The Game Has Changed (6 page)

He had promised he wouldn't touch her, but he
couldn't squelch the lusty thoughts he was having at the moment as
he felt her so warm and soft lying there beside him. She was a
virgin, no doubt, and was so sweet and naïve. A double thrill it
would have been for him to deflower her, but he knew he had to keep
his hands off of her. He was already on the run and had also added
kidnapping to his list of offenses. To add rape and perhaps even
statutory rape would snow him under for life.

Except how could he tame himself? He felt
himself becoming very hard and stiff as he touched her delicate
hair. He couldn't relieve it. Not now and certainly not while he
was bound to her. He knew that she would most likely notice the
bulge within his boxer shorts. Of that he was quite
sure.

***

Jaime not only noticed, but felt it. He was
still lying on his side quite close to her and she could feel the
hardness pressing against her leg. She imagined what it could have
been and her heart started racing again. She felt herself
hyperventilating at the thought. He had stopped caressing her, yet
his hand was still lying gently across her forehead.

Reaching up with her free hand, she grasped his
wrist and pushed it away with a sharp cry. “I told you not to do
that!”

His hand idly fell back down across his chest
and he sighed deeply. He was tempted to tell her that he was sorry,
but soon stopped himself. He wasn't sorry. He really wanted to take
her, then and there. After a moment’s pause, he whispered, “Go to
sleep now. We'll leave as soon as it's light.”

Jaime nodded slowly as they stared at one
another.
His eyes are so pretty,
she thought. Even in the darkness, they seemed to say a lot
to her. Although she wasn't exactly sure what those eyes were
trying to convey to her. She hated herself for allowing herself to
be mesmerized by him. He had kidnapped her, after all, hadn't he?
Yet why did she feel so . . . so attracted to him?

She watched as he finally closed his eyes. He
had fallen asleep so quickly that it amazed her, yet she knew he
had been through a lot that day. How she knew that, she wasn't
sure. Yet why did she even care? She berated herself for feeling a
twinge of sympathy for him.

Please don't forget! He's committed
a crime of some sort. More than one, in fact. He kidnapped
me!

Her mind was still reeling from the
implications of her current predicament. She no longer knew what
would happen to her and she felt so afraid, yet safe with him, at
the same time. How was that possible? She felt hatred for what he
had done to her in kidnapping her, taking her away from her family,
home, and school. Yet she felt a peculiar affection for him,
too.

But just wait,
she
warned herself.
This isn’t over
yet.

There was a possibility that he planned on
doing something horrible to her, like committing sexual assault or
perhaps even murder. Yet, deep down, she sensed the inability to
hurt anyone lying there deep within him. Why she could feel it, she
didn't quite yet understand.

She lay there within the darkness and watched
him as he slept. His breathing was deep, even, and quiet. He wasn't
snoring like her father often had as he lay on the sofa before the
television with the football game on with several empty beer cans
scattered across the floor beneath him. Evan's breathing was
rhythmic and gentle and almost alluring. She sensed it would
eventually help her sleep.

Until that happened, she took advantage. She
assessed him from head to toe, taking every detail of him in
completely. His lovely shiny brown hair was partially blood-stained
and hung messily about his closed eyes and across the pillow
beneath his head. His dark eyelashes were long and fluttered across
his cheeks, every now and then as he dreamt. His eyebrows were
perfect and matched the same color of his hair. The sheer
perfection was disturbed only by the gash that ran across his
forehead that looked red and ugly and was coated with dried blood.
She knew the jagged gash would leave a scar once it was completely
healed. His lips were thick and soft looking. They were the sort of
lovely lips any woman would die for, to both have for herself or to
kiss.

Jaime's eyes moved downward as she scanned his
exquisite chest that was firm and strong, but not too muscular. It
was just perfect in her view. She had seen the occasional shirtless
man on the beach, but they were nothing like Evan. Her dad had been
a little pudgy when his shirt was off. Evan was just . . . just
perfect!

There were some small cuts and some bruising on
his chest, presumably from his accident, but it did nothing to mar
his beauty. She tried not to look down further, but couldn't
resist. The sight that spread out before her was one that she had
never seen before; a man in his skivvies, as Evan had put
it.

She found she couldn't look away and was
totally intrigued by the huge bulge she could make out.
Stop looking!
she berated herself
once more.
You're acting like a
perv!
Yet she couldn't help it when she “accidentally
on purpose” let her free hand brush up against the hardness that
was pressing itself against her leg. An inadvertent squeak escaped
her and she pulled her hand away with a jerk as if she had been
burned.

Jaime quickly looked back toward Evan's face in
hopes that she hadn't awakened him when she touched him. He seemed
to still be deeply asleep and she sighed with relief.
I will not look anymore!
she told
herself. She studied his face and listened to his rhythmic
breathing again, until she felt herself finally become sleepy. She
soon closed her eyes and let the comforting sound of Evan’s
breathing put her to sleep.

CHAPTER 6

Jaime was startled awake by the sound of an
anguished cry early that morning. She felt disoriented, at first,
crying with alarm as her arm was pulled into the air quite
suddenly. She then saw the reason. Beside her, Evan had bolted to
sit upright, violently dragging her arm up with him because he had
also forgotten that they were bound together.

“What is it?” Jaime cried as she was forced to
sit up quickly as Evan covered his face with both his free hand and
what he could manage of the one he had taped to hers.

“Nothing,” he whispered with a deep sigh. He
looked at her with undeniable anguish written upon his face and
tried to cover it up with a sad smile. “Sorry I woke you. Just a
dream, I guess.”

Jaime nodded. “It's okay.” She watched as he
tried to control the anxiety the dream had caused him by taking
deep, slow breaths. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded, though she knew he wasn't. Beads of
perspiration were coating his face and chest. She could feel how
clammy his skin was and his breathing had not quite eased yet. She
wondered if the dream was related to the trouble he was in, but she
didn't venture to ask him.

Instead, she whispered, “What time is
it?”

Evan turned toward the alarm clock sitting on
the bedside table. “Half past six,” he replied, the trembling still
evident within his voice. “Try and sleep a little longer. Sorry
again.”

She regarded him softly and then lay back down.
He followed suit, lying upon his back. She was aware that he lay
even closer to her than before. Their hips and thighs were actually
touching.

She shivered. She had a sudden daydream, then;
more of a longing vision. One she had never experienced before. She
imagined them lying together just like this, but naked and in the
aftermath of sex. Still, she couldn't begin to imagine the act
itself. She had little idea of what to even think about, but what
was in her head was enough to get her private parts
tingling.

The long silence was broken by his lovely,
soft, and deep British accent. “Are you okay, Luv?” he
whispered.

She turned her head toward him, entranced by
his tenderness. He turned his head to face her and gave her a
tender smile that she could see a little better now because of the
light that was beginning to stream inside through the cheap
curtains on the motel's window. “I'm . . . okay,” she
stuttered.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“So this wasn't so bad after all, was it?” he
asked with amusement, lifting up their bound hands.

She hesitated, unsure as to how to answer his
question. He was making her a prisoner. How could she possibly say
it was good? Yet it hadn't deterred her sleep, so the honest answer
had to be, “No, not so bad.”

She decided to be truthful. “It didn't keep me
awake, put it that way.”

“Sorry.” He smiled again, knowing he had backed
her into a difficult corner with the question. “But if you prove to
me that I can trust you, we won't need it anymore.”

She gave him a confused and concerned look.
“Just how long do you suppose we're going to be together, anyway?”
she asked testily.

Evan sighed. He decided to be honest with her,
but knew he'd have to deal with her ultimately forthcoming protests
and panic attack. “I need your car to get back to California,” he
admitted.

As he’d expected, shock set in and Jaime's
whole body began to tremble, causing the entire bed to shake as if
there was a small earthquake. Ironically, she didn't cry out or
scream. Nor did she yell at him. Tears spilled down her cheeks as
her entire body quivered. Sadness pervaded every inch of her sweet
face. She pressed her free hand against her mouth to keep herself
from crying out.

“I'm sorry, Sweetheart,” he said with
sincerity. He wanted so much to comfort her, but he knew he
couldn't. He pulled himself onto his elbow, watching her dissolve
with misery. “But I will make you an honest promise right now and I
really, really want you to trust me. Even if I can never trust you,
I want you so very much to trust me.”

She was speechless. Her whimpering could be
heard beneath the hand covering her mouth.

“Listen, okay?” he prompted gently. “I swear to
you that I will never hurt you. I won't touch you and I certainly
won't kill you. I need you as my companion. I know you don't want
to be here with me and I won't expect you to ever be happy or like
it, but I'll feel better knowing you're with me.”

He was being truthful. He even felt it within
his heart. He did want her there, but he knew there was a selfish
reason attached to his sweet, imploring directive. He wanted to
convince her that she really wasn't his prisoner.

“Give it a couple of days. Maybe you'll begin
to trust me, then. But if after those couple of days, you're still
miserable and unhappy, then . . . then . . .” He took a deep breath
and let it out slowly. “I'll put you on a plane and send you home.
I promise, Jaime. And I will get the money for your car to you,
somehow. Whether you give me your address or not . . . I'll get it
to you.”

Her hand was still pressed over her own mouth
when a muffled gasp escaped.

“I'll take care of you in the meantime, I
promise,” he said beseechingly.

She believed him.

He smiled at her and because of the tender
moment they both sensed they were having, he took a chance. He
softly caressed her forehead again. She didn't admonish him this
time. Her hand slowly came away from her mouth. Before the hand
could drop down, he quickly grasped it. To her absolute amazement,
he took her hand and brought it toward his own thick, soft lips
where he kissed it three times. Jaime's dreamy sigh made him smile
and wink at her.

“Shall we go have breakfast, Luv?” he
whispered.

She nodded and giggled suddenly. “But can you
cut me loose, right away?” She jerked her head towards the
bathroom. “I would rather do it solo this time.”

“Oh, bollocks,” he smiled as they both sat up.
“Here we go.”

He started to pull the tape off. Both of them
squealed and moaned at the pain of having the hair on their arms
ripped away. Once loose, Jaime rubbed at the redness on her fair
skin, but didn't jump up immediately as Evan had expected her to
do. Instead, she stared at him for a moment. He, in turn, did the
same. When it became uncomfortable for her, only then did she burst
up
off of the bed
and disappear into the
bathroom.

***

“I would love to take a shower,” Evan told her
as he rubbed through his blood matted hair as he stood in front of
the mirror in the bathroom. “But I'm not quite sure how to do it,
seeing as how I don't totally trust you won't bolt yet.”

“I'll give you my word,” she said softly. “I
told you last night, where am I gonna go? We're in the middle of
nowhere.”

He turned to her, his hand hidden within the
depths of his hair as he wore a twisted grin. “Lotsa places you
could go, Darlin'.”

She shrugged. “I'd be too scared to go anywhere
by myself, honestly,” she replied. “I promise I won't. But . . .
but . . .” She hesitated for but a minute. “To help you gain trust
in me, I'll let you tie me up here in the bathroom, to prove to you
that . . . that I want you to trust me.”