You've Got Male by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

his other went wandering, down both arms and over her ribs and then briefly but thoroughly over her breasts. Avery closed her eyes again when he touched her, swallowing hard, and she gritted her teeth as he reached behind himself to run his hand down the fronts of her legs this time. This time, though, he didn’t venture between them, something that both relieved and puzzled her.
    Still straddling her, still holding her wrists firmly above her head, he said ironically, “I won’t hurt you.”
    She snapped her eyes open and glared at him. Too angry to think about her own safety now, she spat out her response. “You already have, you bastard.”
    Instead of provoking him, however, her charge seemed to deflate him some. His expression, which had been so intense a moment before, suddenly went soft, almost sad. And the hand that gripped her wrists so fiercely loosened a bit. Avery immediately took advantage to jerk one of her hands free, then doubled her fist and punched him in the nose as hard as she could. Taken aback—and hopefully wounded—he released her other hand to bring both of his up to his nose, a gesture that also slackened the legs still encircling her waist.
    For one scant, exhilarating second Avery thought she would evade him. She had pulled herself out from beneath him enough to turn her body and claw at the floor, and she was eyeing her escape route—straight for the front door, which, although pushed closed, would still be unlocked—when he recovered himself and jerked her back up onto the couch again. This time when he restrained her, he did it thoroughly, covering her entire front with his own, so that his body pinned hers from shoulder to toe.
    “Maybe I should clarify that,” he whispered roughly, his voice edged with steel. “I won’t hurt you unless you try to hurt me.”
    She hurt him? Oh, that was rich. In spite of her having gotten off a decent pop to his nose, he could snap her in two like a matchstick. She knew better than to struggle now. Not only would it be pointless, but it would probably only make him angry. Best-case scenario, he was one of those attackers who got off on a woman’s fear, and if she lay quietly and did her best not to show her own, he’d lose interest and be unwilling or unable to perform. Or maybe when he realized why she’d needed those tampons, he’d be too grossed out to perform. Hey, it could happen. Worst-case scenario…
    Well. She decided not to think about that.
    The best weapon she claimed was her brain, so she would use that. Let him think she was compliant, and when an opportunity presented itself, she would outwit and outmaneuver him and make her escape. She would not, however, succumb to him. She hadn’t endured two years in prison without learning a thing or two about survival. Not because she’d needed the skills to survive herself—prison had been surprisingly danger-free for her—but because so many of the other women had needed them before being incarcerated, and they’d shared their expertise with Avery in exchange for computer instruction and other such barterable things.
    “What do you want?” she asked quietly, even though she knew perfectly well what he wanted.
    “Not what you think,” he replied.
    She kept her expression bland, determined to show no fear. “If it’s not what I think, then let me get up.”
    He shook his head. “Not yet, Peaches.”
    She gritted her teeth at the endearment—such as it was. “When?”
    He smiled, but there was something strangely un-menacing about it. “When I’m comfortable,” he told her.
    She didn’t want to know how he intended to achieve that.
    He said nothing more for a moment, only gazed at her face as if he were the one now who wanted to catalogue features and note any distinguishing characteristics. Fat chance, Avery thought. She didn’t have any distinguishing characteristics, and her features were in no way memorable. Unlike his own. Even had the situation not been so terrifying,