Wicked Pleasures (3 page)

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” Her
voice was low and hoarse, her eyes narrowed.

Once he was certain that his voice worked, he said,
“You should know, but your memory fails you.”

Confusion took the place of annoyance in her
expression. “I’ve never met you. Tell me why I’m here? Why did
those men bring me?” she said in between filling her lungs with
air.

Bitter veracity rose in his chest. “How sweet it
must be to live each day without knowledge of the pain you’ve
caused. And yet, I’m responsible for watching over you.”

“I have no clue what you’re saying. You must have
the wrong person. Now let me go!” Mist appeared in her eyes.

“Not only do I have the right person, but it’s time
for you to correct what you wronged.”

“You’re insane. You are out of touch with reality.”
Her lips clenched.

“Insanity would be a welcome break from this life of
torment,” he said.

“Do you want money? I don’t have a lot,” she
said.

“Money is useless to me. You will give me a
child.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted. “Are you
crazy? You’d better let me go. My fiancé will have the entire city
looking for me.” Her words came out in spurts. “If you don’t let me
go, you’re going to regret it. I promise you.”

“Unfortunately, your fiancé isn’t expecting you. I’m
sure he thinks you’re on a flight to paradise.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“It’s taken months to see this through.” He shifted
his hips to release the strain in his cock. The zipper in his pants
didn’t stretch far enough.

“You…you jackass!” She tried pulling her hands away
from his hold. “You can’t keep me against my will. How dare
you!”

His nostrils filled with her scent. “Stop fighting.
We’re not strangers.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life. You’re a
lunatic!”

“But I know you.” He smiled. “You can refuse me all
you want, sweetheart, but until you deliver me what I request, no
one will see you again. The sooner you understand those words, the
better for the both of us. I’m only heartless if the need
arises.”

Her eyes glistened like emeralds. He thought she’d
cry but she didn’t—he guessed she had too much pride. “I’d rather
die than give in to whatever you’re asking,” she spat.
Determination cocked her chin. “You and your hooligans can go to
hell!”

“Well—” Roark slid the tips of his finger along her
jaw line and down the smooth curve of her throat. He stopped at her
collarbone and splayed his palm over her chest. “—your wish came
true long ago.” A tear slid from the corners of her eyes and
moistened her pale skin.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she whispered.

“Too bad I need you alive.”

“Then go ahead! Do what you need to do. I’m not
afraid of you!”

She lied—he knew she was frightened. He could smell
her fear and it burned the back of his throat. He loosened his hold
but remained on top of her.
Why couldn’t this be easy?
“Can
we do this a way that’s constructive? I’m telling you that you’ll
be here for a while. Believe it or not, it’s by your spiteful hand
that you’re here now. You could even say that I’m saving your
life.”

“If it’s by
my
hand that I’m here, then I
choose to leave.”

“Not a possibility, at least not until you give
birth.”

“And that’s not a possibility,” she said through
clenched teeth. “I’m not even pregnant!”

“First things first.” He lowered his gaze and saw
that her hand was bleeding worse. “You’re soiling my expensive
rug.”

****

Bronte allowed the man to pull her up from the
floor. The last place she wanted to be was on her back. She scanned
the large room and its furnishings with a close examination,
looking for a weapon and an exit. From the dark sleek furniture,
the luxurious Persian rug, the walls lined with expensive framed
art and personal memorabilia, it all reeked of money. This blew the
idea that she was being kidnapped for ransom, which had been her
first thought when she’d woke up in the back of the car. Kidnappers
didn’t reside in rich homes. And if they’d done their research,
they’d have known she came from comfortable living but she was far
from wealthy.

Bringing her gaze to his face, she met his stare.
Did she know him and couldn’t place his face? He didn’t look
insane, but any man who demanded that a stranger have his baby
would have to be cuckoo. “Are you angry with me?” she asked. “Did I
turn down a book you’d submitted? Did I give you a bad review?”
She’d gotten a lot of hate emails over the years from disgruntled
writers, but none had ever gone this far.

“No,” he answered.

“Look, if you brought me here because you want me to
read your material, I swear this isn’t the way to get your work
recognized. Let me go and—”

“Are you serious? Do you think I’d go as far as
bringing you here just to get you to read something I’ve written?
You must come across a lot of desperate writers.”

She shrugged. “You’d be surprised what writers will
do to get published.”

“I assure you that I’m not a writer and I’m not in
need of your publishing services. Now let’s go.” He took her hand
and practically dragged her toward the door. He was physically fit
and strong, obviously. When she’d bitten him, he had showed no
signs of pain. Her knee into his goods had done the trick, but not
long enough. She had no chance against him in bodily force, leaving
her hoping that she was smarter because it could be her only way
out. A crazy person couldn’t be trusted and the man needed put
away.

As they made their way into the shadowed hall, she
looked around for the men who’d brought her here. They were gone,
like he’d directed. She knew their faces well though and could
identify them if needed. She’d like to personally see that the
bigger one of the two was put in prison so he could be manhandled
like he’d done her. Fighting him hadn’t gotten her anywhere, and
the last thing she remembered was a sharp ache to the back of her
head before everything went dark. She hoped her purse and briefcase
were left behind so Fallon would realize something had happened.
Yet, she had a sinking feeling that the men were detailed in their
work and made sure they didn’t leave any evidence.

Yet, eventually Fallon would call her—Bronte knew
she would. And what would her friend do when Bronte didn’t answer?
She hoped Fallon’s flawless instincts worked in this incidence.

Bronte hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until
her captor nudged her. “Keep walking, Bronte.”

Hearing him use her name made her stomach roll and
she realized it wasn’t a random act of violence. It’d been planned,
like he’d said.
But why?
She lived life by the book, never
had committed a crime, at least not in her adulthood, and she’d
always been fair to everyone she met. She didn’t socialize with
unsavory people and she paid her bills on time. No one would have
any reason to kidnap her.

They moved toward the staircase and her apprehension
elevated.

“Where are we going?” she snapped.

“To my bedroom.”

“I’m not going upstairs.” She reached out and
grabbed the handrail, looking at him through narrowed gaze.

Humor lit his expression and it irked her. “By now
you should know that antics like this won’t change the end
result.”

Clinging to the spindles would be fruitless and
harmful. She let go with a sigh. They made their way up the spiral
staircase, each step bringing her closer to doom, she was certain.
Did he plan to rape her? Her heart sped up and terror filled her
chest. She’d kill herself before she’d allow that to happen.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve been known to take
what was mine a time or two, but women are not included. They’ve
all been willing.”

The vain meaning of his words drove through Bronte
like a stake. Her biggest concern was how did he know what she was
thinking? “Rest assured, I’ll never be willing.”

His chuckle echoed off the walls. “Rest assured,
I’ll have you writhing like a cat in heat. I can’t wait.”

Bronte added narcissistic to his list of bad
characteristics. A loony, self-centered, strong bastard…
just her
luck
. She had a feeling that all of the hours spent in the gym,
all of the self-defense classes her father made her take when she
was younger, were all for naught. Now she wished she’d listened
when friends told her she should carry a gun. As badass as this man
was, a bullet would take him down…
she’d hope
.

Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of her
captor’s profile. While he’d lain on top of her, she’d gotten a
good feel of steely toned muscles. She’d guess he was at least
two-hundred pounds, if not more, and well over six feet. He towered
her five feet five, one-hundred-ten pound frame, which wasn’t a
huge feat.

He’d said that she wasn’t a stranger. She knew she’d
never met him—she’d remember. Men like him were hard to forget.
There was something in the way he looked at her, as if he held
resentment, which contradicted her impression that when he’d
touched her she’d felt something tender…familiar.

“In here,” he said roughly and led her into a
bedroom. She tensed and he shook his head. “Relax. Like I said,
willing.”

“Go to hell!” He would say anything to get her guard
down, and she wasn’t about to trust anything that passed his
lips.

Pulling her thoughts together, she soaked up every
detail of the room, looking for anything personal, any clue where
she was and who he was.

Even under dire circumstances, she could appreciate
the décor. It was masculine like the downstairs. The antique walnut
bed looked like it’d been handed down from a king. It was fitting
for a man of great and reputable status.
Figures!
No doubt
her captor had it handmade to match his ego.

He pushed her further through another set of wooden
double doors.
The bathroom
. Once again, it was luxurious
with sleek fixtures and tidy. “Sit.” He pointed to the toilet.

“I don’t have to,” she said. And if he thought she’d
use the potty with him standing there he was crazier than she first
believed.

“That’s good to know.” He gave her shoulder a gentle
shove and she dropped to the cold seat. “But not what I had in
mind.”

Bronte looked up at him and anger ripped through
her. “I don’t like being man handled.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “And I don’t like
being bitten and having my nuts driven into my stomach.”

“Hopefully that’ll deter any babies in the future,”
she said in loathing.

He looked down at her and his deep blue eyes
twinkled. The look reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse
before he ate it. “No fear, sweetheart, you’ll soon find that
performance and result won’t be a problem.”

She gulped air. He really thought she’d allow him to
touch her. “Unfortunately, I’ll never care to find out.”

“If a child could be created without sex, I’d agree,
but reproduction requires the benefit of mating.”

“Who are you? Besides the father of this fantasy
child you’re conjuring up.”

“Roark.” He took a step to the medicine cabinet,
opened it and retrieved items— bandages, antiseptic ointment and a
clear vessel. He lined them up on the sink.

“Roark? Just Roark?” she asked. As he reached above
her, he took a washcloth from the cabinet, stretched over her to
the faucet and moistened the cloth. She didn’t care one bit that he
smelled nice. Or that his zipper bulged.

“Just Roark.”

“Is that your real name or is that something you
pulled out of a comic book?” she asked.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I don’t lie. Or
fantasize. If this was all a made-up dream, I’d have envisioned
someone much better looking to be the mother of my child, but in
any case, you’ll do.”

Her mouth fell open. She started to tell him to kiss
her ass, but why give the ogre the satisfaction? A part of her
couldn’t let it go, though. “That’s real interesting. Have you
looked in the mirror lately?”

“Men don’t rely on their looks like women do,” he
said casually.

His response wasn’t shocking. At this point, she
couldn’t imagine being stunned at anything he said. “That’s good
because you’re not God’s gift to women,” she said. “You’re not even
handsome.”

Unfortunately, she lied.
His laughter was
rich and deep as if proving that he knew better.

With him standing near, she couldn’t help but
stare—in her defense she needed to in case she had to describe his
characters to the police. His silken black hair was tangled with
grey strands and touched his shoulders. His chiseled features,
strong jaw line and full mouth made him appear rugged. Disgust
wasn’t what she felt, far from it. Moisture between her thighs
did
make her cringe. What was she thinking? Truth was, she
wasn’t thinking at all.

Dragging her gaze away, she scorned her body for
betraying logic. “Well, since I don’t meet the standards of this
ludicrous scheme, I suggest you let me go and continue your search
for the flawless beauty.”
Could she hope?

“The choice was not mine,” he said as he grabbed her
wounded hand. She flinched and he loosened his hold. He dragged the
wet cloth over her skin and she was surprised at how gentle he was
as he cleaned the dried blood. “Fate has drawn us together.”

“Fate is a lousy matchmaker,” she said with a sigh.
“And why are you helping me?”

His gaze met hers. “It’s my duty to treat you like a
precious jewel until my child is born.”

“And you call having your thugs grab me, tie me up
and stick a rag over my head is being treated like a jewel?”

He paused in tending to the cut. “First, those men
are not thugs. I’m not a gangster. Second, they did that for your
protection. They wouldn’t have hurt you.” He went back to cleaning
the wound. “You hurt yourself more by fighting.”