Abducted Read online

  Not bothering to find another shirt, he climbed into the bed beside her and tucked the blankets up to her chin. He inched his body closer until they were touching. She moaned and curled closer to his heat.

  Not in his wildest imagination had he imagined “cuddling” with a woman he hadn’t just banged—one he had kidnapped, as a matter of fact. Gradually her shivers subsided and she slipped into a peaceful sleep. The orange glow from the fire danced shadows over her face, and her soft lips parted. Her cheeks were slightly rosy from warmth, and her hair was strewn across the pillow.

  His heart constricted. This might be his most difficult mission yet.

  Chapter 6

  Her body sank into a soft mattress, surrounded by blankets and warmth. A lead weight pressed down on her eyelids. She struggled to open them. A yawn escaped her lips as she stretched her legs out. Her body ached.

  Why am I so sore?

  The blankets piled in front of her face, blocking her view of the room. She stretched out her arm, and the sheets fell away. A large, brawny hand lay splayed near her face.

  She gasped. Her blood pumped wildly through her veins. She looked around in search of the owner. The hand was attached to a long, equally brawny, muscular arm, which was draped lazily around her. Her back was curled into someone, his legs drawn up so her bottom was against his thighs. She scooted out of his grasp.

  The kidnapper!

  She let out a scream that reverberated off the walls. He jumped up as if he’d been shot, and his head came inches away from bashing into hers. She shrieked again as his eyes found hers, and she kicked him as hard as she could between the legs. He yelped and keeled forward, his hand clasping his injured member. She dove for the edge of the bed. His hand snatched her leg. He had her trapped.

  “Let go!” Her fists came down to batter him anywhere she could reach: head, shoulders, back.

  “Dammit, stop!” he bellowed, and rose from his bent position to grab her arms. Panic strangled her throat. She swallowed another scream. Had he raped her? She couldn’t remember! Had she willingly slept with him?

  No. No way…

  “Let me go, let me go!” She threw her body backward to try to break his hold. He held tighter. She ended up on her back with him on his knees above her, her wrists tethered together by his fingers. His eyes were stormy, his face clenched. His fierce scowl darkened the sheath of stubble on his jaw. He had her pinned. Images of the things he could do to her with sickening ease whizzed through her mind. No. She wouldn’t let him. She kicked him in the stomach like a madwoman. Her efforts were futile.

  “I would quit kicking like that if I were you. You aren’t wearing any underwear.” The corner of his mouth turned up at her smugly, revealing even white teeth. Amusement laced his voice. The shirt she wore was bunched around her hips. Her feet rested against the hard wall of his stomach, giving him a clear view. His eyes never left her face. She froze. His hands still held her wrists together between them.

  She inhaled sharply.

  “You,” she said. The events of last night hit her with the force of a tornado. His grin waned and his hold loosened. She scrambled to her knees to face him, tugging the shirt as far down as it would go.

  The bastard had taken her from her bed last night. The sick sonofabitch…

  “What about me?” He slid off the bed and picked a shirt out from the duffel bag on the floor, his back to her, a back that was thick and layered with muscles that flexed when he pulled the shirt over his head and down his body. She swallowed over a lump in her throat. Light gray sweatpants hung loosely at his hips. Good God, he was hot.

  He turned to face her as he rounded the bed, a mischievous grin still slanting his mouth. That telltale smirk churned her stomach into knots.

  “Y–You kidnapped me.” Oh God. What did he want with her? “For what? Your sick pleasure?” Her breath expelled from her lungs on a hiss. “You disgusting sonofa—” She leapt off the bed.

  Fire coursed through her. He’d picked the wrong target.

  “Hold up, you’re jumping to a shitload of conclusions.” He held his hands out as if he was calming a damn horse. Her fingers curled into a tight fist. She raised her hands as she closed the distance between them.

  He caught her arm before she swung. “Would you calm down? Jesus.”

  “What did you do to me in that bed?”

  His face contorted. “What?”

  “Did you…did you touch me?”

  Something flashed in his eyes. His jaw worked. “No, dammit.”

  “Oh, I should just take your word for it?” Her body shook with anger, and her brain worked like a hamster wheel, trying to remember. The soft flutter of his shirt falling over her skin and the warm scent of him flashed through her mind.

  “Don’t you think if you’d had sex you’d be able to tell? You’d feel a bit sore or—”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” Her words came out rapidly.

  “Look, I know you’re pissed, but you were awake when I put you in bed. Your teeth were chattering from sleeping in the wet clothes. I helped you get changed into my shirt, but that was all.” His temper had settled. His tone was calm, almost placating.

  Her teeth bit into her tongue.

  She remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, him in front of her, taking the shirt off his back. He hadn’t touched her then. But he had gathered her in his arms and put her in the warm bed. She didn’t remember anything after that, other than waking up.

  “Would you stop looking at me like I’m a rapist? I didn’t touch you, and you know it.”

  “Sorry if I don’t believe a kidnapper right off the bat. I’m a little judgmental that way.”

  His lips spread into a smile. “You’re one feisty cookie, you know that?”

  She eyed him carefully. She wanted to believe him. God, he was good-looking. Her gaze lingered on his smile, and her stomach flipped over. Being attractive didn’t make him nice…but oh, how she wished he was. He kept his dirty brown hair clipped close to his scalp. His eyes were a sharp, intelligent green; his nose perfectly straight; and his skin a warm olive tone. His fingers clamped loosely to her wrist. A glance down at his hand, which still held her arm, revealed a big tattoo up his forearm.

  “I’ll make us some coffee, okay? Then you can ask all the questions you want.” She salivated.

  “You have coffee?”

  His mouth twitched with amusement. “Put some pants on and I’ll make it.”

  The scent of brewing coffee beans filled the air as she found the sweatpants that he’d brought her last night underneath the futon. She sat on the bed to tug them on, keeping one eye on the hunk in the kitchen.

  She didn’t even know his name. Her temples throbbed as she watched him fix their coffee. Hours ago, she’d thought she was going to die. He’d torn her out of her bed, and dammit, somehow it didn’t fit. He was too at ease, too calm and confident. If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done so without breaking a sweat. But he hadn’t hurt her yet—and—that gnawed at her. Why the hell was she here, and what did he want with her?

  She pulled her hair over her shoulder. The strands were thick and gritty with sand and salt water. She needed a shower badly. The linoleum floor was cold on her bare feet as she crossed the kitchen and sat at the table. She pulled her feet up so she sat cross-legged just as he deposited a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. Questions lingered on her tongue, but she needed coffee first.

  Her hands circled the mug, and she inhaled the warm aroma, letting it waken her bones.

  “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” He sat across from her and scooped three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, then added milk. She took half a teaspoon of the sweet substance and stirred it in with a splash of milk.

  “Mmm…” She eyed him carefully over her mug as she sipped. “Are you going to tell me why you kidnapped me
? Did someone hire you? Or are you the mastermind?”

  He took another big gulp of his coffee, then filled his mug again from the carafe he had set on the table. He reached over to a plastic container that sat in the middle of the table and opened it. “Danish?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, I don’t eat that crap. Especially in the morning.” She watched as he took a huge bite. “And you shouldn’t, either.” He swallowed, his brows raised.

  “It’s a pastry. Pretty sure it’s a breakfast one too.”

  “It’s full of sugar.” Her stomach rolled over at the thought of eating so much sweetness.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about getting fat.” His eyes slid over her. She wet her lips. Goose bumps raced over her skin under his intent gaze.

  “No, that has nothing to do with it.” She shifted in her seat. He took another bite and finished making his coffee. “Do you realize that you’ve had twenty-four grams of sugar just in those two cups of coffee? Look at all that icing…and the filling.”

  He chuckled. “Health-conscious much?”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  He shook his head, but the grin remained. “Not at all. I’ll have you know, I eat very well. Do I look like I sit on my ass eating shit all day?” His bulging biceps flexed as he brought the mug to his lips. The porcelain looked frail and dainty in his oversized fist.

  No, he definitely didn’t look like a couch potato. He looked like he spent all hours of the day working out or throwing cars. “Coffee is my big indulgence. This”—he gestured to the last bite of pastry in his hand—“was just for convenience. You should eat. I don’t have much food here.”

  Her stomach rumbled. She plucked the smallest pastry out of the container and squinted at him. “You never did answer my question.”

  “About why I took you?” He wiped some icing off his lips with a napkin. She waited. His eyes met hers, all humor gone. A hard glare glinted in them, his jaw locked. He balled the napkin tightly and tossed it onto the table.

  “I wasn’t hired to kidnap you, Lana. I was hired to kill you.”

  Chapter 7

  She sputtered on the sweet pastry, spit it out in a napkin, then washed down a gulp of coffee. Guilt flooded through him. She wiped her mouth, and her gaze found his. Sharp, real, and raw fear took the shine from her iridescent eyes.

  Goddammit. He hated that she was scared. He’d rather her throw a million of those sharp little punches to his face than see the terror and uncertainty scrawled on her delicate features.

  “Kill me?” Her voice was rough and uneven. He rose from his chair and paced the tiny kitchen. His hands laced together behind his neck, his gaze down. He couldn’t look at her. Not when there wasn’t anything he could do to take that look on her face away. What was he going to tell her?

  The truth. He had no choice. Maybe, just maybe, she had an idea of who wanted her dead.

  “Last week, I received a call from a guy I used to know. He’s a sick bastard and I normally stay clear of him, but he convinced me to meet him. He said he had a job that I might be interested in. When he showed me your picture, I knew you weren’t a usual target. I figured it had something do with your dad. But there’s no way I’d hurt an innocent person.” He looked up at her. Her face was white; her hands gripped the edge of the table as if it was anchoring her. He forced himself to sit again.

  “You took the job? You told him you would kill me?” Her voice trembled. Her tongue came out to wet her lips. His insides twisted.

  Shit. That sounded bad.

  “I had to. If I’d refused, he would have just hired someone else. Someone who would have done it without a second thought.” Stamos had been ready and eager to take on the job himself, but he’d said the source wouldn’t hire him. Not that Cal was surprised. Stamos was too damn sloppy and inexperienced. He shuddered at the thought of what would have become of Lana had Stamos been hired instead of him. She would have died last night.

  “And why kidnap me? How is that an acceptable solution? You could have gone to the cops—or alerted me.” Her cheeks darkened, revealing the flash of her temper.

  He closed his eyes. Her naïveté would be refreshing in any other situation. “I had very little time to decide how to handle this, and I didn’t want to risk someone getting wind of my hesitancy to do the job. People like this…like the guy who hired me…they’re scum. But they have contacts within the police force,” he said softly. And it was true. The cops had never been a reliable source of help in his experience. Lana’s lips parted, and her breath sucked in.

  “And what would alerting you have done?” he continued. “You’d have gone to the police yourself, and it would have been the same scenario. I did the best thing I could think of: to get you the hell out before someone else beat me to it.”

  “Oh my God.” She stood from the table, and her hands tunneled through her hair. “Oh my God.” He stood and caught her arms before she could turn away.

  “Hey, c’mon. You’re safe, okay? No one is going to hurt you.” She yanked her face up to his.

  “Why did he come to you in the first place?” She searched his face. “Who are you?”

  She stepped out of his hold. His mind went blank. What could he tell her? That he’d infiltrated drug rings? Hunted people? Killed them? Not people like her, though. And definitely not a woman.

  “Oh my God… You’re an assassin,” she hissed. Her hands covered her mouth, and she backed away.

  “No.” He slashed his hand through the air. “No, I’m not.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wild. “You’re lying. Why would someone hire you to kill me if you weren’t?”

  His chest constricted. “Would you listen, please?”

  She stared at him, her fist pressed against her full mouth. His hands ached to touch her, to ease her doubt. She needed space, and he would give it to her if it killed him.

  “I’m a freelance security contractor.” Her lashes lifted. Round, hesitant eyes met his. He stepped closer to her. She didn’t back away.

  “Do you kill people?”

  “Yes, I’ve killed people. Bad people. People who hurt innocent people or who’ve done bad things. If you want me to elaborate, I will. I’ll tell you anything about me you want to know.” He wanted her to trust him. Her lips rolled in, and small white teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “Stamos is the name of the man who hired me. I’m the only contract hire that he knows. He wanted the finder’s fee they had offered him, so he asked me to take the job.”

  “You associate with people like him? You must, if he came to you without hesitation.”

  Jesus, she was sharp. He didn’t want to delve into his past. Didn’t want to share that he’d been raised in poverty, that as a teenager he’d befriended kids like Stamos. Kids like him, who needed money and would do whatever was necessary to eat and not live in shit. He’d gotten away from that life when he’d left and joined the military. He’d grown up. Stamos hadn’t. He shouldn’t have had any contact with him since coming home, but he’d run into Stamos one night and out of pity, had exchanged phone numbers with him. Stamos tried to befriend him. Due to his workload, Cal had managed to keep a good distance, but in the beginning, he’d allowed his old acquaintance to get a little too close.

  “I grew up with him. He’s not a friend—far from it. But he’s tried to get close to me.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “Why would he do that? And why didn’t you just avoid him?”

  He let out a sigh through his nostrils. Damn, she was persistent. “Because he wants to be like me. But he’s not cut out for my line of work. And I have kept my distance. It had been more than six months since I’d talked to him last before he called me and presented this job.”

  Her eyebrows bounced. “The job to kill me?”

  “That’s the one.” His tone was dry.

  �
�You’re not going to hurt me?” Her arms folded across her chest. She spoke slowly, her words deliberate. His spine stiffened. Was that what she feared? Him?

  “Hell, no.”

  She chewed her lip harder. He dared to reach out his index finger to tap beneath her lip. “Stop that, you’re going to chew a hole right through.”

  Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t pull away. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough opportunity to hurt you by now?”

  Her gaze shifted to her feet, then back up to his face. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “And have I?”

  Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. “No.”

  The vise that had been gripping his heart released. “I want to help you, and I’m going to protect you. No one will hurt you, but you need to trust me.” He held his hand out to her, palm open. “Deal?”

  “I don’t even know your name.” Her slight shoulder raised in question. Shit, how had he not told her that?

  “Cal Hart. I didn’t tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  She was right. He hadn’t. His career had forced him to live a solitary life, to be cautious and private. Out of habit, he kept details to himself. But if telling her his name made her feel more at ease, it was a small price to pay.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and placed her hand in his. “Deal.”

  He squeezed her hand. The temptation to bring her soft palm to his lips arced through him. She was so dainty. The feminine curve of her slight frame just showed in the oversized shirt she wore. His shirt. His dick twitched at the thought of stripping it off her, his hands free to roam her delicious body.