Debbi Rawlins - Secret Defender

No matter. He was being paid well for this job and that’s all he cared about. After he collected the other half of his fee, he’d think about a short trip to Brazil. Settling old scores always helped him to sleep better.

He finished making the sandwiches and sealed them in plastic. Next, he got out a couple of cold colas and a beer. Sydney had been in the tub for almost fifteen minutes. He really ought to yank her out so she’d know he meant business, but he hadn’t counted on her breaking out in a nervous rash.

He swore to himself. That better be all it was. His gaze wandered toward the bathroom at the same moment she stepped out of the tub. He knew because he saw her reflection in the mirror as her head came up. Taking a pull of beer, he started to turn away, but caught a glimpse of her bare breasts.

Small, but round and full, they stood out firm, crowned by two large rosy nipples. They were damn near perfect. He swallowed and told himself to look away. It was the decent thing to do.

But he stared, until his body began to tighten and blood rushed to his groin. That jerked some sense into him, and he turned away with a vicious curse. He downed the rest of the bottle of beer and then splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink.

What the hell was wrong with him? He knew better than to let his guard down, to let personal feelings separate him from good sense. Sydney Wainwright wasn’t a woman. She was a job. And he wasn’t about to screw himself out of a bundle just because he was horny.

“Luke?”

He pushed away from the sink and turned around. “What?”

At his snarl, she jumped. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup and she looked young. Innocent. The denim shirt he’d picked up for her was a size small and still a little big on her. “I’m done in the bathroom.”

“Good.” He glanced around for a place to put her while he showered. “Come here.”

She hesitated, her eyes widening slightly, and then she took a step toward him. “What?”

He tested the handle of the refrigerator. Too flimsy. The microwave wouldn’t work either. If she had a mind to, she could pick the whole thing up and take off.

He swept a gaze around the rest of the room. “Looks like I’m going to have to tie you to the bedpost.”

“Excuse me?”

“While I shower.”

“You’re going to put the cuffs on me again?” She started rubbing her wrists.

“Did I say that?” His mood had gone south, and he still had one hell of a long week ahead of him. “Get over there.”

She cast a sidelong glance at the bed and then looked back at him with those big doe eyes. “Why the bed?”

He pulled out the long red scarf he’d found in the closet. “Move.”

She stumbled backward, her fearful gaze fastened on the scarf. “What’s that for?”

Luke had a good mind to scare the daylights out of her, but the way she visibly swallowed and the heaving of her chest told him she was frightened enough. “You want me to use this or the cuffs?”

Her face relaxed. “The scarf.”

“Then move.”

“Look.” She pointed to the only kitchen cabinet. “Why can’t you use that?”

He shook the handle. It seemed sturdy enough, and unlike the cuffs, the scarf could slip through it. “Okay.”

She slowly approached and held out a hand. It shook slightly. He ignored her trembling and grabbed her other hand and wove the scarf between her wrists.

“You’re tying them both up?” She tried to pull back.

He tied her to the handle, and then gave an extra tug to be sure the scarf was tight enough. “You think I should leave you a free hand?”

“Just so I can have some water.”

“Right.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, and her gaze flew to his chest. “You can have all the water you want once I’m through.”

“Through?” Her voice cracked.

“With my shower.”

“Oh.” She leaned a hip against the counter, her relief so plain he almost smiled.

“Sydney?” He lifted her chin with his forefinger.

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t think about trying to escape.”

She shook her head and jerked away from his touch.

“Good girl.” He shrugged out of his shirt. Her gaze immediately went to the undone snap of his Levi’s, and she blinked.

Unable to resist, he started unzipping his fly before he turned away. A bright blush filled her cheeks and she quickly averted her eyes.

Laughing, he headed for the bathroom.

Sydney was so angry she almost forgot to breathe. The heat stinging her cheeks no longer had anything to do with embarrassment. She waited until he’d disappeared into the bathroom, and then she started twisting her hands like crazy.

It was no use. He’d tied the scarf too tightly, and she was succeeding only in making her skin raw. She sank against the counter and stared at the open bathroom door. She figured Luke had already gotten into the tub, and if she didn’t free herself now, it would be too late. But then she caught his reflection in the mirror.

He was turned toward the tub so she could only see his profile. The unguarded pose fascinated her and she stared with new interest at the thoughtful furrow of his brow as he appeared to be fiddling with something. The showerhead, probably. It hadn’t looked as though it had been used in a while.

When he reached up to make an adjustment, Syd got quite a view of his lower chest and stomach, the arrow of hair pointing lower. The same fluttery feeling she’d had earlier returned to her belly. Luke wasn’t in any better shape than her personal trainer, but Larry sure never made her feel kind of squishy.

Maybe because Larry was gay.

At least he wasn’t a kidnapper.

She shuddered at the reminder, but still kept her gaze trained on Luke as he stepped back and unconsciously rubbed his chest and then his beard-roughened jaw. He leaned toward the mirror to look at his face.

His eyes slowly met hers.

She heard his curse even though his reflection promptly disappeared. Obviously he knew she was watching him. A second later, he came through the door, a white towel wrapped around his hips, thunder in his face.

Sydney tried not to cower. “I wasn’t watching you,” she said, as he roughly yanked the scarf loose. “I swear I wasn’t. I was only—”

She frowned. If she could see him from this position in the kitchen, then he obviously had seen… “You bastard!”

Amusement briefly replaced the scowl on his face, and then he dragged her to the bed and tied one of her wrists to the post. She didn’t bother struggling. He’d already tied the knot tighter than necessary, enough to make her skin sting.

He still said nothing, but by the way he clenched his jaw, she knew he was pretty damn angry. Too bad. She wasn’t thrilled, either. Who knows how much he saw?

Finally, he stood back. The towel had slipped a little and Sydney had trouble keeping her gaze raised…until he pointed a finger in her face. “Don’t move. Not one muscle, or I’ll have you trussed tighter than a whore’s corset.”

She shrunk back and shook her head. “I won’t,” she whispered, and then waited silently for him to leave.

Her heart still pounded and she tried to calm herself by recalling what he’d said. A whore’s corset? What an odd term. Made her wonder about his slight accent again. Maybe he was Cajun, but if so, what did he have to do with the unions in Dallas?

It took her a good minute to realize he’d only tied one of her wrists. Probably because he’d been so angry. Or maybe he thought she was too frightened to try anything. He wouldn’t be too far off the mark on that account…if she weren’t so desperate.

She rotated her wrist and winced with pain. It didn’t matter. She had to try. Slowly, she reached up with her other hand while keeping an eye on the bathroom door. The binding was so tight it was impossible for her to slip even one finger between the fabric.