Free Hostage by S. Ann Cole

Author:S. Ann Cole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled; Amara, contemporary romance, romance novels, romance stories, sexy contemporary romance novels, sensual contemporary romance, sexy stories, love stories, alpha hero, contemporary love stories, thief hero, con artist hero, books like White Collar, nerdy heroine, genius heroine, hidden identity, enemies to lovers, New York romance stories, international romance stories, first person romance novels, thief, con artist
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Amara)
Published: 2017-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

On the TV, a program is on called I Survived—a documentary about real survivors of brink-of-death experiences. Not exactly the kind of thing I wish to be watching while belt-buckled to a bed, though it does remind me to value life.

Some twelve minutes later, Jaxon emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips.

“Can you change that depressing documentary, please?” I beg as he takes his first step in. “Switch it to Discovery Channel, or something.”

He eyes me, then the TV. Listens for a few seconds as a victim recounts the chilling story of her encounter with a serial killer and moves to get the remote with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

He scrolls down the guide, reads, scrolls, reads, scrolls, reads, scrolls, reads…until he finally settles on HBO.

“What’s that?”

He throws down the remote. “The Great Gatsby.”

On a half sigh, half moan, I shift at an awkward angle to transfer the pressure to my left shoulder blade. I’ve been alternating sides to share the aching discomfort equally for the past ten minutes.

He moves to the foot of the bed. “Arms hurt?”

I hike my brows. “What do you think?”

He slinks his long fingers back through his wet hair. “Will you try to leave again if I untie you?”

For his own safety, I don’t want him to unbind me, so I say, “Yes.”

Also because I’m afraid I might embarrass myself attempting to make sexual advances.

Looking frustrated, he shakes his head and disappears into the closet, returning a minute later with leather cuffs. Actual leather sex cuffs, complete with lamb’s wool lining.

Shite.

From my angle, he’s like a skyscraper, arching over me as he undoes the belt and, with nimble deftness, frees my right hand while cuffing my left hand to the bed.

He then picks up my right hand and begins to massage my wrist, easing the tension there, and I swear to the high heavens I feel his touch down to my very bones.

“Better?”

I glance up. Up the planes of his naked chest. Up his strong throat. Up into his blue eyes. “Why is she still here?”

“Hmm?” His gaze is on my wrist. I know he hears and understands the question. He’s just being a jerk.

“Why is she still here?” I repeat. “And why are you forcing me to sleep in your bed while she’s here. It’s weird.”

“Why is it weird? You’ve been sleeping in my bed for weeks now.”

“Because she’s your girlfriend, you slimy sod.”

Just barely, his head shakes. “She’s a girl. And she’s my friend.”

My chin jerks up. “And what am I?”

He smiles something mischievous. “The possibilities are endless.”

I scowl.

He sighs. “She’s sleeping over.”

“Why?”

“She’s my partner. We work together. She lives on Long Island, and we have a critical meeting in the morning with our boss. It’s practical for her to spend the night here.”

Partner? Boss? Critical meeting? What else is he into, separate from the Unseen? I frown. “She’s your work partner.”

“Yes.”

“As in, different from your bed partner?”

He lets go of my hand so it falls to the bed, and he strides across the room to shut the bedroom door.

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