Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (3 page)

Then, without warning, his eyes flew open and locked on hers. In one lightning-quick motion his hand flashed out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her down.

Caught badly off balance and even more off guard, Scottie pitched forward. She landed hard across his chest and legs, barely managing to swing the hand with the syringe wide. She held on to it, even when he neatly flipped her onto her back and pinned her legs and arms to the bed.

He raised over her like a dark specter, monstrous and all-powerful. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded roughly.

TWO

Scottie masked her surprise and her anger at being so neatly maneuvered. She wasted a second wondering if he’d been asleep at all, or if it had been an elaborate display to distract her. If so, it had worked. Too damn well.

Keeping her gaze locked with his, she spoke evenly, wanting to keep his attention on her eyes, not the needle in her hand. “I’m here to save your ass.”

His dark gaze didn’t so much as flicker from hers. “I wasn’t aware it required preserving.” The rough texture of sleep faded from his voice, leaving it silky, soft, and far more dangerous. “You have a strange way of showing your … appreciation.”

The pause was perfectly timed, the words delivered with seductive perfection. She knew that, understood it, yet the knowledge did nothing to prevent her body’s instant reaction. He was good. No. He was better than good. He was lethal.

She should be focusing exclusively on her goal: rendering
him inactive. Instead, she was excruciatingly aware of his nakedness, of the weight of his body on hers, of exactly what parts of him pressed against her … and where. She studied his face, looking for any sign that he could read her thoughts. Nothing. He was expressionless. She wished she were half as good.

“Drop the syringe,” he said. The demand was delivered almost negligently. It was his autocratic confidence that finally gave her the mental foothold she needed to get her edge back.

She had one possible ace. She played it. “Who’s Sarah?”

Jackpot. His mask faltered, and for one instant his grip on her wrists loosened. It was all the opening she needed. She yanked him closer. There was a flash of surprise in his eyes as he pitched forward, then her training clicked in and she saw nothing but motion. She felt him tense, coil, and knew she had only mere seconds to complete her task. Someone had trained him extremely well.
Admire his technique later, Giardi
.

He pulled on her to lever himself forward … but it was too late. She slammed her hand down and found her target; the nice hard flesh of his thigh. Not her original target, but effective enough.

He swiped at the needle and missed. She pushed in the plunger, then yanked the needle free and tossed the spent syringe across the room. His head reared up, his eyes glittered fiercely as his hand moved to her throat with deadly precision. “Son of a—” His eyes rolled upward before he could complete the expletive.

“Say good night, Blackstone.” She shifted before he collapsed directly on top of her.

Breathing heavily, she dragged his arm and leg off of
her and crawled off the bed. She allowed herself a full minute to get her pulse rate back down, but that was all the luxury she could afford. The drug she’d pumped into him would keep most men his size out for at least fifteen to twenty minutes. Judging from their brief acquaintance, she gave him ten, max.

She quickly sorted through several options. She had the means to put him out of commission for a long period of time, but drugging people wasn’t something she did lightly. She’d never been comfortable with that method. Not only was it dangerous, no matter how carefully administered, but to her it had always seemed the fool’s way out.

She studied Blackstone and actually had second thoughts. Still, Logan Blackstone had revealed himself to be a surprisingly viable force of one. No police department trained their men that well. He would challenge her to the extreme of her abilities. She couldn’t decide if she was more intrigued or annoyed.

“No more drugs.” She pushed up the sleeve of her black thermal turtleneck and pressed the button on the side of her watch. Eight minutes. She slipped swiftly back outside and retrieved her backpack, pulling out the equipment she needed by touch as she moved quickly inside again. She dropped the backpack on the table, then scooped up the necessary gear. A wristwatch check showed she had five minutes remaining. The sun was close to the horizon, filling the cabin with a dull pink glow.

He was as she left him. Even prepared, the sight of him gave her an instant’s pause. What the hell, she decided, as she knelt and checked the bedframe for sturdiness, she might as well enjoy the view. Her job came
with few enough perks. Once he was conscious, she doubted she’d have time to indulge in anything remotely self-serving.

The metal mattress rack bracketed by the huge oak frame was solid iron. Perfect. She swiftly attached the clamps to the iron frame at both the foot and head of the bed, then stood and calculated her next move. He had to go on his back. There was no other way. She sighed, then moved to the opposite side of the bed. She pressed two fingers to his neck. His pulse was slow and steady. Maybe she’d get a few more minutes after all. He hadn’t stirred an inch. She knelt on the bed and anchored an arm under his shoulder, then reached across him and gripped his other forearm. With one tug, she moved him silently to his back. Not so much as an exhale escaped his lips.

Why was she looking at his lips? She scowled, even as she grudgingly admired his control. Damn, but the man was self-controlled even in unconsciousness. His face was all angular planes, with a wide forehead and a square chin blocking out the rest of the shape. He had no noticeable scars, but his nose had been rearranged once or twice. And yet, his wider than average mouth somehow managed to create the perfect contrast. Despite the godlike physique, he wasn’t handsome. The image of his dark eyes flashing fire popped into her head. No, handsome did not describe Logan Blackstone. Primal. Feral. Dangerous. Hunter. Those were the words that came to mind.

So, why was she staring at him as if she were a mesmerized teenager instead of caging the beast?

Muttering under her breath, she looked away and pulled the straps across the bed. It took several precious
minutes to fasten the restraint onto his wrists, which were now crossed over his chest. She checked their security. Satisfied, she slid to the foot of the bed, tugged his lower torso over, and rearranged his legs while never looking higher than his calves. They were all angular planes too. She recalled his abdomen had been a carved monument to perfectly sculpted muscles, and then there was his …

She shut her mind down and yanked the straps up. She had one around his ankle when it occurred to her she should have at least found him some shorts. Balancing on her heels, she ran a scan around the room, but only saw sheets and pillows in a tangled heap. The man had to own some clothes. There was no closet in the room, just an old armoire with the doors missing and a ratty cane chair. Both were empty. She ducked down. Aha. A military-green duffel was under the bed.

“Is that where you learned to fight like a jungle cat, Blackstone?” she said under her breath. Del’s report hadn’t said anything about a stint in any branch of the service, and Del was nothing if not thorough, even on limited time. A military record would have popped up on the first go-around.

Her mind spun back to Del’s sudden reappearance as she stretched for the duffel handle, when a low groan made her freeze. She stayed still less than a heartbeat, rolling to her knees and moving immediately for the ankle straps.

“You lose, Blackstone. Naked it is.”

As it was, she barely got the second ankle wing secure before he started to wake. She managed to stand and snag a sheet from the floor. His eyes opened just as the white linen drifted down over his waist and thighs.

He located her immediately, but didn’t move or say anything. Lethal. The word flitted through her mind again as she held his unwavering, surprisingly clear stare.

Time spun out, a minute and then two. Not wanting to admit—or reveal—that he was actually unnerving her, she purposely broke their visual standoff with a casual glance at her wristwatch. “Eleven minutes. Not bad.”

He remained expressionless. It was a rare human who could come to consciousness to find himself being held hostage by a stranger, bound and trussed—not to mention naked—and not automatically test his restraints and demand explanations.

Logan Blackstone was a rare human indeed. The only thing he’d moved so far were his eyelids. She found she was the one wanting to demand explanations.
Just who are you, Logan Blackstone?

She knew one thing, he was definitely Lucas’s twin. No plastic surgeon, not even one of theirs, could have rendered such a close approximation. The facial similarities were uncanny for two men who’d spent a lifetime apart. The only stark difference being Logan’s broken nose. Lucas had suffered his own bumps and fractures during the course of his career, but his had healed differently.

No, a plastic surgeon wouldn’t have made that big of a mistake. Logan Blackstone was the real McCoy. His body was bigger, more heavily muscled than Lucas’s lean, whipcord frame. Of course, she’d never seen Lucas stark naked, nor had she felt the weight of him pinning her down—

“Enjoying the show?” His dark voice snagged her attention. She had been staring.

“Admiring my handiwork.” Her tone was cool. The rest of her was anything but.

His gaze swept slowly over her, his manner thorough, calculated—and not the least bit sexual. She refused to examine why that frustrated her.

“I’m not a real fan of bondage,” he said. He’d yet to move a fraction. The subtle amusement in his tone was not reflected on his face or in his eyes. Both were completely expressionless. “I
am
choosy about my partners, but if you were this determined to have me, I imagine we could have come to a less … extreme agreement.”

“If that was what I was after, Mr. Blackstone, I assure you I wouldn’t have had to tie you up.”

A brief light flashed in his eyes. Admiration? Doubtful. But there had been a reaction. It was a start.

“So, you aren’t into kinky sex and you know my name. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who you are? Or what you meant by saving my ass? I mean, isn’t being shackled naked to my own bed enough of a disadvantage?”

Smooth, sexy aplomb. It was hard to imagine that satin-sheet voice making as rough a demand as he had earlier.

Just how badly was it bothering him to have lost control earlier? Was he angry somewhere far behind those cool, empty eyes?

Scottie tamped down her irritation before he detected it. Her function was to contain, then maintain. No less, but no more. Yet there was no denying he intrigued her. He was too perfectly controlled to ignore.

She was fully aware that engaging one’s captor in
any sort of interplay was a survival tactic meant to buy time and search for weaknesses. She intended to show him she had none.

Purposely remaining silent, she stepped closer and checked the restraints at his ankles. She felt his gaze on hers, but he didn’t so much as flinch as she tugged the black nylon straps. She moved to the head of the bed and bent close, irritated further that she was too uncertain of her ability to remain expressionless to look him casually in the eyes.

She was close enough to feel his breath fan her neck, to sense the heat of his skin. She was careful to remain at an angle that prevented him from suddenly lunging his head forward in an effort to crack her chin or cheekbone. He didn’t try to watch what she was doing. His gaze was a hot, almost tangible thing, and it stayed locked on her face. She didn’t question how she knew this, neither did she look for proof.

She kept her motions swift and efficient as she checked the straps. She went out of her way to touch only the nylon. She was certain he knew that.

“You didn’t need to check them. You’ve done this before.”

His unexpected speech froze her, but only momentarily.

When she stepped back and finally allowed herself to meet his eyes, the shade of amusement she heard in his voice was not reflected in their dark depths. She had no idea what he was really feeling. Instinct told her that beneath his smooth exterior, he was seething. He didn’t reveal even a trace of anger, but she knew she was right. It was exactly how she would have felt.

Her gaze drifted over his thick neck and wide shoulders,
across the breadth of his chest. She watched his smooth-skinned pectorals rise and fall, the way the motion pressed at his biceps, all bunched up due to the way he was restrained. A small, shaky breath escaped her lips. How would she fare if the tables were turned?

She hoped to hell she never had to find out.

She strode from the room, fingers itching to grab the doorknob and swing hard. She resisted. Despite the fact that he was restrained, she still could not afford the tiniest slipup.

“I like my eggs fried,” he called out. “No bacon. A little juice if you have it. Freshly squeezed.”

She resisted the urge to turn around. She had less success containing the sudden urge to smile. Damn, but the man did have style. Under other circumstances, she’d think about possibly recruiting him.