Fucking finally.
“Tie him up.” She handed off her rifle to a guard while motioning at the rest of them. “Put him on that pallet.”
Christ, she was a vision. He wiped the blood from his eyes to steal a better look, and holy fuck, he couldn’t stop looking.
Black combat boots, a tiny skirt checked in white and black, fishnet stockings to her thighs, silk-ribbon garters over skin like fine china, tits spilling from a black corset, and that hair. God, that hair. It hung in rippling waves of fire, as bright as the red swallow tattooed on her chest.
Pressure tightened between his legs, swelling against his zipper. She glared, and he grinned, no doubt resembling a feral, blood-spattered animal.
“I’m gone for five days, and all hell breaks loose.” She held her spine ramrod straight, her little hands clenching in fists at her sides. “Goddamn children. The whole lot of you!”
The men, smeared in their own share of blood, shot death looks in her direction. Some of them pressed their lips tight as if biting back scathing retorts. If she wasn’t careful, she might have an insurrection among them.
But for now, they followed her orders without argument. Hands fell upon him, hauling him up and dragging him across the factory floor.
They dumped his ass on a stack of wood pallets. Another stack leaned on its side between the wall and his back. Rope bound the platforms together, forming a makeshift L-shaped chair, perfect for restraining a crazed man.
He gave them hell, struggling and spitting as they tied his arms, neck, and waist to the pallets at his back. But much like the fight he’d just lost, one against many proved to be a wasted effort.
Thirty yards away, Lydia stood close to Mike, their heads bowed together, talking, touching, paying no attention to his useless thrashing.
When the guards finished trussing him to the platform, her voice snapped through the room. “Everyone out.”
She didn’t spare the room a glance, her gaze still fixed on Mike as she returned to their conversation.
The factory floor echoed with the tread of retreating footfalls. Mike vanished with the guards, and when the door slammed shut, only Lydia remained.
A thrill ran through him. At last, he would have some time with her, and he needed to make every second count.
She turned to him, her gaze as vibrant as the colorful ink on her arms. An abundance of cleavage decorated her corset, the view goddamn distracting as she pulled in a long breath and slowly released it.
Fucking hell, she was killing him. More painful than a fist, more lethal than a bullet, more formidable than an army of men, she brandished beauty like a mythical weapon, gaining the advantage by merely standing before him, looking like that.
Soft auburn brows arched above eyes that sparkled with the luster of polished emeralds. Supple red lips gracefully curved downward, unreasonably sensual. Deadly. Like cherries soaked in poison.
He knew she wasn’t real. The hair, the garters, the heat in her gaze—all of it was a honey trap to lure him under her spell. He knew this, and yet, he wanted to risk it. He wanted to risk his whole goddamn existence for a taste.
His body burned for her, restrained as it was beneath the rope, his zipper, and the plight of his circumstances. He would be lying to himself if he thought he could fight the intensity swarming through his system.
There was sexual attraction. Then there was this. He had nothing to compare it to. Not his relationship with Danni. Not the countless women who had come before her. He’d never felt this hungry, this captivated, this fucking petrified of his own lust.
Maybe regular sexual activity over the past seven years would’ve diluted the voraciousness of his appetite. Maybe if he hadn’t been sitting naked in a dark cell for the past month with nothing to do but fantasize about his redheaded captor, maybe then he wouldn’t…
Fuck.
That was it. That was her plan.
Spending time with her would’ve worked to his advantage. He would’ve identified her weaknesses, her flaws, and seen her for who she really was. But spending a month alone? With only random glimpses of her to fuel his hungry imagination? That worked to her advantage.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Or, in his case, absence made his lust burn hotter. She’d managed to keep her distance while staying ever-present in his mind. She wore a shroud of mystery that he couldn’t peel away, leaving him to obsess over the only thing she let him see.
Her extraordinary beauty.
Once she finally let him in, there would be nothing left of his resolve.
It was fucking brilliant.
He tracked her with his whole body as she strode past him, seemingly ignoring his presence. Pretending. It was what she did best.
A few feet away, she grabbed a rubber hose and twisted a spigot on the wall, turning on the flow of water.
Twitchy, he yanked at the restraints. With his hands bound on either side of his head and more rope tethered around his neck and waist, he couldn’t move his upper half. Physically defenseless.
She pulled the hose toward him, grabbed an empty bucket, and tossed a bottle of body wash onto the pallet beside him.
Given the collection of soap, shampoo, and towels along the wall, this was where the team showered. They’d been living here for at least a month, probably longer, and a stone factory wouldn’t be equipped with a room for bathing.
“Are you going to bathe me?” He arranged his face into a smile despite the unease simmering inside him.
He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in seven years, and he knew, he fucking knew this woman’s touch would be his undoing. But he tamped it down, didn’t give her a hint of the turmoil rolling in his gut.
She stood before him and squeezed the handle on the hose, shooting a blast of frigid water at his chest. His breath caught, and his muscles tensed. But once the shock wore off, he threw back his head and hooted with maniacal laughter.
After a month without a shower, it felt fucking refreshing. Cold water saturated his filthy beard and crusty jeans, seeping into the creases of his body and rinsing away layers of sand and dirt.
Nothing restrained his legs. So he stretched them out, spreading them wide and soaking up the spray, all the while whooping with unrestrained laughter.
Until she aimed the spray at his face.
He coughed, choking on water. Then he laughed harder.
She shut off the hose. “You’re deranged.”
“Turn it back on.”
“Tell me who bought the stolen intel.”
“If I tell you, will you let me go?”
“I won’t return you to the cell.”
“Ah.” He chuckled. “Is my grave already dug?”
Her dainty nostrils stiffened with a sharp inhale. “I won’t kill you.”
“No, you’re too soft to kill an innocent man. You’ll make one of your goons do it.”
Without breaking eye contact, she fired a burst of water at his groin. The denim added some protection, but fuck, the jet hit hard. And cold. His balls receded up inside him, his laughter effectively cut off.
She shifted the hose away and filled the bucket.
He relaxed, watching her. “Where did you go for five days?”
“Out.”
“Out of town?”
“Out of state.”
“Why?”
“Why? Yeah, let’s start there.” She heaved the full bucket onto the pallet beside him, set her hands on his thighs, and leaned into his personal space, surrounding him with the cherry scent of her hair. “Why did you provoke the guards? What the fuck were you thinking?”