Prisoner of Love Read online

  She glared at him after this outburst and jerked on the underwear bottoms tied around her wrists. He stared back, and she was surprised to see shame, guilt, regret—a whole slew of emotions flicker across his features like a montage on a movie screen.

  “Okay, so I see your point—” At last, he lowered his gaze, reached across her body, and began untying her bindings. “I’ve told you before. You’re in no danger from me.”

  She opened her mouth to spout off something about no honor among thieves, but his under-the-breath curse forestalled her. That, and the searching look he shot her.

  “How the hell did this happen? I tied you with long underwear, for Chrissake, not barbed wire.”

  Lucy’s gaze dropped to her left wrist, the one he’d released, and was shocked to see raw skin where her restraint had been. She hadn’t realized she’d yanked that hard to get free. When he reached out and traced the burn-mark with one gentle forefinger, she couldn’t control the shiver of anticipation that skimmed through her, or how her stomach flipped from that simple caress.

  Crazy. OMG, she was certifiable. They had a term for this ridiculous kind of reaction. Stocking, no, Stockton. Shoot, she couldn’t think with him this close and…caressing her.

  His testing fingers moved as lightly as a lover’s along her lacerated skin, over and over, until Lucy’s insides wiggled like soft-set Jell-O. She found her attention captivated by his touch, and almost cried out in dismay when it abruptly stopped. Her eyes snapped up to his and she jolted from what she saw in them.

  Regret, yes. Apology, also. But still more, she saw the flare of attraction. Desire, even. And was equally shocked that she felt it as well.

  Chapter Four

  She didn’t want him to stop touching her. Jake knew this as clearly as if Lucy had said the words. He could read it in her face, in the way she caught her breath. In the way her cheeks flushed pink as the seconds ticked by. And he didn’t want to stop.

  Her skin was soft under his fingertips, beguiling in its smoothness, and in another time or place, he wouldn’t have resisted. He would’ve run his hand along her arm, leaned in to kiss those supple lips. Would have buried his nose in the hair at her neck, breathed in that utterly female smell of desire he could already sense from her. But he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t because he was her kidnapper. The man who had commandeered her car and her life just a few short hours ago. Even though he was an undercover cop, she didn’t know that, and couldn’t know that. Blowing his cover was not an option. Not if he wanted to survive.

  So, instead of doing what his body and her eyes so wanted him to do, which was sample what she didn’t even know she offered, he brusquely reached across her and untied her right hand. At the sight of that abraded wrist, he suppressed his grimace and sat back, creating more needed space between them. Once he had her attention, he spoke conversationally, as if the sensually charged moment had never happened.

  “There are two ways we can handle tonight. One, I can keep you tied up until I leave tomorrow, a rather uncomfortable state of affairs for you, from the look of it. Or two, you can give me your word that you won’t try any more dramatic escape maneuvers, and we can pass a reasonably comfortable evening.”

  He could see her weighing her options. Flight, fight, or cooperate? He swallowed the ill-timed grin at her transparent emotions. She really was an open book, or else he was just too jaded. He feared the latter.

  “H—how do I know you won’t go back on your word? You’re a criminal, after all.”

  Yes, indeed. For now, at least, he was. The knowledge soured his response. “You don’t have to have a record to be a liar. Surely even Miss Innocent You knows that.”

  “Stop calling me names,” she snapped. Obviously, his being a criminal didn’t affect her spirit much. He found he liked the fact that she wasn’t truly afraid of him, even if it meant he had to remain on his toes around her. As well as tamp down his improper attraction. She barreled on. “If you want my word, treat me with respect. Believe me, I could come up with a few names for you, but I refrain from saying them. Grant me the same courtesy, if you even know what that means.”

  Christ, he felt himself harden just from her gutsy retort. He really needed to get himself under control. She was supposed to become an unfortunate blip on his memory, not an ingrained image in his mind. In his thoughts.

  So he took the high road, hoping a gentlemanly response would remind the rest of his body she was off-limits. Fat chance. “My apologies. My zeal over my successful escape overrode my good manners momentarily. Now, do we have a deal?”

  Her eyes narrowed on his face. As long as she didn’t look lower, he was safe. “You have a deal,” she finally answered.

  That deal didn’t extend to dinner, Jake found out later that afternoon.

  Of course she wouldn’t cook for him, he reflected with some amusement as he banged around in the kitchen. He may have calmed her down with his more appropriate behavior, but there was no way she would wait on him. That was just as well. He didn’t want to be too close to her if he could help it. Not when his body reacted to her presence like a metal detector at the U.S. Mint.

  So, while she sat reading The Sun Also Rises before the fire he’d started, he rooted around in the kitchen cupboards before finding some family-sized cans of chili. Happy to once more be cooking, work he truly loved, he’d searched for anything else he could use to lift their meal from the ordinary. There was something about the rhythm of cooking, the soothing choreography of preparing a meal and maneuvering around the kitchen that sent him back in time, back to before his life had become a train wreck of impossible choices.

  Puttering in the kitchen reminded him of when he’d invited a woman into his home and cooked for her, learned about her hopes and dreams through casual conversation before a roaring fire. Where he shared his motivations and interests over a good glass of wine and a gourmet meal, in hopes of finding that spark, that intense attraction that went beyond sex, beyond mutual compatibility. That fusion of body and soul between two people that lasted a lifetime.

  Jake snorted at his fanciful musings and stirred the chili with more force than necessary. He hadn’t found it yet in his nearly thirty-four years, maybe because he’d always put the job first and relationships second. Besides, it wasn’t likely to happen to the product of a deadbeat, druggie dad and a single mom who worked herself right into a heart attack.

  But he’d still searched, still hoped to meet that special someone, right up until he’d gone deep undercover. He’d even planned to get out of the covert business after this Farelli investigation. It had begun to take its toll on his mind, on his outlook on life, and he was wise enough to know when he was used up. Though it looked like he’d taken on one assignment too many.

  With someone’s well-placed whisper, his life had been tipped bottom-side up. Instead of being the predator, he’d become the prey. To make it even more challenging, he was working without a net. No phone service up here in this cabin meant he still couldn’t contact his superior. He was on the run from an angry drug dealer and AWOL from the department he worked for. And he was thinking about romantic, fireside dinners with his captive? Jesus, he needed his head examined.

  But he couldn’t stop the inclination. Not with those big, doe eyes behind her glasses watching his every move and the way she filled out that ridiculous sweatshirt. No, he couldn’t help but think about spending time with Lucy as a normal man might. Though not just because he found her hotter than the four-alarm chili he was known for. He liked being in the sphere of another person who wasn’t an immediate threat. An ordinary person, with everyday problems. It was all the normalcy and little things in life that she represented—she made him feel…human, again.

  Once they finished the meal and he’d stowed the leftovers, he flung himself into the plaid wingback across from the checkered couch she occupied. He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the circa 1990s console set, but nothing happened when he pressed the power butt
on. Either the batteries in the tuner were dead or, more likely, there was no cable. He’d have to wait for news of his escape.

  Turning to Lucy, he attempted some of that commonplace, after-dinner small talk he craved. “What’s the book?”

  She’d been watching his every move, and still held the tome before her like a shield, drawing his attention to her breasts. He swallowed hard.

  “Hemingway. The Sun Also Rises.” She said it like she didn’t expect him to know it from Curious George.

  “Hmmm. Bullfighting. Ex-pats Jake and Lady Brett.”

  “You’ve read Hemingway.” She quirked a brow.

  “You’re surprised.” He allowed himself a satisfied grin, immensely enjoying impressing an attractive woman, even if she was his hostage. “You shouldn’t be. Surprised, that is,” he continued. “There’s a shitload of free time in prison. Might as well use it to better yourself.” He could tell she was wondering that if this was better, what had he been like before? What had he been like, indeed?

  Swiping his hair off his forehead, he leaned forward and held out a hand. “My name’s Jake, just like in the book.” He had to say it. His real name. After all this time, after being swallowed whole by his undercover persona, he had to be Jake, just Jake, at least for tonight. He had to convince himself he still existed, if only for a little while. “I, uh, usually go by my middle name. Nicky.”

  His arm remained outstretched. She continued clutching the paperback, staring at him, unblinking. At last her gaze lowered to his outstretched hand, and she asked carefully, “Why’d you break out of prison?”

  Here was the perfect moment to come clean. To burst forth and say, “I’m an undercover cop who’s on the run for his life.” He even opened his mouth to speak those words, to see her suspicion change to relief. Perhaps even admiration. He pressed his lips together. Yeah, right. Like she’d believe the word of the man who’d kidnapped her, held her at knifepoint, and verbally disrespected her. Besides, he couldn’t tell her anything. The whole idea behind remaining in prison had been to protect his cover, small-time crook Nicky Costas. Until he actually walked away from undercover work for good, maintaining his cover persona was Jake’s only security.

  If Lucy ran to the authorities and told them he’d said he was a cop (and she would, he already knew that about her), all hell would break loose. The media would get involved, as they always managed to, and his ass would be fried. Once it was known that Nicky was really a cop, Farelli would put a price on his head. He was not the kind of man who went down without a fight. Hell, if his beatdown in jail had been any indication, there already was a price on his head.

  No, even if he was tired of the subterfuge, Jake knew he needed to go out on his own terms. Not because some drug kingpin was chasing him into retirement. Or death.

  As much as he hated playing the on-the-run asshole in front of a woman he found attractive and oddly endearing, she was better off reporting she’d been abducted by Nicky Costas and then dumped after he’d gotten far enough away. Of course, that also came with its own set of risks for Lucy. If her name as a witness somehow leaked to the press, and Farelli caught wind of it, he could send thugs out to pay her a visit. It would be best for both of them if Jake talked her out of reporting her abduction to the cops.

  Fat chance.

  But it was worth a try, as was attempting to raise her regrettably low opinion of him right now. Oh, he’d seen her do a double take when he’d returned from the shower. He’d felt her start when he touched her wrists. She wasn’t immune to him any more than he was to her. And he needed to make that work in his (and in the long run, her) favor.

  “The drug dealer I worked for put a hit out on me. It seems somebody told him I was skimming his profits.”

  Other than hissing in a breath at his bald answer, she didn’t seem too torn up about one criminal planning on snuffing another. He needed to work harder to gain her sympathy. And cooperation.

  “Were you?”

  “Hell, no.” At least his indignation was real. “But someone had to have been, because Farelli doesn’t make wild accusations. And whoever it was pointed the finger at me.”

  “And you broke out of prison to—”

  “To save my ass by finding the real culprit.” And to get ahold of my captain and ask why Farelli was loose after the bust. What had gone wrong during the shakedown? But of course, he couldn’t say that second part.

  “And if you can’t find the guilty person?” Her book lay forgotten in her lap. Apparently, his real-life soap opera was more interesting than Hemingway’s characters and their drinking, arguing, and general discontent.

  “Sucks for me,” he retorted, sitting back in the chair. “Farelli will keep coming after me, and anyone I come in contact with. It would be in your best interest not to report me. Once he finds out about you…” He let the words trail off with a shake of his head. She shivered. Good girl, he thought. You can fill in the blanks on your own.

  Rousing from the ugly picture he’d painted for her, she asked sharply, “So if it’s that dangerous, why’d you go into the drug business in the first place? I mean, no one grows up saying they want to be a drug dealer.”

  He had to be careful. Not only was she attractive, she was smart.

  “I can’t tell you that,” he replied in a serious tone. She started to shrug as if she expected nothing less from him, but then he concluded broadly, “Because then I’d have to kill you.”

  At her stunned expression, he chuckled. “Probably wasn’t the best joke, was it? Sorry, Miss Parker.”

  The silence spun out. When she realized he wasn’t going to answer the question, she abruptly rose from the couch. “I’d like to go to sleep, if that’s all right with you.” She began edging past him.

  He stood and took hold of her arm. Gazed down into her immediately apprehensive face and felt her muscles tense within his grip. Once more he tamped down the urge to proclaim his innocence. “We’re sleeping together. I want some shut-eye, and I need to know where you are. And that will be beside me. Any movement of the bed and I’ll wake up. You can put a pillow between us if you must, but make no mistake—we will be sleeping in the same bed.”

  She yanked her arm from his grasp wordlessly. Gave no argument. After all, what was there to say? She was smart enough to know if she screamed and cried, ran or fought, they would only end up in another altercation where he would emerge the victor. As she moved to the bedroom listlessly, he saw her shoulders droop.

  About-facing, he strode to the kitchen. He punished himself by washing the dishes, wiping the counters, doing the jobs he didn’t like about cooking. Anything to stall going back to the bedroom. Part of him hoped little Miss Lucy Parker would be fast asleep by the time he entered the bedroom. Then he would be spared her accusatory glances. But part of him hoped she’d be awake. Because, for the first time in a long, long time, he was in the company of a person who wasn’t out to get him.

  With nothing more to keep him busy, he trudged down the hallway toward what would undoubtedly be another sleepless night. That old saying “no rest for the wicked” came to mind.

  Giving a resigned sigh, he pushed open the bedroom door. Heard her breath catch. Her anxiety was a palpable thing, nearly as high as the mountain of pillows she’d constructed on top of the blanket.

  He moved soundlessly through the dark room, eyes quickly adapting, and sat on the edge of the bed. It bounced as he shifted to find a comfortable position. The little squeak she made had him smirking humorlessly.

  “Where’d you find all these blasted pillows, anyway?” he asked.

  She said nothing, turning to face away from him.

  He sighed. “So, it’s going to be the silent treatment? Fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the receiving end of that form of argument. Sleep well, Miss Parker. Your virtue’s safe with me.” As the silence dragged on, and her nearness permeated his system, he felt it necessary to add, “But not because your body doesn’t tempt me.”

>   That comment had her shifting. A sound echoed over the pillow fortress between them, a mumbled, “Huh?”

  Maybe she’d spoken the word, maybe he’d imagined it. “A Victoria’s Secret model doesn’t have anything over you. But I’m a man of my word, believe it or not. Good night.”

  At four in the morning, Jake jerked awake as if he’d set a timer, but it was just his internal alarm from years of discipline. He lay on his back for several minutes, listening to the sound of his bedmate’s even breathing. At least she was sleeping now.

  It had taken her over an hour to drift off. He knew, because it had taken him even longer, knowing she was worried about him next to her. That, and the fact he hadn’t been this close to a woman in ages. His body kept strenuously reminding him of that fact. He regretted feeling Lucy Parker’s soft curves during her escape attempt. He’d been in some form of arousal ever since then. Not that he’d ever act on it.

  But even the feel of the heavy blankets resting on top of him had teased his hard-on to new heights. Once he had finally fallen asleep, he’d been plagued with sex dreams so vivid he’d jolted awake with one hand around his shaft. Thank God it was time for him to leave. Maybe a cold blast of pre-dawn morning air would alleviate this ridiculous sexual stupor.

  Moving carefully so as not to disturb his companion, Jake slipped from the bed. Standing next to it, he eyed Lucy’s shape. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and once more he felt the sting of remorse for treating her so vilely.

  He wished they could have met earlier, although Lucy’s nice-girl style probably would’ve set her firmly in the do-not-date category. His previous dates had been for one thing and one thing only. A good lay in between assignments. That’s why he’d been able to rotate them out of his life quickly. Sure, there’d been times when he’d contemplated something more substantial, something lasting, but his occupation precluded that. Having seen what his mother went through each time his father disappeared for weeks at a clip, he wasn’t about to ask any woman to wait around for him.