Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (39 page)

She felt him slow his breaths as if
measuring them out. He removed his helmet leisurely, with a controlled
deliberateness.

He no longer seemed like a psychopath,
but a very confused man. A confused man with hair that would have fallen to his
shoulders if it hadn't been tied back. The moon, emerging from behind its
cloudy screen for an instant, made his hair gleam blue-black. His profile, all
strong chin and harsh lines, made her suck in a breath. His all-male
gorgeousness seemed designed to melt women in their tracks. Combined with his
powerful body, he didn't seem like the kind of guy who needed to abduct any
girl. In fact, she could picture women lining up to be kidnapped by him.

If he wasn't pure crazy, she might
have considered joining the queue.

He dismounted the bike, dragging
her off against her will, since her arms were shackled around him. Without
stopping, as if she was just a fly stuck to his back, he strode across the pine
needle-strewn yard. His long steps forced her to scramble to keep from tripping.

"Hey," she protested, but
he clearly couldn't hear her muffled voice without the helmet speaker. So she
took the opportunity to curse him out in privacy. Each creative swear word
strengthened her courage.

Her helmet blocked her peripheral
vision, so she couldn't see much of what looked like a three or four-room cabin
with walls of raw wood and tiles falling off the roof. The bike was probably
worth twice what the cabin was. It didn't add up.

He twisted a key in the lock, and
she zoned in on him putting the key away in his inside pocket, in case that
info came in handy later. She paid such close attention that she nearly missed
him place his thumb on a knot in the wood next to the door—and the subtle green
light that swept over his thumbprint. She heard the distinct click of metal
locks unbolting.

Really? A high tech security system
for this tumble-down place? Her throat nearly closed. Maybe he intended on
assaulting her and disposing of the body after all. If so, he could definitely
give Dexter a run for his money.

The kitchen they stepped into was
no less high tech. He turned on the light to reveal gleaming black appliances,
polished granite countertops, and restaurant-quality gadgets. The outside of
the 'cabin' might seem like it was about to fall over, but the inside? Pure
luxury. The whole place was built to deceive someone into dismissing the exterior
while the inhabitants lived in lavish comfort.

With one abrupt motion, he turned
in place. Instead of being held against his back, Max faced him, getting a
close-up view of the stiff curling hairs escaping the slight V of his dark
shirt. He snapped the strap under her chin and lifted the helmet away, setting
it on the counter next to his own.

Her mouth dried up. There had never
been a man more handsome than this one. Flawless dark Arabian skin and eyes
greyer than the granite that surrounded her. Lips—God above, those lips would
seduce her all by themselves. It wasn't fair that he also had a strong column
of neck and shoulders like rock cliffs. Not an ounce of fat on him. Carbs
probably ran from this man in sheer terror.

She tried to lean away from him so
he couldn't feel her heart pounding a crazy beat under her ribs. Her entire
body had turned traitor. How could her hormones go into overdrive for the guy
who'd just drugged and abducted her? It wasn’t fair. She looked at the floor,
praying the blush incinerating her cheeks wouldn't betray her.

No hope. He caught her chin in one
hand and forced her to look into his. For an instant, she thought she saw a
spark of amusement there, before he narrowed his gaze to grey slits.

"On your knees, Maxine Rosalie
Foss," he ordered.

Kneel? But that would put her at eye
level with his... What did he want her to do?

Incensed by the unfairness of it, she
wanted to scream 'never,' but she didn't trust her voice with that many
syllables. "No."

"Do you prefer to be locked
together like this forever? I don't mind if you don't." His seducer's lips
quirked up at one corner.

In a flash, she saw what he wanted.
She was supposed to lower her arms so he could step out of the circle made by
the handcuffs. She hadn't thought she could blush any harder. Damn, she must be
purple in the face by now.

"You could unlock me instead,"
she suggested, without much hope.

"But
hayati
." A
scarlet tongue wet his full bottom lip. "That would be so much less fun
for me."

He was in control—she couldn't do a
thing about it. The more she resisted, the more he'd enjoy watching her writhe.
Before she could think too much about it, she lowered herself to one knee and
put her hands on the floor. Her cheek touched muscled thighs encased in dark,
soft denim. She tried not to think about that, either.

He took his time stepping back,
drawing out her mortification as long as possible. Before she could stand
again, he planted a leather boot on the chain of the cuffs. She couldn’t
misread the message. He had all the power. She could submit, or suffer.

On
instinct, she looked up to see pitiless grey eyes smoldering at her. "Are
you certain you will never apologize to me, Max?"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Max was
handcuffed to a sturdy wooden chair in the center of a luxurious living room
with a picture window view of a private lake. The man had removed her Sketchers
and disappeared into the kitchen. While listening for him to return armed with
a huge knife to carve her up or a mallet to start breaking bones, she looked
around for anything that might help her escape.

It seemed like the place had been
prepped for her arrival. Every flat surface was empty of safety pins that might
pick locks, glass knick-knacks to make into weapons, and anything else she
could hide in her palm.

She'd asked where they were, what
he wanted to do to her. He didn’t answer. When she asked why he was doing this,
he'd given her a killing look, clenching both hands, and left the room as if he
needed to regain control of himself.

When he returned, he carried two
glasses of wine and a china plate with sandwiches. She'd always been a sucker
for a guy who at least tried to cook, and the sight of him in his tight black
tee, carrying food, tightened something inside her. It would have been perfect,
though she hated to admit it. Except then there was those handcuffs.

She hadn't eaten in what seemed
like forever, but no way would she admit her hunger. Her stomach had a
different plan. It growled, betraying her weakness. He smiled in response.

"Now," he said, as he
pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, hanging over the ladder rungs of the
chair's back, spreading his legs wide in casual style. "We can talk in a
civilized manner, I think. I have some questions for you to answer."

"I wish I'd stayed in the
Dominican," she told him.

He froze for an instant, one hand
fisting dangerously on the chair back as it had on the clipboard earlier that
night. "No more than I do,
hayati
."

She was too pissed off to worry
about irritating him any more than he already was. "Why, was it easier to
stalk me there?"

"It has always been so easy to
stalk you." He waved a hand in exaggerated dismissal. "In the
Dominican or Newark. It is the same. But now I find myself wondering if it was
too easy."

Too easy to stalk her? That made
zero sense.
You're dealing with a crazy person
, she reminded herself. No
matter how hot, or how her treasonous body reacted to him, he was insane and
she had to escape. Or to get a message to someone so they could rescue her.

As if in response to that thought,
he pulled out a cell phone and held it up to her. Wow, did it have great
resolution... You could practically read the rivets on the back pockets of the
jeans of the guy she was dancing with in the Dominican. Which made the photo
that much creepier. It was definitely a stalker photo, taken in secret from a
distance.

"Explain this in a way that
makes me understand it." His voice was caramel again, but poured over
shards of glass. "I'm waiting, breathlessly."

Her heart stuttered. She'd been so
focused on being kidnapped that part of her hadn't truly believed she had a
stalker until this second. Now she found herself locked in a room with him. The
air seemed too thick to breathe.

"I can dance with a guy if I
want to," she spat out. "No man owns me, no matter what you imagine."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that
what you think? I wonder where you got that idea. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough
with you. I won't make that mistake in the future," he said, a silky
smooth threat.

She hated herself for it, but he
sizzled on her awareness like a sixth sense. Every tiny movement he made
registered on her brain, from a slight shift of his weight to the motion of his
Adam's apple. His body was plain amazing, lithe and sinewy, slim-hipped and
wide-shouldered. Masculine and powerful. Not your typical pasty white stalker
who spent too much time on the internet. Or hiding in bushes with a telephoto
lens.

"Am I going to have a future?"
she asked.

"That depends on your answers
to my questions." He lowered his eyelids, but his gaze turned to steel. "Why
did you leave?"

Okay. Weird question. Then again,
was she really expecting normal ones from Mister Hot-and-Insane? "I was
only booked at the resort for a week."

One big hand shot out, encasing her
throat in a clenching heat. Terror squeezed her chest. This was it. He could
crush her windpipe in an instant without even noticing. He would kill her now,
and she'd never even know why.

For three long heartbeats, he
seemed to consider the situation, tipping on the edge of a fatal decision. She
said nothing, but just held his gaze, hoping he had some humanity in him.

Just as quickly, he dropped his
head and let out a sigh. He didn't release her throat from his grip, but it
softened, turning into the touch of a lover. "You know what I'm talking
about. Explain it. After everything we've been to each other, you owe me that
much." His thumb moved on her skin. Not violent, but gentle. Caressing. "This
is why we're talking instead of you being dead already. The things you did... I
can't understand. You made me believe you loved me. Even now, I want to make
excuses for you, believe you did this for the good, that you were being
threatened and did it to save us. But then my people show me pictures of you
dancing with other men. It makes no sense. Why would you give me such a gift
and then just leave?"

Over the course of his speech, his
intimidation had turned to something like vulnerability. If her hormones had
been in overdrive earlier, they were burning jet fuel now. Her neck had turned
into an erogenous zone, and the gentle trail his fingers traced on her skin
stole her breath. There seemed to be such...
care
behind his touch. As
he spoke, his threats circled the drain, as if he had steeled himself to say
these things to her, but he would never have the heart to actually hurt her.

With her body reacting to him as if
she'd known him forever, she barely managed to keep his words in her head.
Barely managed to speak. "What gift is that?"

With a mocking snort, he pulled his
hand away from her throat. "All this time I thought you were a bad liar.
You are wasted in Newark. Have you thought about Hollywood?"

She responded with all the heat of
her betraying body's response. "Have you thought about a mental
institution?"

"I fear you will drive me to
one." He cocked his head at her. "Did you sleep with any of them?"

For some reason, she knew exactly
what he wanted to know. That muscle in his jaw twitched, revealing this last
question was ten times more important than anything he'd asked her yet. She
fought the urge to lie just to hurt him. Not a good plan. It might make her
life take a turn for the painful.

"Did I sleep with any of the
men at the resort, you mean?" She'd definitely gotten a couple of offers,
from guys who seemed great. They hadn't interested her, though, something she
hadn't been able to explain to herself. She'd enjoyed flirting, but didn't feel
like going any further. "No," she told him. "I just wanted to
dance."

He searched her face for a moment,
his smoke-filled eyes questing for truth. She found herself hoping he
believed... and what did that mean? Why would she care if he thought she had an
orgy with three guys in a hot tub and uploaded the film to YouTube? She
couldn’t answer the question herself. Not only was he a guy she'd just met, he
was holding her against her will, handcuffed to a chair. She shouldn’t care
about his feelings. Yet, something about him scraped her raw. And she was a
moron for letting it.

"Why was I so weak when it
came to you? How can you cut me open so casually and then walk away? Do you
even have a heart?" He leaned back in the chair, studying her like some
kind of a puzzle. "Are you really Max Foss?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only
since the day I was born."

He paused, considering. "I
believe you," he said, in an intellectual tone.