Your Mouth Drives Me Crazy. HelenKay DimonЧитать онлайн книгу.
The metal clanked against the wood.
“What are those for?”
He dangled the cuffs in front of her face. “Insurance.”
“No way. I’m outta here.” She bolted from the bed.
He was ready for her. He looped one arm around her waist and pulled her back tight against his chest. He could smell his shampoo in her soft hair. His soap on her skin.
“Let me go!”
He held her still with one arm. “Can’t.”
“Of course you can.” She squirmed and pushed against his hand.
He got his confirmation when her body fit snug against him. He needed a woman. Not this woman. One less temperamental and not water-logged. One night. Sex. Cleared head. Move on.
“Stop before you hurt yourself,” he said as he blocked a shot to his temple.
“You mean, before you hurt me.”
“Never going to happen.” He grabbed both of her forearms, careful not to hurt her, and set her back down on the bed.
Before she could protest, he slipped one end of the handcuffs over her wrist. The other end snapped against the mattress frame with a click. The move forced her to lean on her left forearm low to the bed. Not the most comfortable position ever, but it would last only a few minutes.
“What are you doing?” She sounded more angry than scared.
“Holding you steady so I can change my clothes.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Almost never.”
“This is ridiculous. Let me out of these.” She rattled the cuffs, causing metal to screech against metal.
“Would you prefer I strip down in front of you?” he asked.
“I’d prefer you show a little common sense.” The heat stayed in her voice, but the clanking stopped.
“That would require me to drive you to the hospital and have you checked out. After all that poking and prodding, if you still insisted you couldn’t remember anything, I’d take photos and send them out over the wire to see if anyone had reported you missing. Contact the FBI for assistance. Put your face on the television and in the computer. Those things.”
“Sounds like typical male overkill.”
“Standard procedure.” As if he had a plan for this sort of thing. Since beautiful naked women tended to walk through the front door rather than wash in with the waves, he didn’t. “Just like putting you in jail would be if I found you were in that kind of trouble.”
“Jail?” Her voice actually squeaked.
“But if I knew your name…”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. It’s Fern. Can I go now?”
“And miss your sparkling conversation? I don’t think so.”
“I am going to have your ass on a plate for this.”
“We can talk about my ass when I get back.” He winked, then disappeared into the bathroom.
Chapter 4
Annie sat on the corner of Kane’s bed and drummed her fingers against the comforter. Being nearly naked and chained to a stranger’s mattress should have been the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. This wasn’t even the worst thing she’d had to deal with this week.
She’d forgotten to get her rescuer’s name. Probably had something to do with the near drowning and public display of nudity. All that excitement made her mind a bit fuzzy. Of course, if she asked him about his name, then he’d insist on knowing hers. She’d say no. He’d call her some made-up name. With this guy’s stubbornness, the cycle could go on forever.
The rescue and blood warming had helped. The robe and the hair wash weren’t bad either. But the time had come—and probably gone—for her to leave. There was a difference between biding time and wasting it.
The yacht and Sterling Howard. She had to find her notes. Retrieve her camera. Hide from whatever goon had tried to drown her…once she figured out exactly which goon that was.
Yeah, not the most comprehensive plan ever contemplated. And, yeah, the handcuffs and six-foot watch-dog caused a tiny problem.
But being confined made her crazed. She preferred the outdoors. Those slices of nature that defined serenity and peace: at the right angle, with the right light, framed by her lens and captured in a perfect moment that would never pass by again. Sunshine or dusk, hot or cold, didn’t matter to her so long as the beauty of that wide-open space translated on film.
Make that dry wide-open spaces. It would be some time before she could look at an ocean view again without getting the shivers.
She pulled and shoved, trying to loosen the hold or snap the metal around her wrist. No chance he’d used joke cuffs. Nope. They were real which meant he was real. Not just a cop, this one claimed to be the cop in charge of cops. Better the police than a serial killer but, really, what were the chances she’d land on a police officer’s doorstep?
Seeing his badge had eased the panic that kept bubbling up in her throat at the thought of being at the mercy of a strange man. Everything about him soothed her frazzled nerves. His straightforward attitude. His calm demeanor. His warm voice and hands.
Deep down, she knew she’d be safe in his home. The controlling-behavior thing would get old, but he wouldn’t hurt her. The question was whether he would follow when she left.
She tugged again and let out a yelp when the cuffs dug into her soft skin. “Damn him.”
“Kane? You here?”
She heard male voices first, then a door slam. At least two more people were in the house somewhere. The very small house.
That made three men she needed to avoid.
She jerked around, looking for something big and heavy to whip at whatever moron walked through the door. Furniture. A pair of old sneakers. That was all she saw. Not so much as a magazine in sight. The guy had the most boring bedroom on earth.
But, he did own a lamp. Now all she had to do was reach it. She scrambled to her knees, ignoring the shot of pain that moved up her thigh from her injury, and spun around until she faced the doorway with her back to the bathroom. One arm hooked to the bottom of the bed, and the other stretched toward the nightstand. If only she were fifteen feet tall.
The men kept calling out, walking around and otherwise making her nervous as hell.
“This is all his fault,” she grumbled as she wiggled her fingers, trying to make her torso longer through sheer will.
“Hey, warrior boy, where are you? We’re heading out for a beer and saw your car.” The muffled male voice kept coming closer.
Warrior boy?
The bedroom door stood wide open. Two guys, polar opposites in looks, joked and laughed as they walked in. One, blond and light, with the scruffy start of a beard along his jawline and bright blue eyes close in color to his aqua tie. Despite the tailored suit, this one had a rough-hewn look about him.
The other, trim and dark and Hawaiian, dressed casually in a college tee and shorts. Throwing his keys in the air and concentrating on that task to the point where he bumped into the wall.
If she guessed right, the second was blood related to her captor. They possessed the same tall, dark and handsome gene.
“Hey, we’re—” Blondie stopped and stared.
“Josh, what the hell.” The young stud dropped the keys. “Whoa.”
“I am going to kill him. Throw him right out the window.” She mumbled the vow under