As terrifying as it was that she couldn’t remember being violated last night, she’d prefer to keep it that way.
Laila risked a glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t find either Hector or Victor. Instead, Trees loomed behind her, taking up most of the bed and snoring softly. Memories fell into place. He had saved her from Victor and gotten her out of Orlando. He had let her shower alone. A glance down proved she was still clothed. A wriggle against his body told her he wore shorts. Maybe the man had merely slept beside her? Looked but not touched?
Then why is he in your bed if he didn’t force his way into your body?
Maybe because he didn’t trust her. Maybe because this was the only bed.
Or maybe because he wants to wake up with a proper screw.
Laila didn’t know. But after last night, she had to at least consider the possibility she was unfairly painting Trees with Victor’s brush. Even so, she had vowed never to be this close to any man again unless it was her choice.
Since Trees was asleep, now was the time to leave his bed. But last night had proved she shouldn’t flee again until she had a plan. Without wheels, weapons, and money, she wouldn’t get far. She had to think, concoct a solid plan to reach her family while keeping herself safe along the way. As soon as she did, she would be gone.
She refused to trust her fate to anyone else—especially a man she barely knew, who worked for an organization she didn’t trust.
Slowly, she kicked the covers aside and stood—only to be stopped short by a cuff around her wrist tethering her to the nightstand. But it was nothing standard police-issue. With his line of work, Laila expected Trees to have those. Instead, the restriction around her wrist was made of soft, buttery leather that had been buckled in place and secured with a dangling silver padlock. Its match was attached to the nearby drawer handle.
Laila stared in horror, her heart hammering. She knew all too well what restraints like these were intended for. And Trees had used them to shackle her.
Panic rose. A scream stuck in her throat.
Suddenly, he flattened his big palm across her back. “Take a deep breath, Laila. There’s no reason to be alarmed.”
The hell there wasn’t. “What do you want?”
“To go back to sleep.”
“I am awake.” And not willing to lie beside him again, especially if he was anything like Hector—partial to morning sex, the more against her will the better.
With a sigh, Trees rolled away and sat up. Somehow, the skin he’d been touching moments ago felt cold. Then he lifted his phone from the nightstand, glanced at the time, and stood. “All right. We should probably get on the road anyway.”
That was it? He wasn’t going to demand she spread herself open for him? Or use his superior size and strength to pull her back to the bed to relieve the tenting of his shorts?
“You need the bathroom?” he asked instead.
Yes. But she needed his cuffs gone more. “Please.”
Nodding, he padded toward her. Too late she realized that, in order to release her, he had to come unnervingly close.
Laila swallowed as he rounded the bed, approaching her on enormous bare feet. His legs were harshly muscled trunks. His erection was large and obvious. His abdomen was muscled and corrugated like a man in peak physical shape. His chest, broad and hard and sprinkled with dark hair, was purely masculine. His shoulders—one covered in tribal ink—seemed impossibly wide, even for a man as enormous as him. The desire in his eyes as he took her in from head to toe was unmistakable.
Experience had taught her that showing weakness never resulted in mercy, so she stood her ground, refusing to flinch as he closed in, cutting off her only avenue of escape. Unless she wanted to scramble across the bed, of course. And what were the odds she could make it to the other side before he pinned her down and took advantage of her?
Her heart beat so wildly she could barely breathe, but she met his gaze straight on, painfully aware that she wore only a tank top he could probably see through and filmy white lace underwear. She did her best to ignore that and held up her wrist as much as the restraints allowed. “Get it off.”
Trees took her arm in his grip, his touch surprisingly gentle, as he settled the key in the padlock. “It’s not hurting you.”
“A man only uses these to restrain someone for his sexual…urges,” she spit at him like an accusation.
He paused as if mulling his response, then nodded. “But for me, that’s never against a woman’s will, Laila. Ever.”
Mentally, she snorted. What other reason would a man have to manacle a woman he intended to have sex with? “Your urges are none of my concern. But if you are being paid to protect me, you should never restrain me.”
After a minute flick of his wrist, he turned the key and extricated the padlock before unbuckling the cuff. Still, he didn’t release her. “Since my other cuffs secured Victor to a toilet—the best place for him until he goes to hell—these are the only restraints I have. They aren’t meant to alarm you, but I can’t protect you if you keep running from me.”
Since she couldn’t conceive of a reason he would have brought them at all except to secure her to his bed, she disagreed but kept her thoughts to herself.
“And if you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have used them on you at all.”
So this was her fault? Of course. He was a man. He was never at fault for anything. “Let me pass. I want to get dressed.”
For a long moment, Trees didn’t move. Finally, he pressed his big back against the window and reached for the cuff still affixed to the nightstand. If she squeezed past him, every inch of her body would rub against his. And then what would happen? The possibilities terrified her, but he’d left her no choice.
Laila debated her approach. Turning her back to him would conceal her breasts, but her ass would brush the most rigid, male part of him, possibly exciting him more. Worse, she would be presenting him her vulnerable back, where she wouldn’t see his attack coming.
Better to face him head on.
But Trees took up three-quarters of the space between the window and the bed. When she tried to step past him, his hard penis brushed against her belly. She gasped, instinctively trying to retreat.
She nearly fell back to the mattress.
Trees wound his arm around her middle, keeping her upright. The move pressed her body tight against his.
Heat poured off of him, chasing away the January chill while making gooseflesh erupt across her skin. But he was too big, too close. Too frightening.
“Let me go.” Laila wriggled and writhed, but she only succeeded in making his erection stiffen and grow against her middle. It was all she could do not to scream.
“I’m trying. Stop moving. Fuck—” He grabbed her hips in a rough grip and used his brute strength to still her.
“Do not touch me!”
He worked his palms from her hips to her waist. “Take a deep breath, little one. Don’t panic. I won’t hurt you.”
With every word, his voice went deeper. Softer—not more gentle but more velvety. She’d heard him use that tone before, and like last time, she felt strangely compelled to comply.
Her gaze flew to his. Their eyes met. His burned. He wanted her, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. But everything else about his face was calm, almost reassuring.