Flesh 02 Skin (5 page)

He set the light on the bedside table and gave her a small, tight smile as his head spun queasily. “Easy. We’re just talking.”

The nasty glance she gave him seemed pretty fucking unnecessary, really. Not like he wasn’t proving himself willing to discuss things. Also, not like he could do much, what with the condition he was in. Though she didn’t know that.

He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. “Do you really think I would bring you here without making sure you’d be safe?”

Her face lifted in a mocking grin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my fear of dying a horrible, bloody death bruising your ego?”

“Ros, be reasonable …”

“I’m so glad this is all about you.”

“Wait, okay? Let’s just stop and think this through,” he proposed, leaning his elbows on his knees. Propping his chin in his fingers stopped the world from sliding south. “You are very valuable to me.”

The sides of her lips turned down in disgust. “Yeah, a van’s worth of valuable. I saw.”

He ignored her baiting, still hopeful they could get some sleep tonight. Please God, let them get some sleep tonight. “Be logical, Ros. You like logical, don’t you? I will not let anything happen to you. I went to too much trouble to lose you now.”

“Aah, the power of the pussy.”

“Exactly,” he agreed with a smirk. Which was a mistake. If the woman hit him now, he really might be down for the count. “Calm down. It’s the truth. You have it. I want it.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Because I’m honest?” He sighed. “No, Roslyn. This should comfort you. You’re pretty much worth more to me than my own life. You and your pretty pussy.”

Shouldn’t have said it. Couldn’t help himself. Wasn’t like she didn’t hate him already.

It was a little surprising when she actually hissed at him, though. “I mightn’t even be any good in bed. Have you thought of that?”

“I’m willing to take the risk.” He grinned. “I’m also willing to teach you. I’m actually quite a good instructor when I put my mind to it. You’d be surprised.”

Her jaw shifted restlessly like maybe he wasn’t the only one wearing away teeth. “I desperately need you to go fuck yourself.”

“Roslyn,” he tutted, and the fury in her eyes exploded. She was a lot of fun all stirred up. Pity about the reason. Still, it pleased him to know he could get to her as much as she got to him.

A long, low growl came from outside and her shoulders jerked. He hated seeing her afraid, for reasons even greater than his ego. There’d been enough fear and death. By locking this bird in a golden cage, he’d save her from experiencing more. Perverted, but true.

“You’re safe,” he said in a softer tone.

“I’m here. I’m clearly not going anywhere. We don’t need to be discussing this any longer. Why do you even care?”

“I don’t want you sleeping beneath the bed.”

Blue eyes stared back at him, unhappy.

He smothered a yawn, searched for something to put her at ease. With his brain pounding, he couldn’t have set himself a harder task. He’d promised not to jump her no matter how much he wanted. The place was locked down. The evidence on that front was obvious. His headache left little room for thought. Didn’t put off his dick, but then his dick had no sense. It had gotten him into trouble for most of his adult life.

“Why don’t I go back to my side of the mattress and you come lie down?” he said.

She didn’t move.

“Roslyn, I spent weeks making this place safe for us. Reinforcing every door and window. Testing them. Nothing is going to get you. Not in here.”

One slender, bare foot rubbed at the hardwood floor. The cold hardwood floor. She had to be cooling off fast, out from under the blankets. He knew he was. It had been hours since he’d seen to the fire. Stanthorpe in the winter could chap your ass, and that put it mildly.

Nick gave her a long, steady look, making sure he had her full attention, before crawling back over to the far side of the bed. Retreating to gain ground in the long term. “Your turn.”

No movement. Maybe she had already frozen.

“It would be good if we both got some sleep tonight,” he said.

“You said you wouldn’t force me into anything.”

“That only applied to sex. Sleeping on a cold, uncomfortable floor is wide open to intervention. Try it and see.” Fuck, he hoped she didn’t.

All the little subtleties of her face amazed him. The slight curl of her lip and wrinkling of her nose to diss him just so. Dangerously close to cute. He looked forward to learning her, in more ways than one. But first up, they both needed their shut-eye.

Please, let the cuffs stay put away. There were dark marks around her wrist from her tugging on them earlier. Bruises. Not good. He suffered twinges of guilt every time he saw them. Not that she’d given him a choice.

“Please,” he said, trying for humble, if not trustworthy.

“You’ll stay on that side.”

He held his little finger aloft. “Pinky promise.”

She rolled her eyes, checked out the windows, the balcony doors. Each and every one he’d fortified. They were safe. He’d swear his life on it, and hers too. And he didn’t take it lightly, being responsible for her. Despite what she might think.

She moved forward an inch. No more. “They can’t get in?”

“No. They can’t get in.”

Her mouth opened then closed. “Alright.”

Roslyn shuffled back to the bed with shoulders slumped and climbed beneath the blankets. The mattress shifted as she tossed and turned before finally settling on a position. With her back to him, as if it had ever been in any doubt. She flicked off the camp light and darkness descended. Outside the noises seemed to have calmed down. Maybe the bastards felt the cold. Who knew?

“Thank you,” he said. Because there was no need not to be polite, not when he’d gotten what he wanted.

He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing. Roslyn was beside him, safe and sound. Unhappy, but that couldn’t be helped. At least she wasn’t attacking him. Tomorrow he’d make it up to her, win her over somehow.

His limbs felt like lead. He needed to wait till Roslyn fell asleep, but he doubted he could do it. So fucking tired. Sleep stole over him, fast gaining ground. He could only hope he didn’t wake up dead.

Sunlight was flooding the room when Roslyn woke. The big balcony bi-fold doors stood open to reveal nature in its entirety. Lots of glory right there. Birds were singing outside, there was plenty of blue sky and a light breeze blowing. She lay buried beneath a mound of blankets.

Nick was nowhere in sight.

Then she heard whistling. Not a bird. A six-foot-something male strode in the back door, arms loaded down with sticks of all shapes and sizes. Today he wore jeans and another T-shirt, along with a sporty pair of sneakers.

“Good morning,” he said with a grin.

What the fuck did he have to be so happy about? Oh, right. He wasn’t chained to a bed by a whistling lunatic.

The lunatic dumped the load of kindling in a basket by the pot-belly stove, turned and brushed off his hands. “Such a pretty face to be so grumpy.”

“I’m not a morning person.”

“Then you have no excuse. You’ve missed the morning. It’s almost one in the afternoon.”

“It is?” Roslyn sat up, rubbed her eyes and scowled at him some more.

“You must have needed the rest.”

“Hmm.”

“Coffee?”

She hedged, pushing back her blankets. At some stage he’d obviously piled them high to keep her warm. Accepting anything from him felt wrong, even after dinner last night, the heat of the fire and the comfort of the bed. She did not want to owe this man a single damn thing if she could help it.

“It’s just coffee, Roslyn.” He appeared highly amused, lips raised on one side, brown eyes bright. Bushy-tailed bastard. The war wound she’d given him was impressive. A black egg sat above his brow with a pink line neatly bisecting it. “Coffee comes free.”

“Comforting to know you’ll inform me when I’m trading for favors.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely know when we’re trading for favors. Rest assured,” said the smirky jerk. “Milk and sugar?”

“Yes. Please.” She swung her legs down, bracing for the chill of the hardwood floor. There were socks on her feet: thick, woolen, distinctly foreign ones. “I didn’t go to sleep with socks on.”

“I didn’t want you to get cold.” Nick had his back to her as he lit the gas kitchen stove and put on the kettle. However, the stupid know it all look was clear when he turned to face her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Of course she fucking minded. “You promised not to touch me.”

“That was only with regard to sex,” he said. “This was to keep your toes warm.”

She stood up, wide awake now. Anger did that to a woman. “No, there was no such caveat in place. You promised not to touch me and you broke your word.”

His brows reached high. “Caveat? What a big word before breakfast. Are you going to explain what it means to me?”

“It means you’re an asshole.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Would you like eggs? Only powdered, sorry. Porridge, perhaps? Or I have some fresh apples I found in an orchard not far from here. Chemical free, I promise. You look like the type to buy organic.”

“Funny.” And true. But he didn’t need to know that. How childish would it be to tear off the socks and throw them at him? They were nice. Thick, brown hiking ones. Her toes were toasty warm. It quite possibly made the situation worse. The thought of his hands on her when she was unaware had sensation creeping down her spine, spider-style. “Don’t touch me again without permission. At all. For any reason.”

He didn’t answer.

“Nick?”

He crossed his arms over his hard chest, muscles moving enticingly beneath his skin. “You know I’m not going to agree. Why upset yourself?”

“How mad were you at me last night when you thought I’d broken my word?”

“I promise I will never touch you with the intention of hurting you.” He held his fist in the palm of his hand. “Unless you’re a naughty girl. Then there will be repercussions. Guaranteed.”

“You’re threatening to hit me?”

“What?” His eyes flared wide with surprise and his hands dropped back to his sides. “No. Of course not.”

“Right.” She wished she could do the one-eyebrow-raise thing. It would call down just the right amount of skeptical upon his bullshit. “This is never going to work. Whatever you think is going to happen here, it’s not. You might as well just take me back to the school.”

The man set his big hands back on the kitchen bench. His long body looked fully at ease as he watched her with an amused smile. How many women had gone for his particular brand of crap before the plague? Been tempted by the floppy brown hair and square jaw? The absolute confidence he had in his own propaganda?

Plenty. Heaps. She’d bet on it.

There was a certain appeal to him, if you were desperate. But he wasn’t half as charming as he thought he was. Not when she wore a fucking chain around her ankle.

Not one iota of doubt sat in his dark eyes. It was unsettling. Her hands felt clammy, stuffed beneath her armpits.

“You’re going to have to take me back,” she said. Because belief was half of being.

“I guess we’ll see. Why don’t I fix you breakfast while you wash up?” he suggested, moving toward the kitchen.

The power he had over her. She hated it. The infuriating lack of liberty, just like back at the school only worse.

Her chin wobbled and he gave her his calm little smile, obviously taking her silence as assent. The look alone made her want to brain him with something hard. Again. He was hard to pin down. There were so many different smiles. She should number them, index them, all the better to keep them in order. Study him and defeat him. But she honest to God didn’t want to know him that well. The thought was repugnant. He’d bought her, for fuck’s sake. Bought her and fed her and put socks on her cold feet. Piled blankets on her and kept her chained to a bed. Her pride lay in tatters. Her eyes became inexplicably hot, sandy.

She had to get out of this.

But he was always watching. Getting the drop on him again wouldn’t be easy. And then she’d do what, hack off her foot? Who knew where he kept the key.

“Go on and wash up,” he said impatiently. “We don’t have to fight about everything.”

She fled into the shadowy bathroom and shut the door. The door lock had been disabled, the window barricaded. A bucket of cold water sat on the benchtop. It chilled her hands and stung her face as she began to wash. The fingers of her punching hand throbbed. Icy drops slid down her neck and soaked into her stupid dress. A hard shiver wracked her spine.

The woman in the mirror stared back, slack-jawed and dazed, confused and not so confident.

“Fuck.”

***

“Is that really necessary?” he asked.

“What?”

“Pacing back and forth.” Nick sat at the table. His long fingers dealt ably with the various parts of a gun, then got busy cleaning and oiling. So far he’d sharpened three wicked-looking blades before moving onto things that went
bang!
He was an industrious thing, his hands constantly busy. “It’s annoying.”

“Is it?” Roslyn sat on the arm of the lounge and kicked the chain to and fro, noisily. It slithered across the floor, metal clinking. She added a little extra oomph to the movement just for fun. Nick looked less than impressed, his eyes all flashy and dangerous. Bad luck, buddy. Chalk up one small, pathetic victory to her team.

The trimmed beard covered a lot of territory, but his eyes said plenty. Mostly she’d avoided looking in them since he’d laid out brunch on the table. He’d sat down across from her and dug into the porridge and chopped apples laced with brown sugar. Of course he knew how to cook, as he’d demonstrated with dinner last night. How typical. She tried not to be impressed. Also, she tried not to relish the food. A hot breakfast, however, proved to be worlds away from a ration of stale crackers at the school. At least her captivity would be passed in relative comfort.

“Why don’t you read a book?” he suggested, gesturing to the shelf of dusty classics above the bed.

“I don’t have any reading glasses. My spares are back at the school in my handbag.” For fun she wrapped the chain around her foot and bounced and jiggled it on the floor. “Why don’t you take me back so I can fetch them?”