Escapade

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Being kidnapped was exhausting. Luckily Elle was in the right bed for it.

  The bed was insanely comfortable, the sheets smelled of lavender, the dinner she’d had sat warmly in her stomach and, it must be said, she had a very efficient guard dog right next door.

  Bennett had offered to sleep on the couch if it made her feel better, but he’d also walked her through the safety features of the apartment, which were amazing. After the tour, she’d insisted that he take the other bedroom.

  The apartment made Fort Knox look like amateur hour.

  The windows looked out over a very pretty internal courtyard and the panes had been replaced with bullet-resistant glass and a film that let in light but made the apartment invisible from the outside. The front door was essentially a vault and had hydraulics fitted to make it easier to open and close.

  Most luxury apartments had smoke detectors and this one did too, of course. It could also detect most biological and radiological weapons. Monitors showed every inch of the corridor outside.

  So she was going to be super safe, but without anything to do.

  That was going to be hard. Elle was used to being busy. She was a visiting professor on two campuses on the East Coast and she traveled constantly giving talks. True, she was writing a book on Stochastic Theories in Game Playing, but there were only so many hours in a day you could write.

  Had her father pushed the panic button unnecessarily? Calling in the Marines? Or whatever branch of the military Bennett came from. Because clearly he’d been military at some point in his life, with that ramrod-straight posture, that no-nonsense air.

  He was a fascinating man, her bodyguard. It wasn’t just a question of his … physical charms, though they were pretty potent. Elle didn’t really frequent physically powerful men, so she was open to the idea that maybe she was blinded by muscles.

  Could be.

  He sure had a lot of them.

  Elle could almost feel her brain retreating back from the neocortex, site of abstract thought, to the hypothalamus, site of basic instincts. Somewhere in the distant past, a great-great-a thousand times great-grandmother of hers had chosen a mate specifically for his physique, to keep her from harm.

  And thousands of years later, her brainy great-great-a thousand times great-granddaughter, who thought herself well above that sort of thing, was falling into a prehistoric trap.

  But it wasn’t just muscles or the eye candy thing. She could go to the beach for that. No, he seemed to be on the ball, really intelligent in a street-smarts kind of way. She traveled a lot and considered herself savvy but he’d kidnapped her in plain sight and secreted her away without breaking a sweat. Maybe he’d done that sort of thing before, but it had been done very smoothly.

  And though he hadn’t discussed his company at all, she’d googled it, after asking its name. BMC Security. After his name, Bennett Cameron. There was a middle name there. M. Michael? Morris?

  Manly.

  The company website was amazing. Snazzy and cool, giving away very little information but what there was clearly got across the message that if you had a problem, they’d take care of it for you. No rates sheet. If you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. Very slickly done.

  No photographs of employees, just Bennett’s photo. He’d told her the company employed 150 people, but they remained anonymous. There was no phone number to call. Just an email. In a tiny font.

  That photograph of Bennett … not a vanity shot. It wasn’t posed and the few wrinkles on his face — more a product of the sun than age — hadn’t been photoshopped out. But his vitality leaped off the page.

  When she closed her eyes she could see his face behind her lids. Serious, without being pompous, good bone structure, and those penetrating eyes that seemed to see everything.

  Too revved by the events of the day, she turned over in bed. She wasn’t going to get any sleep at all, she thought, as she lay on the extraordinarily comfortable bed, with its memory foam mattress and billion-thread count sheets.

  She was asleep a second later.

  After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, fully refreshed. That was quick, she thought. Then checked her watch. It was 9 am and she’d slept for eleven hours straight. Strange what being kidnapped could do. Normally she was a very light sleeper.

  Maybe it was the silence in the room, the silence of solid walls and tapestry that soaked up sound. They were in the heart of an apartment complex and not a sound.

  Wait — there was a slight … thumping. Like a heartbeat. A fast heartbeat. A fluttering sound.

  She threw back the duvet and walked barefoot around the apartment. Was she alone? Wasn’t Bennett supposed to stick by her side? He wasn’t in the other bedroom. The door was open and she could see inside. The room was a replica of hers, only the walls were forest green, the carpet and duvet steel gray. The ensuite-bathroom door was open and the bathroom was empty. Not in the kitchen or the living room. That left one room and sure enough that odd fluttering sound became stronger as she walked toward it.

  She opened the door, stopped on the threshold and stared. The fluttering sound was much louder. Bennett, in a sweat-soaked gray wife beater, running shorts and bandages around his hands, was beating a cylindrical bag to death. His movements were steady and brutal and the bag swung from the ceiling, making arcs as he beat it.

  It was called a heavy bag and what he was doing looked simple but was anything but. Elle had tried it once, on a lark in a gym a fellow math nerd frequented, in a vain attempt to achieve muscle definition.

  She’d been given gloves and a funny kind of leather helmet and had given the bag a heavy punch. It didn’t move one inch. She gave it a heavier punch, one she felt to her toes, and it barely moved. Another and another and another. When she realized that this stupid bag was defeating her, she’d set her feet, really angry, and let go with a huge punch and the bag knocked her out on its return.

  So watching Bennett in his workout routine, dancing with grace around the bag, landing blows that moved the bag back and forth, she knew that what he was doing required not only huge strength but fast reflexes.

  She settled her shoulder against the doorjamb and watched, fascinated. Those muscles had been sort of hidden under his elegant clothes but now she could see that his body was almost brutal in its strength, though lean. He moved with power and grace, almost like an automaton, stepping lightly on his feet as if in a ballet.

  His gaze met hers for one powerful second and she felt as if she’d been touched. No, not touched — punched. He focused again on the heavy bag but just that one glance made the skin over her entire body prickle, made her knees weak, made heat rush through her.

  What she’d seen so far had been a tough guy — yeah. Sure. His entire job was being a tough guy. But also someone very civilized and polite, well-spoken, with excellent manners.

  This man was an animal. A beast in its prime, beating on a heavy bag, leaving no doubt that he’d beat a bad guy the same way. Ruthlessly and efficiently. Every move he made was minimalist, no wasted energy, pure power.

  Every muscle was in play from his shoulders to his calves. Long lean tight muscles. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as this and couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Elle had no idea how much time passed as she watched him beat away at the heavy bag, unflagging and almost mechanical. It looked like he wasn’t tiring. Would never tire.

  She had been absolutely exhausted after just a minute or two trying to punch the heavy bag, getting nowhere. What he was doing was a feat of human strength and agility and, except for the copious sweat streaming off his body, he made it look easy.

  She watched while the bag fluttered in such even rhythms it could have been a metronome. Finally, he stopped. Not because he was tired, but because some internal clock told him it was time. He stood, put out a bandaged hand to stop the heavy bag and looked over at her. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  “Hi,” he said. “Good morning. I hope you slept well. I nee
d to take a shower, but breakfast is waiting. Your packages have arrived. I put them in the hallway closet.”

  Elle nodded, struck dumb. She simply stood, hand out, holding onto the door jamb for balance. He’d stopped sparring but that animal aura of strength and power was still there, almost visible. Not her civilized bodyguard but a man of immense power. And, unfortunately, a man who turned her on, massively.

  Elle wasn’t used to this. It floored her. She was used to being mildly attracted to men at times, usually mathematicians. The odd physicist. It was a pleasant feeling, like enjoying good music or a decent glass of wine. Not … this.

  This was powerful, ran through her in surges like waves in the ocean, almost uncontrollable. She had to think to get her mouth to work, to get her feet moving.

  “Yeah.” She breathed in and out. “I’ll … I’ll see you for breakfast in a few minutes.” And fled.

  The packages were in the big hallway closet. There were a lot of them and she was happy with her choices. A complete wardrobe for being kidnapped and kept under wraps, everything perfect. She opened everything in her bedroom and put on a dark green cashmere sweater, black yoga pants and black ballerina slippers.

  When she opened the bedroom door, the smell of breakfast assailed her and she realized how hungry she was.

  “Hi.” Bennett looked up from setting the table. “I heated everything up. I’m going to order some groceries in so we’re not so dependent on take-out.”

  The table was properly set, with jugs of coffee, milk, a plate of scrambled eggs, five-grain bread, croissants, butter, a selection of jams and six pots of yogurt.

  She sat down. “You cook?”

  He grinned. “You bet. I like my food and eating out isn’t always feasible. Not to mention eating out all the time isn’t healthy.”

  Wow. He had reverted right back to being Civilized Affable Guy, dressed in a black turtle neck and black jeans. Looking perfectly normal, pulling out her chair and waiting until she sat down before sitting down himself.

  But it was too late. She’d seen him in his Brutal Pre-Modern Guy state and her hormones would never be the same.

  Elle sat, gently unfolded the linen napkin and placed it over her lap, familiar movements that masked the slight trembling of her hands. Oh man. She wasn’t used to having her brain go one way and her body another way entirely.

  Her brain was handling a perfectly normal scenario. A meal with an attractive man, maybe some mild flirtation amongst the jams and yogurts. Paying some attention to the guy but also thinking about the day ahead.

  That was her head.

  Her body…damn.

  Her body was on an entirely different page. Her body was at this very moment getting up and slithering onto his lap, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him. Not a nice peck on the lips, either. The kind of kiss she never indulged in but which she guessed he specialized in. The kind where you meld with the guy.

  So here she was, completely split.

  He leaned forward a little, frowning. “You okay?”

  No, I’m not okay. I seem to have a compulsion to have sex with you because I saw you hitting a heavy bag, sweating, all your muscles on show.

  This is highly unusual for me.

  This was insane. She willed her hands to stop trembling and put on a polite smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  His face cleared. “For a second there … did you sleep all right? The bed is brand new and should be comfortable. I had memory foam mattresses put in.”

  She smiled a little at that thought. Primitive beserker with muscles up the wazoo, pondering memory foam mattresses. Did he also personally check the thread count of the sheets? The image of that calmed her down a little.

  “Very comfortable, thank you. I slept like a log. I woke up with a slight headache, though.”

  He put his fork down and this time scowled. “Damn it. I was absolutely assured that the tranquilizer didn’t have any long-term side effects.” He reached out and placed his big hand over hers. “I am so sorry. If I’d had any choice in the matter … but I didn’t. Your father made it clear that we had to act fast and I couldn’t figure out any other way.”

  Their hands made such a sexy contrast. His was large, clean, nails manicured, but rough. She could feel the calluses against the back of her hand. Her own hand was soft. But then Elle didn’t do much with her hands other than enter in data on a keyboard. Even their skin tones were sexy. His skin was tanned, that of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. She didn’t do well in the sun and was slathered with SPF 1000 whenever she went out.

  Male. Female.

  God. It hadn’t really occurred to her how different the two genders were. To her, men were essentially women with extra meat dangling between their legs. Not this man. This man was Other.

  “I don’t think it’s that,” she said, leaving her hand where it was. “And the bed was super comfortable. But I’m worried about my father.”

  His hand briefly squeezed hers then he poured her a cup of coffee, put a croissant on her plate. His face turned serious. “I know the men protecting him. Nothing will happen to your father under their watch. Just like nothing will happen to you. He and you are perfectly safe.”

  Perfectly safe. It was an odd notion and not quite true. All sort of things could happen, some were even statistically probable. Her father was old and not in good health. He was diabetic and had four stents. He ate extremely badly and worked way too hard. He could drop dead of a heart attack at any moment. One had to stretch the odds for her because she was young and in perfect health. But there was terrorism and catastrophic storms and a recurrence of the Spanish Flu.

  Zombies.

  The sun could go nova.

  “Have you lost anyone?”

  He looked to one side and his jaw muscles clenched. “Not in this business, no.” his voice was curt.

  She cocked her head. “Did you lose someone when you were in the military?”

  His own head whipped up. “How did you know I was in the military?”

  “Laws of probability. You have skills that would be hard to gain in civilian life. You said you hadn’t lost anyone in your business, so one infers that you lost someone in another business. Not too many businesses where you can lose people. Medicine, law enforcement and the military. That’s about it.”

  “You’re right. I’d say that was a good guess, but there probably wasn’t any guesswork. The computer in your head put in the variables and came up with the correct answer.”

  That was exactly the way it was, but said like that, it made her sound like a … a robot. A machine.

  Her gaze fell to her plate. Her appetite had suddenly deserted her. She followed the form of a small bird painted on the plate. Now that she noticed, that same small bird, stylized, very elegant, was embroidered in the tablecloth

  “How do you want to spend your day?” Bennett asked. “I can’t let you go out, but other than that, I can order in anything you like. Any books or movies. Any special foods. Anything you want.”

  The sleek stylized bird was replicated as a tiny icon on the handles of the silverware and one of the lamps had a brass base with the bird etched on it.

  It all clicked.

  “I know where we are!” she exclaimed. “We’re in Sparrow Square!”

  Bennett nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hide where we were. I didn’t know whether you’d be familiar with the place.”

  The quiet stylish deluxe feel, the services on call … the birds. Sparrow Square. A full city block of deluxe apartments in the center of London, originally an Art Deco masterpiece, though the apartments had been renovated many times over the years. She’d always wanted to see it. Not necessarily as a deluxe prisoner, though.

  “I’ve read a few articles on Sparrow Square. I also read that there is an Art Deco pool. I’d love to take a swim. Swimming is my stress relief.”

  Bennett cocked his head at the room where he’d been sparring with a bag. “W
e have a lot of weight machines, a stationary bike, you name it in there. If there’s another piece of gym machinery you’d like …”

  But she was already shaking her head. “If I’m forbidden to go to the pool, I can spend five minutes on the stationary bike, but I’d really rather go to the pool.”

  He sat looking at her, face completely expressionless. Elle understood very well that he was weighing pros and cons. Con: probably any outing outside of this apartment was not in the protocol, was verboten. Who knew who would be at the pool? Pro: she didn’t know and he didn’t know how long this situation would last. A week, a month, a year? Years? It was completely open ended. Just hunkering down in an apartment would drive anyone stir crazy. Elle was a homebody and enjoyed being at home, but there was a limit.

  “There are risks,” he said finally. “Staying here is more or less risk free, unless you post I AM HERE with a big red arrow on your Facebook page.” He peered at her suspiciously. “That would be really dumb.”

  “It would be,” she agreed. “Luckily, I don’t have a Facebook page. I don’t particularly like social media. It’s too fragmented.”

  “Good. Makes things easier. Yogurt?” He pushed a pot of creamy yogurt over to her side of the table. He was stalling.

  She just looked at him, waiting.

  “I don’t like it.” He clenched his jaws. “I know you’re safe here.”

  Elle leaned forward, pushing her plate out of the way. “You’re worried about the in-house security recording, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” The word sounded like it was pulled from his mouth with pliers.

  “I have an idea, a way around that issue. If you’re satisfied it’s safe, I can go swimming. What do you say?”

  He just looked at her, head to one side. He waited. She waited. Finally, he nodded his head. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Even better, I’ll show you.”

  Elle kept her face bland but inside she pulled a fist pump. Grabbing her cup of coffee, she went to her laptop. He looked at it curiously. It didn’t have a brand logo and was gunmetal gray and left all other computers in the world in the dust.