With another curse, he dropped down off the porch and started running, his bare feet smacking the ground hard. He didn’t even care or look back when his towel dropped. He kept running, bare-ass naked, arms pumping swiftly.
His gaze fixed on the cream-colored blouse . . . even when she dove off the road and into the woods—the precise thing he was hoping she wouldn’t do. He ran harder, not wanting to lose her in the dense foliage, and dove into it behind her.
“Grace!” He swerved between trees, slowing down for moment and trying to glimpse her. She couldn’t be that far ahead. He couldn’t have lost her that suddenly.
He heard a snap and whirled around, glimpsing a flash of her blouse through the darkness. He plunged ahead. She must have heard him, too. He caught a flash of her face as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide in alarm.
“Grace!” he cried again, but the sound of her name just seemed to ignite her, pushing her faster.
Finished playing chase and not about to lose her in the woods, he dove, stretching his hand out to grab her. She screamed as he locked onto her shoulder, twisting her around to face him. Her hands balled into fists and she pummeled his chest and shoulders. Suddenly she stopped. Her fists opened. She flattened her palms against his chest.
He couldn’t see her face in the dark but he felt her shudder. “You’re not wearing a shirt!” By the motion of her head he could tell she was glancing down. “You’re not wearing anything!”
He chuckled, pulling her flush to him, enjoying her outrage more than he should. “Sorry about that, but when I saw that the little bird had flown the coop, I didn’t have time to get dressed.”
She sucked in a deep breath and resumed struggling. “You’re an animal!”
Turning, he started dragging her back toward the road. With her resistance, it wasn’t an easy feat, so he just wrapped an arm around her waist and picked her up, holding her against his side.
“If I was an animal, you would be naked, too,” he muttered.
And under me.
She gasped again, her warm breath fanning the side of his throat, raising his skin to gooseflesh. That’s not all she was raising. He stopped himself from glancing down. He didn’t need to look to know. He was rock-hard and pulsing. Fuck, he ached. There was no maybe about it—he was enjoying this too much.
And he could be enjoying it far more. An insidious little voice tracked through his mind. You could make it good for her.
Even if he took her here in the dirt, he could make her come first so that when he sank deep inside her she would be writhing and begging for it.
Sweat beaded his brow. His breath fell hard, crashing on the air, and it had nothing to do with exertion. It had everything to do with long years of denial.
He kicked that callous voice to the curb. It wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.
Her fingers clawed at his hand where it clenched around her waist, trying to peel them off. It was as though she sensed the pheromones on the air . . . how close he was to breaking. “I—I’m sorry. I won’t try to run again, just please put me down.”
Her soft, breathless plea undid him. As did her body pressed against him. Time to put space between her and his cock and his rapidly melting self-control.
“Fine,” he grunted. He lowered her feet to the ground. She took a hasty step back, clearly wanting space between them.
He pointed straight ahead. “House is this way—”
She kicked him hard in the shin and bolted.
“Shit!” He hopped for a moment, grabbing his shin as pain radiated through his leg. That little liar.
Grunting, he dropped his leg and spun on the balls of his feet, sprinting after her. “No, you don’t,” he growled, launching himself and tackling her to the ground.
She shrieked as they rolled, tussling.
“Damn it! Stop! You’re going to get hurt!” A rush of breath escaped him as she landed a sharp blow to his ribs.
They rolled to a stop with him on top. He naturally settled in the shelter between her legs, sparing her from the bulk of his weight. One of her fists struck him in the side of the face. “Right! Because you care about me getting hurt!”
He tried to catch her flailing hands. The nails of one hand latched onto his jaw and raked down his neck. He hissed and grabbed it, slamming the hand on the ground near her head.
“You might decide to care about your safety and stop attacking me,” he snarled into her face, still trying to seize her other wild hand.
“Oh, what’s wrong? You don’t like getting your ass kicked by a girl?” she taunted up into his face.
He grabbed her other hand, pinning it above her head. The move stretched her beneath him—all ripe, quivering female splayed under him, her breasts a lush pillow against his chest.
And he was naked, dammit.
He dropped his face into her shoulder with a shudder, inhaling her vanilla-sweet hair as he resisted the urge to bury his face in those tits.
She stilled, like a creature of prey coming into full awareness, caught in the sights of a predator.
“You really need to stop fighting me,” he groaned, thrusting his dick right against that sweet spot between her legs.
Another one of those satisfying gasps ripped from her throat, and he rocked himself against her again. Harder. Deeper. “You’re making it harder than it has to be. For both of us, Grace.” He laughed roughly, not missing the innuendo.
She panted as he rolled his hips, grinding into her. God, he was about to come like some inexperienced fifteen-year-old with his first girlfriend.
“All right,” she blurted. “I won’t fight you.”
He forced himself to still, lifting his face up from her hair. Her wide eyes glimmered in the dark. She wanted him off her. He was just a dirty felon scaring the shit out of her. “Right,” he got out between clenched teeth. He was going to need another cold shower.
Standing, he yanked her to her feet in one deft move and started dragging her through the woods.
“What would your mother say if she could see you now?” she asked in a shaky voice full of contempt.
He laughed. “My mother would probably ask to borrow money for her next fix.” That silenced her. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that explains a lot about me. Right?” His voice had gone cold. He heard it. Felt it, too. Just like he felt her gaze, as searing and judgy as one of those fine church ladies who used to drop off boxes of used clothes for him and Zane so they could go back to their nice houses and pat themselves on the back as they recounted their good deeds to all their friends.
She probably felt dirty because he put hands on her.
He closed his eyes in one hard blink. Bad memory. It did nothing to alleviate his hard-on.
She stumbled, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Slipping his other arm under her thighs, he lifted her up again and cradled her against his chest. She yelped, her hand going around his neck.
He felt her glare on his face as his long strides ate through the woods. He didn’t even need to look at her to know those dark eyes of hers were staring daggers at him. She released a heavy huff of breath and crossed her arms tightly in front of her.
“Now you’re going to pout? Give it up. You’re not going to escape me.”
“I’m the victim here,” she reminded hotly. “It’s my right to be angry. To try to escape.” With that said, she resumed struggling and tried to break free as if she possessed no true fear of him. That thought did something to Reid. Made him feel funny on the inside. The perpetual tightness in his chest loosened a fraction, just enough to make breathing not such a fucking struggle. It was always a struggle. Always a fight being him.
He tightened his hold and fought a smile. Maybe he was sadistic after all. He was actually enjoying having her around . . . captive and all.
“Escaping is only going to make me mad. Make me catch you and pin you down. And trust me, you don’t want me to do that again. Every time I pin you down I have t
o fight the urge to fuck you.” Might as well be honest. Maybe that would scare her into behaving.
She went still in his arms. “You’re cruel.”
Her accusation sank sharp little teeth into him.
“You don’t know cruelty,” he snapped. “You haven’t been raped. Or beaten. Haven’t even missed a meal. I saved your ass back there in that house, princess. Not that I expect gratitude from you for it but—”
“You’ll get my gratitude when you release me.”
“Well, that ain’t happening yet.”
She was quiet for a few moments. “I can walk,” she said after a bit.
“Then walk.” He set her back down on the ground, still keeping a firm grip on her arm. They had reached the road by now and were halfway back to the cabin.
“You can let go of me. I won’t run.”
He smiled humorlessly. She blinked up at him so innocently, as though she thought he might actually believe her. “I don’t think so.”
They fell into silence as they finished walking back to the cabin. It was just the song of cicadas, wind, and their footsteps.
As they entered the house and stepped inside the warmly lit living room, her gaze dropped, looking him up and down. Hot color flamed her cheeks and her stare darted away.
He didn’t care. He resisted the urge to seize her chin and force her stare back on him. Let her look her fill. Let her see what she did to him. His fingers flexed on the smooth flesh of her arm. Whenever he was with her, it became all about her. What she did to him. What he would like to do to her. Everything else seemed to drop away.
That was dangerous. He’d already let her sway him off his course. For God’s sake, he was in this cabin with her and nowhere near Sullivan.
She twisted her arm, trying to break his grip. “Can you release me now?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t appear that I can trust you. Maybe I need to tether you to me.”
Her chocolate eyes widened, sparking dark fire at him. “Please, no.”
He shook his head and let go of her. For his own good if nothing else. Stepping back outside the cabin and onto the porch, he turned to face her. He held up one finger in warning. “Don’t run again.”
Her expression turned mulish. She held her chin at a defiant angle but said nothing. He studied her for a moment. Strangely enough, there was dignity to her—with her bruised cheek, wrecked clothes, and tangled hair sporting bits of leaves and twigs. A woman like Grace wasn’t accustomed to abuse. She should look fragile, but he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. His shin still throbbed, and it reminded him of one universal truth: never underestimate anyone. Even the smallest inmate could surprise you with a reserve of strength or hidden skills. Skills like plunging a shiv into your spine when you least expect it.
Marching out into the night, Reid snatched his towel from where he had dropped it and wrapped it back around his waist. Returning, he closed the door behind him and faced her, wondering what he was going to do with her. He couldn’t keep her tied up, but he didn’t trust her not to try and run again. Or clobber him over the head the first time he turned his back.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he announced, “I imagine you would like a shower.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
He didn’t like it. The sense that he was doing something nice for her. He didn’t need her to think he was nice. He stared her down. “Do you want a shower or not?”
“Yes,” she blurted, nodding rapidly, as though afraid he might retract the offer.
“Your clothes are finished.” He looked her up and down. “Mine are too large, but maybe we can scrounge something up in one of the drawers.” He nodded toward the master bedroom.
“Yes, that’d be great.”
He moved to the master bedroom, sensing her following him. He opened drawers, searching for something that might work. He found some clean T-shirts that probably belonged to his grandfather, size medium. He tossed one at her. In another drawer he found some boxers and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Straightening, he propped a hand on the tucked edge of his towel and tossed her a pair of boxers. “Sorry. No underwear. You’ll have to go commando. It’s actually quite liberating. You might find you enjoy it, princess.”
He didn’t need to scandalize her. It was just that a perverse part of him wanted to remind her that he was a not-nice guy. He wanted to remind himself of that, too. Maybe he needed to remind himself of that.
She stood there frozen for a long moment, hands fisting the clothes, red suffusing her face like someone had just slapped both cheeks.
He arched an eyebrow. “Shower?”
She blinked. “Y-Yes.” Turning, she fled from the bedroom.
Reid followed at a slower pace. Upon entering the bathroom behind her, she turned and gasped, clearly startled.
She inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Am I not to expect any privacy?”
His gaze moved away from her, scouring the small space, making certain he wasn’t overlooking some obvious means of escape. She wouldn’t be able to fit through the tiny window above the toilet. His gaze returned to her. “Be quick. I know you had a nice long nap, but I’m beat.”
“I’m not stopping you from sleeping.”
Her quick rebuttal irritated the hell out of him. Didn’t she know how to behave like a proper hostage? “You’re stopping me from a lot of things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her molten brown eyes flashed.
“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here.” He would be doing what he broke out of prison to do . . . what he put North and other members of his crew in danger to do. None of which she would understand.
“Oh, it’s my fault your gang kidnapped me? It’s my fault you won’t let me go free?”
Valid points, and that irritated him even more. He advanced a step. “You asked me to get you out of there. I did.”
“And you brought me here!” She flung her hands up. “I should thank you?”
“For getting you out of there? Away from them? Damn straight.” They were standing so close he could feel the warmth of her body radiating into him. Her lashes, a deep fringe of dark ink, lifted up in a slow, sweeping blink. There was no fear. They pulled him in. It was a dangerous thing. He took a slow step back.
Her gaze trained on his face, accusing, sharp and probing. It disturbed him. She disturbed him. She should look terrified. Instead she was this argumentative, fierce female with barbed words.
He retreated another step, and that’s what it felt like. A retreat. Necessary, though. He wasn’t fool enough to think himself immune. He might have jacked off in the shower, but he was hardly sated. Not after eleven years. That race through the woods and unsatisfying grind into her softness only got his blood pumping harder. He was haunted by the sensation of her, the warmth of her sex pulsing against his hand. He should have never touched her. Christ. He shouldn’t even be here with her now. Not that there had been any choice.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, grabbing hold of the doorknob. “Then I’m coming in for you.”
Her eyes flared, but he closed the door, desperate for the barrier. He only needed to hang on for a few days. Be strong. He’d spent a lifetime behind bars and managed to keep himself together. How could this be any harder than that?
There might not have been a choice in bringing her here, but he had a choice when it came to whether he was going to lose control around her. He would stand firm. He would not let her get under his skin.
Ten
The shower felt better-than-sex-good. She winced beneath the spray, certain it was no coincidence that she had sex on the brain. Probably had something to do with the living and breathing female fantasy one room over. Well, minus the whole escaped felon thing. That didn’t figure into most fantasies. At least not hers. Dangerous men that held her against her will were not the fodder of dreams.
Even so, she could imagine all the inappropriate things Holly would say about Re
id if she clapped eyes on him. I’d like to lick his lollipop. He could tie me up any time. If Holly were here, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her, and she doubted if Holly would mind. The two of them would be going at it like beasts.
Jealousy flared inside Grace. God. She was mental. Was she actually jealous of a fictitious scenario her overactive imagination had cooked up?
She rested her forehead against the wall of the shower. Her libido had turned into a full-fledged chorus in her head.
The water pounded over her battered and sore muscles. The temperature was lukewarm, but she didn’t care. Pushing the clamoring chorus of her libido to the back of her mind, she closed the door on them.
She shampooed with a generic shampoo that smelled decidedly unfloral. Definitely a brand for men, but she didn’t care about that either. She was blessedly clean, and after this she would sleep on a bed and not the steel floor of a van.
She dropped her head and moaned as the sudsy water sluiced down her spine. It was a struggle to hurry through her shower. She just wanted to stay under the water forever, but she knew twenty minutes would fly by, and the last thing she wanted to do was take him up on his threat.
Her face burned at the prospect of him walking in on her. She’d seen him naked. God. That image of him was singed to her eyeballs. She wasn’t experienced enough to say with one hundred percent conviction, but Reid was endowed. Well endowed. God. Why was she even noticing that? It had to be the stress talking. Or shock. Or trauma.
They’d shared a bed together. He’d touched her intimately. She’d been stripped down to her underwear, but there had always been darkness between them. He hadn’t seen her naked and she intended to keep it that way.
Reluctantly, she shut off the water and wrung out her hair, flipping the heavy rope over her shoulder. Stepping from the small shower, she wrapped her body in a towel and faced herself in the mirror. She was pale underneath her olive complexion, the bruise on her cheek a bluish-yellow tinge that only made her eyes look bigger, darker, like some wounded animal staring fearfully out at the world. No one would probably even recognize her if she were to turn up looking this way.