Wicked Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page A

up every inch
of his nudity.
    Hell, she didn’t want to look at him, but for the
life of her, she couldn’t help herself. Admiring his physique broke
some unwritten rule about captive not ogling her captor, but if he
wasn’t aware, maybe it wasn’t so wrong. He was the description of
perfect male, making her self-conscious of her own
less-than-perfect body. From his broad shoulders, over massive
chest, narrow waist, and—she jerked her glance away. Oh
hell! He was hard and a size that matched every other large
part of him. It was so wrong that such a jerk had a body of
Adonis.
    “Forget the body,” she whispered. She wondered how
he’d gotten naked. She lifted the sheet. And how the hell did I
get naked?
    She was going to be sick. Stomach twirling, she
squeezed the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb.
She couldn’t remember anything after he’d pulled out needle and
thread and—
    Biting back a moan, she held up her bandaged hand.
With haste she’d never known, she tore off the white gauzy
material. Shit! Shit! Her heart beat faster. She stared at
her wounded hand neatly stitched and covered in clear salve.
Looking over at the sleeping man, her mind fabricated ways she
could teach him a lesson on boundaries, and so proudly flaunting
his goods. Her eyes naturally fell to his long cock. She should
follow through with a few of her own evil ideas. Wonder how he’d
like a few stitches in his tool?
    No use . She was a wimp. At the mere sight of
blood she’d probably pass out, and ending up unconscious was the
last thing she wanted.
    A horrible notion flashed through her mind. Was it
possible they had sex? If she was out while he stitched her wound,
anything could have happened. She reached down and touched her
inner thighs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no swelling or
sensitivity, and with a cock his size, she’d have physical
evidence.
    Some tension left her muscles. Although he didn’t
violate her, would he next time?
    How had he knocked her out? Had he hypnotized
her?
    There was no time to stick around and debate her
questions. She knew this could be her one and only chance to get
the hell away.
    Bronte gave the sleeping figure one more glance. He
still slept. His breathing was heavy and his chest rose and fell
evenly. As quietly as possible, she slid to the edge of the bed,
eased her legs over the side and placed her feet onto the cool
floor. She stood and wrapped the sheet around her body as she
scanned the room for her clothes. They were gone. She guessed Roark
had hid them from her, thinking she wouldn’t escape without
clothes. Dressed or not, she’d get out of this place. Nudity was
nothing compared to spending more time in Roark’s loony bin.
    With a quick glimpse over her shoulder to make sure
he was still asleep, Bronte started across the room toward the
door. She took each tiptoed step with great care, but every breath
and every time her foot pressed against the wood, it sounded like
an explosion in her ears. I can do this. I can do this. I can do
this. Her heart fluttered at the possibility of freedom.
Reaching the exit, she placed her palm on the knob, twisted and her
hope dropped. Nothing happened. It was locked. The bastard! Maybe she could stand the sight of blood, just this once, if it
meant getting revenge. She turned on heel and ran into a wall of
flesh and muscle. Bringing her gaze up into an expression of pure
wickedness, she gulped loudly.
    “You didn’t think I’d allow you to walk out of here,
did you?” His voice was husky from sleep. He yawned and wiped his
eyes.
    His laid-back attitude made her want to rip his eyes
out. And having him stand there naked and proud, made her fury
multiply. How dare he be so smug! “You can’t keep me here
forever.”
    “How long you stay is completely up to you,
sweetheart. You’re in control more than you think.”
    She slanted her eyes, wishing she could shoot
daggers into his head. “I’ll never have your child. You said