Simon Says.... Donna KauffmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
the grace to look a little abashed as he said it, even with the twinkle still in his eyes.
She glared more fiercely and swore at him around the terry-cloth in her mouth, but he remained unfazed. Despite what he’d said, she’d half expected him to come over and take her key presently trapped between her hands. There was no way, short of head butting his solar plexus, that she could stop him. And that was only if he got really, really close. But, to her surprise, he left the room. The door shut behind him with a solid click. She craned her neck to see down the short hallway to the front door. Sure enough, the Do Not Disturb sign was gone. Any hope of a hotel maid rescue was gone.
It wasn’t until she was truly alone that she began to panic in earnest. Which made no sense. He was gone, now was her time to focus. To channel her inner MacGyver and come up with a handy, homespun solution to getting out of this stupid chair and out of this room. The thing was, all those old detective shows had prop people to handily leave all the right items within reach.
She looked around, thinking if she could find anything that appeared sharp enough to cut through her bonds, she might be able to hop the chair in the direction, position herself accordingly and go to work. Except electrical cords were a lot harder to saw through than flimsy cotton rope.
Maybe if she tipped herself over onto her side, she could somehow get her fingers close enough to her ankle ties to loosen them up, but she then realized that changing position wouldn’t really change the dynamics any. Which was why her degree was in hotel management, not physics. She tried bending forward far enough to see if she could get her teeth anywhere in the vicinity of her lap, but the moment she dipped down too far, the chair threatened to topple forward. Not a great idea since she had no way to protect herself from making a full face-plant. And fat lot of good that position would do her.
Then she remembered. He’d shaved his face. Which meant there was a razor in the bathroom somewhere. Maybe she could body hop the chair over to the bathroom. There was a small coffee table in the way, and she’d have to maneuver around the end of the bed, but it was worth a try.
It took her a few tries to do more than bobble the chair dangerously from one side to the other. The way he’d tied her feet, only her tippy toes touched the ground. Not much for leverage, but if she pushed and simultaneously lifted her butt off the seat, the chair did move a little. The only problem was she had no control over direction. Definitely looked a hell of a lot easier in the movies.
She tried not to get discouraged. She had no idea how long his idea of a “jiff” was, so she couldn’t afford to waste any time. She bumped, leaned and bobbled until she’d managed to move the chair a whole two inches toward the end of the bed. Wonderful. She was sweating a little now, both from panic and exertion, which only served to make the electrical cords feel kind of icky. If only she sweat something helpful, like, say, olive oil, she might have been able to slip her wrists free. But no.
Then she had another thought. Slippery. He’d been in the shower, so maybe he used body soap. At the very least there’d be shampoo in there. Of course, she had no idea how she was going to retrieve these items while tied to a chair, but she wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing. She’d figure that part out when she got in there.
Redoubling her efforts, she bobbled and scraped her way almost a whole foot, before the edge of the chair caught at the foot of the bed and went tottering all the way forward on two legs, before she swung the momentum back. The unfortunate result of that maneuver was that the chair overcorrected and tipped over backward, which she had no way of stopping. Thankfully the bed blocked the chair’s descent, so she didn’t whack her head on anything. But now she was tilted back like she was in some kind of recliner, with her feet completely off the floor, leaving her with no leverage at all.
MacGyver would be so disgusted with her right now. She was disgusted with her right now.
She carefully tried to shift her weight forward to see if she could tip it forward again, but that only served to make the back two chair legs—the only ones presently touching the floor—start to slip. She froze and tried to figure out what to do next.
Which was how Silas found her when he came back into the room. And did he honestly expect her to buy that as his name? Although, maybe it was a popular name in New Zealand. She really didn’t know.
He stood next to her, his head tipped sideways. “How on earth did you manage that position?” Then he smiled. “What are the odds of using that line with a woman in my own hotel room, and we’re both fully clothed?”
She glared at him as fiercely as she was able. Her jaw was sore from having the stupid belt tucked in it, so she didn’t bother trying to swear at him. She did wiggle a bit, but that proved to be a bad idea. The chair legs went out from under her, and it was only his amazingly swift reflexes that kept her from cracking her head on the floor.
He cradled the chair and gently tipped her upright. The whole time his body was in very close proximity to hers, which was why she couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled. Not aftershave or cologne, not strong enough for that. Which meant shampoo. Or the body soap she’d been hoping to find earlier, when she’d started her ill-conceived mission. So much for channeling her inner MacGyver. More like her inner Lucy.
“You’re a tenacious one. A shame we’re on opposing sides.” He moved around behind her. “I’m going to remove this, and while you might be tempted, I’ll ask you not shout out, or right back on it goes.”
She was so thankful to have the horrid thing off, she didn’t do more than work her jaw once he’d removed the gag. “Thank you,” she said, once he’d stepped around in front of her again and sat on the end of the bed. At least he had the decency to look slightly guilty. Of course, decency in a thief was highly overrated.
She wiggled her hands. “Can you untie me now?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But there is too much at stake to take any chances with you.”
“I wasn’t tied up before you left and you managed to survive just fine.”
He did smile a little at that, but it faded quickly. “We have to have a little talk.”
She stilled. He looked … regretful. Had he decided she was too much trouble after all? The gun hadn’t made a reappearance, so that was good news. But maybe he’d told someone about her misuse of the master passkey. Was someone on the way up to escort her from the hotel right this very second? “I’m sure we can come to some kind of mutually agreeable solution to this situation. Let’s not do anything hasty.”
“Oh, I believe I’ve found a solution to my problem. And perhaps, in the slightly longer term, yours as well. It seems I’m going to need a partner to help me complete my assignment here. If all goes well, we’ll both get what we want.”
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