Hot Ice (8 page)

"Come to bed." Hunt tugged her toward the oversized mattress, feeling feral.

Her eyes widened. "Are you out of your mind? I am not sleeping with you." Her feet planted on the floor by the chair.

Ten minutes ago she would have done any damn thing he'd wanted her to do. His dick leapt and reached out for her as if it had a mind of its own. Hunt ignored the clambering of his body, exerting his iron will. "It's three a.m., and there's only one bed."

"I'll get another room."

"Got money?" He smiled.

"I'll sleep in this chair."

"Doesn't look comfortable, but suit yourself. We'll talk more in the morning. Give you time to rethink some of those answers."

Chapter Seven

Taylor was hanging on by a hair.
He
might've forgotten what had happened in the still steamy bathroom not ten minutes ago. But she hadn't. She had pulse points in places she hadn't realized she had pulse points. A good night's sleep would hopefully return some of her missing brain cells, giving her a good dose of smarts. A few hours without being under the gun would, please God, resolve the blindness problem.

God, she still couldn't see. Pitch-black. No shadows. No light. No movement. Just pure colorless night.

She hated being this vulnerable. And she
loathed
being vulnerable with this man in particular. She knew he was playing with her like a very large cat with a very small mouse.

She didn't hear him move, but between one breath and the next he'd crossed the room and plucked her out of the chair.

He carried her away from his body, and upright so her feet dangled above the floor. Like something he didn't really want to contaminate his hands with. The man was not only a manipulative son of a bitch, but he was incredibly strong. Taylor took note.

"This is more expedient than waiting for you to be sensible." Three strides and he dropped her onto the bed with a bounce.

She scrambled to get her bearings. "And where will you sleep?"

"Right here."

Taylor rolled over and felt around for a pillow. She stuffed it under her cheek, turned her head and closed her eyes.

The mattress dipped as he sat down beside her. She ignored him, even as her body temperature zoomed up feverishly at the thought of having his hands on her again. His mouth—
Stop it
! she warned herself. This guy knew what the hell he was doing.
He's playing you as expertly as you're trying to play him. Get a grip here and concentrate
.

A drawer opened. Closed. A rubber? Her teeth ground together. She'd kill him with her bare hands. His arm brushed hers as he leaned over her. Lightning fast, he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around one of the metal bars on the headboard over her head. She heard a
chink
.

"Hey!" The cold bracelet of a handcuff snapped shut around her wrist. She inwardly sighed. "How could you?" She put a hurt quiver in her voice, though she didn't blame him. She would have done the same thing in his position. It didn't make her hate him any less. She was tired of trying to sound innocent and victimized.

"Who hired you?" he asked. Again.

"Nobody."

Look helpless, she told herself. Pitiful. Sincere. "Nobody. I swear. I'll give you Tony's phone number. Call him and negotiate a—"

"No partner named either Toby or Tony." Hunt shifted to wrap his large hand lightly around her throat. "Who has the contents of the safe?"

He squeezed gently.

She tried to pry his fingers away from her throat. "I tol—"

His hand tightened. "Think I won't kill you?" he asked silkily, his breath fanning her face as he leaned over her. "Think again."

She believed him. "I—ha—I can't breathe."

His fingers didn't so much as loosen by a hair. "You can breathe just fine."

Bullying bastard."
I
have e-everything, damn y-you." When he still didn't release her, Taylor dug her nails into his fingers trying to pry them loose. "Tr-uth."

He let go, shifting away from her. "Address."

She rubbed her hand over her sore throat. "In a time-lock safe at
Banco Central de San Cristóbal
," she lied smoothly. "The
Costa del Sol
branch." A town three hours away. "It opens at seven a.m. I'll give you the combination."

"It'll open now," Hunt told her flatly. "Number?"

"Left twenty, Right sixty-two, Left forty-one, Right ninety-five."

She heard him pick up the phone, wait a few seconds, then repeat what she'd told him. By car it would take three hours to reach the bank. By chopper, perhaps forty-five minutes total. She figured she had less than forty minutes to get away.

"Get some sleep," he told her when he'd completed his call. "Knowing I'll be right here beside you. Keeping you safe."

"Watching me, you mean." Taylor lay her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes as if mortally wounded by his betrayal. The cuffs felt like Stark 923s. Old-fashioned. Quaint, actually.

"Sleep," he ordered, settling down beside her.

"My arm hurts," Taylor complained, and felt not even a mild twinge of guilt when he bunched a pillow to support her forearm and wrist.

"Better?" His voice sounded strained. Irritated.

Too bad. She wasn't feeling particularly happy with him either. "Much," she told him sweetly, hoping the erection she'd felt earlier would get hard enough to cause his penis to fall off altogether. A girl could wish.

"Will you sleep?" He shifted a few inches away. No longer touching, but close enough for her to feel the heat of his skin.

"Yes." She managed a nice big yawn. "I'm exhausted." Wired. Sexually frustrated. Confused. "Is there a cover? I'm a little cool." Taylor didn't want him looking at her when she couldn't glare back at him.

The sheet was light and scratchy as he impersonally dropped it over her. "You've had a busy night. Get some rest. We'll talk again in the morning." He almost sounded paternal.

"Sure."
Only if you have long distance service from San Cristóbal to the States
. Right this second she didn't have a clue how she'd pull off a speedy escape. But she sure as hell wouldn't be here when this guy woke up. Taylor rolled over as best she could and whimpered because he deserved it." 'Night."

"You're safe here," he said quietly into the darkness.

She was annoyed to feel the prick of tears behind her lids. "Thanks," she said, meaning it. She couldn't remember when, in twenty-seven years, anyone had ever said those words to her. It would be stupid to believe him of course, but just for that moment in time, the saying of the words made her
feel
safe.

She waited an eternity for his breathing to regulate and even longer before she felt the mattress give as his large body relaxed in sleep.

The headache had faded to a dull memory. Taylor turned onto her back in the surprisingly comfortable bed. She opened her eyes and stared at the orange drapes as she considered how long she should wait before she snuck o-

Blinked. Looked again.

Yes! Oh, God. Yes
! She could actually
see
the limp fabric illuminated by the lamp on the table across the room. Her vision was a little fuzzy around the edges, but she could see.
Thank you, Jesus
.

She took a lightning-fast inventory of the room. Two doors. Bathroom. Exit door. One window.

They lay on a queen-sized bed with tangled white sheets and a brightly colored cotton cover. A couple of bedside tables, a cane-backed chair, two mismatched lamps, and a hideous hanging lamp near a table by the open bathroom door. Drapes hung over a narrow window in the far wall. The wooden floor, while bare of rugs, was spotlessly clean and polished to a dull sheen.

If she ever visited San Cristóbal again, she'd stay here, she thought with amusement as, noting escape routes and possible weapons, she turned her head to look at the sleeping man beside her.

Oh
. What a fascinating face. She'd brailled the uncompromising jaw, rough with stubble. Seeing his features with her fingers, but now she could see him. Slightly hazy, but who was complaining? A strong Roman nose rose proudly from a face far too austere to be considered handsome. Deep-set eyes weren't in any way softened by the brush of those short, straight black lashes.
Man, oh man
. This was one serious-looking guy. She couldn't picture a smile breaking across those firm straight lips.

Taylor's gaze lingered on his mouth before she tried to roll over. She was pulled up short by the cuff on her wrist.

She gave a small huff of amusement. As if—And freed her right wrist with barely a sound. Very carefully she held on to the cuff, still linked to the headboard, so it didn't clatter. His hand was conveniently flung over his head. It would be a bit of a stretch, but she could snap the free bracelet onto his wrist in a heartbeat. She considered the necessary choreography for a few seconds. No. Her gut told her he'd be wide-awake and on her like white on rice if she so much as made a move in his direction.

Of course, there were moves and there were moves… Carefully, she rested the cuff against the headboard, then shifted to run her fingers lightly up Hunt's chest, enjoying the crisp silkiness of his hairy torso. Yum. He didn't stir. She leaned over and open-mouth-kissed his rock-hard six-pack, when she really wanted to take a big, painful bite out of him.

He hummed low in his throat, confirming her gut's warning. His large hand came up to cup the back of her head. She nibbled her way
up
his chest to the steady throb of his pulse at the base of his throat, sliding her body over his like a blanket. She lay her cheek over his heart, listening to the slight elevation in his breathing.

His skin felt scalding hot beneath hers.

His penis rose to meet her.

She rubbed her chest against his, enjoying the friction against her nipples. His lashes fluttered and a tweak at the corners of his lips could've been the start of a smile.

Taylor did
not
want him smiling at her.

She kept one arm extended as though she was still cuffed to the headboard, and put her palm across his eyes. "Keep 'em closed," she purred.

"Yes, ma'am." His voice was thick with desire as he shifted his hips beneath hers. His willpower wasn't quite as rock solid when he was half asleep. She sat up slowly to straddle his narrow hips with her knees.

You are going to be so sorry you messed with me
, Taylor thought, touching his face as she shifted up his body to sit lightly on his chest. She slid her knees into position over his biceps. His jaw was prickly with stubble. She wanted to run her mouth—
Damn it. Concentrate
! Every second counted.

Still stroking his face, she snatched up the lamp on the bedside table, at the same time pressing her weight onto his chest and pinning his upper arms with her knees. He froze beneath her, alerted to the movement.

Damn
. With a hard swing, Taylor brought the heavy lamp down at the same time he jerked upright. Assisted by his own momentum, the heavy base of the lamp struck his temple with a dull thud.