Burn (Page 46)

First things first, though. Taking out his cell phone, he called Bridget. "Everything’s up and running. Get some rest."

"Glad to," she replied. "How’s the prisoner?"

"Mouthy."

She laughed. "Yeah, intimidated she isn’t. Call if you need help."

Cheerful thought. He didn’t want to battle with Redwine, he just wanted to catch some sleep himself. He rotated his shoulders, working out the kinks and feeling the soreness in his triceps where she’d bitten him. She’d really clamped down, too, like a skinny, blond pit bull. She was lucky he hadn’t strangled her, because the urge had definitely been there.

He went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then splashed cold water on his face. He’d looked at the shower, wishing he could risk it, but he didn’t dare turn his back on Redwine that long. Even though she was safely shackled to the chair and couldn’t free herself from it, she might be stronger than she looked and be able to pick up the chair and carry it. He didn’t think so, because ship furniture was heavier than regular furniture and she was skinny, but he wouldn’t bet the bank on it.

She must have been too tired to even try it, because when he stepped out of the bathroom she was sitting exactly as she had been. If she hadn’t been such a pain in the ass, he might have felt some sympathy for her.

Instead, he grimly braced himself for the next battle.

"All right, Mike Tyson, let’s go to bed."

JENNER WAS SO EXHAUSTED that for a minute the words didn’t register. Mike Tyson? Then she realized he was referring to her biting him, which gave her an insane desire to laugh, but hard on the heels of that came comprehension of the rest of his sentence and all desire to laugh completely vanished.

She sprang to her feet, at least as much as she could while handcuffed to the chair. "What do you mean, let’s go to bed? I’m not sleeping with you! You can sleep on the damn couch out there. There’s no separate door out of the bedroom, so there’s no reason to – "

"Your only options are whether you put on the pajamas I saw in the closet or sleep naked," he cut in.

Sleeping naked was so far out of the question that it really wasn’t a choice of options at all. He knew it, too, because he smirked as he came over and released her from the handcuffs. The clamp of metal was instantly replaced by the clamp of his hand as he urged her toward the closet. "Go ahead and change."

She stumbled to the closet and selected a pair of pajamas at random, then went into the bathroom while he stood guard outside. His high-handedness made her so angry she could barely think. There was absolutely no reason for this, other than showing her who was boss, as if she didn’t already know.

Quickly she stripped down and washed off her makeup as fast as possible, because she wouldn’t put it past him to jerk the door open at any time. After she put on the pajamas, though, she took the time to brush her teeth just as she always did. She should have brushed faster, because he opened the door without warning and caught her with a foamy mouth.

She almost choked on the toothpaste, because the open door revealed more of him than she’d ever wanted to see. He’d used the time to remove his shoes and pants, and was wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs that revealed just how hard and muscled he was, and a lot more besides. After her first startled look she turned away and spat the toothpaste into the basin. "Where was I going to go?" she snapped. "Down a drain pipe?"

"You’re skinny enough," he returned.

She ignored the impulse to deny that, and instead said irritably, "Call Bridget to bring your pajamas."

He looked amused. "I don’t own any."

"Then put your damn clothes back on!" It was bad enough he’d been without his shirt for hours. Now he was practically naked, and the inherent threat made her skin crawl as if she were covered with ants.

"I’m not sleeping in my clothes. If you have any virtue, it’s safe with me, so stop acting like a Victorian virgin."

"I’d say I have more virtue than you, considering who’s the kidnapper here," she fired back.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, Cujo, stop delaying and wipe the slobber from your mouth. I’m bushed."

Jenner glanced in the mirror and saw the toothpaste still foamed on her lips. Unaccountably embarrassed, she quickly rinsed and spat, then wiped her mouth before charging back into the fray. "At least put your pants back on. That way I won’t have to bleach my eyeballs if your little ding-dong accidentally falls out."

"You and your eyeballs will live, no matter what my ding-dong does." His tone was flat and unyielding; his eyes glittered briefly, but she couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or smack her down.

He caught her arm and hauled her out of the bathroom. While she’d been in there changing clothes, he had not only removed his pants, he’d turned out all the lights in the suite except for the bedside lamps, and he’d also turned down the bed. Her entire body ached at the sight of those smooth white sheets. If only he weren’t here, she’d have whimpered with joy at the thought of actually lying down.

"Get in," he directed, steering her toward the far side of the bed, away from the door leading into the living room. She was too tired to argue anymore. Her spirit was willing, but her body said if she didn’t get some sleep soon she’d fall down. Silently she crawled between the sheets and pulled the blanket up over her. He turned out the lamp beside her, then went around to the other side of the bed and got in beside her.

Her eyes were already closing, despite her best effort to glare at him. They popped open when his hand closed over hers. Cold metal snapped in place around her right wrist, then he calmly fastened the other handcuff around his left wrist and stretched out his right arm to turn out his lamp.