Talk Me Down (23 page)

Lori’s idea was starting to sound good, too, if only she could think of a way to keep him from shooting her. Hmm. Maybe instead of breaking in, she could just pull the old trench-coat trick and knock on the door.

After tossing the last frozen dinner in the freezer, Molly headed for her bedroom closet to look for a coat long enough to cover her modest bits. She could let him stew for a couple more days and then pounce on him like a mercilessly horny cat. Perfect!

She was rifling through the pile of clothes that had somehow ended up on her closet floor when a tiny sound popped behind her. The old house made a lot of noise, so she hardly even raised her eyebrows when she glanced back. The sight of a man’s legs raised her eyebrows plenty. Molly gasped and fell onto her ass to scramble farther into the closet.

The man crouched down, and Cameron’s amused smile came into view. “Hi there, Molly.”

Jesus.
She considered the brief thought that he might go away if she just closed the closet door and waited, but he didn’t look ready to budge. He looked downright comfortable hunkered there with his forearms resting on his knees. He gestured with a bouquet of flowers.

“Are you coming out or should I come in?”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, voice shaking. “How did you get in here?”

“You left the door unlocked.”

She shook her head. “No. I locked it.”

Cameron winked, still grinning like a boy with stolen candy. “I’ve been reading your books. That was quite a little secret you were keeping, Ms. Summers.”

Strange. She’d put her books out there to be read by thousands of people, but his words felt like a violation. “Get out. You’re not supposed to come near me.”

“What, legally? Because I checked that before I came. No order of protection on record. There never has been and there never will be, because you don’t want me to stay away.”

Genuine fear started to bubble up in her blood. She gave a half-assed kick with one high heel. “Get out of my house!”

He reached for her leg and Molly kicked again, to no avail. His hands, perfectly manicured but still strong, wrapped around her ankle and tugged her out. “You should have just told me you liked it rough, Molly. I have no problem with that.” The words held an edge she’d never heard in his voice before.

He pulled harder, fingers twisting into her skin. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. She tried to dig her hands into something, but all she found was wrinkled clothing that slid out with her. “Don’t do this, Cameron. Stop!”

“Come on, Molly baby. Let’s play.”

“No, no, no.” Unable to stop the motion, she gave in and let him pull her, getting her knees under her so she could try again. As soon as his hold eased, Molly lunged away, breaking free of his hand. The rush of hope lasted only a moment, and then her ankle was in his grip again. She sobbed.

He tugged her back and then he was over her, pulling her to her feet just so he could drop her into the chair in the corner of her room. She fought and scratched, kicking and clawing, but he wrenched her arms back. The click of handcuffs surprised her before she even realized that he’d caught her arms behind the chair.

“You’ve lost it!” she screamed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Tying you up,” he said as he yanked one ankle into place and zip-tied it to the chair leg.

“Cameron, listen to me. Listen. Those stories were
not
about me. I am not enjoying this. You will go to prison if you do this.” She managed to kick him hard in the shoulder.

“So feisty,” he chuckled, as he latched on to her free ankle and fastened the plastic tie around it.

When he stood, Molly bucked and struggled, but her limbs didn’t move an inch. She should have fought harder, should have attacked, because now her only hope was talking her way out of this, and he definitely had the advantage there.

“Are they tight enough for your taste?” he asked as he walked toward the door. For a split second she thought he was leaving, but he only grabbed a duffel bag he’d dropped by the door.

The stuff he started pulling out didn’t encourage her in the least. In fact she fully considered screaming when she saw the wooden paddle he set on the bed. But if she screamed, he’d cover her mouth, and then she’d be tied
and
silenced. Plus the damned neighbors wouldn’t pay any attention. A sex-crazed pornographer screaming like a banshee in her bedroom? Alert the national media!

So Molly switched off the screaming impulse and started talking. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You’ve read my books and you think those stories are about me—”

“No, I’m sure they’re about you,” he countered.

“They’re not about anyone! They’re
fiction!
”

Cameron smirked at her, clearly amused as he pulled a black rope from the bag and began coiling it around his hand. “Everyone in town knows
Stolen Kisses
is about you and Lawson, so don’t give me that fiction shit.”

“How do you know what everyone in town thinks?”

“The
Tribune.
I follow the online issue quite closely. How did you think I was keeping up to date between visits?”

That stopped her tugging against the restraints. “Visits? You only came here once.”

“Oh, come on, Molly. You enjoyed the little shows you put on for me. Swaying around town in heels and short skirts. Fucking your new friend in a truck so I could watch. But I’ve gotten really,
really
tired of just watching.”

“Oh, God, you were here,” she whispered. “You were here the whole time.”

“Not the whole time, no. That Brenda chick really helped my cover. I couldn’t believe it when I caught her spying on your house. A stroke of good luck that a real stalker came along, huh?”

“Like you’re not a
real
stalker! Oh, my God, Cameron, were you the one who cut my brake lines?”

“Okay, I admit that was over the top. I just wanted you to move back to Denver, Molly. Make you see reason.”

“By
killing
me?”

“No, by scaring you. That’s why I cut the electrical, too. Duh. I didn’t want you driving with faulty brakes.”

“Oh, all right. I get it. That’s perfectly reasonable
for someone who’s a raging lunatic!
”

Rolling his eyes, Cameron shrugged off his coat and aimed an exasperated stare in her direction. “You’re clearly ready to be gagged.”

Molly choked on outraged horror.
“What?”

He tugged a length of white material from the bag. “In all seriousness…” The bed creaked beneath him when he sat down hard and put on a somber face. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you, Molly. When I read about your little hobby in the
Tribune,
I downloaded all your books. I realized how hard it must have been for you.”

He was winding that white fabric around and around his fist. Molly watched, transfixed.

“You had all these desires, these needs, that you couldn’t tell anyone about. No wonder you’re so disconnected. But I see it now. As soon as I read that new story, the one about me, I—”

“Whoa there, buster. What the hell are you talking about?”

“The new book. The one with the tall, merciless lawman who just happens to live on the Western plains.”

“Good Lord, you have got to be kidding me.
The Wicked West
is not about you, Cameron. And it’s not about me, either. I’m not into that. You have to believe me. You’ve misinterpreted the—”

“You’re cute when you lie,” he chuckled.

“I’m not lying! I’m not. This is kidnapping, and…and whatever else this is going to be. Please don’t do this.”

He nodded in answer, but his eyes sparked with excitement. “Maybe you really haven’t done this before. Maybe it’s a fantasy you’ve never acted out. That’s even better. I’ve spent the past few days reading about control and submission. Funny, all those times you called me a control freak, I never suspected just how much control you wanted me to have. But I know now, and it might be embarrassing for you, but I’ll let you do all the begging you want. I’m kind of enjoying it, actually. More than I expected.”

Oh, God, he was really into this. And she had no doubt that he was planning to take it to the next level soon. “If you have sex with me, it will be rape.”

“Oh, come on, Molly. I’d never rape you. We’ll go slow. Ease into it with some fun and games. We won’t take it to the next level until you’re ready.” He smiled. “Begging for it, even.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t going to attack her. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. She had to get serious if she wanted to get out of this situation. He’d think pleading was part of the act. If she got assertive, he’d probably decide she wanted discipline. There was only one thing to do.

“I’ve got my period,” she blurted and watched his forehead crinkle.

“What?”

He was one of
those
guys, the squeamish kind who secretly wished women would withdraw to a mysterious hut for one week out of every month. “I’ve got my period,” she repeated. “Wanna check?”

“Ew! No, I do not.”

“Yeah, you picked the wrong week to kidnap me, Cameron. Sorry. You’d better just go.”

He wasn’t running out in horror, which was too bad, but he definitely looked troubled as he nibbled on the edge of one thumbnail. “Okay. Not ideal. How many more days?”

“Uh…five!” Duh.

“Shit. I took the whole week off, but
damn.
” His shoulders slumped. “Still, there’s a lot we can do without involving your…your stuff.”

“My
stuff?
Wow. Even if you weren’t a crazed stalker who’d broken into my house, this would so be over.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Cameron drew in a deep breath and slapped both hands against his thighs. “Shit, I need a drink. Fun as this is, it’s kind of stressful. Can I get you something?”

“Cyanide?” she snapped.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he snarled back. “You’re the one with her period. This isn’t my fault.”

Her smart mouth had finally pissed him off, and she wanted to rewind and try that again, but it was too late. His hand snapped out and the white fabric unwound.

She whispered, “Please don’t,” but he still rose and crossed the room.

“You need a little time to stew, I think. And I need a glass of wine. I brought some good stuff. Not from a box. You sure you don’t want a glass?”

She pulled her chin in, tucking it down, clamping her teeth together so he couldn’t get the gag between them. Not that it mattered. This was hopeless. Ben wasn’t gonna drop by and—

She threw her head back just as his hands touched her. “Ben will be here in a little while. You don’t want to be around. He’s—”

“Not likely. I just talked to Ben a few minutes ago. Seems he’s still over you.”

“You talked to him? He…” Maybe he was coming right now. Maybe the whole police force was crouched outside her front door!

“Don’t worry. I shook him off. Last time I saw him, he was driving in the opposite direction, none too pleased with you, Ms. Jennings.”

Shit. All her scheming must have backfired on her. “Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed, then clamped her lips shut and turned away from the handkerchief coming toward her.

“You’ve got a lot of spirit, Molly.” His lips brushed her temple as the words whispered over her face. “That’s what makes it fun for you, isn’t it? You’re so strong and you want to be weak. Helpless.”

“No.”

“It’s all right, hon. It’s no big deal. Everyone has fantasies. Everyone wants to be happy.”

“No, Cameron, please just go. Leave now and we’ll forget everything, all right? Truce.”

The cloth touched her lips and she clenched her jaw, but Cameron held both ends behind her head with one hand and pinched her nose shut with the other. “Open up, babe.”

Lights were swimming in front of her eyes before she finally gasped and the cloth slipped in. He tied it quick and tight.

“There we go. That should get your engine purring, and damned if it’s not turning me on, too. Don’t worry. I’ll hurry back.”

He strolled out, whistling, while Molly worried that she’d cry and clog up her nose and suffocate on her own snot. Definitely not the way she wanted to go. But truthfully, she could breathe just fine, so her panic faded in a few seconds, and she was left to think about things she’d rather avoid.

Cameron wasn’t going to kill her. Hopefully. He’d lost it but seemed to genuinely believe she wanted this. He’d talked to Ben, for Pete’s sake, a sure path to conviction if she turned up dead. And he wasn’t going to rape her, or wouldn’t now anyway. Her menstruation story had been a stroke of genius.

Which left torture. Just torture. And a wooden paddle? Come on, she could handle that. Cameron wasn’t exactly an Iraqi prison guard. She’d be okay.

But Molly began to cry, gasping against the tight band of cotton that chafed at her mouth. Her wrists and shoulders hurt and her feet were fucking killing her. Why hadn’t he at least taken off the heels before he’d tied her up? He was probably going to make her wear them all day and all night. She’d never seen any S&M pictures of women in slippers and cozy socks. The thought of her bunny slippers sitting just inches away made her cry harder.