The McKenzie Artifact by Alison Kent

Author:Alison Kent [Kent, Alison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9780758206763
Google: jYw5ln_2IYsC
Amazon: 0758206763
Barnesnoble: 0758206763
Goodreads: 905742
Publisher: Brava
Published: 2004-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Eli didn't think Stella would ever go to sleep. He lay for hours unmoving, breathing in a slow, steady, regulated rhythm that he knew had convinced her he'd long since passed out. He hadn't, of course.

He was simply an expert at playing dead.

He'd done it in Bosnia, in Afghanistan, in Lebanon. His SG-5 partners accused him of learning to breathe through his pores. They'd searched him for gills, refusing to believe any human being could breathe without detection. He'd learned. He'd had to.

He'd have been dead a long time ago had he not.

His chaining her hadn't been about trust as much as about keeping her safe. Were she to get a burr up her butt and sneak out while he slept, he wouldn't do her much good as protection. He could name one or two of Ramon's men who wouldn't hesitate to bind, gag, and rape her no matter that Aceveda wanted her undamaged and clean.

Only Ramon understood who all of them here actually worked for, and even then he didn't have full knowledge of Spectra IT's far-reaching scope. Most of the men here were no better than scum.

Unemployable, unsavory, untrustworthy, unkind.

Putting Stella out there had been a huge risk. Keeping her close now was paramount.

Now that her breathing had settled and he knew that she slept, he did what any good voyeur would do—rolled onto his side and turned up the flame on the oil lamp. Sitting and talking with her earlier had been a hard won test of self-control. His newly reclaimed self-control—one it had taken four solid months of recuperation to find.

He hadn't exactly been the most congenial houseguest to ever stay on Hank's farm.

He'd always known and accepted that life was a series of trials, some won, others lost, and presented in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. Between them, the men of the Smithson Group had suffered the gamut. With Hank's help and a lot from one another, each had always pulled through.

But he had to say that this last go-round had been close to the worst he had known.

Stella stirred, kicked the blanket from her shackled foot. The chain rattled and she opened her eyes, grimacing, yet not awake or focused enough to realize he was watching.

Knowing firsthand the heavy, sweaty discomfort of leg irons ... he winced in empathy. He could let her loose, and lose the rest of the night's sleep he needed. Or let her loose and sleep with her.

Oh, yeah. He was an expert who knew all about staying detached, didn't he?

"If you're going to stay awake and stare, would you at least take this thing off my leg so one of us can get some sleep?"

He slid his gaze from her foot to her face. "No can do. I need at least two or three hours of sound shut-eye, and can't get it unless I know that you're safe."

"I thought this was about trust, not safety," she said after a thick silence that went on two heartbeats too long.

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