Burn (Page 42)

In real life, Jenner would have been running for the hills if any man had tried to be so dominant with her. She didn’t like bossy men and didn’t tolerate them. Cael was more than just bossy; he was downright ruthless, and the knowledge had her so scared her teeth were almost chattering.

He took her tiny red leather shoulder bag from her and opened it, taking out the key card for the door. She stood mutely, gritting her teeth to keep from grabbing the bag back. No one who knew her would ever believe for one minute that she’d let a man get away with such high-handed behavior, but who, besides Syd, really knew her? She and Syd were such close friends precisely because neither of them fit in with the rest of the crowd.

Someone was coming down the passageway toward them. Jenner carefully didn’t look to see who it was, instead keeping her head down and her gaze focused on his hands as he inserted the card in the lock and the little light flashed green. They were big hands, but well-shaped and hard, with a look and feel to them that she recognized. He worked out, long and often, and he had quite a bit of training in the martial arts. Her little bit of judo would be useless against him.

Removing the card, he opened the door and ushered her inside, his callused palm warm on the small of her back.

As soon as they were inside and the door was closed behind them, though, Jenner whirled away. Her cheeks red with temper, she spat, "I will not let you rape me, is that understood?"

"Keep your voice down." Clamping one hand on her arm just above her elbow, he forced her farther into the room, away from the door. He paused then, his cool gaze raking her, her red bag still in his hand. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the definition of rape means there isn’t any ‘letting’ involved. You can rest easy, though; I’m not interested."

"Yes, I felt how uninterested you are," she snapped, then wished she hadn’t, because she really didn’t want to be discussing the state of his penis. His reassurance had failed in its purpose because she didn’t feel reassured at all. She was still practically jumping out of her skin from nervousness, and her instinctive reaction was to fight.

He looked amused. "You don’t know much about men, do you?"

"More than enough, thank you! Hey!" The last word was yelped as he dragged her through the bedroom door to the left. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and, just like that, panic washed over her in a tidal wave, obliterating thought. She exploded into a flurry of movement, fighting him for all she was worth. She punched him with her free hand, pulling back as hard as she could in an effort to break his grip on her arm, twisting, trying to stomp his feet, elbow him in the gut, head butt him – anything and everything she could do, without any strategy in mind except the blind need to fight. He grunted when her first blow hit his jaw, then he thwarted most of her efforts by simply turning his body so she was left with no target except his shoulder and back. His hard grip never once loosened. Infuriated, terrified, she used the only weapon she had left and bit him, sinking her teeth into the back of his upper arm.

"Shit!" he said between clenched teeth, and with a twist of his body she went airborne, sailing across to land with a teeth-rattling bounce on the bed. Desperately she twisted, trying to regain her balance and roll off the bed on the other side but he pounced with the quickness of a snake striking, snagging her wrist and dragging her bodily off the bed to sling her into the bedside chair.

The violent speed of the move left her sprawled in the chair, disoriented and stunned, unable to make her body move for several valuable seconds. He pulled a plastic restraint from his pocket and slipped it over her hand, then with two hard jerks secured her to the chair. Straightening, he glared down at her, his blue eyes cold and glittering.

"Bridget said you were a pain in the ass," he growled, "but she forgot to mention you’re also rabid."

Breathing hard, trying to make her head stop spinning so she could make sense of the situation, Jenner mutely stared up at him. What was – ? He wasn’t – ?

"I thought you were – " she began, then stumbled to a halt.

"Don’t think," he advised in a tone that was close to a snarl. "You aren’t good at it." He took out a cell phone and thumbed in a two-digit number. "Bring a bucket of ice," he said, still in a clipped tone that said his temper hadn’t faded. "The little bitch bit me." Even from where she was sitting, Jenner could hear the laughter from whoever was on the other end of the call.

Oddly, being laughed at didn’t seem to bother him. His mouth quirked in a half smile as he listened. "You were right about that," he said, and flipped the phone shut to end the call.

"I’m not a bitch," she said, feeling compelled to defend herself. Her voice was embarrassingly shaky. "I was scared."

He ignored her. Moving to the bed, he opened her bag and upended it, dumping out the contents. There wasn’t much; the bag was too small. A lipstick, her ship card, breath mints, driver’s license and passport, a credit card, and some loose cash, all scattered across the bedspread. No cell phone, because Bridget had taken it.

He examined the bag’s small zipper compartment, but it was empty. She didn’t have so much as a nail file or fingernail clippers; Faith had gone through the tote bag she’d carried onboard and removed everything that could remotely be considered a weapon or a tool. Jenner longed for those fingernail clippers now, because they’d snip right through the plastic restraint that bound her to the chair. She couldn’t go anywhere or do anything about the situation, because of Syd, but she’d love to show him what she thought of his dinky little plastic ties.

She would also love to stab him with a nail file, but even if she had the file in her hand it wouldn’t do any good, because of the airline restrictions that prohibited metal files. Hers was the kind made of soft foam stuff, meaning it was absolutely useless for anything except smoothing a rough spot on a fingernail. She wondered if she could sue Homeland Security for depriving her of a weapon, even so much as a metal fingernail file, when she needed one.