Larissa Ivy - Kane

Corrine purposely drew her gaze away from his fly and glanced at his ankles. She inspected the shackles locked around them, the length of metal climbing almost halfway up his calves, which she could see when she dared to pick up the hem of his jeans with a single delicate finger. The footboard was just as chewed up as the head, with shreds of wood everywhere there as well. When she moved carefully to peek over the bed, she found those chains sinking directly into the stone floor just as they did the wall at the head of the bed. Only this time there were two chains per leg, as if someone had thought one chain wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

No. She would never have agreed to something like this. And judging by the amount of blood staining the manacles and his jeans, he hadn’t wanted any part of it either. He was tied down like some kind of dangerous animal.

Corrine fought her compassionate impulse to reach out and touch his face, which was vibrating with nervous twitches and spasms as if he was fighting his bonds even in his sleep.

What if he was dangerous?

What if she’d been kidnapped or something and thrown into. . into. . into a lion’s den? Was he some kind of deadly killer? Some kind of Hannibal Lecter in need of a redheaded appetizer?

When bold blue eyes suddenly appeared in the face she was staring at, Corrine yelped in fearful surprise. She reacted, yanking sheeting around her body even as she scrambled for the edge of a bed that was just too damned big. It wasn’t until she stumbled in the effort to make a hasty exit from the bed that she really began to feel the weakness in her limbs and the slowness of her reactions.

Corrine! Stop!

Corrine yelped as the deep, rich, vibrant voice reverberated around the inside of her head. Sheer panic and disbelief made her freeze where she was, on her knees in that bed. She had been watching him every second and knew for a fact he hadn’t opened his mouth to speak. Her frightened eyes scanned the room, looking for another source for the voice. It had to be something. . something other than what it had felt and sounded like. She looked for a loudspeaker, some kind of communications device, but there was nothing she could see. Nothing anywhere.

Drawn to those vividly blue eyes, she began to shake as his big body clenched, jerking his bonds all the tighter.

Don’t be afraid of me, Corrine.

Corrine’s jaw dropped open again. Those sexy lips had not moved a smidge, but it was all too clear from what she could see in his deep, imploring eyes that he was the one making the plea. She sat poised there for almost a minute, ready for flight and riddled with confusion. She had to be out of her mind. Maybe it was an effect from a roofie some bastard had slipped in her drink?

“What in hell is going on here?” she demanded to know, the pitch of her voice little more than a growl.

Then the son of a bitch had the temerity to smile at her. And somehow, maybe because of years of experience with this kind of reaction, she just knew it was loaded with condescension. The old “Aww, how cute, the redheaded temper thing!”

With quick angry eyes, she ran a contemptuous gaze over him. That lasted for about a second because once she made it past his belt line she realized he was. .

Holy shit! She gasped when she realized he was fully— fully —aroused. God, please tell me that is a full-on hard-on because if that’s only a partial I might just have to stay and think about this for a moment.

Corrine’s captive stud suddenly erupted in laughter, resting his head back so the rich, rolling sound could bolt out of him and echo around the room. Since the entire place seemed made of stone and rock, the echo was rather significant. But that didn’t bother Corrine nearly as much as the realization that he had heard her thoughts.

He heard my thoughts!

He really was inside her head!

Oh no, she thought with horror. No one knew what went on in her head, not even her sister Isabella. She had made an art out of snarky internal dialogues and editing them before they passed her lips. Well, at least since college she’d internalized and edited them. Her blithe tongue had gotten her in trouble more often than not before then, so she had learned to temper it. And if this guy really could read her thoughts and talk inside her head, he was about to prove to her all the reasons why.

Yes, Corrine, I can read your mind. . and one day you will be able to read mine.

“The hell I will!” she blurted out. “Where are my clothes? I’m getting out of this freak show right now!”

“No, don’t!”

Too late. She had reached the edge of the bed and put her feet down. First, the bed was much further from the floor than she had judged it to be and second, despite a good start, her legs simply refused to hold her. She hit the painfully hard floor in a pile of awkward, uncoordinated limbs, hurting herself in numerous places.

“Ow,” she complained aloud.

“Corrine?” The demand was hard and full of restrained anger, but it was also laced with very obvious fear. Fear for her safety, perhaps. Or maybe he was just afraid she would leave him trapped and alone?

Corrine curled up against her thighs for a moment, closing her eyes and nursing her pain and heart-racing anxiety for just a moment. Jumbled thoughts and questions tripped over one another in her head. She didn’t know what to focus on first. She didn’t know which direction held safety and comfort and, just as importantly, peace of mind.

Moving slowly onto her knees, steadying herself with her hands, she tried to get her feet back under her. She made it only as far as her knees, and, panting softly for breath with her head hanging, Corrine tried not to give in to the sting of frustrated tears filling her vision. She was confused and was abruptly being forced to realize that she was weak and helpless on top of everything else.

“Corrine. .”

His voice, spoken aloud in a softly coaxing tone, was as deep and compelling as it had been when it was ringing inside her head. Something about it helped her find focus, helped her draw herself out of her momentary emotional panic. She focused on him and his voice, even though she couldn’t even see him over the high edge of the bed. Just the feel of his presence was enough to steady her.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, her own voice sounding rough and disused. She recalled having been ill. Yes. She’d called in sick to work several days in a row because the flu or something had been kicking her ass. She’d been weak and exhausted. . something like the way she felt now, only it had been getting much worse.

“Is that important?” he asked. She could hear the sound of him shifting, the noisy clank of steel chains making a chill skip down her spine.

“No, I suppose not,” she responded in a breathy whisper. She also realized the answer was obvious. If the guy really was a telepath, obtaining her name was no doubt a piece of mental cake. “God, I can’t believe I am actually considering this is real.”

Slowly, balancing carefully on her rubbery knees, she grabbed for the edge of the mattress and drew herself up until her eyes and nose could peek over it. There he was, laid out and trussed up like a Christmas goose. He was watching her every move, of course, those deep blue eyes steady and unreadable at the moment. His entire frame was locked tight with tension and where his skin was bare he was gleaming with perspiration. He looked like he was in pain. She recalled the blood around the cuffs that bound him and suddenly felt really stupid. She hadn’t even stopped to consider that he was probably in just as much trouble as she was. She’d just acted like such a girl and freaked out.