Читать книгу Abducted - Samantha Keith - Страница 12

Chapter 5

Jesus Christ, the woman was insane. His insides twisted with guilt as his palm slammed into her head, snapping it sharply to the side.

He’d had to knock her out to keep her from drowning them both. Before he could pull her limp body to his, a large wave hit him in the face and forced him under. He lost his hold on her. Water rushed into his mouth. His eyes screamed as he forced them open.

No!

He willed away all discomfort and dove under the waves. His arms stretched out painfully as he searched the inky darkness for any part of her he could grab. Dammit, he should have tied her feet too. He never should have let this happen. His lungs protested and demanded air. But if his lungs hurt, Lana’s were filling with water. He dove deeper and searched. His eyes strained to see beyond the black that surrounded him.

He’d lost her.

His chest tightened. His heart rate skidded to a stop. His nose burned as water forced its way in.

What have I done?

From the moment he’d taken this job, he’d only wanted to protect her, and he was doing a real shitty job. Something brushed him—a light, feathery feeling across his hand. Knowing it could be seaweed, he reached and snagged a handful…her hair. Relief spread through his ice-cold veins. He pulled her close, clutched her to his chest, and kicked as if his legs were on fire. They propelled to the surface. He gasped, his lungs hungrily sucking in air as he paddled. She remained motionless, her body weightless in his arms as he kept them both above the rough waves.

Half-carrying, half-dragging her, he got her to the shore. Her body was heavy and limp. He collapsed on the sand beside her, examining her. Her lips were soft and parted, unbreathing. He tilted her head back gently, swept the hair away from her face, and began mouth-to-mouth.

Her lips were salty and wet as his sealed over hers. He breathed into her mouth a couple of times and pulled away. Her face showed no sign of response. Goddammit. He began chest compressions. Her body jerked with the force of his pumps. Her pale, oval face was slack and expressionless. His heart clutched as he continued to work on her.

Nothing.

His stomach turned to lead.

Please don’t let her die.

He was on autopilot, his brain focused on the task. He couldn’t give up. She had to live. His flesh burned beneath his cool skin. Despite the cold water and chilled air, sweat mixed with water on his forehead.

He counted the next thirty compressions, then pinched her nose and molded his mouth over hers again.

One breath…two…

Her body gave a responsive jerk, and water rushed out of her mouth. His shoulders sagged. His eyes closed. Hope soared through him, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He rolled her to her side as she fought a coughing fit. She desperately gasped for air at the same time that her body rejected the water.

“Shh…it’s okay, relax. Try to breathe.” He placed his palm on her cold, thin back to calm her. Sharp gasps seized her, and her whole body shook. He closed his eyes on a sigh.

He stared at the soft lines of her profile. The moonlight touched her face, and even now, he could see how pretty she was. Soft, fine-boned… She brought the back of her hand up to her lips as she struggled on a ragged breath… His fingers tingled with the need to touch her cheek. He curled his fingers in the sand, resisting the urge.

After a couple of minutes, the gasps subsided, and she took slow, shallow breaths.

He wasn’t an expert, but she had swallowed a lot of seawater that she needed to get out.

“Do you know how to make yourself throw up?” he asked. He gently grasped her shoulders and helped her to a sitting position. Big, dumbfounded blue eyes landed on his face.

“What?” Her brow furrowed at him. Her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“You’ve swallowed a lot of seawater, and it could make you sick. I’m going to help you throw up, okay? Can you handle that?”

“No. Leave me alone.” Her plea was weak and lacked venom as she shrugged him off.

“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m not going to hurt you.” She said nothing. He slid his body behind hers and let her rest against his arm. “I’m going to put my fingers in your mouth and make you throw up. Don’t bite them off if you can help it.” His attempt at humor was lost on her as she sagged against his left arm, her body boneless.

He pulled her mass of hair back and tucked it between them. He leaned them both forward and inserted two of his fingers into her mouth. She panicked, as he had expected her to, and grabbed for his hand.

“It’s okay, hold on to my wrist if you need to.” She relaxed only slightly. He eased his fingers down again. She gagged, and her body shook. Saliva swarmed around his hand, but he delved deeper.

She retched, purging the salty water. She coughed and sputtered. He waited until she was done, then patted her back until her body crumpled against his. He brought her wrists to his teeth and tore off the duct tape. She was shaking now, from the cold and the effects of the night. He scooped her up and got to his feet, gathered the clothes he had managed to shuck off before his dive on top of her, and carried her across the beach to the cabin he had rented.

She lay spent in his arms, her body cold and lax against his. She didn’t struggle or open her eyes. His stomach muscles clenched. Not a good sign. Her breath came out in soft puffs, and her eyes moved beneath her lids, as if she was asleep. He struggled at the doorstep but managed to wrestle the keys out of his pants pocket and kick open the door.

The house was tiny. It consisted of one main room that served as bedroom, kitchen, and living room. The bathroom was at the back of the cabin.

He had come here a couple of days ago to prepare. There were blankets on his bed, which was situated near the fireplace. Close to the kitchen area was a futon pushed up against the window, which was where Lana was to sleep. His bed stood between hers and the door. He carried her to the futon and laid her down gently. She was sopping wet, and in seconds the bedding was drenched. He got some towels from the bathroom, threw one over her, and began to dry her body. At his touch, she stirred. Her tired, untrusting eyes narrowed at him.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she coiled away.

“You need to dry off and get out of those wet clothes.”

“Get away from me.” Her voice was rough and sore sounding. A tremor laced her words. Fear? Or from the cold? He strived for a reassuring, patient tone.

“I’ll leave you alone as soon as you’re in some warm clothes. I have some I took from your house. I need to get them from the car.” She struggled into a fetal position, and pulled her knees to her chest. Her stony gaze stayed trained to the floor. He got to his feet and went to the duffel bag he had brought to the cabin earlier in the week. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Her eyes grew wide.

She leapt up from the bed. Her exhaustion made her movements awkward. She pitched forward off the edge, and dove headfirst into the hardwood floor. A squeak split the air as she landed with a thud. He rolled his eyes. God, he needed a drink.

“You really need to stop getting so worked up. This is exhausting,” he mumbled, as he hoisted her up by her arms and deposited her back on the bed.

“You need to get a life and not kidnap young women, you pervert.” Despite her breathlessness, her face was hard, daring him.

“I need to handcuff you while I run out to the car. After that I will uncuff you and you can get dressed.” He snapped one cuff to her wrist and the other to the bed frame. She glared at him.

He grabbed his car keys and ran out to the truck to get her clothes. A cool breeze blasted him reminding him that he, too, needed to change. The air was cold. January in Seattle was damn near freezing. Lana was going to be a handful. For some reason he had expected her to be quiet and compliant. He hadn’t considered that she would try to escape. Kidnapping was a new concept for him, something he would never do again.

He returned to the house to find Lana how he had left her, with a scowl still etched on her face. He unlocked the handcuffs and set the clothes down beside her.

“You should wash off the salt water and get dressed.” He mustered his best no-nonsense tone. It had the opposite effect from what he’d intended.

“No.” She tossed the clothes to the floor and folded her arms across her chest. The stance showed off her slight frame and tightened the thin white pajama top against her breasts. Her pebble-hard nipples put delicate tents in the material. Heat swirled in his gut.

“I get that you want to be defiant, but don’t be stupid. You’re likely to catch pneumonia.”

“If you’re so worried, take me to a hospital.” Her lips pursed.

His temper ratcheted up a notch. He clenched his teeth.

“Change your clothes or I’ll do it for you.” He might not be able to force her, but he could damn well scare her.

“Over my dead body.” Her shrill voice rang in his ears. Her foot jutted out to catch him in the kneecap. It took all of his willpower not to bend her over and slap her ass. He counted to ten. His breath came out slow and even. He’d had a hell of a night, and he wasn’t going to stand here and fight with her another damn minute. He didn’t have the energy for it.

“That’s fine. Sleep in wet clothes. I don’t care.” He cuffed her back to the bed, grabbed his own clothes, and went into the bathroom to wash off the salt water.

Good God, she was lucky he wasn’t Stamos! The slimy bastard who had hired him would have relished stripping her naked. She was scared and beyond exhausted, and the fact that she was still putting up a fight was admirable—almost. He stepped out of the shower and dried off. His gaze landed on the bruising ring of teeth marks on his forearm. Blood spotted a few holes, and annoyance spiked his temper all over again. She was tough, he’d give her that, but there was no way in hell she’d get another lucky shot like that.

He was going to have to keep a close eye on her tonight. Aside from pneumonia, she faced many other risks. Within the first twenty-four hours after a near-drowning, the victim could still die. Her organs could have been flooded with water, causing her kidneys to shut down. He had made her vomit as much as he could, but he had no idea how much seawater she had ingested. Hopefully, she would come to her senses as she lay in a cold, wet bed.

Something told him she would shiver all night.

He emerged from the bathroom in dry clothes. His eyes automatically sought her out. She lay curled on her side, the wet blankets tucked around her. The light in the room was dim. A dingy glow shone from the lamp he’d turned on when they’d entered. Dark shadows cast over the room.

She watched him through heavy lids but made no other attempt at acknowledgment. The blanket was thin, with wet spots visible all over it—more wet than dry. He shook his head. If she froze all night, it would be her own damn fault. Her hair curled over the pillow, her cheek nestled into her palm. She was so soft and sweet. His hands ached to run over her body, to take her full mouth to his. Her lids fluttered, and her long eyelashes finally fell shut. He pulled a bottle of water from his duffel bag and left it on the floor beside her.

“Lana?” Her lids fluttered again until cerulean-blue eyes found him, her gaze unsteady and unfocused. “I left you a bottle of water here, okay? Try to drink some. All that salt water will dehydrate you quickly.” Her eyes closed in response.

Best to avoid provoking a snappy response from her. Her slumber was a welcome reprieve. He went over to the fireplace to toss in some logs. He had a fire started in minutes, the flames warm as they licked around the wood. He stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Her soft, even breathing sounded from across the room, and again he wondered what in the hell he was doing. A glance at his watch told him it was after three in the morning. Fatigue hummed through his muscles. The waves had been strong, and fighting against another person at the same time had been damn hard and mentally draining. In a few minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, the air was freezing. A chill made him yank the covers up. A strange, rattling sound froze him. His senses prickled. He threw back his covers and got to his feet. As he got closer, he was able to identify the sound: chattering teeth.

Goddammit. She was probably on the verge of hypothermia. He dropped to sit on the bed beside her. His hands ran over the bundle of wet blankets.

“Lana, wake up.” She stirred and pulled her body into a tighter ball. A whimper broke through her parted lips. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He never should have let her fall asleep in wet clothes.

A cold draft blasted in from the old window beside her. He freed her from the handcuffs and wet blanket she clung to and sat her up on the edge of the bed.

“Go away.” She shoved at him.

Her fingers were as cold as icicles.

“Enough of this. We need to get you warm.” She didn’t lift her head to look at him, but he took her silence for as much of an agreement as he was going to get. Grasping the hem of her shirt, he lifted it over her head.

He didn’t want to look—tried not to—but the moonlight beamed in through the window, illuminating her creamy naked skin. Her delicate pink nipples were taut, her hair wild around her porcelain face. God, she gave him a hard-on like nothing he’d ever experienced.

Her hands clasped to her chest, her chin tilted up to see his face.

“Sorry.” He grasped the back of his own shirt behind his neck and pulled it over his head. It was warm from his body heat, and long-sleeved. He tugged it over her head, covering her nakedness. She fit her arms through the sleeves. “Stand up, please.”

She rose to her feet. Her knees wobbled beneath her. He rested her hands on his shoulders to steady her as he leaned forward, grabbed the waistband of her sopping wet pajama shorts, and pulled them down her legs. His shirt covered her to mid-thigh, shielding his view. Her fingernails gripped into his shoulders, either to balance herself or from unease, he wasn’t sure. Her knees knocked, and her breath sucked in sharply around the clattering of her teeth. He cursed.

“C’mon, you can’t sleep in this bed now, it’s soaked.” Not waiting for her to move, he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her in the center of the warm bed he had vacated minutes before. He went to the fireplace to restart the fire. He set the logs up to ensure longer burning time. When he finished, he turned back toward the bed. His insides clenched at the sight of her in his bed. Lana lay curled tightly, her cheek cushioned next to her slim hand. She hadn’t even pulled the covers up before she passed out. Her sexy legs were bent at the knees, her feet kicked out onto his side of the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck. There was no help for it. She was far too cold, and he wasn’t going to let her freeze to death alone in the bed. The fire wouldn’t last all night.

Not bothering to find another shirt, he climbed into the bed beside her and tucked the blankets up to her chin. He inched his body closer until they were touching. She moaned and curled closer to his heat.

Not in his wildest imagination had he imagined “cuddling” with a woman he hadn’t just banged—one he had kidnapped, as a matter of fact. Gradually her shivers subsided and she slipped into a peaceful sleep. The orange glow from the fire danced shadows over her face, and her soft lips parted. Her cheeks were slightly rosy from warmth, and her hair was strewn across the pillow.

His heart constricted. This might be his most difficult mission yet.