Captivated (Stranded) Read Online Free PDF Page A

sheets.
    He probably couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
    “Were you comfortable?” she asked. On the floor in the sheets I didn’t want, after you made me dinner and suffered my break-up story?
    “It was fine,” he said. “Always is. Want some eggs?”
    She didn’t usually eat more than cereal or, in the winter, oatmeal, but was done looking like a prima donna . Plus, saying yes set Evan into motion at the stove, and that turned out to be a great way to begin her day. Pouring herself a mug of coffee, she sat at the table, content to watch him perform these simple, unglamorous tasks. Breaking eggs, grinding pepper, toasting bread. He wore his work uniform again, and she wondered if he wore it every day, or just because she was here. She suspected he wore the shirt to cover his arms, and that made her want to rip it off him.
    That and the tantalizing hints of triceps and trapezius flexing underneath.
    And, damn, his ass. She let her gaze follow the inner seam of one leg up and up, to where it must snug right up to his—
    “Captivity narratives, right?”
    She choked on her coffee. “Yes.”
    He turned, spatula in hand, subtly checking the tabletop for coffee spew. “So you’ve seen the Platypus Queen book?”
    “Uh, no. I’d remember that.”
    “I’ll show you after breakfast.”
    When they had eaten and washed up, him at the kitchen sink and her in the second-floor gallery restroom with a dollop of his toothpaste on her fingertip, he led her to the basement archive that felt like a second home. He didn’t turn on the fluorescent lights, depending instead on the morning sunlight that filtered through the high windows. It left the archive with plenty of shadows, and she wondered how much of his life here he spent in the dark.
    He walked down an aisle, scanning the book spines. He handed it to her with a straight face. Barely.
    “ Bill Me Later: My Years As Nightly Sex Hostage to the Queen of Platypus Island .” Laine looked up at him, a grin spreading across her face.
    “It’s something else.”
    “Fictional, surely.”
    “No idea. Didn’t care, frankly.”
    Something occurred to her then, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to ask it before now. “Have you read many of the books?”
    “Most of them.” At her surprised look, he shrugged. “The ones in English. The others I skimmed.”
    Her grin widened. “For illustrations.”
    “What? I’m twenty-seven, and I live in a sex museum.” He placed a hand casually on a shelf. “I was curious.”
    “Anything good?”
    “Depends on your taste, I guess.” He nodded at the book in her hands. “Anyway, I figured that might fit with your research.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure. I’m cleaning the floors today. There’s a break area in the front office. I’ll put some of the rice in the fridge there, so you can eat lunch when you want.”
    She felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t invited her to eat with him. But he was probably just trying to stay out of her way. “Thanks so much, Evan.”
    His head dipped away at his name. “Yup. Have fun with that.” He turned to go, then stopped and pivoted back, hands up. “I mean, not fun, but…you know.”
    “Sure you don’t want to stay and read it with me?” she teased.
    He let out a laugh that sounded half regretful and half…what? “I got floors to mop.”
    Not a yes. Not a no, either, but she decided to give him a break. “Oh all right. I’ll just have to share my impressions at dinner.”
    “Right.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’m…going now.” And he hustled out of the aisle.
    Laine set herself up at her usual desk, setting her notebook beside the book. She imagined Evan perusing the shelves, and wondered what made him pull out any given book. Depends on your taste, he had said. What was Evan’s taste? This book had made an impression, but probably just for its ridiculous premise.
    Two hours later, she was no closer to pinning down Evan’s kinks than she had been