Taken With The Enemy (11 page)

"Did you miss me?” he murmured in my ear, his breath sending tingles straight to my center.

"You know I did,” I giggled.

"You have beautiful shoulders,” he said, then began trailing warm kisses across my skin.

I tried to concentrate on my task, but couldn't manage it. His touch had the most profound affect on me. “You're distracting me. You want salad with dinner, don't you?"

"You're much more appetizing than any salad."

My body instantly reacted to his words. My hold on the knife weakened as moisture pooled inside the crouch of my jeans.

He pulled the delicate straps of my camisole down, trapping my arms at my sides and exposing my aching breasts. I leaned back into his chest and titled my head. He showered my neck with heated kisses while his hands massaged my breasts. I moaned when his wicked fingers began rolling my sensitive nipples, tugging the taut buds.

No longer caring about the thin fabric straps that bound me, I dropped the knife and twisted around, drawing him closer and capturing my captive's lips. Lost in the intensity of the kiss, we stumbled back, colliding into the granite counter.

Pinning me there, his mouth seared a path down my chest, and lower still, pulling my camisole to my waist as he knelt before me. I held onto the stone countertop while his lips skimmed across my stomach. He unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them to my knees.

"Dinner,” I gasped.

"I'd rather taste you."

"But—but I still don't even know your name."

"Does it matter?” he asked, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my panties. “Don't you trust me?"

"Yes,” I sighed, closing my eyes as he explored the slick folds of my pussy, circling my throbbing clit. My core tightened in anticipation.

"Good girl,” he said. “Now wake up for me."

"What?"

"Wake up, Brenna."

Opening my eyes, I blinked through the sunlight streaming into the room.

My captor sat on the edge of my bed, looking down at me with the most bemused expression. “Did I interrupt a pleasant dream?"

Ah!
I pulled the covers over my head to hide the blush that assaulted my cheeks. My body stilled hummed from the erotic episode, my inner thighs damp and sticky, my center a throbbing ache of frustration.

"Should I take that as a yes?” he asked.

"Why are you in my room?” I mumbled from beneath the blanket.

He gently tugged the covers back down. “Were you dreaming of me?"

I knew he was just teasing, but my face flamed so hot, it tingled. There was no way he could miss that blatant sign. “Would you believe me if I told you no?"

His grin broadened and he shook his head. “Was I good?"

Oh, my God. We're not actually having this conversation.
“It was a dream."

"You were moaning in your sleep when I came in."

"And why is it you came in? You've only been gone two days. You couldn't have missed me that much."

"I did miss you,” he said. The humor slowly faded from his face. “Unfortunately, this is not a pleasure visit. I woke you up because we require your services."

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. “What services?"

He rose from the bed and went to my wardrobe, opening it. “You'll need to wear the
hijab
. Unfortunately, you can't just wear a
khimar
, but will have to don a
niqab
, the cover with the eye slits.” He pulled out the black head scarf with the face veil, laying it on the bed. It was followed by a black
abaya
.

"Where am I going?” I whispered.

"To another location in the building.” As if he knew what my next question was going to be, he pasted a smile and continued. “It's for your protection. In all honesty, I wish I could have you wear the
chadri
instead, to better conceal your amazing body and those big, beautiful, expressive eyes. But I fear you'd have a problem doing what you need to do with it on."

The compliment was lost in the translation. A
chadri
? The
burqa
with the thin net that covers the eyes?

"Why do I need to hide myself so ... thoroughly?"

"So you can't be identified."

Such a simple, matter-of-fact response. I guess I should have known that, or at least expected it. Everything around here was done for
protection
, to remain
unidentifiable
.

"What am I doing again?"

He headed for the exit. “Why don't you wash up and get ready. I'll wait for you in the living room."

As annoying as it was, I was starting to get used to being left out on the details. “Okay."

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

After I had dressed as requested, I stared into the mirror, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Well, for one, I was definitely unidentifiable, that was for sure.

A soft knock sounded at my door. “Come in."

My captor entered and upon seeing me, seemed relieved.

"What?"

"Do you want me to be honest?"

I turned around to face him. “Go ahead."

"I thought you'd fight me on this."

"Why?"

"Most American women would object to being forced to wear the
hijab
."

"I didn't know I had a choice,” I remarked.

"You didn't. I just expected more of a fuss. I appreciate that you're being so accommodating."

I shrugged. “Whatever, it's just clothing. Are you ready?"

Honestly, I was just sick of fighting with him about petty shit. I had decided to pick my battles. Plus, the more relaxed he was around me, the better my chances for escape.

"One last thing.” He went to my wardrobe and pulled out yet another black scarf.

"I need another layer?"

"Not quite,” he said as approached me.

When he brought the fabric near my face, I leaned back, not sure of his intention.

"Do you trust me?"

Trust.
It was always about trust with him. Images from my erotic dreams came to mind, and I realized that somewhere, somehow, I did come to trust him on a certain level.

Eyeing the scarf warily, I slowly nodded.

He placed the cloth over my eyes and tied it behind my head. The whole time that I had been here, they, for the most part, had treated me like a guest, but things like this reminded me that I was still simply a prisoner.

"Do you plan on executing me?” I asked lightly.

Though I couldn't see his expression, I felt him tense up. “No."

I guess he didn't appreciate the joke.

His hand clasped over mine and he led me out. It was disorienting to not see where I was going, and I faltered with hesitant steps.

"I won't let you run into anything, Brenna."

"I know, I know, just trust you."

"You seem kind of cold today. Is something wrong?"

Among the things I had learned since my capture, and there were
many
lessons I'd learned, the big one was that there was little use lying to him. He always managed to get the truth from me in one way or another.

Pick my battles.

"I guess I'm just very confused, and that confusion has made me moody."

I heard the font door close behind us. “How so?"

"Because I want to believe in you. Desperately. Against all that is right, honorable, and just plain good common sense, I trust you. I find you sincere. I feel for you in ways that I should not be feeling for you. And then you ruin it all by doing some fucked-up shit like blindfolding me. You want me to trust you, but it's obvious you don't trust me."

The beep of an elevator, doors sliding open. He guided me and we stopped, doors closing. “I do trust you. How could I not? You have my heart."

"You always speak pretty words. Are you saying that you're in love with me?"

Sandalwood.

Though I couldn't see him, I could smell him, feel the heat radiating off his body. He was close to me, so very close.

"If I hadn't made you that promise, the one that said I would not kiss you again while you were here, I would show you how much you mean to me,” he murmured in my ear. “But if you want to hear those words, you'll have to hold up your end of the bargain."

"Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

"I can't help myself. I know I shouldn't be saying these things to you. Every time I'm with you, I step over the line, or cross some boundary I should not be crossing. But the moment we met, I felt something. I know you felt it too. We were drawn to each other. You would have been brought here regardless of how I felt personally, but now that you're here, I can't let it go. Time is precious. I can't ignore it. I can't pretend there's nothing between us. And I don't want to."

He moved away, and then I heard a soft click. The elevator began moving up.

What was this? Fate being cruel? A star-crossed destiny?

Had I always been in love with him?

No. It would never work between us.

I shook my head. “You're going to break my heart in the end."

"Never that, Brenna. If you'll let me, I'll make up for all of this. I swear. Please be patient, keep trusting me."

The elevator slowed to a stop, I swayed on feet, my body still unaccustomed to the loss of a vital sense. He pulled me close, his solid body steadying me. I heard the elevator doors slide open and we disembarked.

"How big is this place?” I asked as he led me to our destination.

"Three levels, six apartments on each floor. Courtyard, lobby, gym, pool, roof."

Wow, how surprising. He actually told me. Maybe my little ‘trust’ confession actually moved him.

I felt the change in the air the moment we stepped into the new place, the door quietly shutting behind us. I heard whispering, the clicking of a keyboard, a muffled speaker broadcasting in Arabic. He led me deeper in the oppressive room, then moved me around and untied the blindfold.

It was an apartment ... but not. Instead of the things you'd expect, like home furniture, it was more like some computer geek's basement. There was a long table against the wall with computers, security monitors, printers, and all sorts of office technology. Two men sat with their backs to me, headphones over their ears, intently watching a monitor showing a guy in a room.

"Brenna, look at me."

I turned to my captor, noticing he held a large EMT bag.

"I need you to treat a prisoner."

Another prisoner?

Some poor, young wounded US soldier came to mind.

"Listen, this is very important,” he whispered. “Do not speak, do not make eye contact, and do not touch the prisoner more than you have to. Work quickly so we can get you out of there. Do you understand?"

I nodded absently. I understood what he was saying, but I didn't
understand
. Something was off here.

"I can't go in there, but there will be armed guards to protect you. Do you think you can do this?"

Armed guards ... torture?

Had they tortured the prisoner? I glanced around at all the monitoring equipment. Was that why they had kidnapped me and brought me here? To heal their victims for the next round of interrogation?

My stomach turned, my eyes seeing my enemy in a whole new light.

"If the prisoner won't let you treat him, don't press it,” he continued.

I just stared in disbelief, his words meaning nothing. Had everything he'd ever said to me been a lie? God! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever trusted someone I met at gunpoint?

My captor turned and knocked on a
bedroom
door. “If things go wrong, leave immediately. I'll be waiting for you right here. Don't worry. I'll be watching,” he said, indicating the grainy monitor screen.

A man came out, said something in Arabic, took the medical bag and signaled me to follow.

My feet automatically moved, though my mind was numb. Be it fear, curiosity, or the doctor in me forcing me to comply because someone was suffering and needed my help—I'm not exactly sure what prompted me forward.

I followed the man into the dim room, looking over my shoulder when the door closed behind me, and thus noticed the first armed guard stood beside it. I turned back and assessed my surroundings. The glass on the window had been painted black. Like a scene from some copper movie, a single light bulb illuminated the room, hanging over a simple table with three chairs. The man with the medical bag moved toward the prisoner sitting on a cot against the wall, explaining something to him.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The prisoner was young, but he wasn't American.

Another guard stepped out of the shadows and approached the cot.
My escort?
He glanced at me, or actually through me, as though we had never met.

The man put the med bag on the floor, said one last thing, then walked away. He didn't even acknowledge me when he passed by and exited the room, leaving me alone with the prisoner and his two guards.

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I stood there, waiting for an indication that I could proceed. Tense moments passed, but not a word, not a signal, nothing.

The prisoner, who couldn't be older than twenty-four, sat on his low Army-style cot with his back against the wall, staring at me like I was spawned from the bowels of hell. My armed escort, or guard in this case, looked at me blandly, as if he was regarding a plant. I didn't even bother to glance around at the door guard. I didn't have to. I could feel his eyes boring into my back.

Lowering my gaze, I moved forward, slowly approaching until I came upon the medical bag resting at the base of the bed. Not wanting to bend over, I got on my knees and opened it, shocked at how comprehensive it was. It was like a souped-up Paramedic kit and then some, complete with prescription medications not normally allotted to EMTs such as antibiotics.

After disinfecting my hands with a sterilizing foam, I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and shuffled closer, dragging the heavy bag with me.

The prisoner continued to glower.

I wished the cot wasn't so damn low.

Should I kneel on the floor, stand and lean, or sit next to him on the mattress?