Sleeping With Danger. Wendy RosnauЧитать онлайн книгу.
do you have a meal request for dinner? I have an excellent chef. Whatever you’re craving, I’m sure Cosmo can accommodate you. And of course as much as you want. You’re still underweight.”
“In that case, how about your heart on a silver platter,” Sully replied, “and a six-pack of Killian’s Irish Red.”
Cyrus chuckled, then stepped forward and slid the rat off his knife and tossed it between the iron bars to land at Sully’s feet. “An appetizer while you wait for your meal to arrive. I ate rats in Prague to stay alive. I know in the pit you did, too. You see, Paxton, you and I have even that in common. And I’m sure there is much more.”
An hour later a guard delivered Sully his supper. To his surprise it was served on a silver platter, and beneath the domed cover was an animal’s heart and a six-pack of beer. It wasn’t Killian’s, but the brand could have been from Tasmania and two-thirds dog piss and Sully would have drank it.
It was the first time in days that he had passed on a meal. He picked up the dead rat, tossed it next to the heart and covered the tray. Then he carried the six-pack to the cot and fell asleep nursing his thoughts with a liquid meal that went straight to his head.
In the morning Sully woke up with a screamer of a headache. The beer had tasted good going down, but he was paying for it now. His tolerance to the booze wasn’t what it used to be.
The urge to relieve himself forced him to his feet, and he staggered to the toilet. Normally he could handle drinking all night, but being out of practice had given him a helluva buzz.
He moaned as he put one foot in front of the other. The toilet was five feet away but it felt like five miles. He unzipped his pants, took a stance and let it flow.
He was in the middle of a heavy sigh when he heard a noise behind him. He looked over his shoulder as he continued to perform his normal morning bodily function and stared at the woman standing in front of his cell—an exotic island nymph with the face of an angel.
No way. He was either more drunk than he thought, or he was still asleep and in the middle of the same dream he’d conjured up after midnight. Oh, yeah, this was the little honey he’d been sucking on in the dream, his hands tangled in all that black hair. She had the same sexy dark eyes. The same pouty lips.
Sully felt his body jerk to attention. Wanting to continue down that horny road he’d traveled all night, he left his fly open, flushed the toilet and staggered to the cot.
He looked back, saw she was still peering at him through the bars. Grinning, he muttered, “Come on, baby, climb on in here and we’ll start the party all over again.”
He was two steps from the cot when his sexy dream-lover spoke and stopped him in his tracks.
“If I were you, I would be thinking about a way out of here instead of having a party. The men who visit this cell don’t usually live very long.”
Sully turned slowly. “You’re real?”
“If I’m not, why are you talking to me?”
Sully rubbed his unshaven jaw, studied the woman as she studied him. He decided she was real—his dream-lover had been naked. The only thing naked on this little beauty was her feet. She wore a white peasant blouse and a bright blue skirt.
“Are you the nun who drops by to pray for the lost souls, or the monastery whore who guarantees the condemned die happy?”
He saw her chin jack upward. It was obvious she wasn’t amused by his prison humor, and didn’t find him as appealing to look at as he did her. She was taking him apart a piece at a time, as if he was some side show at a carnival.
For a month he’d been eating and sleeping and pissing center stage. It had given new meaning to the words caged monkey.
“Buy a ticket to the circus, did you, honey?”
“What?”
Sully took a few steps toward her. “I don’t do tricks. If you’re expecting to see me pull a rabbit out of my ass, it’s going to be a long wait. No rabbits in here.”
He thought his comment would chase her off. It didn’t. Instead it put a smile on her face.
“You think that’s funny?”
“If you could perform such a trick, I pity the rabbit.”
So she could give as good as she got. He liked that in a woman. She was a gutsy little nymph, and the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his entire life. The cruel joke was she was on the outside looking in.
“Ever done it through a pair of iron bars?” he asked.
“Is that what an imprisoned man misses most?”
“When you’ve been locked up as long as I have, it’s close to the top of the list.”
“It’s been one day. I saw you arrive yesterday.”
“Relocated.”
“From where?”
“Vouno.”
She frowned. “Never heard of it. What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
“I asked you first.”
She had barely gotten the words out when a male voice sounded in the corridor. By the surprised look on her face it was clear she recognized the voice and didn’t want whoever it was to find her there. She quickly glanced around, then said, “He can’t find me in here.”
“Who?”
“Holic.” She swung open the door to the empty cell next to him and slipped inside, then hurried to the cot and dropped to her knees. Flashing him her small sexy ass, she wiggled under the cot and disappeared.
From her hiding place, she said, “Don’t tell him I’m here.”
“I won’t tell if you give me your name.”
Sully heard her swear, two very nasty words in Greek. Smiling, he said, “A generous offer. You can try it through the bars as soon as I get rid of my visitor. For now, I’ll have your name.”
She swore again, then told him. “It’s Melita.”
On her belly, feeling the damp stone floor seeping into her clothes, Melita peered out from beneath the cot. She wrinkled up her nose as the sour smell suddenly gave her the urge to sneeze.
Oh, God.
She reached up and pinched her nose, concentrated on slowing her breathing until the urge passed. If Holic found her there she would be in worse trouble than she already was. The slimy bastard would like nothing better than to put her against the wall with another ultimatum.
She saw two pairs of feet stop outside of the prisoner’s cell. One was Holic’s. He always kept his black boots as shiny as a mirror. The other pair were easy to identify as well—green tennis shoes.
What was Nigel Barinski doing here with Holic?
Melita pressed her cheek against the dirty floor to get a better look. The prisoner had taken a seat on his cot. He was dressed in green fatigues and a black muscle shirt. He’d zipped up his pants, and she found herself looking long and hard at him again. Over six feet, his black hair grazed his broad shoulders—shoulders that looked rock hard even though he was extremely lean.
She was curious as to who he was, and what her father meant to do with him. So curious it had caused her to use bad judgment and search him out.
“On your feet, Paxton,” Holic ordered.
“Unlock the door,” Nigel insisted. “I can’t examine him from out here.”
Holic dug a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock. The cell door swung open, and Nigel stepped inside. Holic returned the key to his pocket and followed, pulling a handgun from the holster on his belt. He aimed the weapon