nightmares, even hallucinations. Something told him Caitlin was no different. But this shadow reader carried more weight than others. This one carried a ticking time bomb she was clearly only too aware of, given her recklessness in coming after him.
She shifted and rolled languidly onto her back, one arm loose beside her head, one leg now tucked under the other. She turned her head away from him, fully exposing her slender neck.
The movement was graceful, the opening up of her body arousing. He felt himself harden just looking at her. But he couldn’t mess up. This was about self-control – something that had never been an issue for him until Caitlin. Until he’d heard through underworld communications that the VCU’s golden girl was now after him. The golden girl who’d had the audacity to take on his case. The golden girl with the gentle eyes and delicate stature who took down vampires as effectively as any man on her team could, if not more so. The girl who went home alone every night or at the crack of dawn. The girl who stepped outside only to go to work, for the occasional movie rental, or food shopping to return with a small bag of meals for one.
The girl whom, under any other circumstances, he would already have had in his bed.
He slipped the tiny bottle from his back pocket and held it under her nose. It would take only seconds for the potent sedative to get into her system. To check it had worked, he placed a trace of the liquid on his thumb and rubbed it gently across her soft, delicate lips before tucking his thumb just a little into the heat of her mouth.
She didn’t so much as flinch.
He removed the ring from the index finger on her right hand, the watch from her wrist, freeing her of everything traceable except the negligee she was in.
Pulling the sheet away completely, he gently scooped her up, lifting her soft, warm body against his.
And carried her effortlessly across the threshold.
CHAPTER SEVEN
C aitlin woke face down on black sheets. She’d never slept on black sheets. And she could hear distant music. Nirvana? And a shower running.
She jerked upright and nearly wrenched her arm from her shoulder in the process. Metal clinked against metal. Blood rushed to her head. She brushed her hair from her eyes and yanked at the handcuff that bound her left wrist to the headboard before clutching her free hand to her throbbing temple.
The room was dim, the window to her left boarded up. A flickering music video featuring Kurt Cobain filled the 42-inch screen up in the distant left-hand corner. Beneath the TV were two parallel sofas, a coffee table between them. To the right of a door recess was a tiny open-plan kitchen. The wall running right of the bed was bare other than the two-pronged wall sconce that was the only other source of light. Between that and a wardrobe, a bathroom door stood ajar.
She was still wearing the silk negligee and underwear she’d gone to bed in – her bed and not the wooden four-poster she was now manacled to. The bastard had swiped her in her sleep and, from the headache and dizziness, she knew how. She checked for bite marks on her thighs, her chest and ran her hand over her neck. Nothing.
Yet.
The minimalism of the furnishings and absence of any personal items told her she was in one of his dens. Had to be. She reached for the beer bottle on the bedside table to her right, her only possibility of a weapon. The cuff bit into her wrist, her shoulder straining in the socket, but she still fell a couple of inches short. She examined the vertical metal bars her cuff was attached to – solid, robust bars embedded in the mahogany headboard. She slumped back against it.
The shower stopped.
The bathroom fell silent.
Heart pounding, she curled her legs under her, pushed her negligee back over her knees and smoothed down her hair. The seconds scraped by like nails down slate as she watched the doorway with baited breath.
When Kane finally emerged, Caitlin snapped back a
She shifted and rolled languidly onto her back, one arm loose beside her head, one leg now tucked under the other. She turned her head away from him, fully exposing her slender neck.
The movement was graceful, the opening up of her body arousing. He felt himself harden just looking at her. But he couldn’t mess up. This was about self-control – something that had never been an issue for him until Caitlin. Until he’d heard through underworld communications that the VCU’s golden girl was now after him. The golden girl who’d had the audacity to take on his case. The golden girl with the gentle eyes and delicate stature who took down vampires as effectively as any man on her team could, if not more so. The girl who went home alone every night or at the crack of dawn. The girl who stepped outside only to go to work, for the occasional movie rental, or food shopping to return with a small bag of meals for one.
The girl whom, under any other circumstances, he would already have had in his bed.
He slipped the tiny bottle from his back pocket and held it under her nose. It would take only seconds for the potent sedative to get into her system. To check it had worked, he placed a trace of the liquid on his thumb and rubbed it gently across her soft, delicate lips before tucking his thumb just a little into the heat of her mouth.
She didn’t so much as flinch.
He removed the ring from the index finger on her right hand, the watch from her wrist, freeing her of everything traceable except the negligee she was in.
Pulling the sheet away completely, he gently scooped her up, lifting her soft, warm body against his.
And carried her effortlessly across the threshold.
CHAPTER SEVEN
C aitlin woke face down on black sheets. She’d never slept on black sheets. And she could hear distant music. Nirvana? And a shower running.
She jerked upright and nearly wrenched her arm from her shoulder in the process. Metal clinked against metal. Blood rushed to her head. She brushed her hair from her eyes and yanked at the handcuff that bound her left wrist to the headboard before clutching her free hand to her throbbing temple.
The room was dim, the window to her left boarded up. A flickering music video featuring Kurt Cobain filled the 42-inch screen up in the distant left-hand corner. Beneath the TV were two parallel sofas, a coffee table between them. To the right of a door recess was a tiny open-plan kitchen. The wall running right of the bed was bare other than the two-pronged wall sconce that was the only other source of light. Between that and a wardrobe, a bathroom door stood ajar.
She was still wearing the silk negligee and underwear she’d gone to bed in – her bed and not the wooden four-poster she was now manacled to. The bastard had swiped her in her sleep and, from the headache and dizziness, she knew how. She checked for bite marks on her thighs, her chest and ran her hand over her neck. Nothing.
Yet.
The minimalism of the furnishings and absence of any personal items told her she was in one of his dens. Had to be. She reached for the beer bottle on the bedside table to her right, her only possibility of a weapon. The cuff bit into her wrist, her shoulder straining in the socket, but she still fell a couple of inches short. She examined the vertical metal bars her cuff was attached to – solid, robust bars embedded in the mahogany headboard. She slumped back against it.
The shower stopped.
The bathroom fell silent.
Heart pounding, she curled her legs under her, pushed her negligee back over her knees and smoothed down her hair. The seconds scraped by like nails down slate as she watched the doorway with baited breath.
When Kane finally emerged, Caitlin snapped back a
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