“They like inflicting fear and pain on women, darlin’. It takes a hell of a lot of money to trump that.”
“My name isn’t ‘darling’,” she said. “It’s Beth Pennington. Pennington. As in Pennington Pharmaceuticals. There’s enough money.”
He was silent for a moment. “Well, shit. Maybe I’ll kidnap you.”
“I can pay you more than you ever earned at your regular job if you take me out of here.”
“Tempting,” he said. “But if I tried to take you with me I’d end up killing us both, and money’s no good if I’m dead. Tell you what – I’ll get the hell out of here, spend a couple of weeks getting drunk and laid, and then I’ll
come back and bust you out.”
“Lovely,” she muttered. “I won’t hold my breath.” She squirmed again. “I don’t suppose you have anything to get me out of these ropes, do you?”
“Maybe for a price.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I figure we might both get out of this alive, and I can always use a little cash. Say ten thousand for untying you?”
“You’re kidding,” she said flatly.
“I never kid about money.” Too bad she couldn’t see him in the dark – he was using his charming Irish-adventurer persona and having to rely on his voice to do it. Then again, he had a matted beard covering his face, hair to his shoulders, and he hadn’t seen hot water in almost three years. Maybe she was better off with the voice.
“All right,” she said finally. “I’m afraid I don’t happen to have ten thousand on me, but once I get out of here I’ll write you a check. You do take checks, don’t you?”
“I prefer cash but I can be reasonable.” He dropped the handcuffs on the dirt floor and moved across the hut, quiet as he’d been trained, so quiet that she jumped when he put his hands on her. “Hold still,” he said. “I can’t untie you when you’re squirming.”
“You’re not tied up?” She was beginning to sound a little testy – that was a good thing. Her unnatural calm was refreshing, but she was going to need a temper to get her through this.
He made quick work of the nylon ropes – Izzy had never been very good at knots. Back when Finn had been kept tied up he’d always been able to get them unfastened, do what he needed to do, and tie himself up again.
He finished untying her wrists, then began to run his hand down her legs to see if her ankles were tied, when she batted him away, scrambling back. “I can untie my own ankles,” she said. “I don’t want to have to spend another ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh, I would have done those for five,” he said cheerfully. “You hungry?”
“Yes.”
He was learning her voice better – he could trace the edge of desperation beneath her measured tones, and he decided not to razz her any more. “Here,” he said, tossing her the candy bar he’d won off Izzy three nights before. He’d been saving it for something special – his first night off the mountain, or Christmas, whichever came first. He didn’t even tease her with it.
She caught it expertly, even in the dark. “What is it?”
“A Santander bar.”
“Oh . . . my . . . god.” Her tone was reverent. “Real Callivera chocolate?”
“As good as it gets,” he said, trying to ignore the erotic pleasure in her voice. He heard her rip off the paper, heard the exquisite torture of her teeth biting into the rich, dark chocolate. There were times when he didn’t understand his own crazy impulses – probably a gift from his madman father.
And then she moved, sliding across the dirt floor before he realized what she was doing. “Here,” she said.
In the dark he couldn’t be sure what she was offering, and he didn’t know which he wanted more. The taste of chocolate, or sex. It had been thirty two months without either.
He put out his hand and touched hers, and she put a piece of chocolate in it. A big piece.
“You don’t want it?” he said. “World’s best chocolate not good enough for you?”
“I’d kill for it,” she said. “But I figure, until you abandon me, that we’re in this together. Take it.”
“I don’t . . .” The chocolate stopped his mouth – she’d taken aim like a drunken bride with a wedding cake, and he wasn’t about to resist.