charge whether she liked it or not.
He followed. Keeping a hand firmly on her wrist, he stuck his head outside the window. The fire escape was located between this apartment and the next one—about a five-foot stretch from where he stood. No doubt there had once been a balcony that connected it all, but it was long gone. The good news was, unless she was an Olympic gymnast she couldn’t escape that way. Not without risking a five-story fall and being smashed on the street below like a bug on a windshield.
The bad news was, neither could he. Not in his present state of fitness. Sixteen months ago, he could have. In his sleep. With one hand tied behind him. But no longer.
He left the window up, lowered the blinds over it and the other one, then turned to her. “All right, show me the bedroom. You first.”
She stiffened, but after a glance at the SIG she didn’t argue. She was learning. She led him to the open door of the only other room in the place. He reached in, flipped on the light, and did a quick once-over before he put his hand to the small of her back and made her go in.
It was a soft room, the color of old butter. The subtle scent of a flowery perfume—her perfume—lingered intimately in the air, making him acutely aware that he was invading her most personal space. His eyes were naturally drawn to the bed. It was large but not huge, covered with lots of pillows and a quilt of the type he’d seen in antique stores. Like the furniture. Dresser, bookshelf, a carved wooden armoire that took the place of a closet. None of it really seemed her style. He would have pegged her for more of a modern-contemporary type. Still, what did he know?
“I inherited the apartment from my grandmother,” she said, reading his mind. Her chin lifted slightly. “I like old things.”
He didn’t comment, just pointed to the bed while he checked the bathroom. “Sit down.” Again, the walls were covered by bright travel posters. Greece. Portugal. Iceland. Egypt. No wonder she’d been attracted by Nathan Daneby, world traveler extraordinaire. Of course, he was, too.
He came out and she had not moved. He pointed to the bed again. “Sit. Down.”
Her eyes were wide with fear. “Please, no!” She backed away from him, pulling her flimsy wrap protectively around her body. For all the good that would do if—
He pushed out an impatient breath. “I told you, obey my orders and nothing will happen to you. I mean that.”
She shook her head at him accusingly. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m n—”
“You kissed me,” she blurted out. Her teeth worried her bottom lip where it was still red and swollen from his love bite. Or whatever the hell it had been.
For some totally illogical reason, her outrage irritated him. “I kissed you before that and you didn’t object,” he reminded her tersely. “In fact, I could have sworn you enjoyed it.”
“That was before I knew you were a—” She snapped her mouth shut.
“A what?” he demanded. Now he was really getting annoyed.
Her throat worked. “A . . . a kidnapper!”
Kidnapper? He almost laughed. Was that the best she could do? On the grand scale of the many colorful things he’d been called in his lifetime, kidnapper was just about the least insulting.
“Okay, fine. You don’t kiss kidnappers. Just sit the hell down.”
She opened her mouth to object again.
“ Now . Before I change my mind.”
Thankfully, she crossed her arms over her abdomen and stalked wordlessly to the bed. She was still wearing her high heels so her shapely backside twitched enticingly back and forth in her short, sexy dress.
Which almost made him careless. She was about to sit down by the pillows. And the nightstand.
“Wait! Not there,” he barked. He pointed again at the foot of the bed. “There.”
She hesitated and her nostrils flared just enough to confirm his suspicion before she primly sat where he’d directed.
“All right, where is it?” he
He followed. Keeping a hand firmly on her wrist, he stuck his head outside the window. The fire escape was located between this apartment and the next one—about a five-foot stretch from where he stood. No doubt there had once been a balcony that connected it all, but it was long gone. The good news was, unless she was an Olympic gymnast she couldn’t escape that way. Not without risking a five-story fall and being smashed on the street below like a bug on a windshield.
The bad news was, neither could he. Not in his present state of fitness. Sixteen months ago, he could have. In his sleep. With one hand tied behind him. But no longer.
He left the window up, lowered the blinds over it and the other one, then turned to her. “All right, show me the bedroom. You first.”
She stiffened, but after a glance at the SIG she didn’t argue. She was learning. She led him to the open door of the only other room in the place. He reached in, flipped on the light, and did a quick once-over before he put his hand to the small of her back and made her go in.
It was a soft room, the color of old butter. The subtle scent of a flowery perfume—her perfume—lingered intimately in the air, making him acutely aware that he was invading her most personal space. His eyes were naturally drawn to the bed. It was large but not huge, covered with lots of pillows and a quilt of the type he’d seen in antique stores. Like the furniture. Dresser, bookshelf, a carved wooden armoire that took the place of a closet. None of it really seemed her style. He would have pegged her for more of a modern-contemporary type. Still, what did he know?
“I inherited the apartment from my grandmother,” she said, reading his mind. Her chin lifted slightly. “I like old things.”
He didn’t comment, just pointed to the bed while he checked the bathroom. “Sit down.” Again, the walls were covered by bright travel posters. Greece. Portugal. Iceland. Egypt. No wonder she’d been attracted by Nathan Daneby, world traveler extraordinaire. Of course, he was, too.
He came out and she had not moved. He pointed to the bed again. “Sit. Down.”
Her eyes were wide with fear. “Please, no!” She backed away from him, pulling her flimsy wrap protectively around her body. For all the good that would do if—
He pushed out an impatient breath. “I told you, obey my orders and nothing will happen to you. I mean that.”
She shook her head at him accusingly. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m n—”
“You kissed me,” she blurted out. Her teeth worried her bottom lip where it was still red and swollen from his love bite. Or whatever the hell it had been.
For some totally illogical reason, her outrage irritated him. “I kissed you before that and you didn’t object,” he reminded her tersely. “In fact, I could have sworn you enjoyed it.”
“That was before I knew you were a—” She snapped her mouth shut.
“A what?” he demanded. Now he was really getting annoyed.
Her throat worked. “A . . . a kidnapper!”
Kidnapper? He almost laughed. Was that the best she could do? On the grand scale of the many colorful things he’d been called in his lifetime, kidnapper was just about the least insulting.
“Okay, fine. You don’t kiss kidnappers. Just sit the hell down.”
She opened her mouth to object again.
“ Now . Before I change my mind.”
Thankfully, she crossed her arms over her abdomen and stalked wordlessly to the bed. She was still wearing her high heels so her shapely backside twitched enticingly back and forth in her short, sexy dress.
Which almost made him careless. She was about to sit down by the pillows. And the nightstand.
“Wait! Not there,” he barked. He pointed again at the foot of the bed. “There.”
She hesitated and her nostrils flared just enough to confirm his suspicion before she primly sat where he’d directed.
“All right, where is it?” he
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