Bound and Determined (8 page)

Kerry surrendered, a thousand erotic images swirling in her head. Before she could question his demand, he yanked on the ties of her little panties and tossed the black wisp of fabric to the ground. She was still gasping as he took another dollop of jam from the toast. Their eyes met, the jolt shaking her all the way to the soles of her feet.

With a very naughty grin, Rafe eased to the end of the bed, nudged her thighs apart with his shoulders, and dabbed the cool jam directly on her clitoris. Would he really . . . ?

“Wait, Rafe—Ohmigod!”

The sensation of his hot mouth around the sensitive button, tongue toying with it, then delving inside her . . . words couldn’t describe. Kerry’s brain shut down entirely. Sensation flooded in a hot, wet rush. The swelling, the moisture gathering, his talented mouth everywhere.

He eased his finger inside her, filling her with wicked delight. Seconds later, he found a sensitive spot and rubbed without pause or mercy. Tingles soon became an aching pressure, a need for more. He dragged his tongue through her wet slit in a slow, mind-blowing stroke. She cried out, arched off the bed. A storm swirled behind her navel, at the base of her spine, gathering strength as it converged everywhere he touched her. Her every muscle tensed. She forgot to breathe
and held on to the iron swirls of the headboard like a life preserver in a raging sea.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Swollen breasts, flushed skin.” He breathed against her slick folds, adding fuel to the fire. “So responsive.”

He turned his attention back to her clitoris, dragging his tongue over the hard button with enough leisurely pressure that Kerry thought she’d rocket off the bed and into space any second.

“Rafe!” she panted.

“Come for me—now.” With another swipe of his tongue, Rafe’s finger found the needy spot deep inside her, applied the perfect pressure that had her gasping.

The storm clouds within Kerry clashed, creating one explosion that crested to unbelievable heights. The warm, liquid honey of satisfaction rolled through her limbs even as her back arched off the bed. Pleasure rocked her, vibrating through her body seemingly without end. She screamed. And still Rafe didn’t stop, probing and tasting her as the sensations raged endlessly.

As the contractions finally subsided, Kerry lay on the bed, slick with sweat, breathing heavily. Rafe eased away, moving to her left. She was too tired to even open her eyes, much less move, but she could die a happy woman after this. Certainly nothing could be better.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Yeah, wow,” he whispered in her ear, lips pressed softly to the sensitive spot below her ear. “You’re so intriguing, I’m almost sorry for this.”

“For what?” she asked, words slurred.

Then she felt the clamp of fabric tether her wrists together, then another tug jerking her arms up.

Alarm raced down her spine, shattering her rosy, lazy glow.

“What the—” Kerry craned her head back to see her wrists tied to the wrought-iron headboard in some complicated knot—all secured with his discarded necktie. “Rafe, what are you doing?”

He waved at her with his unrestrained hand. “Did I forget to mention that I was a Boy Scout, and a left-handed one at that?”

K
erry might look like innocence and spun sugar, but inside she was a firecracker waiting to explode. Damn, she ignited him more than his last three girlfriends put together. Rafe took a deep breath to right his pulse, then another. A quick glance down confirmed his cock at full staff . . . and now that he’d used this bargain to trick her, he figured his chances of getting inside Kerry were nil. His father was more likely to give up booze.

Besides, his mission had been securing the handcuff key and freedom, not getting a good lay. Unfortunately for him, the head to the south disagreed violently.

“This is so not according to plan. This can’t—” She grunted and tugged at her bonds. “I can’t . . .” The knot didn’t give. “No! Untie me, you son of a bitch!”

Normally, Rafe would say he deserved that, but once Kerry had abducted him, all bets were off. Sure, she thought she had justifications, but he had work to accomplish in order to meet his five-million-dollar goal and prove to Benton Dawson III that he was a success. He didn’t like being duped. It pissed him off to admit that his own libido—and his weakness for blondes with dimples—had gotten him into this mess. Worse yet, that same irresponsible libido was shouting that he wasn’t done with Kerry.

His libido wasn’t going to get its way.

“Not gonna happen. I think it’s your turn to lie here, helpless and bound, for a while.”

Apprehension slid across her rosy face. “I know you’re angry with me. You have every right to be mad but . . . don’t you dare hurt me!”

Her bravado in the face of her bound vulnerability intrigued him nearly as much as her beautiful breasts. Still, the thought she believed he would hurt her disturbed him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a bully and I don’t get off on a woman’s pain.”

“You can’t go anywhere!”

“Watch me.”

Rafe frowned as he crossed the room and stretched to retrieve the handcuff key he’d seen her set there earlier. No
matter how he tugged and pulled, he was two inches too short to reach that damned windowsill.

“I put the key there because you can’t get to it,” Kerry pointed out, a hint of smugness in her voice.

Nope, he wasn’t giving up. There had to be some way . . .
any
way.

By sitting on his ass and reaching with his toes, he came closer, but still no cigar. Behind him, he heard Kerry sigh in relief. Damn her!

Gaze circling the room, Rafe looked for a hanger, a pen. Something long and sturdy would do the trick. He saw nothing to fit that description except his dick, still standing straight and tall and looking for action. Too bad it didn’t qualify.

Finally, he resorted to faint hope and the skills he’d picked up playing high school baseball. Grabbing one of his shoes from the floor, Rafe took aim at the necklace and tossed it. One of his black Italian wingtips made a loud
whack
as it hit the window. It thudded down on the hardwood floor.

Rafe smiled. The key fell that final two inches closer. He reached until he grasped it in his palm.

Kerry gasped. “Ohmigod . . . No! You’re leaving, aren’t you? You can’t leave!”

Quickly, Rafe unlatched Kerry’s necklace, setting the chain aside, then made quick work of his remaining shackle. It gave way with the sound of a metal crunch. He let it retract all the way back to the bed’s special compartments and smiled.

“Sure I can. Are my clothes in the closet?”

“Someone will come looking for me.”

“Good, then I won’t have to worry about you getting free after I’m gone.”

“What about our bargain?” she demanded. “Forty-eight hours and all that?”

Rafe shrugged. He hadn’t really meant that. He would have promised her a round-trip ticket to Fiji if he’d thought that would have lured her close enough to beat her at her own bondage game. Despite the fact his scheme had enabled him to touch Kerry—something he’d damn near been dying to do—bartering his services for sex hadn’t been his plan. But Kerry’s voice induced him to look at her.

Big mistake. She was amazing naked and bound. Soft, slender neck, round breasts that fit his palms so perfectly, hard berry nipples. He held in a groan, but even as he did, her body drew his eyes down over her gently rounded abdomen, the flare of a woman’s hips, to the downy pale thatch that protected the slick confection of her core.

“Please,” she called. “You have every right to be mad at me. I should not have kidnapped you—”

“That’s right,” he growled. “I told you to leave me alone over the phone for a reason.”

“But I need your help. No one will listen to me. Not the police, not Mark’s boss. I tried to hire a detective, but I couldn’t afford one on a waitress’s pay. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just stand around while my brother went to prison.”

Her voice trembled. Rafe jerked his gaze back to her face. She didn’t cry. But the resolution hardening her face, shining from her mossy green eyes, shocked him. Even naked and at a virtual stranger’s mercy, Kerry didn’t think of herself. She didn’t think anything of her pride. Instead, her every thought was for the brother she loved. Kerry had risked her future, her safety, even wagered her body to help Mark.

Again, the depth of her caring and loyalty stunned him. He’d never known anyone that steadfast. Certainly, he’d always known if his father had to choose between booze and paying attention to his only son . . . well, Dad’s hangover would attest to his choice. Either Kerry was very selfless or very stupid. Rafe wanted to be angry with her for her scheme. He wanted to want revenge. But he didn’t. The amazingly loyal, sexy woman, even if she had her ditzy moments, really intrigued him on a level he couldn’t remember experiencing before.

“I’ll give you forty-eight hours, anything you want.” Kerry looked him straight in the eyes. She swallowed, but in no other way did she betray any nervousness. “Just don’t leave yet. Hear me out.”

Rafe sucked in a sharp breath as he hardened yet more. So fucking tempting, the idea of taking complete control of her body here, in the bed built by someone with a wide dominant streak . . . but he had a job to do. Standard National expected him for a preliminary meeting.

He shook his head, dropping his gaze from her pleading stare, and retrieved her clothes from the floor.

Without waiting for her reaction, he turned toward the closet to set her clothes out of reach and find his own. But her desperation filled the air, and guilt prickled down his spine. Guilt, of all things! Damn it, he didn’t owe Kerry a thing. He’d given her thousands of dollars’ worth of his critical time, as well as a hearty orgasm. Why should he feel anything but sure that his time to exit had come?

In the closet, he found his boxer-briefs folded on top of a built-in dresser. He quickly donned them over his still raging erection, then found his suit pants neatly hung and his shirt freshly pressed. A quick sniff told him Kerry had washed it as well. A captress who doubled as laundry service? Wow, she’d done a better job than his three-dollar-per-shirt dry cleaners.

“Rafe?” she called.

He heard her thrashing against her bonds, cursing softly under her breath, but he didn’t answer. Getting out of here was top priority, before he lost this lucrative job with Standard National and his shot at reaching the five-million-dollar mark prior to his birthday . . . before he succumbed to the odd urge to help her, or gave in to his desire to know every inch of her body in every way.

Instead, he reached into his suit coat. His PDA still rested in one pocket, cell phone in the other. Quickly, he checked his phone messages. One from a former client asking for advice, two messages from his assistant, Regina, and one from an old girlfriend he vaguely recalled had labeled him an antisocial, computer-centric great lay. Not to mention three messages from Mr. Smikins at Standard National Bank wondering why he hadn’t appeared for their lunch meeting. At that, Rafe swore long and hard. Damn Kerry and her scheme to save her likely worthless brother.

He pounded the bank’s number into his phone’s keypad, cursing himself under his breath. A woman kidnapping him and keeping him from business should royally piss him off. The hell of it was, he couldn’t muster much more than a sting of annoyance. As the reality of her bondage had occurred to her, in the face of his possible retribution, she hadn’t asked
once for mercy for herself. Nope, she’d thought only of her brother. God, the prick better deserve such loyalty.

Finally, a recording informed him the branch had closed at 4
P
.
M
. and would be open at 9
A
.
M
. on Monday. Monday?
Today was Saturday?
The date on his PDA said so. Shit, he really had been out for thirty-six hours.

At the prompt, he entered Smikins’s extension. At the tone, Rafe left the branch manager a message, one full of crappy lies about being sick and missing his plane. Flipping his phone shut with a grimace, Rafe sighed. Why wasn’t he calling the police? Why hadn’t he told Smikins that the sister of their former employee-turned-thief had abducted him?

He couldn’t—not yet. Hell, he wasn’t any sort of hero. But the truth couldn’t be ignored: Kerry already had plenty of trouble.

For some damn reason, he just couldn’t make himself turn her in and add to her mounting difficulties. Maybe because once upon a time, someone had given him a second chance and saved him from the tank when he’d hacked into the CIA. That had turned his entire life around. Maybe because the thought that he might actually be refusing to prevent an innocent man from going to prison didn’t rest well with him. Hell, most likely it was because it was Saturday evening, and Smikins wouldn’t be available for a while . . . and Kerry could be his until then.

Everything south of his waistline approved of the plan. No doubt, he was in deep.

“Anything I want, is that what you said?” he asked softly, hungry stare raking her as he returned to the bedroom.

She swallowed hard and met his stare. “If you’ll help my brother, then yes, anything.”

Agreeing to this probably didn’t make him a nice guy. Rafe smiled. So sue him. How often did an average guy get a chance to be both noble and get laid—and by a woman who sizzled and burned him when they touched?

Whoa!
His mind reeled. What the hell was he thinking? Or more to the point, which head was doing it?

“I’ve got to be honest, Kerry. I can only look into his situation. I can’t change anything. If your brother has truly been
framed, I can help you find evidence, but I won’t fabricate any. Tampering with files could send me to prison for a long, long time.”

The smile that broke out across her face, the hope that jumped into her eyes, settled someplace in his chest. She brightened like a Christmas tree in the snow, all glowing and wondrous. Even though she wore not a shred of makeup, her red-rimmed eyes bespoke an utter lack of sleep, and her hair tumbled across one shoulder in a wild fall, Rafe couldn’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful woman than Kerry when she smiled. He also couldn’t deny that he liked being the cause of her happiness.