It had been a long day and Kiley was bone tired as she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, pulling the tails of her silk blouse from her skirt as she went. She had left her high heels in the mudroom, reveling in the feel of the polished oak floor beneath the soles of her feet, and the sculptured pile of the carpet runner on the stairs soothed her bare toes as she climbed. Unbuttoning the garment as she walked down the hallway, she yawned widely, her body feeling the strain of a day meeting and greeting the Cay’s clients. Pausing at the bedroom door, she flicked open the cuffs of the blouse and entered the darkened room. Reaching to her left, she fumbled for the light switch.
Without warning, a strong, powerful arm enclosed her waist in a firm grip that pressed the air from her lungs. A hand went over her mouth and she was lifted from the floor, her bare feet kicking out at her abductor.
“Be still or I’ll make you regret it,” her attacker hissed in her ear.
Kiley went still as she was carried toward the bed. Sucking in air through her nose, she grunted as she was tossed to the mattress and a heavy body fell atop her, pinning her to the silky coverlet.
“Do what I tell you and everything will work out just fine,” the man lying on her said. “You understand?”
Attempting to nod beneath the unyielding hand plastered over her mouth, Kiley felt herself being turned over to her back. Unable to see the man now straddling her hips in the lightless room, she knew better than to struggle.
“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth,” he told her. “I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen if you scream.”
Quivering, her heart pounding in her chest, she lay still as she felt him shift his weight, dragging something out from beneath the pillow. Eyes wide, Kiley felt her wrists looped together with a restraint she realized must be the belt to her terrycloth robe. Her attacker dragged her arms up by the bonds then tied them to the brass headboard above her. Before she could do more than whimper, a silken scarf was thrust between her lips and tied behind her head.
“I’m not taking any chances with you,” he spat.
Helpless, at her attacker’s mercy, Kiley closed her eyes as he slid down in the bed, pushing her legs wide with his knees and made quick work of tying her ankles to the footboard. The only sound she made was when the cold metal touched her knee and she heard the click of scissors as he began cutting away the expensive wool material from her body. She grunted with anger, her eyes flying up at the indignity of having one of her favorite skirts ruined.
“Like you don’t have the money to buy a new skirt,” he taunted, running the sharp blade up the fabric to expose her half-slip.
Within the space of five minutes or less, her attacker had bared her trembling body to his view and wadded her demolished clothing in a ball, tossing it into the wastebasket beside the bed. Naked, a cool draft playing over her goose bump-speckled flesh, she groaned as he left the bed and she heard the snick of the bedroom door lock engaging.
“Don’t want to be interrupted now, do we?” he chuckled as he flipped on the light.
Kiley blinked against the intrusion of the harsh light from the dual lamps perched atop the bedside tables. For the first time, she got a good look at her attacker and a breath caught in her throat.
He was dressed entirely in black—silk long-sleeve shirt, leather breeches with a broad silver buckle at his waist. On his feet were black boots adorned with a silver design at the toe. Halfway down his face, a mask covered his forehead and nose, cheekbones and the color of his hair. Only his eyes showed behind the black fabric and those pale amber orbs glowed with purpose.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his large hands going to the buttons of his shirt. “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this. I’ve wanted you beneath me from the first time I saw you.”
Kiley flinched as he tore at the silk shirt, popping the buttons as he ripped the garment open. Her eyes flared at the sight of a broad chest covered with thick dark curls. As he shrugged out of the shirt, she felt a tremor pass through her lower belly for he was well built with washboard abs and chiseled pecs that made her mouth go dry. As his hands went to the wide leather belt at his slim waist, she looked away.
“Don’t like what you see?” he asked, his tone tight. “Well, that’s just too damned bad. You’re going to get it whether you like it or not.”
Struggling now against the bonds that held her to the bed, Kiley refused to look at her attacker. She felt the mattress sag as he sat down beside her. She heard him grunt then winced as first one heavy boot then the other hit the uncarpeted floor. When he stood up, she tensed, listening as he made quick work of divesting himself of the leather britches. When the mattress sagged once more she groaned; the heat of his nude body pressed intimately against her left side as he stretched out beside her.
“I want you to look at me,” he said, reaching out to splay his hand around the column of her throat. Gently he caressed her slender neck then cupped her chin to turn her face toward him, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw.
Kiley stared into his masked face, her gaze riveted to the merciless depths of his eyes. He was looking back at her with a slight smile on his full lips. As she trembled, the smile became a knowing grin, the gleam of his white teeth contrasting sharply with the deep tan of his skin.
“I won’t hurt you if you don’t give me any guff,” he promised. “Hell, you might even like what I’m going to do to you, baby.”
A wild grunt of denial pushed from Kiley’s throat and she stopped breathing as the grin disappeared from his face.
“You don’t think so?” he growled. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
He moved his hand to the center of her chest, his fingers spread so the tips of his thumb and little finger grazed her nipples, linking both her breasts with an electrical surge of sensation that rippled like summer lightning through her body.
Kiley groaned, hating the treacherous stirrings that were building within her. She felt a chill go down her spine for she had seen the knowing look that had made his amber orbs sparkle.
“You like that, do you?” he challenged. He slid his hand over her right breast and cupped it.
Screaming her denial beneath the gag, Kiley pulled at her restraints, striving to arch her body from contact with his. His low chuckle of amusement narrowed her eyes as she turned her head to glare at him.
“It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not,” he said with a long sigh. “I’m going to enjoy it.” His tone changed, the words becoming harsh as he said, “Let’s you and me have some fun.”
He turned his hand over and ran the backs of his fingers down the slope of Kiley’s breast. Arcing his fingertips beneath the weight of her silken orb, he could feel the wild beat of her heart vibrating against the callused pads.
“I can play you,” he whispered, lowering his lips to her ear, “like a finely tuned guitar.”
Kiley whimpered behind the gag wedged between her trembling lips. She closed her eyes, willing her treacherous body not to respond to the warmth of his breath and pulled against the rough terrycloth that bound her wrists.
“You pretend you don’t like it,” he said as he eased his hand over her breast, nestling in his hot palm, “but you do. You revel in it, don’t you, little cat?”
Heavy moistness throbbed between Kiley’s spread legs and she jerked her bound ankles inward in a vain attempt to hide her vulnerability. Sweat dotted her upper lip, ran down her heaving sides. The heat from his nude body pressed down the full length of her left side and the musky smell of his cologne, the powerful male scent of him, made her face feel as though she faced a roaring fire.
“Should I touch you where you crave it most?” he purred, squeezing her breast gently. Her groan of pleasure-shame brought a low laugh from his throat. “I take that as a yes,” he chuckled.
Panting beneath the constriction of the gag, Kiley inhaled suddenly through her nose as his fingernails grazed the areola of her breast before plucking at the nipple. Capturing the turgid bud between his thumb and forefinger, he began working it gently back and forth. She could not stop the grunt of pleasure that rippled through her.
His tongue spiraled around the outer rim of her ear then flicked swiftly into the sensitive center, eliciting a responsive tremor that rippled violently through Kiley’s body.
“My little whore,” he breathed. “My sweet, helpless little whore.”
Once more the searing warmth of his palm flattened against her breast then began moving downward over the sweaty plane of her chest. Past the smooth indention of her quivering belly, over the sleek coarseness of her pubic hair, that demanding instrument of single-minded torture slipped unerringly between her legs to cup her very essence.
A groan of need echoed in Kiley’s throat. Her hips arched upward from the mattress as she pressed her core against the invasion of his hand. Eyes flaring wide, nostrils drawing in labored breaths, she could feel the pulsation of his blood traveling along his long fingers, transmitting that pounding rhythm to her receptive lips, dragging from her a response she could not contain. Wetness oozed forth, seeping like dew falling from a rose at dawn.
“You are mine, little cat,” he whispered. “Never forget that.”
His middle finger drew upward, lightly traveling the valley between her nether lips, and then slid authoritatively into her moist center, driving deep.
Kiley thought she would pass out from the sheer intensity of the sensation focused between her open legs. The heat of his palm cupped possessively around her, the conquering invasion of his finger, made it impossible for her to do more than produce a muffled growl, the susurration nothing more than a keening sound of submission.
He withdrew his finger slightly and at her whimper of denial, he smiled, gazing into her pleading eyes with a knowing look. The finger returned to its pebbled depths, probing as deeply as its length would allow.
Sighing with relief, Kiley closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly as his finger began moving in a small circle within her silken depths.
“There was a time when I would have allowed you to lie there so passively, my precious whore,” he said. Lifting his leg, he ran the sole of his foot along her shin from ankle to knee and back again. “I would have taken you quickly as you deserve then left you to that impotent fool you call your husband.”
Kiley’s eyes flew open and she glared at her tormentor. She pulled angrily against the bonds, grunting beneath the restriction of the gag.
He laughed at her fury. “Ah, you do hate me to insult that worthless sap, don’t you?” Her growl seemed to amuse him more and a sparkle entered his amber eyes for a moment before his smile fled, his jaw clenched. With a look that sent a shudder of apprehension through his victim, he thrust two more fingers inside her, stretching the tender flesh.
“Bitch,” he hissed, twisting his fingers, withdrawing them then driving again deeply. “I’ll make you forget him or die trying.”
Whimpering with barely restrained passion, Kiley levered her hips upward, striving to impale her lower body on the power of his questing hand.
“I want you to feel me, little cat,” he vowed. “I want you to—”
The jarring intrusion of the telephone made Kiley groan with frustration. She watched her attacker jerk the receiver up and bark at the caller. So close was the attacker’s face to hers, she could hear the conversation from the other end.
“I hate to bother you, but—”
“Then don’t.”
“I thought you might like to know your mother is in the lobby,” Henri whispered.
“What?” Patrick shouted, sitting up. His eyes were wide, his face beet red.
“She just hiked across the island and she and Bradford are talking to Derek about getting circum—”
“I’ll be right there.”
Kiley sighed. “No more playtime, huh?”
Patrick glanced down at her. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He reached out to stroke her face. “What do you desire this evening, milady?”
Kiley thought about it for a moment. “We haven’t done the savage Indian and captive white woman yet, have we?”
Her husband grinned. “No.”
She yawned. “Go see what Fay wants then get back here, Sugar Buns, while I’m still in the mood for love.”
He was out of the bed like a shot, ducking into the bathroom of their new Victorian-era-styled house. She lifted her head and through the open door watched him jabbing his arms into a white cotton shirt then stabbing the shirttail into a pair of faded blue jeans. He disappeared for a moment and the smell of that expensive French men’s cologne Henri gave him twice yearly—birthday and at Christmas—wafted back to her. She smiled at him when he reappeared, hopping on one foot as he jammed his other foot into a sneaker.
“Calm down,” she recommended.
“She is at the resort,” he complained. “At the resort! I’m going to have a long talk with my mother.”
She turned her head as he stomped to the door, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world had suddenly settled upon them.
“Paddy?” she called out in a sweet voice.
“Um,” he replied as he jerked open the bedroom door.
“Do you think you could untie me before you go?”