you remember when I asked you into my bed?”
She wasn’t likely to forget, not now. The scent of him, musky and unique, surrounded her. The warmth and strength of his body was a magnet pulling her closer. Holding herself still against the sensual shiver that threatened to run through her, she said, “Yes.”
“And here you are tied to me.” He smiled. “Not exactly how I expected things to work, but we did spend the night together.”
“I’m thrilled to my toes. By the way, are you planning to leave me tied up and alone for the rest of the day while you’re at the bank?”
“If I have to, I will. Or maybe I’ll ask Grandmother to come over and watch you again.”
“Lettice would let me go,” she said triumphantly.
He chuckled. “You don’t know my grandmother very well. This is the kind of thing that would tickle her.”
He sounded so sure, she wondered if he was right. As she gazed at him, she knew he was prepared to go on with this absurd charade for days. And she wouldn’t be able to take even another morning of this. Feeling defeated, she asked, “What will it take, Miles?”
His humor vanished, and his gaze searched hers. “What did you do last night?”
She hesitated, then finally answered, “All I will say is that it will be annoying but it won’t hurt anybody.”
“Not good enough.”
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
“I can take it.” He ran his hand up and down her arm, sending signals of delight throughout her body.
“You can’t leave me alone in the house,” she said desperately, all too aware of their cramped space. “What if there’s a fire?”
“I told you, I’ll get my grandmother to watch you.”
“Isn’t there another way?”
He thought for a moment, his hand blessedly stilling.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “If I could trust your word—”
“I do have some integrity, you know,” she snapped. “I will honor any agreement you and I make.”
“I almost believe you.”
“Miles.”
He sighed. “I don’t suppose Grandmother would babysit forever. Will you confess?”
“No. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway. You could never explain how you knew without everyone thinking you’re in cahoots with Earth Angel.”
“I’m lying on a couch with her, actually.” He smiled thoughtfully. “You have a point, though.”
“Well, since you’re willing to compromise, I suppose I should too.”
He nodded. “So you’ll agree to stay with me and not run away?”
“Live here?” Her voice was a squeak of alarm. She cleared her throat.
“Someone has to watch over you.”
“I’m not a child.”
His hand slid up her arm and around her shoulder. He pulled her closer. “No,” he murmured, “you’re not a child.”
She craned her head back as his lips grazed her neck. “Not like this, Miles. How good is your word?”
“My word is perfect,” he said, backing off slightly in effront.
She hid her sigh of relief, thinking madly. The shut valves would be discovered in a day or two at the most, and she wouldn’t have to confess anything. Still, she preferred not to spend that time trussed up in Miles’s house. “Then let’s see how perfect it is. I’ll agree not to escape if you agree to be a perfect gentleman.”
He frowned at her. “I’m not sure I like your terms.”
“And I don’t like yours, so we’re even.”
“How long?”
“I’ll stay until they discover Earth Angel’s latest exploit.”
“Done.”
He had taken the bargain so fast, she wondered if he saw a loophole she didn’t. The thought was frightening.
“I’ll untie you and you’ll come to the office with me,” he said. “In fact, everywhere I go, you will go.” He grinned. “You’ll make a big splash in the executive washroom.”
“I just promised I wouldn’t escape!” she exclaimed.
He pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. “I simply want a little reassurance over the next few days, okay? After your performance last night—”
“All right!” Anything to get untied and away from his body, she thought. She didn’t trust herself with him.
He released her. “Spoilsport.”
/> “Could I be untied now?” she asked. “I haven’t wet my pants since I was five, and I’d like to keep that record.”
He scowled. “You know how to kill a mood too.”
She smiled happily. “Thank you.”
Miles signed the stack of letters his secretary had left on his desk, all the time acutely conscious of Catherine sitting on his office sofa. She was curled up with a book, the picture of complete innocence. He knew better.
He could just imagine the rumors spreading throughout the bank about her being in his office. His secretary had been in and out four times so far that morning on minor stuff, wanting to peek at his visitor. Personally, he didn’t care what anyone’s speculations were, and Catherine seemed oblivious to it.
So far she had kept her word. She had preferred to shower and change clothes in her town house, and he had waited patiently through the process, half braced for her to attempt to escape. She hadn’t. In fact, she had come down with a bag packed, clearly ready to fulfill their bargain.
The thought of her attached to his hip twenty-four hours a day started his blood pounding. He doubted if he would tire of her for a single minute. Even now, just knowing she was there did things to his system that excited and soothed him at the same time. Viking princes must have felt the same when they took a prized captive back home.
He must be going nuts, he thought. For all the trouble Catherine caused, he couldn’t understand why he felt so damned good at the moment. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
“By the way,” he said. She looked up from her book, and he went on, “I haven’t gotten an answer yet from my friend on who your grandfather made his will with. But it will turn up.”
She smiled obliquely. “And when it does, will I actually get to see it? Or will it disappear into the mists?”
“Don’t be prickly, Catherine,” he warned, suppressing his irritation at her questions. “I have yet to break my word, unlike you.”
She had the grace to flush before she turned back to her book.
He resisted the urge to apologize. There was nothing he needed to apologize for, dammit. Anyway, he didn’t want to fight with her. He only wanted her.
He had promised to be a gentleman, but he hadn’t promised to resist her if she tried to seduce him. He smiled. Confessions and codicils be damned. He knew what he wanted, and a little wooing just might get it for him. A perfectly legitimate loophole in their agreement. He was batting three for three in brilliant ideas.
And once Catherine was in his bed, he doubted he’d ever let her out of it again.
The words on the page blurred together as Catherine got a wonderfully wicked idea.
She couldn’t, she thought.
Yes, she could, a little voice told her. She had only agreed not to run away. But she hadn’t agreed not to do any more Earth Angel missions. She could go out, do one, and come back, and not break the agreement they had. It was a legitimate loophole, so what could Miles do?
Probably kill her anyway.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His head was bent over his work, the thick dark hair perfectly groomed as always. Under that urbane appearance, though, was a rock hard man who twisted her in knots.
“Miles, my car,” she said, suddenly remembering he had taken her keys the night before to have it moved. “Where’s my car?”
“At my housekeeper’s house. Her husband went and got it for me. They’ll bring it around to the house today. Why?”
“I wondered if you remembered it.”
He grinned smugly. “Yes, I managed, despite all the excitement you provide.”
It would be lovely to outwit him, she thought. “Please thank them for me.”
“Of course.”
He went back to his work, and she made a decision.
Earth Angel would strike again.
Six
“I want my own bedroom.”
Miles had been expecting this request all evening. In fact, he was very surprised Catherine hadn’t made it before the eleven o’clock news.
She turned in her chair and looked at him. Her expression was carefully polite and completely stubborn. “I want my own bedroom, Miles, or all bargains are off.”
“I never said I wouldn’t give one to you,” he said in a mild tone. What was going on inside him was hardly mild, though. Having her in any bedroom but his own was the last thing he wanted. Unfortunately, about halfway through the day he’d realized that there was a major flaw in their bargain. Still, if he didn’t give in on this point, she would be gone in an instant. “Go pick your room.”
“Thank you.” She stood up and stretched.
Miles choked back a groan as she arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward. His hands ached to flow over her curves, to entice her soft nipples into seductive points, to discover the tautness of her waist, the cradle of her hips …
“I’ll come with you,” he said, standing up.
She turned around. “I can be trusted to find myself a bedroom.”
He grinned. “I was lonely without you.”
“I hadn’t gone yet.”
“It was the thought, Catherine. Besides, a good host should show a guest around.”
“I’m not your guest. I’m your prisoner.”
“A good warden should ensure that no Geneva Convention agreements on prison conditions are being broken.”
“You’re a paladin of comedians, Miles,” she said dampeningly, and strode out of the room.
Miles followed happily. Macho men had no idea what they were missing by having women walk behind them, he mused. Men belonged behind women, drooling in pleasure. He also understood Petruchio’s need to see a moment of softness in Shakespeare’s Katherine. He’d love to see one in his own. Just one minute shift in her attitude toward him and he would find himself …
He instantly turned his mind away from the disturbing thought of how his own feelings toward her would change. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face that.
Upstairs, he finally stepped ahead of her to show her the bedrooms. He opened the first door on a front bedroom. “It’s a nice little room, but it faces the street.”
“The street has to be a hundred yards away,” Catherine said. “I doubt three cars go down it at night, way out here in the country.” She walked inside to check the neutral decor, then turned back. “This is fine.”
No, it wasn’t, he thought. It was too far from his bedroom. “See the rest before you decide.”
He took her arm and pulled her out into the hallway, leading her to the next room. He pronounced it unfit. She inspected it anyway. Two more bedrooms brought the same result, but an unexpected question.
“Miles, why do you have such a big house?” she asked, looking puzzled.
He shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do when I got married.”
“You kept it? Not your wife?”
“She preferred the wilds of Palm Beach. It’s a good investment.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you have something just because you like it and damn the money?”
He thought about it for a moment. “I doubt it.”
Snorting, she moved to the next door. It was open. “That one’s already occupied,” Miles said. “Sorry.”
He began to escort her past the door, eager to get to the bedroom beyond. It was next to his own, and the only acceptable one.
Catherine halted and went back to the open door, saying, “What do you mean ‘it’s occupied’?”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked inside. He reached the door just as she flipped on the light switch. Sprawled on the bed was a white Persian cat. The animal raised its head, watching them.
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Catherine said, looking at him speculatively.
“That’s Sheba,” he said. “As in Queen of, because she thinks she is one. You haven’t had the opportunity to meet her yet. She sleeps in here sometimes.”
“You give a cat her own bedroom?”
“No one el
se is using it.” He shrugged, feeling oddly sheepish. Sheba did what she pleased most of the time, and he’d learned not to waste his breath with her years ago.
“Is she friendly?”
“Not very.”
The cat had been licking her paws during the conversation, but paused as Catherine walked over to the bed. Sheba looked at her, blinked in unconcern, then went back to her washing. She didn’t move when Catherine reached out and stroked her head. She didn’t purr, either.
Catherine straightened. “I’ll stay in this room.”
“But this is Sheba’s room!” Miles said, gaping at her.
“We’ll share.”
He shook his head. “Sheba won’t tolerate it.”
“She’ll just have to.” Catherine smiled and took his arm, escorting him to the door.
The feel of her fingers on his arm, the scent of her perfume, and the closeness of her body was all too much for him. He stopped and turned to her, bringing her against him. Her lips parted in surprise. He leaned forward and kissed them, tasting the sweetness she always hid and the sensuality she couldn’t hide.
Her mouth softened, then kissed him with a hunger that sent his senses spinning. He was ready to forget all bargains.
“This isn’t a good room for you,” he murmured against her lips. “There’s another room, just down the hall—”
She pulled her head back, her eyes wary even as her breasts heaved against his chest. “Your room.”
“Yes.” He tugged her toward him, wanting the softness back. “Catherine …”
She pushed him out the door, then shut it. “Good night, Miles.”
He stared at the stained and varnished wood that barred him from the two females in his life. “Catherine, Sheba isn’t a nice cat.”
No answer.
“Catherine, there are five other bedrooms to choose from. You don’t have to take Sheba’s room or the one I suggested before.” It killed him to say it, but he did. “Or mine …”
No answer.
“Catherine, this is silly.”
He realized he was wasting his breath. She was going to do what she pleased.
Just like the cat.
Stripped down to her undergarments, Catherine lay in the bed and stared across the darkness to the white lump perched on the bedroom chair. She had no doubt Sheba was staring back in fury.
