Enslaved (18 page)

Scars? He couldn’t tell. But a glance at her face told him now—when she clearly only wanted to get as far away from him as possible—was not the time to ask.

He slapped the bar in her hands. “Hold this.”

Large, onyx eyes peered up at him as he poured shampoo from the travel bottle on the side of the shower into his palm and lathered her hair. Eyes he tried like hell to ignore. Eyes that dragged at his attention because they were so damn mesmerizing.

He ground his teeth together, focused on his task. But when her hands landed against his forearms, heat ricocheted through his body all over again. And the groan that slipped from her lips nearly made him come out of his skin.

Gods, the sounds she made. His hands stilled in her soapy hair. He chanced a look at her face, saw her eyes were closed once more. But this time pleasure, not pain, coated her features. And his cock grew hard once more with the prospect of hearing her moan like that when he was touching her elsewhere. When he was kissing her. When he was inside her.

No
sex. No sex. Nooooooo sex.

“Tip your head back,” he said between clenched teeth.

He quickly rinsed the lather from her hair. Took the soap from her hand and turned away so she couldn’t see the erection pushing against his soaked boxer briefs. As rapidly as he could, he lathered his chest and stomach. Told himself to remember why the hell he was keeping her with him. Not for his own perverse pleasure, but so he could think.

He leaned forward, cringed at the pain in his dick and scrubbed the grime from his legs. After lathering his face, he set the bar in the dish, then stepped sideways around her to reach the spray. Water sluiced over his cheeks, did shit to cool him down. He rubbed his eyes, then froze when small hands landed softly against his back.

She was touching him. Holy gods she was touching him and he hadn’t asked. Or ordered. Or even begged. Soap slid over his skin, ran up his spine, then across his shoulders. Her fingers were small and dainty, her touch gentle. Gooseflesh jumped out all over his skin while his pulse pumped hard and that erection he’d worked to deflate came roaring back.

“Wh—what are you doing?” he asked.

“Helping.” She set the soap down, reached for the shampoo he’d used on her. “Turn around and lean forward. I can’t reach your hair.”

His pulse turned to a roar in his ears. He knew he shouldn’t, that it was a bad idea to let her touch him any more than she already had, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from turning. At the last second some sense of decency shot through him, and he bent forward at the hips so she couldn’t see the effect she had on him. Her fingers slid into his hair. His curled into his palms so he wouldn’t react to her. But when her nails raked his scalp, tingles rushed all down his spine, sending a shiver over his skin he couldn’t contain.

“Am I hurting you?”

Gods, no. Her hands felt good. So good, he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He managed a quick shake of his head, braced one hand against the wall so he wouldn’t fall. Tried not to lose it from so little contact. But damn, she looked like a wet dream, smelled like a fantasy. And her hands…they were pure heaven.

“Tip your head back,” she said.

His eyes slid closed at the husky timbre of her voice. He didn’t care anymore if she saw he had the mother of all hard-ons. He was lost in an erotic fantasy he didn’t want to wake up from. Of this beautiful creature touching, lathering, caressing every inch of his skin. Water ran down his face and dribbled across his back. Her delicate fingers landed on his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. His skin tingled with the need for her touch elsewhere…everywhere. As he imagined those hands sliding down his stomach and into his boxers. Wrapping about his—

Her gasp jolted him out of his fantasy. He shook the water from his eyes, moved out from under the spray and looked down. Then nearly groaned all over again when he found her eyes wide, her mouth open in a small O, and her gaze locked solidly on his hips.

Electrical currents rushed under his skin, made his blood hotter, his cock harder. The draw to her was so strong that the urge to reach for her overwhelmed him. But something held him back. It wasn’t just that he’d promised he wouldn’t, it was the knowledge that as soon as he did he wouldn’t be able to stop, whether she begged him to or not.

Fire sizzled along his skin as water ran over his body, left him achy and hot. But he couldn’t leave yet either. Feet firmly rooted against the base of the tub, he watched her throat work as she swallowed, as she licked her kiss-me lips and continued to slide her electric gaze over his body. His balls tightened as that gaze lifted, as it hovered on his lips. And he held his breath and waited, expecting the worst, hoping it would be what he needed to cool him out. But he didn’t see fear in their dark depths when they locked with his. He saw desire. And hunger. And the same damn heat that was scorching him from the inside out.

“Maelea…” Her name left his lips before he could stop it. His hand lifted to touch her as if it had a mind of its own.

A knock sounded at the outer door. His hand froze halfway to her hip. Her head swiveled toward the sound and her eyes widened as if she’d just remembered where they were. And before Gryphon could figure out a way to draw her attention back to him, a voice called, “I’ve got your food.”

Maelea’s shocked gaze shot back to his. She took a step back, quickly crossed her arms over her body as if the sound had broken some trance. And in the steam and silence that remained, disappointment rushed through Gryphon all over again, followed by the sharp, swift slap of reality.

Skata.
What the hell was he doing? He’d been about to touch her, about to kiss her as he’d stupidly done in that cave. He really was losing his ever-loving mind if he’d so easily been entranced by her in the timespan of one measly shower.

He jerked the curtain open harder than necessary, stepped out, then yanked the plastic closed behind him, leaving her alone in the running shower. No protest echoed from the tub. And the fact that she didn’t seem to care if he came or went pissed him off more than if she’d flat out rejected him.

“Finish up,” he snapped as he wrapped a towel around his hips, cursing himself and that darkness that still lingered inside him. The darkness that was controlling him, even now. “You’ve got five minutes before I haul you out myself.”

***

What in all the gods’ names was she doing?

Maelea scrubbed the wet hair back from her face and closed her eyes tight. Good gods, she’d touched him. She’d rubbed his back. When he’d turned around and she’d seen that monster erection, she’d almost…

Nope. Not going there. Not even remembering it.

She flipped the water to cold and stood under the stream until her skin chilled and a scream built in her throat. She was not falling for her kidnapper. What did the news call it? Stockholm syndrome. That was it. When hostages twist events around in their minds until they have empathy for their captors. Gods, she was not that stupid. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her life in that tunnel…or that he’d killed those daemons before they had a chance to get to her. Or even that he’d gotten them away from those hellhounds. He hadn’t done that for any noble reason other than the fact he
needed
her for something.

A shiver ran down her back, so she turned the water back to warm. She could hear Gryphon talking to the kid out in the hall. He was probably mind-washing the boy again. Now
there
was a noble and heroic act if she ever saw one.

She picked up the soap and washed her entire body, needing to clean away Gryphon’s touch, to wash away any memory of his fingers brushing her skin. Relief bubbled through her at the knowledge he wasn’t going to rape her. He’d had ample time in the shower and hadn’t made a move. In fact, he hadn’t been aroused at all until she took the soap and started washing his back. Calling herself ten kinds of stupid all over again for that brilliant move, she scrubbed harder, cursing that miserable darkness inside that was so obviously attracted to him. He was psychotic, unbalanced, and he’d kidnapped her, for crying out loud. She had the bruises to prove it. Needed her? Bullshit. What he needed was a good, swift kick to the head. Preferably from steel-toed boots. He needed—

Her fingers stilled.

Did it really matter what he needed from her? As long as it wasn’t sexual, she was safe—for the time being. But between that kiss in the caves and this shower, it was obvious he was attracted to her as much as—no,
more
than—she was attracted to him. Why, she didn’t know. Whether it was her or just the fact she was the first female to get close to him in months didn’t matter. She could use that attraction to her advantage, if she was careful.

But…damn. She bit her lip as the warm water beat down on her body. She was so not good at the seduction game. It’d been years—way too many—since she tried to seduce a man. She’d given up sex when she realized relationships—even the short ones—caused too many complications and put her and those she even remotely tried to care about at too much risk. Keeping to herself had served her far better over the years than a few mind-shattering orgasms ever could.

But
he
didn’t know she sucked at seduction. After all, he’d been hard as stone after just a few minutes in the shower with her. And the way he’d kissed her in the tunnels like a man starved…well, hell. He was one, technically. He’d been in the Underworld for three months—no sexual pleasure there—then locked in his room at the colony for the two after that. She seriously doubted he’d had any kind of female contact of late. The females at the colony were too scared of him even to go near his door.

Which meant…she could do this.

Her pulse picked up speed as the idea took root. So long as she gave him just enough so he didn’t handcuff her again, she could trick him. It didn’t necessarily mean she had to have sex with him. She just had to…satiate him. Then she could figure out a way to escape.

All kinds of images flashed in her mind. Ways she could pleasure him. What he’d look like in the moment of release. What he’d sound like. What he’d
feel
like. And they all started with him naked, as he’d been moments before in this shower. Except this time without those soaking-wet boxer briefs.

Her blood ran hot, and her own arousal trickled from her stomach lower to spread between her thighs. Still remembering what Gryphon had looked like, how hard and hot and turned on he’d been from so very little contact, she brushed a hand against her aching breast, then lower to her stomach, her fingers heading for the spot that was now throbbing with the need for her own release.

The shower curtain jerked open. Maelea jumped and dropped the soap. Gryphon glared at her from the other side of the tub. “What the hell are you still doing in here? Time’s up. Rinse and get out.”

Her adrenaline surged. He stared at her with heated, knowing eyes. Eyes that seemed to sense what she’d been about to do. Eyes, she noticed as she looked closer, that were filled with frustration.

“I…Okay,” she managed.

He frowned, then his gaze traveled the length of her body, and when they lingered on her breasts and she saw the heat that erupted in his light blue eyes, she knew that frustration was purely sexual.

He wanted her, and that wanting pissed him off. He might not force her into anything, but he craved her touch as much as she craved his.

Maelea’s heart thumped hard as he turned and left. In the silence, her body tingled with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. And that darkness inside—the darkness that was drawn to him—vibrated with excitement. She could do this. So long as she remembered what was at stake here, she could do this and win. For the first time in her life, she held the power.

Freedom was at her fingertips. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it.

Chapter Eleven

Fresh clothes were sitting on the bathroom counter when Maelea yanked the shower curtain open. The door was ajar. Faint sounds of a TV echoed in the next room, but Gryphon was nowhere to be seen. Tugging the towel tighter to her dripping body, she stepped out of the tub and fingered the drab brown T-shirt and khaki pants Gryphon had picked out for her in that army surplus store.

Not exactly the sexy bedroom look she was going for, but she wasn’t ready to go out there in her birthday suit. She had to ease into this whole seductive siren role. She wasn’t Skyla, for crying out loud.

She tossed her wet undergarments over the shower rod to dry, then tugged on the pants, which were a good size too big, and pulled on the top. Her nipples hardened in the cool air, pressing against the rough cotton, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. And if he found it sexy, well, that was the goal, right? After all, it’d be the only sexy part of this whole ensemble. After towel-drying her hair, she finger-combed her long locks as best she could, then drew in a deep breath.

Showtime.

Her nerves hummed as the stained, worn strands of the carpet brushed her bare feet. She turned the corner, then stilled as she caught sight of him standing in front of the TV, the remote in his hand, his gaze locked on the screen as he flipped channels, looking for…she didn’t know what.