Wicked Pleasures (4 page)

“I guess I should have smiled, held out my wrists
for bondage and agreed to anything they’d asked. Oh silly me. What
was I thinking by resisting being abducted?”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

“Sheesh…it’s a good thing you understand. Can I
leave now?”

“Not going to happen,” he said.

“This is crazy. Taking someone hostage and planning
to use their body as a host for an unwanted baby isn’t considered
fair or upright treatment. Do you really think I’d ever agree to
something as absurd as this?”

“There are many things you don’t realize, and some I
don’t understand myself. Yet, here we are, in this together. If you
believe I’m doing this for my own desire, you’re wrong. I’d rather
have died many, many years ago because it’d been more pleasure than
this.”

Blinking, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

He brought her hand closer and examined the cut.
“It’s worse than I thought. You need a few stitches.”

She started to deny the claim when a thought came to
her. “Yes, take me to a doctor.”

“A doctor? Medical assistance from those modern day
monsters isn’t needed. I can take care of the wound. Don’t worry.
I’ve done this many times. I’m actually good at sewing.”

Her jaw dropped. Did she hear him right?

He crossed the room, opened a closet door and pulled
out a clear box. She watched in curiosity as he rummaged through
it, then pulled out a needle and thread. Her body warmed and she
felt faint. “You touch me with that and I’ll make sure your
southern region is out of order for a serious amount of time.”

“Bronte, don’t be a baby. You need the cut sewn or
you risk infection.” He took a step toward her. She scooted as far
back on the seat as she could manage. “Okay then.” He placed the
medical items on the sink. Relief spread through her. She couldn’t
have some lunatic stitching up her skin. “Bronte?”

She brought her chin up. Her captor was barely
inches from her face; his stare was deep and magnetic. She couldn’t
scream, she couldn’t think. Everything turned black. The last thing
she remembered before she faded was his voice in her ear. “Sleep,
darling. All will be well.”

Chapter 3

BRONTE SNUGGLED DEEPER into the nest of pleasing
warmth. She’d never felt such comfort. Stretching her muscles, she
sighed languidly as a rush of indulgence whirled through her. The
nightmare of being held hostage by an arrogant ass couldn’t even
fade the glorious feeling. No other time had she slept all
night.

Rolling over, her face pressed against something
iron hard. Inhaling deeply, she froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
The smell was familiar—woodsy mixed with mint. And who the hell was
breathing in her ear?

Sliding one eye open, she jerked.
Shit!
She
darted across the bed, pulling the red satin sheet with her. The
kidnapping wasn’t a dream. The arrogant ass was here, in bed,
with her!
Worse, she was in
his
bed and he was
sleeping soundly. Damn! He was naked!

She raked her gaze downward, soaking up every inch
of his nudity.

Hell, she didn’t want to look at him, but for the
life of her, she couldn’t help herself. Admiring his physique broke
some unwritten rule about captive not ogling her captor, but if he
wasn’t aware, maybe it wasn’t so wrong. He was the description of
perfect male, making her self-conscious of her own
less-than-perfect body. From his broad shoulders, over massive
chest, narrow waist, and—she jerked her glance away.
Oh
hell!
He was hard and a size that matched every other large
part of him. It was so wrong that such a jerk had a body of
Adonis.

“Forget the body,” she whispered. She wondered how
he’d gotten naked. She lifted the sheet.
And how the hell did I
get naked?

She was going to be sick. Stomach twirling, she
squeezed the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb.
She couldn’t remember anything after he’d pulled out needle and
thread and—

Biting back a moan, she held up her bandaged hand.
With haste she’d never known, she tore off the white gauzy
material.
Shit! Shit!
Her heart beat faster. She stared at
her wounded hand neatly stitched and covered in clear salve.
Looking over at the sleeping man, her mind fabricated ways she
could teach him a lesson on boundaries, and so proudly flaunting
his goods. Her eyes naturally fell to his long cock. She should
follow through with a few of her own evil ideas. Wonder how he’d
like a few stitches in his tool?

No use
. She was a wimp. At the mere sight of
blood she’d probably pass out, and ending up unconscious was the
last thing she wanted.

A horrible notion flashed through her mind. Was it
possible they had sex? If she was out while he stitched her wound,
anything could have happened. She reached down and touched her
inner thighs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no swelling or
sensitivity, and with a cock his size, she’d have physical
evidence.

Some tension left her muscles. Although he didn’t
violate her, would he next time?

How had he knocked her out? Had he hypnotized
her?

There was no time to stick around and debate her
questions. She knew this could be her one and only chance to get
the hell away.

Bronte gave the sleeping figure one more glance. He
still slept. His breathing was heavy and his chest rose and fell
evenly. As quietly as possible, she slid to the edge of the bed,
eased her legs over the side and placed her feet onto the cool
floor. She stood and wrapped the sheet around her body as she
scanned the room for her clothes. They were gone. She guessed Roark
had hid them from her, thinking she wouldn’t escape without
clothes. Dressed or not, she’d get out of this place. Nudity was
nothing compared to spending more time in Roark’s loony bin.

With a quick glimpse over her shoulder to make sure
he was still asleep, Bronte started across the room toward the
door. She took each tiptoed step with great care, but every breath
and every time her foot pressed against the wood, it sounded like
an explosion in her ears.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do
this.
Her heart fluttered at the possibility of freedom.
Reaching the exit, she placed her palm on the knob, twisted and her
hope dropped. Nothing happened. It was locked.
The bastard!
Maybe she could stand the sight of blood, just this once, if it
meant getting revenge. She turned on heel and ran into a wall of
flesh and muscle. Bringing her gaze up into an expression of pure
wickedness, she gulped loudly.

“You didn’t think I’d allow you to walk out of here,
did you?” His voice was husky from sleep. He yawned and wiped his
eyes.

His laid-back attitude made her want to rip his eyes
out. And having him stand there naked and proud, made her fury
multiply. How dare he be so smug! “You can’t keep me here
forever.”

“How long you stay is completely up to you,
sweetheart. You’re in control more than you think.”

She slanted her eyes, wishing she could shoot
daggers into his head. “I’ll never have your child. You said you
have plenty of willing women so why not find someone who is eager
to have your baby?”

The corner of his lips curved downward. “I also told
you that I didn’t pick you.”

Holding the sheet over her with one hand, she used
the other to rub her aching temple. It wasn’t possible to have a
conversation with someone who was in serious need of mental help.
“Okay, you’ve told me that. You didn’t
pick
me.” It was no
use. “Where are my clothes? I am allowed to wear something, right?”
He lowered his eyes over her sheet-covered body and every part of
her quivered, in a very bad, but good, way. She tugged the satin
material tighter as if it was a shield from his view. He brought
his gaze back to hers and his twinkling eyes offended her, yet
excited her. She’d need to see a therapist after this.

He laughed. How could he think this was
humorous?

“Of course clothes are permitted. That is until you
decide you want to frolic naked. It’s such a feeling of freedom,
not to mention, without all of that material in the way it’s much
easier to gain access to the lovely parts.”

Her face flamed with heat. She wanted to tell him
just what she thought, but knew he’d give her some egotistical
response. For now, she needed to get dressed. “Clothes? Where are
they? White top, black pants.”

“You can’t wear those.” He turned his back to her
and went to the wardrobe. “I’ve already thrown them out.”

“Thrown them out? Why?” Bronte wanted to scream. She
watched him take out clothes from the cabinet, thinking he was
going to give her something to wear, but instead he shook out a
pair of dark denims and started to put them on. Her eyeballs itched
to watch his tight backside, but she refused herself the pleasure.
Nope, she wouldn’t do it
. But as the jeans moved upward, her
gaze went downward. She swore the man was a devil with power. And
to top it off, his sex was hard…again. Did it ever deflate? She
wondered how he’d fit himself inside the pants?

He turned and she made sure her stare was on his
face. “They were spotted with blood.”

“Huh?” Her mind was confused.

“Your clothes. That’s what we were talking
about.”

“And whose fault is it that they were bloody?” She
huffed.

“Relax, Bronte. That color of pale doesn’t work for
you,” he said as he passed her to the door. With his back to her,
she wondered if she had time to find something to crack him over
the head. She scanned the room until his voice snapped her into
reality. “Tsk, tsk. Such brutal thoughts for a wisp of a woman. I’m
not sure you could reach high enough. I liked you admiring my body
much better.”

She opened her mouth to blast him with a four-letter
word when her mind wrapped around the fact that he’d just read her
thoughts. Every hair on her body stood erect. It wasn’t the first
time he seemed to know what she was thinking.

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Do you think
you can behave outside of the confines of this room? I’d hate to
tie your wrists again. Touching you is much more tempting when
you’re bound and pissed off.” He wriggled his brows.

“You’re unbelievable,” she snarled.

“Unbelievable is not the right word, sweetheart. I
haven’t lied to you once to earn that label.” He smirked. “Now,
answer the question or I’ll leave you in here until you lose some
of that ladylike charm.”

“I deserve answers to
my
questions as well.”
Her strength was weakening. Her hope of getting away was fading.
This man had her right where he wanted her, but she refused to give
up. Maybe he’d come to his senses.

His jaw loosened and his features softened. “You’re
right. In time, you’ll get the answers you want. For now, let’s go
to your room. Your new clothes are in there.”

“
My
room?” The words spilled out like a
bitter morsel of veracity. She had a room. He planned to keep her.
The madness grew deeper.

He reached above the frame of the door and grabbed
the key. She bit her bottom lip.
So that was his hiding
place.
He opened the thick wooden door and stepped back,
motioning for her to lead the way into the hall. “Remember what I
said, fiery wench. Bounds and defiance are irresistible to me. I’ve
wanted to kiss you since the moment you cocked me in the jaw.”

He only mocked her, but she wasn’t ready to test
him. “Get over yourself and show me this room,” she said with
animosity. “And then I hope I can have some privacy.”

“Ladies first.”

Walking into the hall, she looked around her. She
half expected a camera crew to jump out from behind the scenes,
yelling, “You’ve been punked.” No such luck. She moved farther down
the corridor, fully aware he was following her, like a
predator.

“Here we are,” he said and she stopped at the closed
doorway. It figured he’d have her next door to his own bedroom. He
pushed past her and unlocked the door, then dropped the key back
into his front pocket. He opened the door. “After you,
sweetheart.”

Bronte wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting of the
room. She wouldn’t have imagined it’d be extravagant, yet it was a
bedroom fit for a queen—superbly designed and tastefully furnished.
He’d gone to great lengths in every detail, making her wonder if
he’d done all of this for her. She’d only seen rooms like this in
magazines.

From the doorway, she admired the white wall with
the intricate pearlescent stencil design, which was contemporary
and sophisticated. Silk curtains framed the queen bed, which was
adorned with matching bright mulberry colored bedding. Delicate
crystal beads hung on one side of the bed, catching the rich colors
of the blanket. Beautiful oil paintings of flowers and cherubs hung
on the walls, elaborating on the romantic theme. French doors led
to a balcony.

“Well, are you going to go in?” Roark asked from
behind her.

“Yes, I guess I should.” She was in awe as she
strolled further into the suite, wanting to bask in its beauty but
she wouldn’t allow him the pleasure. “So, where are my
clothes?”

“You’ll find everything you need in here. Clothes
are in the drawers. The bathroom is here.” He pointed to a door to
her right.

“Okay. You can go now.” The quicker he was out of
her hair the sooner she could get dressed and get plotting her
getaway.

He seemed to hesitate and then nodded. “Come
downstairs in thirty minutes.”

“Sure, Master.”

“Your attitude is improving already.”

She gritted her teeth. He stepped out, closed the
door behind him and she heard his laughter all the way down the
hall. “Bastard,” she whispered. She half expected him to pop back
in and scold her.