head. He cursed and reminded himself that he’d always
liked blondes, the occasional redhead, and mile-long legs. That was his type. He should be able to keep it together around
her. He was all about control. In prison. Out of prison. It made no difference. He hadn’t fallen so low that he would take
a woman against her will. Prison hadn’t ruined him that much.
But what if it wasn’t against her will?
The question slid insidiously through him, a tempting little whisper. She had responded to him on that bed last night. Even
if she was attempting to manipulate him then, she had not been unaffected by his touch. He could make her want it . . . want him . He was good at reading people, and he knew one thing for certain about Grace Reeves. The woman had never been well fucked.
He shook his head, shoving the idea out of his head. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t seduce a woman his brother had abducted
for Sullivan. Even if she wasn’t the president’s daughter, it was wrong on every level.
It would only be a little longer and then he’d be rid of her. Zane had promised that he would know something in a few days.
Then he would get what he wanted.
The sudden image of Grace Reeves asleep in the bedroom next door appeared in his mind. Funny how she popped into his head
when he thought about what it was he wanted.
Nine
Grace woke to stinging wrists and the sound of running water. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked around the unfamiliar
bedroom. The motion reminded her of the soreness on the side of her face. Her hand drifted up to cup her cheek. She shuddered
as everything rushed over her. Darkness pushed at the glass of the room’s single window, letting her know she’d somehow slept
the day away in the back of the van.
It felt as though a lifetime had passed since she was grabbed outside her hotel. Since she was hit and thrown in the back
of a van by a gang of thugs. A lifetime since she shared a strange bed with a man she had thought she could trust. A man she
had let put his hand between her legs. Shaming heat rushed through her. Not because she had thought to use her body to manipulate
him. This was about survival. She did what she thought she had to. She still would do that. Whatever it took to get out of
this. Whatever it took to get home.
No, her shame was because she had felt something. She’d grown wet as he palmed her sex. She inhaled sharply at the sudden
clench in her belly, an echo of the want he had roused in her. Still mortifying. She was pathetic. Crazy . Clearly her dormant sex life was catching up with her. When she got home, she was going to have to correct that. She would
finally sleep with Charles. For all intents and purposes, he was her boyfriend. Might as well cash in on the perks. Maybe
surviving this nightmare would bring them a greater appreciation for each other.
The quilt was soft and smooth underneath her. Her fingers flexed against the yielding, well-worn fabric, clinging to it for
something solid. She inhaled again. There was none of the stench of the last place. The air smelled faintly stale, but not
foul or rotting as before. She sat up fully, wincing at her aching muscles.
Her brain started functioning, putting together the fact that the sound of running water was a shower. Everything clicked
into place. Reid was in the shower. He wasn’t in the room, watching her. And her hands and feet weren’t bound. Now was her
chance.
She vaulted off the bed, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in her muscles and wrists. She lunged out of the bedroom, rotating
in a swift circle in the living room, her heart galloping sixty miles a minute. Her environment distracted her for a moment,
confused her. It was nothing like the last place. This house, even as sparsely furnished as it was, felt like a home. Yellow-orange
lamplight flickered over the wood floors and paneled walls, casting dancing shadows over an Aztec-patterned blanket
liked blondes, the occasional redhead, and mile-long legs. That was his type. He should be able to keep it together around
her. He was all about control. In prison. Out of prison. It made no difference. He hadn’t fallen so low that he would take
a woman against her will. Prison hadn’t ruined him that much.
But what if it wasn’t against her will?
The question slid insidiously through him, a tempting little whisper. She had responded to him on that bed last night. Even
if she was attempting to manipulate him then, she had not been unaffected by his touch. He could make her want it . . . want him . He was good at reading people, and he knew one thing for certain about Grace Reeves. The woman had never been well fucked.
He shook his head, shoving the idea out of his head. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t seduce a woman his brother had abducted
for Sullivan. Even if she wasn’t the president’s daughter, it was wrong on every level.
It would only be a little longer and then he’d be rid of her. Zane had promised that he would know something in a few days.
Then he would get what he wanted.
The sudden image of Grace Reeves asleep in the bedroom next door appeared in his mind. Funny how she popped into his head
when he thought about what it was he wanted.
Nine
Grace woke to stinging wrists and the sound of running water. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked around the unfamiliar
bedroom. The motion reminded her of the soreness on the side of her face. Her hand drifted up to cup her cheek. She shuddered
as everything rushed over her. Darkness pushed at the glass of the room’s single window, letting her know she’d somehow slept
the day away in the back of the van.
It felt as though a lifetime had passed since she was grabbed outside her hotel. Since she was hit and thrown in the back
of a van by a gang of thugs. A lifetime since she shared a strange bed with a man she had thought she could trust. A man she
had let put his hand between her legs. Shaming heat rushed through her. Not because she had thought to use her body to manipulate
him. This was about survival. She did what she thought she had to. She still would do that. Whatever it took to get out of
this. Whatever it took to get home.
No, her shame was because she had felt something. She’d grown wet as he palmed her sex. She inhaled sharply at the sudden
clench in her belly, an echo of the want he had roused in her. Still mortifying. She was pathetic. Crazy . Clearly her dormant sex life was catching up with her. When she got home, she was going to have to correct that. She would
finally sleep with Charles. For all intents and purposes, he was her boyfriend. Might as well cash in on the perks. Maybe
surviving this nightmare would bring them a greater appreciation for each other.
The quilt was soft and smooth underneath her. Her fingers flexed against the yielding, well-worn fabric, clinging to it for
something solid. She inhaled again. There was none of the stench of the last place. The air smelled faintly stale, but not
foul or rotting as before. She sat up fully, wincing at her aching muscles.
Her brain started functioning, putting together the fact that the sound of running water was a shower. Everything clicked
into place. Reid was in the shower. He wasn’t in the room, watching her. And her hands and feet weren’t bound. Now was her
chance.
She vaulted off the bed, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in her muscles and wrists. She lunged out of the bedroom, rotating
in a swift circle in the living room, her heart galloping sixty miles a minute. Her environment distracted her for a moment,
confused her. It was nothing like the last place. This house, even as sparsely furnished as it was, felt like a home. Yellow-orange
lamplight flickered over the wood floors and paneled walls, casting dancing shadows over an Aztec-patterned blanket
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