Abducted. Samantha Keith

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ