Bride of the Bad Boy by Elizabeth Bevarly

Author:Elizabeth Bevarly
Format: epub

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Seven

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"Look, Angel, if you'd just be reasonable about this, we wouldn't have a problem here."

Angie eyed Ethan Zorn venomously and struggled against the silk necktie that bound her wrists behind one of her kitchen chairs. When she failed to even loosen her bonds, she tried wrestling her ankles free of the silk sash of her own bathrobe, which tied each ankle to a chair leg. Again with no success.

Ethan had discovered the latter item after a thorough search of the apartment to locate some suitable bondage material. He'd been disappointed, upon upending her lingerie drawer, to discover that she preferred knee socks over silk hosiery, but he'd been delighted by the little scrap of pale-gold nothing that he'd stumbled upon hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

He had tied her up nearly a half hour ago, and now sat scarcely a foot in front of her, straddling backward a chair identical to hers—minus the silk bonds, of course—gazing at her in idle speculation.

"Me be reasonable?" she said through gritted teeth. "I'm the one tied to a chair, for crying out loud."

He settled his chin on the arm he had draped over the back of the chair and smiled at her. "Well, Angel, you did seem to expect it, after all, and I didn't want to disappoint you."

She envisioned circling his throat with her fingers and throttling the life out of him, even flexed her hands ineffectually against her bonds in an effort to make her fantasy a reality. But all she said was, "You're the one who's not being reasonable here. Untie me. Now."

"I think I've been perfectly reasonable," he countered calmly, ignoring her demand. He leaned back and added, "You're just not looking at the big picture here."

Angie gaped at him. "The big picture?" she asked. "The big picture is that some lowlife, scumbag, murdering slug has me tied up in my apartment. What's there for me to be unreasonable about?"

He shook his head and made a face of disgust. "You know, I'm getting awfully tired of you calling me a lowlife, scumbag, murdering slug. I'll have you know I have never murdered anyone." He threw her a meaningful look. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, right. Like I'm supposed to believe that."

"It's true," he told her, and if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he actually sounded hurt that she could suspect him of such a thing. "I'm a front man, not a hit man," he clarified for her. "Murder isn't in my job description."

She rolled her eyes. Mobsters had job descriptions? What next? Would they be forming a union? Mobsters Local 369. She could just imagine the dues.

"Will you please untie me?" she asked again, wriggling ineffectually at her bonds. "My arms are starting to cramp up."

He looked dashed at that, seeming genuinely concerned that she was uncomfortable. "Well, why didn't you say so?" he asked her. "I can do something about that."

He stood and moved behind her chair, but instead of untying her wrists, he pressed his palms gently over her forearms.

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