her back to him, pulled another small stash from her bag, and carried it to the counter.
“You don’t like Detective Princess? I’m wounded. And here I thought I was being charming and sociable, not to mention creative and incredibly observant. All of which I deserve credit for, seeing as you’re being so rude to me. Don’t you think so, Detective? It is detective, isn’t it?”
She slammed a box on the counter then looked upward, her eyes closed. “Scottie,” she said with exaggerated calm.
“I don’t think he can beam you up from here, Captain. No’ enough power.”
She groaned. He smiled. He thought his burr was pretty good. Considering his Scots father was only a second-generation American, it should be. A sharp pang pinched his heart at the thought of Blackie. Now the only third-generation American Blackstone was Logan. And Lucas.
Scottie turned and leaned against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her. The gun was still at her fingertips. “
My
name is Scottie. Are you happy?”
He pushed aside the resident ache in his heart and focused on his current plan of attack. “Happy? No. I’m Logan. Though I think the dwarves had a pretty good thing going there. Seven guys, one woman. Hey, you wanna play Snow White?” He lifted his hands, rattling his chains. “I’ll be Sleazy.”
She curled her fingers into fists and turned slowly back to unpacking.
He grinned. Goading her was a strategic plan, but he had to admit he was enjoying the role. She was fun to rile up. He supposed it was because she was a worthier adversary than he’d come up against in … well, in too many years to count. Sarah’s smile taunted the fringes of his mind. He shoved those memories away too.
His smile was slightly more forced when he said, “I’m getting to you, aren’t I? Women say I drive them crazy.”
“This is not a surprise.” She faced him again. “Though I wouldn’t sound so smug. There’s a difference between lust-crazed and just plain crazed.”
In response, Logan took a leisurely visual inventory, his gaze finally settling back on her face. Her flat expression faltered. “You speaking from personal experience?”
She crossed her arms. “Only on the latter.”
He dropped his voice to a dark whisper. “Liar.”
She stiffened, but to her credit her skin didn’t flush. He was mildly disappointed by that. He realized he wanted her more than just bothered. He wanted her hot and bothered.
“I’d say you have more pressing things to worry about than whether you can seduce me.” She shot a pointed look at his ankle and wrist chains. “Regardless of what you might have been led to believe, bondage does nothing for me.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “seeing as I am chained and you won’t talk to me about the details of my incarceration, I have little left to do other than indulge in my fantasies.”
She crossed the short space to the table and heftedher black pack. “
Penthouse
will no doubt be thrilled with your next letter.”
He watched her as she moved to the small refrigerator and lifted the pack on top of it. Chained as he was, even if he was allowed mobility in the cabin, he’d be lucky to reach the handle of the fridge, much less anything higher. The only thing she’d left within easy reach were power bars. Boxes of them. Oh yum.
“Just how long do you plan on keeping me here?” He shifted his back and carefully crossed one leg over the other.
The sound of the heavy links clanking made her pause. After a moment, she said, “Eight to ten days. And don’t even think about moving.” She went into the bedroom.
His eyes widened, more because he’d finally gotten some information out of her than at the answer itself. “A man can’t live on power bars alone,” he called to her.
She was a real mystery, one he’d love to spend time solving. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a week to spend deciphering her clues. He figured he had another two days before he could
“You don’t like Detective Princess? I’m wounded. And here I thought I was being charming and sociable, not to mention creative and incredibly observant. All of which I deserve credit for, seeing as you’re being so rude to me. Don’t you think so, Detective? It is detective, isn’t it?”
She slammed a box on the counter then looked upward, her eyes closed. “Scottie,” she said with exaggerated calm.
“I don’t think he can beam you up from here, Captain. No’ enough power.”
She groaned. He smiled. He thought his burr was pretty good. Considering his Scots father was only a second-generation American, it should be. A sharp pang pinched his heart at the thought of Blackie. Now the only third-generation American Blackstone was Logan. And Lucas.
Scottie turned and leaned against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her. The gun was still at her fingertips. “
My
name is Scottie. Are you happy?”
He pushed aside the resident ache in his heart and focused on his current plan of attack. “Happy? No. I’m Logan. Though I think the dwarves had a pretty good thing going there. Seven guys, one woman. Hey, you wanna play Snow White?” He lifted his hands, rattling his chains. “I’ll be Sleazy.”
She curled her fingers into fists and turned slowly back to unpacking.
He grinned. Goading her was a strategic plan, but he had to admit he was enjoying the role. She was fun to rile up. He supposed it was because she was a worthier adversary than he’d come up against in … well, in too many years to count. Sarah’s smile taunted the fringes of his mind. He shoved those memories away too.
His smile was slightly more forced when he said, “I’m getting to you, aren’t I? Women say I drive them crazy.”
“This is not a surprise.” She faced him again. “Though I wouldn’t sound so smug. There’s a difference between lust-crazed and just plain crazed.”
In response, Logan took a leisurely visual inventory, his gaze finally settling back on her face. Her flat expression faltered. “You speaking from personal experience?”
She crossed her arms. “Only on the latter.”
He dropped his voice to a dark whisper. “Liar.”
She stiffened, but to her credit her skin didn’t flush. He was mildly disappointed by that. He realized he wanted her more than just bothered. He wanted her hot and bothered.
“I’d say you have more pressing things to worry about than whether you can seduce me.” She shot a pointed look at his ankle and wrist chains. “Regardless of what you might have been led to believe, bondage does nothing for me.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “seeing as I am chained and you won’t talk to me about the details of my incarceration, I have little left to do other than indulge in my fantasies.”
She crossed the short space to the table and heftedher black pack. “
Penthouse
will no doubt be thrilled with your next letter.”
He watched her as she moved to the small refrigerator and lifted the pack on top of it. Chained as he was, even if he was allowed mobility in the cabin, he’d be lucky to reach the handle of the fridge, much less anything higher. The only thing she’d left within easy reach were power bars. Boxes of them. Oh yum.
“Just how long do you plan on keeping me here?” He shifted his back and carefully crossed one leg over the other.
The sound of the heavy links clanking made her pause. After a moment, she said, “Eight to ten days. And don’t even think about moving.” She went into the bedroom.
His eyes widened, more because he’d finally gotten some information out of her than at the answer itself. “A man can’t live on power bars alone,” he called to her.
She was a real mystery, one he’d love to spend time solving. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a week to spend deciphering her clues. He figured he had another two days before he could
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