Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (5 page)

Damn but it was colder than hell outside. Logan tucked the sheet a little tighter around his waist, wishing he’d had time to drag on a pair of jeans before sliding out the bedroom window. Wishes were for fools and dead men. He’d been the former, one more time than he cared to recall. He was convinced it was only because God had a perverse sense of humor that he had escaped becoming the latter.

He’d begun to appreciate that sense of humor two months before when his father had died in his arms, leaving behind an unexpected legacy. He had a brother. A twin brother.

On his dying breath Blackie had issued a challenge. Find Lucas. From any other man it would have been a final request. Blackie didn’t make requests, nor did he issue orders. His methods were far more clever. Logan had been a grown man before he had understood them.

Blackie’s motto had been, “Discover what motivates a person. Then use that desire to make them want to do
what you wanted done all along.” It was a very successful form of emotional blackmail. It worked even beyond the grave.

Logan moved slowly toward the back deck, keeping close to the side of the cabin. His feet hurt from the cold. He focused on that pain to keep his mind sharp. Whatever the hell she’d pumped into him that morning had left him fuzzy. The concentration he’d had to use to keep his confusion at bay had exhausted him.

Even so, he’d begun working on getting free the moment he’d heard her close the sliding door. Despite her obvious skill in utilizing restraints, he’d anticipated being free and tracking her before an hour had elapsed. But she was better than good. He owed his freedom more to luck than his own skill. He’d barely made it out the window as she’d opened the deck door.

After taking care of the pressure that had begun to feel like a jackknife in his bladder, he crept forward, angled his head very slightly, and peered around the edge of the sliding glass door with one eye. Snow blindness made it difficult to see anything but dark shadows. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting for his pupils to adjust. Lord only knew what other nasty surprises she had in that damn black bag. He hated surprises.

A shadow moved into the bedroom. The light from the window highlighted his captor. Her hands were empty. She stepped immediately up onto the bed and went to the window. Smart. He had to be smarter. He tugged off the cumbersome sheet and made his move.

She waited a beat too long deciding whether to follow him out the window or backtrack to the glass door. She turned toward the door just as he came across the bed.

He pulled her backward, flipping her under him as they landed hard. She was facedown, her head turned to one side. He had her wrists pinned on her lower back, his knees on her spread thighs, and his mouth by her ear.

“I like a woman who’s active in bed, but you really push things to the limit.”

“Go to hell.”

She didn’t fight him, but he didn’t for a second believe she’d accepted defeat. He kept his hold firm. “Been there, done that, didn’t bother buying the T-shirt.”

“Why, none big enough to fit over your ego?”

“Nah. I knew I’d get another chance on my next trip.”

“I’ll do my best to make that real soon.”

“You can try.” She craned her head just enough to hold his gaze. Hers was unwavering.

It was a helluva time to notice how incredibly green her eyes were. He was already well aware of the rest of her … attributes. Watching her athletic form as she strolled in and out of the bedroom, it had been impossible not to notice. Those black ski pants of hers fit like a second skin. Now she was pinned beneath him for the second time, all taut muscle and finely tuned response.

Yeah, she had him taut and finely tuned too. Adrenaline wasn’t the only thing pumping through his system.

“How’d you get out of the restraints?” she asked, her voice steady and determined despite the strain of her current position.

“Professional curiosity?”

“Harry Houdini couldn’t have gotten out of those straps.”

“Martin Riggs could.”

Her eyebrows quirked. “Never heard of him.”

He let out a disgusted sigh. “What kind of cop are you, Detective?”

She didn’t flinch, but he felt the tension in her wrists stretch even tighter.

“I’m not a cop.” She briefly closed her eyes. They flashed open, the momentary blip in her otherwise complete control might have gone unnoticed had he not been watching her so intently. “Who’s Martin Riggs?”

“You might not be a cop any longer, but you were. A detective, as I believe I deduced earlier.”

She said nothing, her expression remained stony.

Oh, she was good. He was better. “As for Riggs, any self-respecting officer of the law watches cop shows. Martin Riggs was the Mel Gibson character in the
Lethal Weapon
movies.”

She studied him for a second longer, then lifted her head a fraction and flicked a dismissive glance over his shoulders and chest before meeting his eyes once again. “Your ego really does need a reality check.”

He almost smiled. “You’re just mad because I’m on top this time.” It occurred to him that he was actually enjoying himself. Big mistake.

“Don’t get used to it,” she shot back.

His lips quirked. “Hey, I’m a sensitive guy. I let the woman be in control. Occasionally.”

“Let?”

“Now whose ego is bruised? What’s the matter, Detective Princess, you don’t like giving up control?” He pressed his lips a little closer to her ear. “No matter what women say, they like being pulled beneath a nice, hard body, they like feeling the weight of their man
settle between their legs.” He relaxed his weight more heavily on her thighs. “But not you, right?”

Had he really heard that soft intake of breath? When he’d made the tactical error of pressing too much of him against too much of her, it became hard to hear past the thrumming in his own ears.

For all her trim muscle and smart mouth, her body felt pliant beneath him. He redoubled his concentration and worked on steadying his heart rate. She’d tricked him once before. He might be enjoying this unexpected, if intriguing twist in his hunt for Lucas, but he wouldn’t let it interfere with his ultimate goal. He sighed. Playtime was over.

He didn’t pull away, deciding the position lent more advantage than disadvantage. For the moment, anyway.

“Why don’t we dispense with all the bondage foreplay and get to the main act,” he said. The amusement disappeared, his tone was cool and sharp. “What do you want with me?”

Scottie swore silently. She should have kept him talking, kept him preoccupied and focused on his sudden reversal of power until she found the weak link. She doubted he’d let her take him as easily as before, and her current position didn’t lend itself to many possibilities.

Then he’d dropped his already deep voice to that rough whisper and painted visions in her mind that were all too clear and none too safe. Damn her. Even exhausted as she was, she’d responded—with great enthusiasm.

She could have made excuses for herself by pointing out that any woman with two-hundred pounds of beautifully sculpted, aroused, naked male above her would
have to have been dead not to react, but she didn’t. Scottie didn’t make excuses. Not for herself, not for her team.

So why was there this tiny, niggling sense of relief picking its way into her brain? Relief? Just because she’d responded like a healthy, sexual human being?

Exactly
.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, as much to keep him talking as to distract herself from that train of thought. “How did you get out of the restraints? Or should I ask,” she added mockingly, “how did Mel do it?”

“Riggs could dislocate his shoulder.”

“On purpose? You can do that?”

“No. But I am double-jointed.”

“Handy.”

She felt his breath caress her, tickling her ear. “It has its moments.”

That quivering sensation rushed over her skin again. “I bet.” Scottie wasn’t so sure having proof that her sexuality still existed was such a relief after all. Being in thrall to her hormones was a unique experience that would make for interesting analysis, but not right now.

Yet she seemed to have no choice. Every breath he expelled, every tiny movement he made caused a reaction in her. She was excruciatingly aware of every contact point between them, even the feel of the mattress beneath her.

His fingers tightened slightly around her wrists. She was a tall woman with a frame to match, yet his hand easily encompassed both of her wrists with a strength that did not need to be exerted to be understood. She heard his whisper again in her mind.
They like feeling the
weight of their man between their legs
. Indeed the weight of his body on hers wasn’t at all unpleasant. It made concentrating on anything but the sensations he was causing inside her all but impossible.

Stop!
she commanded herself.
Think
. She couldn’t very well lie beneath him on a bed and keep him talking for eight days.
And nights
, her mind inserted helpfully.

She stifled a groan. Battling him was a difficult enough challenge. She did not need to battle herself as well.

“Enough about me,” he said. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Let me up,” she instructed. “We can talk in the kitchen after you’ve dressed.”

“You give orders very well. Does that come from being the detective? Or the princess?”

“I’ve never been a princess of any kind in my life.”

“Oh, you went straight to queen then. How plebeian of me. Please forgive me Your Highness.”

Scottie didn’t know whether to laugh or scream in frustration. Even in his condescension there was no cruelty. In fact, there was an underlying amusement in most everything he said that begged her to join him in his mockery. Considering she was the target, it should have been easier to resist. She had to work at it.

“Fancy speech for a cop. Or does that come from playing bartender-philosopher?”

His smile remained, but the light went out in his eyes. She could have shivered from the chill. It was much easier now to recall the dark specter that had loomed over her an hour before. Sarah. Scottie wondered again who she was, this woman who had the ability to make him lose control.

Without warning, Logan flipped her on her back.
She was not a small woman. His power and the ease with which he exerted it made her realize again just how lucky she’d been earlier.

He straddled her, his ankles pressing hers to the bed to keep her legs straight so she couldn’t rear up. Her wrists were still pinned at the base of her spine by his hand, the uncomfortable position made worse as it cocked her hips at an awkward—not to mention disturbingly intimate—angle.

His other hand captured a fistful of hair. He leaned down. His black eyes glittered, giving his smile an almost evil cast. The dark specter had returned.

“Who the hell are you? How do you know me?”

This menacing side of him made her relax. Bullies and madmen she could handle. She had a lifetime of experience with their kind.

“Let me up and I’ll tell you,” she said calmly.

He reared back and tugged her half off the bed. With her hands and arms immobile, she had no balance and was forced to brace her chest against his. Their faces were less than an inch apart.

His smile disappeared. When he spoke, his voice was a growling whisper. “Now.” He nodded to the straps tangled on the sheets. “Unless you want to see if you’re double-jointed too.”

“Try it.”

His eyes widened, then the smile returned. She’d surprised him. Good. She had no chance in her current situation. She doubted mentioning Sarah would throw him again. She had to get him to move off of her.

“You like living dangerously,” he said.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He said nothing. Then, very deliberately, he
dropped his gaze to her mouth. After a long moment when she could almost taste her pulse in her throat, he looked up at her through thick black eyelashes.

“Why, yes. Yes, you are.”

His voice, those eyes, the weight of his body … his naked body. He was the perfect male animal; finely tuned, supremely controlled, and quite comfortable in nothing more than his own skin. He was seduction personified, and she was damned sure he knew it.

He smiled slowly as if reading her mind. A small gasp slipped past her lips. She quelled the sudden panic knotting her stomach. Bring back the bully, she schooled herself, bring back the madman.

“Trust me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm, unaffected. “If I’d come up here looking for something”—she glanced down, then back up—“personal, I wouldn’t have needed the syringe. I don’t drug my men.”

She’d played the role of femme fatale before in order to fight off unwanted attention. It had always been easy. Of course the key word in those cases was “unwanted.” This was different. This was like playing around a fire with an unlit firecracker. And she was the firecracker.

“I’d say whatever drove you to climb a mountain after a blizzard in order to attack a naked man in his bed, needle or no needle, sounds pretty damn personal. I sure took it personally.” He slowly lowered her back down to the bed, following her until she was pinned beneath the full length of his body. Her hands were still caught behind her. He was heavy … and hard. His hips pressed deeply into hers.

There was no controlling her reaction. It was instinctive,
primal. She pushed back. A groan caught in her throat.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he said, his voice hot and silky. “Or would you like me to show you what you want?”

What she wanted was him off of her.
Dear God, she wanted him inside of her
.

He pressed down again, making her swallow a gasp. He smiled. “The hell with it. I’ll show you what I want. We can talk later.” He lowered his mouth.

She wanted to taste his lips so badly, she literally ached. But this was business, dammit. She was on the job.

He’d somehow narrowed the entire world down to the breath of space between his lips and hers. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think of anything else but him and what he was doing to her, what he was making her feel.
Heaven have mercy
, she wanted to beg him. Only she didn’t know quite what she’d be begging for. “Don’t.”