Steal My Heart (4 page)

As enticing as she was, he’d never take her by force. But she didn’t know that. Didn’t she consider the danger of her defiance? Things would go much better for her if she didn’t fight him. The blush spreading over her body told him she knew his gaze was apprising her. He supposed he could cover her, but he was in a much better position if she remained vulnerable. She was more likely to tell him what he wanted to know. Even now though, he could still see the insolent jut of her chin when she should be cowering in fear, meekly agreeing to do his bidding. He sighed heavily and silently stalked back to the bathroom.

Maggie blinked away the tears glazing her eyes and blurring her vision of the beast prowling around her apartment.
How had he gotten in? What did he want with her?
A tiny voice rang in her head, offering one explanation. Maggie blushed hot with trepidation. She’d seen the way his eyes had devoured her body, had felt the large stiffness digging into her back as she’d struggled with him.
Oh God!
How could she possibly fight him? He’d tossed her about like a rag doll. Perhaps she shouldn’t have screamed, shouldn’t have antagonized him. Maybe she should have been more docile and supplicating. But that just wasn’t her nature.

She was used to taking charge of her life, managing and orchestrating events around her. Ever since the day on the train when he’d rudely intruded on her life, things seemed to just spiral out of control. That thought caused anger to seethe in her bosom and ferment into bitter hatred. She’d helped him, and looked where it’d gotten her. She sighed heavily, air shuttling through her nostrils. A voice of caution whispered in her head. True, it wasn’t her nature to cower, but surely it wasn’t wise to poke the animal’s ire. This beast had murdered three men. The police were probably searching for him. From what that doctor had told her about his medical condition, he should still be in the hospital. She wondered how he’d manage to escape.

Maggie pushed away the thought, fighting the fear that bubbled up again and dawdled in her chest. It just didn’t make sense. If her body was what he’d wanted, he would have just taken it. A niggle of insecurity snuck in, snidely questioning his interest. She was hardly the svelte, super model type. She was full-figured with ample curves. But then, a rapist might not care. His strength was clearly superior to hers, and her pitiful attire didn’t offer much of an obstacle. Whatever it was he wanted, she’d be damned if she allowed him to appropriate it without a fight. She was through being the victim! Shirtless, he was prowling around in her bedroom, seeding pathogens in his wake!

She watched him silently as he searched the small desk that held her computer. He approached the night table next to her bed and opened her top drawer.

Oh no! No…
He pulled open her bottom drawer and her heart stopped pumping.
Oh God…
Stoically he looked up at her and their gazes locked. A slow blush spread over her entire body, and swallowing her mortification, she quickly looked away. She thanked God when he re-closed the drawer and quietly left for her living room.

She could hear more opening and closing of drawers from the other room along with the subtle shuffling and shifting of her things. Maggie frowned, flexing her fingers. She was starting to cramp from her restricted position. Her arms had been fettered snug alongside her body.
What was he looking for? Must be more than surgical supplies?

She was staring at the carpet when thick black boots appeared in her view.
Boots on her carpet!
The thought banged at her brain and she cringed. Her mind revolted at the very idea. She looked up suddenly, wondering how he’d come back into the room without her hearing him. She peered into the angry dark storm in his eyes and her thoughts scattered hastily like a nest of shooed birds. She guessed he hadn’t found what he was looking for.

“We need to talk. I need to know where the flash drive is.”  His icy tone conveyed he’d tolerate no further defiance.

Flash drive?
She had no idea what he was talking about. Why would he think she had this flash drive? Maggie studied his hard shaggy face with its profusion of hair. Her gaze then moved to massive shoulders bulging with threatening power. His arms were sturdy slabs implying innate brute strength that ended in hands Maggie knew could snap her neck with thoughtless efficiency. Her gaze scraped over his broad chest with its defined pectorals and deep grooves that formed the grid of his abs. He was no hobo. The robust power radiating from his large body hinted at deadly potential. Her gaze flicked lower, and embarrassed, she looked away. A sluggish warmth had started to flow low in her belly, and troubled by her response, she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew he took her actions for further defiance, and a shudder passed through her as she heard him approached the chair. Nervously she held her breath.

Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been the gentle swirl of a finger pad around her nipple. Her body tensed at the searing heat that sparked a fuse inside her. The pressure on her breast intensified and Maggie felt her breath push against the barrier at her mouth in a moan. Her traitorous buds peaked and swelled beneath the material of her bra, responding to the confusing desire coursing in her veins and the fingers that now softly pinched and stroked. Her lids were pressed closed. She expelled a long shaky sigh through her nostrils when his large hand slipped inside her bra, cupping the heavy weight of her flesh. His warmth wrapped around her, the pleasure seducing a reluctant moan.

“No…” Her sobbed protest was garbled beneath the tape. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes tighter, tears streaming from beneath her lids.

The hand stilled but didn’t leave. The moment stretched taut.

“No…” she choked out, gurgling louder.

She heard the ragged oath, and then the steps receded, followed by the angry slam of the bathroom door. The loud cascade of her shower droned from the other room.

Maggie panted through her nose, desperate for air in her lungs. It took a few minutes for her to check her constant quivering and douse the thick flames of shame. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed those filthy hands to fondle her, couldn’t believe she’d become aroused. It had been naïve of her to think he wasn’t interested in ravishing her. She might as well have offered him an invitation with the wanton way she’d responded.
What was wrong with her?
What did he want from her?
Flash drive. Right. How could she give him something she didn’t have?

Her gaze flew to the bathroom door when she heard the shower turn off. She could hear him moving around in the tiny room. It chilled her skin to imagine him using her intimate space. She’d need to give the room a thorough sterilizing before ever using it again. The door creaked open and she quickly averted her head, guessing he was checking on her. She fumed. Where did he expect her to go when he’d trussed her up like a Thanksgiving turkey?
She hated him!

From the sounds coming from the bathroom she knew he was at her sink. She heard the splash of running water, the clink of bottles and the muted swish of a towel.
Her towels!
She’d have to burn them. Her brows jolted up and she sat stock still when she heard a familiar buzz.

Oh no! No! No!
Not her electric toothbrush!

Maggie gagged from the bile rising in her throat. Anger exploded in her head and she started to rock the chair. The noise must have drawn his attention because he poked his head through the bathroom door, alarm in his eyes. He approached her, eyebrows raised in question. The handle of her toothbrush protruded from his mouth and she glared icicles at him. He was wearing indecently tight pants and a towel was flung casually over his wide naked shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

Her agitated words sounded like a musical staccato of moans and grunts.

“You ready to talk now? You gonna tell me where the flash drive is?” he asked between casual passes of the brush across his teeth.

Maggie steamed with anger and disgust. She was about to pass out from the fever of her emotions. The volume of incoherence increased behind the tape.

He frowned, stopping the steady saw of the brush. He peered down, obviously trying to decipher her burble.

  “What? It’s in the tool box?”

Maggie groaned, air charging through her flared nostrils.

“What tool box?”  he asked.

He reached down and peeled a section of duct tape from her mouth.

“
That is my toothbrush!”

His frown deepened. He looked at her angry face, then at the instrument in his hand, then at her angry face, then at the instrument in his hand. With quirked brows he turned back to stare into her livid eyes. His head tilted quizzically as understanding seem to dawn. Heaving a sigh he rolled the tape back over her mouth just as she was about to scream.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, then put the brush back into his mouth and scrubbed vigorously.

If looks could kill, he would be a dead man. She glowered at his back as he returned to the bathroom, shaking his head in what appeared to be wry amusement.
She hated him
! Silently she sat and imagined many scenarios of his demise. She heard him swear from the bathroom and her heart stroked joyfully. She hoped he choked on her toothbrush, or slipped on her soap, or broke out in boils from her deodorant, or accidentally smothered himself with her towel.

Maggie was so deeply immersed in her death fantasies that when the tall dark-haired man walked out of her bathroom, she gaped for a minute in hopeful expectation. She was about to ask him if he’d subdued the menacing hobo in her bathroom when her rational psyche back-handed her muddled brain and jolted it back to reality. It was only the duct tape that kept her jaw from dropping. This...this man was the most gorgeous creature she’d ever seen in her life.
No way was this her evil hobo!

She swallowed hard and tried to appear unperturbed, but her gaze kept sliding back to his face. Oh. My. God. His jaw was now clean shaven and ruggedly square. A deep cleft dimpled his chin right beneath a sinfully full bottom lip. High cheekbones, a straight patrician nose and a broad forehead all fused together handsomely to be a constant temptation for the eye. His thick dark hair was now clean and combed back from his forehead to hang in wet waves that almost met his wide shoulders.

Maggie blinked dully when his deep voice rang in her ears.
Huh?
What was he saying?
Her gaze flipped from his face to the hot pink
BIC
glider he held up in his hand.

“Don’t women use real razors? What is this—some sort of torture device?”

Maggie blinked again, decisively stifling her shock and fawning admiration. At least the tape had kept her from drooling. One look into his profound dark gaze and she regained her equilibrium. Those were the eyes of a killer, she reminded herself. She watched his forehead pleat into a frown as he repeated his question, causing her gaze to return to his face. She now noticed the tiny square pieces of white paper with dots of blood stamped all over his jaw and chin. A satisfied smile filled her cheeks and she flashed her eyes gleefully. Too bad he’d missed his jugular. She watched him angrily narrow his gaze, curse under his breath, and turn back to the bathroom.

Gabe tried to control his mounting frustration. Maggie was an enigma to him. You’d think she’d be terrified of the intruder who could do her bodily harm—or worse. He would’ve expected her to be weak and trembling from being tied and subdued, or at the very least be embarrassed about what he’d found in the bottom drawer of her night table. Instead, she displayed open disgust at his presence, gloated over his clumsiness with her ridiculous excuse for a razor,
and
her eyes still shot defiance at him with every glance.

In fact, the only time she seemed vulnerable was when he’d touched her, when she’d unwillingly responded to his advances. He hadn’t meant to put his hands on her, but he was inexplicably drawn to her. She was so lusciously soft and supple it made him desire things he had no right even contemplating. Well, if that was the only strategy available to procure his flash drive, he had no recourse but to employ it. Usually an astute judge of character, he had yet to figure her out. What a strange curiosity she was. He had to admit that her quirkiness intrigued him.

He tended his shoulder wound as best he could, securing a fold of cloth over it with some tape. At least the bleeding had stopped. Pulling on his shirt, he let his mind contemplate his last assignment. He had some pressing matters to take care of. He needed answers and would have to deal with his stubborn little hoyden later.

“I need to run out,” he announced as he exited the bathroom.

She kept her face averted, but he saw her forehead pleat pensively.

“Do you need to use the…ah…facilities before I go.”

She sat quietly, and annoyed, he shrugged and started to turn away. He didn’t have to do this. She was way too stubborn for her own good. He detected the barely perceptible nod and knew it had taken a measure of effort for the admission.

“If you scream, I swear I’ll do more than just tie you to the chair this time.”

He reached down and slowly peeled away the tape from her mouth, then unwrapped the rest of her torso and ankles. He ignored the guilt that tugged at him over the red lines now marring her smooth, creamy skin. She sat silently, but he could feel her hateful gaze burning into him. At least she’d remained quiet.

“Good girl,” he said, and had to squelch his urge to smile when her blue eyes flashed fire at him.

She stood regally and headed to the bathroom. He followed at her heels. His hand blocked the bathroom door as she tried to close it, causing her to stand and gape at him.

“It stays open. I’ll be here, turned around.”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then branded him with a scathing glare. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her his most formidable look. Instead of withering as he’d hoped, she jutted out her chin and flounced away. He turned his back and shook his head in exasperation.
Why was he putting up with this?