Jeannie Holmes - The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance

Then the buzzing in my ears rose to a deafening shriek and it occurred to me it sounded curiously like my own voice.

I woke in a bed not my own. I couldn’t call it too soft because it was exquisitely comfortable, but it cradled my body in a way my bed never had. It was nice. If only because I felt like an entire tank squadron had driven through my head. From the rumble in my brain, I gathered they might be circling for another pass.

I hadn’t had a hangover since the single ill-fated experiment with alcohol I’d undertaken at my first and last party at nineteen. What on earth had possessed me this time?

Ah. That’s right. Poisoned coffee and Commander Carrollus had. Not literally. At least, I didn’t think so.

Just as well. If there were going to be bad things done with those lips of his, I wanted to be awake for it. Could I ask for something like that for Christmas?

Unfortunate that those lips were attached to someone I fully intended to prosecute. Commander Carrollus in prison for slipping me a mickey. The thought shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.

Someone shifted.

“Finlay?”

Carrollus.

My eyes snapped open and I gasped at the searing array of fabrics and colors surrounding me. “Dear God. You drug me, kidnap me, and bring me to hell?”

I was tucked into an enormous Gothic horror of a canopy bed hung with sheer, gauzy fabrics that vibrated with combinations of saffron, teal, crimson and violet. The nightmare curtains had been drawn back on one side to show me the rest of the room, decorated with the same Marquis de Sade flair. Padded leather handcuffs dangled from a chain attached to the ceiling. A bitter tendril of fear slithered into my chest.

I had no idea where I was or how long I’d been out. Why kept rolling around the inside of my skull, accompanied by an unsettling feeling of helplessness. Stop it, Finlay . First rule of running a psychological battery: put the subject off guard by any means possible.

Commander Carrollus had succeeded.

I suppressed a shudder.

He appeared to be sitting vigil at my bedside. Sweet, in that “the jerk who poisoned me gives a shit whether I live or die” kind of way. He’d deserted Armani’s army. Even though I didn’t recognize the black uniform he wore, that’s exactly what it was, and it fit far too well for my comfort.

“Finlay?” Carrollus, again. “Are you all right?”

“No, I am not all right. Could you turn down the melodrama in the room? My eyes are about to bleed.”

His lips twitched like someone who wanted to smile, but knew he wasn’t supposed to. “You’re feeling better.”

He’d won this round. I’d be damned if I’d let him win another.

“I’m better enough that you can start explaining,” I grumbled as I struggled to free myself from the bed.

“There are explanations to be had. It is not my place to give them to you. If you’re able to dress, I’ll escort you to my CO.”

I knew it. Goddamned military op. I was pretty clear that my government wouldn’t have spent the cash on a military op that dealt in negligees like the one I discovered I was wearing when I rolled out of the bed and stood. My hair swung down my back, free of the French twist I’d so carefully put it into.

A low, inarticulate sound came from Carrollus. “Finlay, you are beautiful.” He sounded grudging, as if he thought he ought to explain his growl of appreciation, but didn’t like the fact that he’d reacted at all.

Heat suffused my skin. I glanced down at the lace and pink silk barely covering me, then met his gaze.

Irritation put lines in his forehead. What annoyed him? The fact that I was still standing there half-naked?

Or was it the desire clouding his blue eyes that troubled him? For that matter, shouldn’t it bother me rather than make me tingly all over?

I lifted an eyebrow.

He had the grace to flush. His gaze slid away. “Mary insisted you’d be more comfortable like that.

You’d better dress.”

“Fine,” I said. “Where are my clothes?”

“You’ll find clothing . . .”

“ My clothes,” I growled. I sounded like I meant business. I wished all over again I’d worn slacks, but the stupid skirt, blouse and jacket were the closest thing to a power suit I had at the moment. And something told me I’d need a bit of power to get out of . . . whatever it was I’d gotten myself into. Trying to face a military kidnapping while dressed in a pink nightie didn’t bear thinking about.

“Your clothes are around the corner,” he said.

I marched past him and into the alcove he’d indicated. A curtain of the same colorful fabric covered the wall in front of me. I spotted my clothes neatly folded on a vanity, my shoes on the floor as if waiting for me to step into them.

I felt his gaze follow my every move, the weight of his regard like a caress against my bare limbs. My body heated and I gritted my teeth against the sensation. Biology apparently didn’t care that I was heartless and cold. The fact remained, I reminded myself, that no matter how solicitous and gorgeous my captor, I was a prisoner.

Where did that leave me? To my horror, hot prickles ran up the backs of my eyes.

That pissed me off.

Hoping for a clue as to my location, I glanced surreptitiously at my surroundings. To my right, an arched doorway opened onto a bathroom tiled in deep blue and green and gold. It reminded me of a stained-glass window I’d once seen in one of Europe’s oldest cathedrals. To my left, another archway led into a closet.

I could be anywhere. I slid my skirt on over the insubstantial silk negligee. No help for it. I’d have to strip before I could put on my bra, shirt and jacket. At least I had my back to Carrollus.

I yanked the nightie off over my head and hurriedly fastened on my bra, then put on and buttoned my white silk blouse.

“You’re taking your situation very well, Finlay,” Carrollus commented.

Meaning what? That he’d expected me to weep and gnash my teeth? The thought made me shudder. I should have found something heavy and knocked him flat.

“If by ‘my situation’,” I sneered, tugging on my jacket, “you mean ‘being kidnapped’, I assure you I am not taking it well at all.”

He risked a glance at me.

“You are bigger than I am and I don’t have a gun,” I clarified.

Amusement sparked in his eyes a moment. “You need a gun to take me out?”

My smile in response felt tight. “No, Commander, but a gun would make a satisfying mess, and I’d get to hear you scream when I shot you in the kneecaps.”

He grinned.

My breath caught.

What was he playing at? Weren’t kidnappers supposed to be mean, vicious thugs with missing teeth and psychopathic tendencies? How was I supposed to respond to a sexy commander exuding power and authority? Especially when he smiled at me as if I’d surprised him into enjoying himself?

“You’re a disciplined woman, aren’t you?” he said.

I blinked. “Disciplined? No. I am not.”

“You have so many questions,” he observed, closing the distance to stand directly in front of me. His frame blocked out the rest of the room and I had to look up to meet his eye. “I see them running circles in your eyes. Yet you don’t ask.”

“You said the explanations weren’t yours to give,” I breathed. “But if the whole kidnapping thing isn’t enough of a power trip without me begging for information, then I can oblige. Where am I? Why me?

Because I have no family? Is that it? You imagine I don’t have a life?”

My voice wavered.

He scowled.

I should have listened to the instinct whispering at me to keep my yap shut and my eyes and ears open.