Free Hostage Page 11

  “You can use my laptop for tonight.”

  I stop searching for the remote and look up at him. Why is he pushing this? Why is he not leaving?

  I’m a nice person. Sometimes. I’m a kind person. Sometimes. I like the world, and I like people. Sometimes. But when I’m sleepy, I’m nasty and I’m cranky. I like my sleep, and I like my dreams even more. Not to mention he just woke me up from a sweet dream. A juicy dream of him kissing me against a wall and touching my bare thigh.

  Suffice it to say, I’m not a happy camper at the moment.

  “Or,” I grit out, “you could turn this telly back on, leave the room, and I can go back to sleep. Yeah?”

  For a long moment he just stands there, until he makes an abrupt turn and walks out of the room.

  With a huff and a grunt, I climb out of bed and yank off the comforter, shaking it out, along with the pillows.

  No remote.

  I switch the ceiling lights on and begin searching—nightstands, under the bed, everywhere.

  No remote.

  I growl. This is ridiculous! Where the hell is the remote?

  All right. Manual it is, then. I stomp over to the telly and check for the buttons on the side. I press the on/off button.

  Nothing happens.

  I press it harder. Nothing happens.

  I check the plug, just to be sure it is, in fact, plugged into the wall socket.

  It is.

  Okay. So…the telly is plugged in, yet it won’t come to life, and the remote has mysteriously disappeared.

  Right.

  Out of frustration, I begin pressing hard at all the buttons, because it’s suddenly dawned on me what’s happened here.

  Jaxon. He did this! Deliberately.

  To get his way.

  Hands fisted at my side, I march out of the room, down the stairs, through the big ole house, and straight to Jaxon’s bedroom. I find him at the side of his bed, setting up a laptop on one of the nightstands.

  “You knew. Of course, you did. You’re a bloody con!”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about.” With his attention on the laptop, sounding all kinds of insouciant and bored, he asks, “What would you like to watch you sleep? Got seasons of Arrow and The Flash downloaded.”

  “You already knew that if you powered off the telly it would wake me. You did it on purpose.”

  “A very active imagination you have there, Timber,” he mumbles as he click-clicks on the laptop. “Also have the first three seasons of The Big Bang Theory. Right up your alley. I’ll put them on shuffle and repeat for you.”

  The fact that he’d begun setting up his laptop before I even came down here— If that isn’t clear evidence he did it all on purpose to get me back in his room, then I don’t know what is.

  For that, I refuse to sleep here out of spite. “Fine. I’ll sleep in the living room. There’s a telly out there.”

  “Suit yourself,” he murmurs, still dicking around with the laptop, never casting me so much as a glance.

  With a hrumph, I spin on my bare feet and flounce out to the living area…and draw up short.

  My head is about to explode.

  Ex-plode.

  All the cushions from all the sofas have been removed.

  Wanker, wanker, wanker! Bloody stinking wanker!

  I didn’t expect this childish crap from him. He’s the aloof, taciturn type. Not the type to pull sophomore crap like this in order to get his way. He learned of my weakness, and now he’s using it to his advantage. What a cheat!

  My head is hot, so hot, but I force myself to take deep, calming breaths as I trek back to his room.

  Calm…calm…don’t give in to the rage.

  He’s standing at the bathroom threshold now, squirting toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

  As calmly as possible, given my mood, I stop just inside the bedroom doorway and ask, “Where are the cushions?”

  His head sweeps up at the question, his mouth opens as if to reply, but then his mouth just stays open, leaving his eyes to do all the talking.

  They swallow me whole and spit me right back out on a choke. But then they slowly begin to savor me, minuscule bit by minuscule bit.

  His mouth closes.

  He swallows.

  By this point, I’m positive I’m the same color as that damned red door. Caught up in my vexation and need for sleep, I’d completely forgotten about the flimsiness of my sleepwear, the lack of coverage, the nothing that is this nightgown.

  I inadvertently asked for it. And now I’ve been thoroughly ravished. By Jaxon King’s greedy eyes.

  911, emergency.

  He blinks, one, two, three times, then shoves his toothbrush into his mouth, turns, and slams the bathroom door.

  “Bazinga!” Sheldon Cooper’s voice rings in the background.

  I sigh.

  I sigh because it’s obvious that Jaxon thought ahead and eliminated every possible alternative to sleeping in his bed. He knows I won’t go banging on Ed’s or Kav’s doors asking to room with them.

  I accept defeat for tonight.

  Grumbling, I close the door behind me and amble over to the bed. I remove my glasses and climb in, tugging the covers all the way up to my neck.

  There are six pillows on the bed. I take three and fix them in a straight line down the middle of the mattress. I don’t want to be too close to him tonight. I’m far more annoyed with him right now than aroused.

  Therefore, tonight won’t be the night that he kisses me again and touches my bare thigh.

  Eyes closed, The Big Bang Theory playing in the background, I breathe out a relaxed sigh as consciousness settles in for a long break.

  I hear the bathroom door open, but I keep my eyes closed to deter him from talking to me.

  His voice comes at me anyway. “That side of the bed is mine.”

  “So is the bank account you’re locked out of.”

  To that, nothing.

  There’s a bit of rustling, and the mattress dips with his weight as he climbs in.

  “A time or two, I imagined what you would look like angry. Are you always this hostile after midnight? Got a werewolf gene or something?”

  Why is he talking so damned much? He never talks. Especially to me. Usually, he just looks down at me and walks off. Now he’s initiating a conversation? Will the real Jaxon step forward, please? Is it the Jaxon who doesn’t talk and walks around with zero expression or opinions, or is it the Jaxon I’m seeing now, when no one else is around?

  My brain is too confused, so I don’t answer.

  Thankfully, he takes the hint and doesn’t force me to talk. I refocus on falling asleep. The dialogue from the sitcom is just starting to lull me to the brink of unconsciousness when Jaxon’s voice blocks the path, “You forgot the bad facts again today.”

  At this, my eyes flick open involuntarily. But I don’t flip over to face him.

  “What?” I ask, and immediately regret giving in. Did he know the word “facts” would rouse me? Get me to talk?

  He shifts. I feel it. “Today, when you were telling everyone about shrimp, you forgot to tell them that shrimp trawling destroys up to five pounds of incidental bycatch for every pound of shrimp taken. You forgot to tell them that shrimp trawling kills as many as fifty thousand turtles every year, and sometimes up to sixteen thousand seabirds each year. Dolphins, whales, young fishes that should be left to grow and breed all die of bycatch… Not to mention the irreparable damage to the coral beds. Don’t just share the good facts, Timber. Share the bad ones, too.”

  Wow. Okay. This is the second time he’s called me out for sharing only good facts. However, with the new knowledge that he’s a vegan, I kind of understand his keenness on the whole truth being told about the shrimp.

  “I don’t like sharing bad facts,” I say. “My aim is to inform people with cool truths, not depress them.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” Adamancy rings through his tone. “You can’t partially inform someone. You ca
n’t give them the cool bit and leave out the depressing info. You have to give it all.”

  Bloody Christ, what a nerd. But it’s also kind of sweet how much he cares. “Okay, okay. I’ll make sure to share both good and bad facts, since it bothers you so much. Can I go to sleep now?”

  No answer.

  Another rustle.

  A pillow flies over me, landing with a soft thud on the floor. Another follows. And then a third. Bastard. He destroyed my barrier.

  Before I can argue about it, an arm curves around my middle and pulls me back into the heat of him. Not so we’re touching, just close enough that I can feel his fire. He’s just so…hot. So very…hot.

  Or is it me who’s hot? Am I the one burning?

  His hand is removed, much to my dismay, and he makes no attempt to touch me further.

  However, he does reply, through the breath of a dragon, “Now you can.”

  Flames engulf me.

  And I die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wake to an empty bed.

  Sunlight streams in through tall industrial windows.

  The life-size ninja turtle glares at me from across the room. I’m guessing he isn’t too fond of women sleeping in his master’s bed. Ha. Too bad he’s immobile and incapable of doing anything about it.

  Sticking my tongue out at him, I snag my spectacles from the nightstand, roll out of bed, and pad to the bathroom.

  After a short shower, I don a conservative knee-length teal dress paired with a yellow cardigan, black stockings, and ballet flats.

  My bangs are particularly stubborn today, and my thick, long tresses could do with a dollop of sheen. After struggling for a time and a half with my hot mess of hair, I give up and leave it as is—wild and untamed.

  As I make to leave the closet, I stop to assess the capacious space. Looks like a normal master bedroom closet, but I know better. No thief’s closet is just a closet. Even if the music box isn’t here, something else surely is.

  I don’t dig yet, though. Have to be patient, and smart. First of all, there could be hidden cameras. And for that, I’ll need my bug scanner.

  I continue out the closet and fetch my laptop and cell. As I’m leaving the bedroom, I trip to a stop at the sight of Jaxon stepping down from the treadmill in his office. Running shorts, running shoes, bare chest, and sweat.

  I was not prepared to be assaulted by this sort of physical perfection. And the dripping, glistening elixir—okay, sweat—is not helping matters.

  He isn’t ripped, by any means. No bulging, corded muscles or wall-like pectorals. No MMA fighter arms. He’s long, and lean, and taut. With abdominal muscles that are somewhat defined, but not too pronounced. His limbs are sexy, his height is sexy, his skin is sexy. And although his abs aren’t, his V-cut is very much pronounced. Very…there.

  I suck in a cool breath, hoping it will temper the sudden heat in my belly.

  Snagging his hand towel from the treadmill handle, he wipes the sweat from his face. He then sweeps his gaze up and down the entirety of me. “You know you talk in your sleep?”

  Oh…crap. I cringe, and attempt to inch off to the opposite side of the room, to the exit.

  “Pig Latin,” he continues to torture, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  See, Collin and I had a deal. He never brings it up that I speak Pig Latin in my sleep, and I never bring up his piggish snoring. Now that I have a new sleeping partner, I’m going to have to find out his sleeping quirk and make a new deal.

  Note to self. Go to sleep after him tonight or wake up before him and catch his sleeping quirk.

  “Good morning, Jaxon,” is my response, right before I shift and make a dash for the door.

  He gets ahead of me and blocks my path. “Who sleep-talks in Pig Latin?”

  Hugging my laptop to my chest, I peer up at him defensively. “We can control ninety-nine percent of the things we do while awake, but what we do while we’re asleep cannot be controlled.”

  “You say that like it’s a fact,” he says, curiosity in his tone. “Is it?”

  I bite my lip, because it’s not. I just made that up. I’ve never had an inclination to research this area before, and I’m not one to speak on a topic I’m ignorant about, so my reply is shamefully quiet. “I don’t know.”

  He mocks, “Are you actually admitting there’s something you don’t know?”

  Who is this jerk? “There are plenty of things I don’t know. For example, I don’t know how to cook, unless it’s easy breakfast stuff a five-year-old can do—scrambled eggs and bacon, for instance. I don’t know how to speak Turkish, Arabic, or Yezidi. I don’t know which religion is the true religion. Also, I don’t know the name of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle in your bedroom.”

  Jaxon studies me for a heartbeat or two, and then offers, “Raph.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Raph. Short for Raphael. That’s his name.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “Okay.” I press my lips together. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

  Barely, just barely, Jaxon’s lips curve upward. “He’s not used to seeing anyone in my room. Especially in my bed.”

  “But you want me there. So he needs to deal, yeah?”

  “Probably worried you’ll steal his spot.”

  I freeze. “Steal his spot? Do you, like, sleep with him?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Wait…what? Is he serious? I can’t tell.

  “Raph holds all my secrets,” he says. “So, I gotta keep him close.”

  “You’re toying with me, right?”

  To that, I get nothing but a blink.

  “You’re bonkers,” I mutter under my breath as I duck and snake my way around him, squeezing through the sliver of space between his narrow hips and the doorframe.

  I hear something, then. And, it might be my own wild and insane imagination of all the things I’d love to be true, but as I escape down the hallway, I could swear… I could swear I hear him murmur, “Bonkers for you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Melanie’s in the kitchen with Jo, both scarfing strawberries and yogurt. And Jo is…laughing. As in, actual laughing. Teeth, and tonsils, and all.

  “You should do that more often,” I say as I walk into the kitchen and set my devices down on the table. “One could easily mistake you for human when those teeth are visible. And that’s to your advantage.”

  Jo’s smile withers like a thirsty flower, her eyes narrowing at me in hate.

  Uh-huh. That’s more like it.

  “Good morning, Tim,” Melanie says in a tight, warning voice.

  I give her an innocent smile, move to the fridge, and get out the milk. Opening the cereal cupboard, I scan for the Honey Bunches of Oats and pluck it out of the lineup. Collin’s cereal. He gave me permission to use whatever his name is on, seeing as the others constantly fight about who ate whose whatever.

  Taking the chair on the other side of Mel, I pour myself a bowl.

  The second I’m down, Jo is up. She makes a point of keeping her focus solely on Melanie as she speaks. “Got an early class today, so I’m gonna go.” She points a gun finger at her and winks. “See ya later. In the meantime, get your girl in line.”

  Melanie scowls at me, and I shrug, unapologetic. She wasn’t there to see how mean Jo had been to me over the past few days. Knowing she won’t get into it with me—not with Jaxon’s all-hearing spy devices around—I give her a little smirk and take my cereal with me back to his office.

  I can hear the shower running from his room, so I take a seat at his desk. Scooping a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, I use one hand to flip open his laptop.

  Password protected.

  Easy hack. But too risky with him being in the other room, so I close it, put my own laptop on top of his, and flip it open.

  While I eat, I single-handedly navigate to his hijacked bank account, steal another 100K, and then change his password back to what it was originally. Because I’m bored and because I can.r />
  Besides, his account balance is obscene.

  Yet, judging from his fairly blasé reaction to being locked out of his account, I bet this is just one—and most likely the smallest—of his many accounts.

  Fifteen minutes later, my cereal is long finished, and I’m giving intense focus to an advanced security hacking software I’d been developing pre-kidnap, when he walks out, finger-combing back his damp hair.

  He comes to a halt when he notices me at his desk.

  I close out of my work, shut the laptop, and sit up straight so I can see the full length of him. He’s wearing steel-gray trousers, a cloud-white dress shirt tucked in, a sleek Hermes belt, and even sleeker shoes. He looks as if he is about to walk onto a photo shoot for The Bachelor.

  “What are you all dressed up for?” I find myself asking before I can stop myself.

  He dips his chin, as if wondering who the hell do I think I am to question him.

  Nonetheless, he exhales an easy breath and comes over to me. “Taking your partner on a trial run today. What’re you doing at my desk?”

  “Mel was annoying me, so I came in here to eat. Does she know about this trial task?”

  Two fingers pressed to the desk, he looks down at my laptop on top of his. “No. She wants to be a part of the team, she should always be ready. You hacked into my computer?”

  I shake my head. “If I did you’d be on top of me.”

  His head tilts to the side.

  My blundered choice of words registers two seconds too late. I blink. Rapidly. Attempting to recover. “I-I— I meant to say yours would be on top of mine. That is, your laptop would be on top on my laptop, instead of my lap on top of your lap. Laptop! I mean laptop!”

  Oh God, I’m just making this worse.

  His unnerving presence is addling me.

  Lips folded, he drops his gaze to the ground for a few counts before bringing it back to me. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind having your lap…top on top of mine. Who’s on top or who’s on the bottom doesn’t matter. As long as we’re…connected.”

  Before I can flush YouTube red, his hands are in his pockets, and his body is retreating from the room.

  I sit back and take more than a few minutes to convince my heart and flaring lust to be still. Once I’m in a safe, unmuddled place, I get up and follow him.