Capturing Kate (6 page)

“Careful.” There was a warning in his voice. “When I see you behave today, I’ll give you more freedom.”

“I’m not a dog.” She tugged at the rope. “I can untie that.”

“You’re more important than any animal. And if you try to leave, remember what I promised you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Kate?”

“What.” Her voice was sullen.

“Look at me.” He tipped up her chin, and she caught a glimpse of his bare chest and washboard abs. His muscles rippled and she tore her gaze back up to his eyes. “I said I’d spank you.” His face was stern, but there was humor in his eyes. It almost seemed like he was questioning her without words, checking her reaction. Testing.

She swallowed hard. “That’s mean.” How did he stay in such perfect shape? She’d never seen such an impressive physique. She wanted to run her hands over those ripples. She saw the telltale V of his abdomen, the way the muscles had a hollow at their side, and she wanted to put her tongue there and lick slowly, make him come undone. And what was worse? He knew it. His little smug smile, the way a muscle clenched in his jaw? He
knew.
She tore her gaze away.

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m a mean guy. Don’t push me.”

“You’d probably like that, spanking me. Do you hit all your women?”

“First of all, you’re not
my woman
. And second of all, spanking isn’t hitting. It’s either part of a healthy sex life, enjoyed by both parties, or it’s an effective punishment for a disobedient sub. Which, right now, is what you are. Consider me your master for the time being.”

“You are not my master.” She punched at him and he grabbed her hand, twisted, and got her in a grip hold. For a second she struggled in his arms, and the very act of fighting him made such arousal surge in her body that she stopped short, startled at the emotion.

It was different from fighting against the kidnapper back at the car. This was something else. She wanted to get away, yes, but not because she was scared of him. A sudden realization hit: She trusted Sloan. For whatever reason, she knew he’d keep her safe to the best of his ability. And the other thing was that when she fought against him, she wanted him to fight back and take charge.

“Kate?” He tilted his head to look into her face.

“Quit it and let me go.” Not sure how to process her emotions, she yanked a hand free and slapped at him. It occurred to her that this, too, meant she trusted him: he wasn’t going to hit back. Not in violence. Not to hurt her.

“Kate, you do that again and you’re going over my lap right this minute.” His voice was stern, and she pulled her hand back.

“I need to pee again, and then I need a shower.” She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Why the hell did part of her want to be over his lap right now? What was wrong with her?

He gave her a long look, then spoke. “You can wear an extra pair of my sweats and a t-shirt while we clean your clothes or get you new ones. And yeah, you do need a shower. You stink.”

“Jesus. Really? You think? Why don’t you try getting kidnapped and beaten by a monster, and maybe you’ll vomit on yourself too and sweat like a pig or whatever. I’d like to see you handle that.” Her voice was thin and brittle and she crossed her arms defensively at his smile. “And it’s cruel to tie me up like that. What if you died in the night? Then I’d starve here. I read that’s one of the most painful ways to die. Plus I’d have to smell your rotting corpse the entire time, which would make it extra horrible. Is that what you want for me?”

“Are you really worried about that or are you trying to be funny?”

“Oh, now corpses are hilarious? Why don’t we head on down to the cemetery for a real laugh fest. Of course I’m legitimately upset. Can’t you tell?” She scowled at him but couldn’t hold back her own small grin. “It’s only funny because I happen to be a person with a fantastic sense of humor. But I don’t like being tied up.”

He didn’t respond, but chuckled as he bent over to unlock the cuff on her ankle. She watched the muscles in his arms and shoulders move. “You could get out of this,” he mused, “but I’d notice and wake up and stop you. It’s a temporary deterrent.” He pulled some clothes from the pine chest in the corner, a pair of sweats and a shirt. “These will be too big but at least they’re clean. Here’s a bar of soap.”

“Shampoo?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Nope.”

When she started down the hall, he called, “Wash carefully in the area of the wound, Kate. Don’t let the spray hit that part of your leg directly. Understand?”

“Fine.” She rushed to the bathroom before he changed his mind, and couldn’t get the gauze and her sticky, nasty clothes off fast enough and when she was under the spray, soaping herself, she cried as the water came down. Why did this have to happen? One day she was a happy reporter, eager and excited to have a big break in her story, a woman with friends and a good life. And in the blink of an eye, she was a captive. Supposed to be dead. Presumed dead. Missing from her life.

Were people wondering yet where she was? Her boss, probably not—after all, it was Mac Week, and the office staff were on vacation. Lila? They talked every day. How long would it take before Lila got worried about her lack of answers, callbacks, texts? Two days? Three? How about her mom? They talked once every week or two. It would take forever for mom to realize she was gone. This was so distressing that she sank to the floor of the shower stall, and then she started screaming, banging her fists on the shower wall and floor, as waves of grief and anger rolled through her.

“Kate!” Sloan burst in, worry on his face. “What’s going on?”

In reply, she howled her rage into the water.

He grabbed her from the floor of the stall and pulled her into his embrace, his face taut. “Talk to me, Kate.”

She sagged into his arms, not caring that she was naked or that she was getting him soaked. “My mom, my friends. My life! I need them!”

“Oh, Katie.” His voice was low, and he sat down on the floor and pulled her into his lap. “Shhh. It’s okay. Listen, you can’t talk to them yet. You just can’t. I’m sorry, Kate, but you need to stay silent until I say it’s okay. I know this is fucked up, but it’s going to keep you alive—and them too, maybe. We need to keep you out of sight, and I’m sorry you’re missing your family and friends. I’m sorry.”

His voice was like a melody, running over her, and she pushed her head into his shoulder, grabbing onto him with all of her strength, as if trying to climb inside his skin. He put one hand around her, and used the other to pull her head against his chest. “Shhh. It’s okay.” It was now, at this moment, that the truth hit her with clarity: He was an FBI agent, a good man. He wasn’t in league with Mancini. He was going to keep her safe.

He held her that way for what seemed like an hour, stroking her shoulder, until she stopped trembling and crying, and still he held her until she began to shiver, and looked around, confused, as if uncertain where she was or what she was doing. It was then that she noticed her nakedness and flushed hard, embarrassed. “Sloan, I’m sorry, I—I’m just so confused and upset and I don’t even know what to think.”

“It’s all right. How about you get dressed and come out and we’ll talk about what needs to happen now.”

But his face was so close to hers, those blue eyes looking right into her. His lips were mesmerizing, so soft and strong. She wanted to run her finger over the top lip, then the bottom one. She wanted to trace his cheekbones with her fingertip and feel him clench his jaw under her touch. She could feel the breath from his mouth and she leaned in toward the warmth of his essence. “Sloan.”

“Kate.” His hands tightened on her body and he shifted under her, and she could feel his arousal. He was as attracted to her as she was to him. He ran the side of his hand down her face, a bare touch, then ran his fingers over her shoulder. When his eyes flickered to her breasts, she sucked in her breath and arched her back, wanting him to palm a nipple, to squeeze, to touch.
Please
.

But he looked away. “Get up, Kate.” His voice was tense. “We have work to do.”

He helped her stand, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll see you when you’re dressed.”

The t-shirt was too big, and one side fell down her shoulder, giving her a rakish 80s club-girl look. The sweats were loose on her hips and she tied the waist-string as tightly as possible to keep them from sagging. But she felt a million times better, smelling like fresh Dial soap instead of old puke. She combed her hair with her fingers. She’d have to ask for a brush.

Eyeing her filthy clothes with distaste, she spotted the folded-up piece of paper from Ella next to her grubby bra. How had she forgotten about this for so long? It was damp now, and the outside edge peeled up into little loose pieces of paper, minuscule logs and baubles. She used her fingernail to pry it open, and unfolded the many flaps. It reminded her of notes from grade school; one sheet of paper folded on itself so many times that it turned into a hard pellet.

The note was disappointing. Just a series of numbers: 1945 2 23. What the hell was that supposed to be? A combination to a locker somewhere? A secret Swiss bank account? Her stomach lurched. She was no spy, no undercover agent. She was a reporter, yes, but not the kind who wanted to report from war zones and dodge bullet fire while interviewing militia leaders in the Middle East. She wanted to be home at her comfortable desk, talking with her friends. She wished she’d never started to look into the water contamination scheme.

“Kate?” Sloan’s voice came from outside the door, and she shoved the note into the pocket of her jacket.

“I need to wash these clothes somehow.” She nudged the door open, holding the pile of garments.

“Wash them in the sink. You can hang them from tree branches outside to dry, if the rain lets up. Otherwise, we’ll string them up inside.”

She nodded, looked around, then dumped the clothes back onto the bathroom floor. “I need to sit down first.”

He gestured down the hallway, an unspoken command, and she seethed as she walked in front of him. Still, though, she wondered if he was watching her ass. She didn’t have any panties on under the sweats, and the cloth rubbed against her skin in a way that felt provocative and free. He knew she wasn’t wearing panties. Was he thinking about it, maybe, thinking about her body underneath the cloth, wanting to touch her, see her, smell her?

She felt her face redden, and was glad for the moment that he couldn’t see. He was probably thinking none of those things. He was thinking about his sting operation and how to take down Mancini while dealing with her, too.

Chapter Six

He had granola bars waiting and bottled water, and she grimaced, but didn’t complain. Once again starving, she ate everything from every shiny wrapper he put in front of her and drank the entire bottle. When she finished, wiping crumbs from her sweats, she looked up to find him gazing at her.

“What?” Feeling defensive, she crossed her arms, then flushed because that pulled down the neckline of her voluminous shirt, revealing the upper curve of her breasts. She tugged at the shirt.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

She shook her head, stood up. “How do you think? I’m shell-shocked. I have PTSD even though we’re not even in the P part of this situation. My leg is throbbing. My head hurts. I’m scared.” She paused. “How about you, honey? Sleep well?”

“Well, it’s good to know that stress doesn’t seem to harm your ability to think of passive–aggressive insults,” he said cheerfully. “A clear sign of recovery. Let me see that leg. Take off the sweats and lie on the bed.”

“What? No.” She stared at him. “I can’t do that.”

“The word
no
means little coming from your lips, Kate. I think I made it clear yesterday.” He frowned at her. “I need to put on more ointment and rewrap it with gauze. It’s not a request.”

“But I’m—I’m not wearing anything under the sweats. What if I just roll up the leg?”

“All the way off so I can clean it properly.”

“Sloan!” She felt her face redden.

“Kate, I just saw you naked ten minutes ago.” His voice held frustration. “I promise I can resist your womanly lures while I tend to your gaping, unattractive wound, which happens to have a very neat, carefully done bandaging job for someone who’s not a doctor.”

“Now you’re just being an asshole.”

“Yeah. Drop the pants. Now.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or remember what I said?”

“It would be cruel to spank me when I have an injury. It would be like, you know,” she struggled for a comparison, “like when a person trips over their shoelace? It would be you waiting until they stand up and then shoving them into traffic. It would be,” she warmed to her topic, “like watching a kid drop his ice-cream cone on the ground and start crying, and then you take away his puppy and break all his toys.” She enjoyed making hyperbolic similes, but before she could come up with another one, he stopped her.

He raised an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ, Kate. You have quite the morbid imagination. You know what it would actually be like?” He took a step closer, and her heart quickened. She stepped backward.

He came a step closer. His voice lowered. “It’s not like that at all.”

She sucked in a breath. “What—what. Then what is it like?”

His eyes were locked onto hers, and that zing of attraction was back. She didn’t understand why the thought of being spanked by him sent spires of attraction zinging up and down her spine like a sugar rush, like all the lights in a carnival whirling into her brain. Well, maybe she understood it. She’d read a few romance novels that incorporated spanking, and she’d liked them. More than liked them. The idea of being mastered by a sexy man like Sloan? God, what a rush that would be… as long as he wasn’t too rough. The unknown of it all made the butterflies dance harder in her stomach.

“What is it like,” he mused and crossed his arms.

“Y-Yes.” She bit her lip and watched a muscle jump in his neck.

He took one step closer and his voice was a murmur and a promise. “Keep arguing and you’ll find out. Is that what you want right now?”