Read Online Playing With Fire by Gena Showalter - Free Book Online
Authors: Gena Showalter
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doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore another black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the button at his collar undone. Black slacks hugged lean legs.
He could have been a businessman if it hadn’t been for his I’ve-seen-the-worst-the-world-has-to-offer eyes, with those taut, determined lines around them. The gun holster hooked to his shoulder didn’t help the image, either.
“Me?” I gulped. “Try and escape? Never.”
“Liar,” he said, yet there was no heat in his tone. “Now that you’re up, we’re going to eat breakfast and talk.”
Eat? Talk? But…“Why aren’t I dead?” My blood chilled. “Ohmygod, you’re one of those crazy people who enjoys fear. You’ll probably tell me all the ways you want to hurt me, making me scream and squirm for mercy, before you render the final blow.”
He frowned, the action so menacing it propelled a shiver down my spine. “Don’t scream. Don’t even think about screaming. I’ll have to knock you out, then knock out the neighbors.”
I gulped at his fierceness. There was a silver lining, though. He’d said “neighbors”—that meant other people were around.
“You have five minutes to get your sexy ass in the kitchen,” he said, turning.
Sexy? I nearly gasped. My mouth did fall open. He thought I was sexy when he’d only seen me at my worst? I quickly quashed the surge of pleasure that knowledge brought, and cursed myself for being a sex-starved idiot. “Did you take advantage of me while I was sleeping?”
He paused and flashed an are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder. Then he strode away, disappearing down the hall and leaving me alone in the room. “Five minutes,” he called.
Or what? I wanted to shout, but I was having trouble catching my breath. “Damn sickness,” I muttered, because I refused—refused!—to blame my breathlessness on Rome.
I would not be attracted to the man who wanted to kill me.
Even I had standards.
Escape, dummy. Escape! He’d left me alone, the idiot. Well, not alone, but close enough. If I could get out of the apartment/house/wherever I was, I could get help from one of the neighbors. I scrambled from the bed, a little shaky, but stronger than I’d been since getting sick. I wore a tank top and panties (different ones than before, damn it!), which meant the neutralizing bastard had changed my clothes yet again.
First stop: bathroom. I found it easily, since it branched directly from the bedroom, and I took care of urgent business. After that, I raced to the closet. The opportunity to escape ticked like a time bomb in my brain as I grabbed the first pair of jeans I found and tugged them on. They were mine, obviously brought from my home. Actually, several items from my closet hung on the hangers.
As I hastily jerked a T-shirt over my head, my stomach growled. How long had it been since I’d eaten? The bacon-scented air smelled so good. I hated to admit it, but that smell nearly tempted me to forget about something as minor as my own impending murder, and stroll into the kitchen, sit down, and gobble up breakfast.
Why did Rome want me to eat, anyway? To poison me? “Most likely, the diabolical fiend.” Or maybe he didn’t plan to let me eat at all. Maybe the food was for him, and I was supposed to watch him eat it.
The man was an enigma, that was for sure, and I didn’t know what to think of him or his actions. Past, present or future. He hadn’t killed me when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t done anything damaging—that I knew of.
“Three minutes,” Rome called from the kitchen.
“Go fuck yourself,” I whispered. I grabbed the tennis shoes that rested on the shoe rack and tugged them on. They were mine, so they fit perfectly. I sprinted to the window, pushed away the curtain and took stock.
Okay, so. I was inside a tall, red brick building. Another red brick structure was right across from it. I glanced down, saw that the fire escape had a workable ladder, and grinned with relief.
He could have been a businessman if it hadn’t been for his I’ve-seen-the-worst-the-world-has-to-offer eyes, with those taut, determined lines around them. The gun holster hooked to his shoulder didn’t help the image, either.
“Me?” I gulped. “Try and escape? Never.”
“Liar,” he said, yet there was no heat in his tone. “Now that you’re up, we’re going to eat breakfast and talk.”
Eat? Talk? But…“Why aren’t I dead?” My blood chilled. “Ohmygod, you’re one of those crazy people who enjoys fear. You’ll probably tell me all the ways you want to hurt me, making me scream and squirm for mercy, before you render the final blow.”
He frowned, the action so menacing it propelled a shiver down my spine. “Don’t scream. Don’t even think about screaming. I’ll have to knock you out, then knock out the neighbors.”
I gulped at his fierceness. There was a silver lining, though. He’d said “neighbors”—that meant other people were around.
“You have five minutes to get your sexy ass in the kitchen,” he said, turning.
Sexy? I nearly gasped. My mouth did fall open. He thought I was sexy when he’d only seen me at my worst? I quickly quashed the surge of pleasure that knowledge brought, and cursed myself for being a sex-starved idiot. “Did you take advantage of me while I was sleeping?”
He paused and flashed an are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder. Then he strode away, disappearing down the hall and leaving me alone in the room. “Five minutes,” he called.
Or what? I wanted to shout, but I was having trouble catching my breath. “Damn sickness,” I muttered, because I refused—refused!—to blame my breathlessness on Rome.
I would not be attracted to the man who wanted to kill me.
Even I had standards.
Escape, dummy. Escape! He’d left me alone, the idiot. Well, not alone, but close enough. If I could get out of the apartment/house/wherever I was, I could get help from one of the neighbors. I scrambled from the bed, a little shaky, but stronger than I’d been since getting sick. I wore a tank top and panties (different ones than before, damn it!), which meant the neutralizing bastard had changed my clothes yet again.
First stop: bathroom. I found it easily, since it branched directly from the bedroom, and I took care of urgent business. After that, I raced to the closet. The opportunity to escape ticked like a time bomb in my brain as I grabbed the first pair of jeans I found and tugged them on. They were mine, obviously brought from my home. Actually, several items from my closet hung on the hangers.
As I hastily jerked a T-shirt over my head, my stomach growled. How long had it been since I’d eaten? The bacon-scented air smelled so good. I hated to admit it, but that smell nearly tempted me to forget about something as minor as my own impending murder, and stroll into the kitchen, sit down, and gobble up breakfast.
Why did Rome want me to eat, anyway? To poison me? “Most likely, the diabolical fiend.” Or maybe he didn’t plan to let me eat at all. Maybe the food was for him, and I was supposed to watch him eat it.
The man was an enigma, that was for sure, and I didn’t know what to think of him or his actions. Past, present or future. He hadn’t killed me when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t done anything damaging—that I knew of.
“Three minutes,” Rome called from the kitchen.
“Go fuck yourself,” I whispered. I grabbed the tennis shoes that rested on the shoe rack and tugged them on. They were mine, so they fit perfectly. I sprinted to the window, pushed away the curtain and took stock.
Okay, so. I was inside a tall, red brick building. Another red brick structure was right across from it. I glanced down, saw that the fire escape had a workable ladder, and grinned with relief.
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