Captive Heroes by Jan Springer Page B

tight. What surprised her was the arrangement of items he’d laid out at the foot of her fern bed while she’d slept.
    Despite the arrow of panic searing into her, sensual shivers whipped through her at the sight of the chains and the clamps.
    Damn her. Had she gone sex-crazy? Some hot stranger—who until moments ago she thought meant to kill her—had her in a collar and leash and, from the gear he’d spread out, had every intention of making her his sex slave.
    And she was aroused?
    Maybe her arousal had to do with something in the air she was breathing. This is not Earth. And how did she know this was not Earth?
    Kinley shook those thoughts aside as a calming voice from somewhere at the back of her mind told her if he’d planned on killing her, he would have done it by now. Wouldn’t he?
    Yes, she had to keep that thought in her head. Based on what she had recently recalled, her memory was going to come back slowly. In the meantime, she needed to stay as calm as possible and escape the brute the minute she had the opportunity.
    “I know being captive frightens you, but you will get used to it. I will enjoy pleasuring you and I will teach you how to pleasure me.”
    “Never,” she replied coolly, avoiding his gaze and the slave gear on the ground. “Obviously this is what the creep meant when he said you were training me.”
    “He was correct. I will train you to crave sex from whichever male demands it from you. Life is easier for females after the training.”
    Great. Just fucking great.
    “I said never, buddy. And I mean N-E-V-E-R.”
    “I’ve heard many of the females say this word ‘never’ after they arrived in Death Valley. But the Boys have been trained all their lives to pleasure and please. They know the weaknesses of a female’s body and now they use them quite expressively against their females. I will find your weaknesses.”
    Who the hell were these Boys? Damn. The collar was her weakness. The surrender, the submissiveness sliding through her bloodstream the instant that collar had snapped around her neck attested to that fact.
    He smiled at her silence.
    “Good, you know when to hold your tongue. Now hold out your hands.”
    “No,” she spat and hid her hands behind her back so he couldn’t get them. She knew what he wanted to do. She’d seen the leather wrist cuffs and other things.
    Her pussy creamed. Oh God, she was nuts!
    “If you don’t wish me to cuff your hands, then I assume you wish to do what needs to be done.”
    Damn him!
    “I’ll do it,” she muttered. If she did what he wanted, she had at least some semblance of momentary control.
    He swooped over to grab something from the ground and she couldn’t help but notice the crisscrossed scars lacing his body. Thick slabs of marred flesh twisted across his tanned back and shoulders, dipping lower to disappear below the breechclout slung oh so low on his hips. No wonder he hadn’t reacted to her punching his wounded arm. He’d experienced much more violence than what she’d dished out.
    The thought of slamming her fists down on his neck in an effort to escape came too late. He straightened in record time and held up the items.
    They were beautiful, she had to admit. Slave chains—delicate, silver chains that were interlaced with glittering, ruby-red gemstones. She tried hard not to look at the clamps and loops attached, but for some insane, inexplicable reason, her gaze latched on to the items and her pussy creamed some more.
    Oh God! This couldn’t be turning her on!
    “By the way you watch the training gear, I see you are impressed. I made it myself. Made it with you in mind, days ago when I thought you were the woman in Death Valley with Jarod. But the lack of a scar on that woman’s belly made me realize I had the wrong female. She was someone who looked exactly like you, but she was not you.”
    Someone who looked like her? Something fluttered in the blank depths of Kinley’s brain. Something just out of reach.