Prisoner Mine Read online

  “You bought me to…to sate your—” a sob broke her sentence, but its message had been received. The spark returned and ignited into an all-out flame.

  “If I wanted you, I could’ve had you for the cost of a condom six months ago.”

  She shoved at his arms, but he didn’t budge. God, she hated being incapable of defending herself, incapable of caring for herself. She hated even more that he might be right. If he’d shown the least interest in her, what would she have done? His distant, occasional glances had been enough to reel her in to fantasies she’d only given life to in the depths of her psyche.

  Rage bubbled. “Fuck you, Saulter.”

  “I should’ve left your ass there. Would’ve made my life easier.”

  Greer wanted to turn away and cower into a ball. This man took rejection to a whole new level. It hurt almost as much as detox. She forced herself to look into his antagonism. Beyond the anger, behind the steel cage of his muscles and the concrete wall of his demeanor, she caught a glimpse of suffering. It hung in the funny crook of his lips and in the strain of his jaw.

  She swallowed her pride—the little bit that endured—and tried not to gag. Her grip eased. She quit fighting. Lord knew she didn’t have the energy for it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  For the first time in the nearly seven months she’d interacted with him in one capacity or another, Zach Saulter’s hard gaze retreated.

  “Are you going to let me help without a trip to the theatre? I don’t care for drama.” The vibrato of his voice rolled across her neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

  “Yes.”

  Zach exhaled long and low. He cinched one arm around her, glared somewhere over her shoulder, and bent. His fingers brushed her hip. He hooked the band of the briefs and tugged one side and then the other over her bottom before shoving them to the floor. Next he looped his free arm under the shirt. The hair on his arm tickled her back as he moved it into place and tightened his hold. He slipped his other hand under the front of the loose fabric and pulled it up to her arm.

  Greer used every bit of energy to wrestle her arms through the sleeves. The shirt pooled around her neck. Zach grabbed the back and pulled it over her head. He undressed her with moves so clinical a nun would applaud.

  Even with her breasts pressed and jostling against his abdomen he didn’t react. He walked her backward and set her on the toilet. She’d never peed in front of a man before. Doing it in front of Zach twisted her stomach in an ugly bow, but what did it matter. He turned to the shower and adjusted the temperature, caring about her nudity as much as he cared about fashion magazines.

  She took care of her business as quickly as she could, and then used the edge of the sink to stand, close the lid, and flush. A tiny part of her hoped he’d show some reaction to her standing on her own, the tiniest bit of encouragement for the effort she expended.

  He wiped his palms across the seat of his jeans and straightened. His wet hands left a damp trail over his muscled ass. When Zach turned he pulled up short for a half a second before he rushed forward.

  “Are you determined to scramble your brains?”

  “What?” Greer hardly had enough time to get the word out before he scooped her post-wedding style into his arms.

  “Your legs look as sturdy as a runway model’s on ten inch heels.”

  A laugh closer to hysteria than humor shot like projectile vomit from her lips. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Zach paused at the edge of the full tub. His chin dropped and he met her half-closed gaze. “What’s so funny?”

  “How would a guy like you know about heels and runway models?” She guffawed the words in between desperate breaths.

  “A guy like me?”

  “Macho, punch-you-in-the-face-as-soon-as-talk-to-you kind of guy.”

  From this close, with this inquisitive look on his gorgeous face, he didn’t appear as old as she’d once thought. Not that she’d thought him old per se, but mid-thirties for sure. But when he lost the commander-of-the-universe bravado the years fell away, revealing a mid-twenties glow.

  His eyes rolled skyward, causing her laughter to pitch as high. He eased her into the steaming hot bath. The heat melted her muscles in the best way. It stripped the last of her bluster with it and her laughter dissolved into sobs. She covered her face with her hands and waited for him to stand and go. He didn’t. The hand Zach looped under her legs receded from the water, but the hand at her back stayed. Eventually her cries crescendoed, dwindled, and then eased all together.

  “Lean back.” His hand cupped the back of her neck.

  Greer dropped her hands into the water and looked a question at him.

  “I’m going to wash your hair so you don’t drown yourself trying to do it, and then I’ll leave.”

  Maybe it was exhaustion or the rawness of her pride, but Greer let go. Zach guided her back. The water eased up her neck and around her skull. When the water enveloped her ears her brain went silent. Her eyes closed. All the questions fell away. The pain ebbed. Her emotions calmed.

  Zach gently brushed the loose strands from around her face. He skimmed the tips of her long hair, creating eddies in the water that caressed her shoulders. Tension grew in his hand and he lifted her to sit. She almost whimpered. Water sluiced off her in a cacophony.

  Greer opened her eyes. Hands she’d seen down a drunk Russian three times his size, and then toss the lug out on his ass, poured a quarter-size dollop of shampoo in the center of one palm before rubbing them together. Calluses scratched like sandpaper, but bubbles oozed out from between thick fingers.

  He started on the surface, gliding the minty cleanser from root to tip. Then he delved deeper. The tips of his fingers worked the sensitive skin atop her head. Greer’s mouth dropped open. He seduced her with heavy circular strokes around her temples and easing toward the crown. Her breaths rasped across her lips. His fingers reached the base of her skull and a quiet moan shattered the silence.

  Her body flushed with embarrassment and something richer and darker. To Zach’s credit he didn’t stop. Shamelessly she pressed into his touch. Her breaths came deeper, more punctuated. His right hand slid up the back of her neck, and then down her pony tail. He gathered it up and massaged it into the rest of her hair.

  When her head dropped forward she saw the erect tips of her rosy pink nipples dipping into the water. Greer clamped her mouth shut tight to keep in the exclamation. The embarrassment had to show on her face. Her cheeks heated ten degrees.

  Zach eased her back toward the water. Greer clamped her eyes shut. The last thing she needed to see was him noticing her arousal. He’d go back to hating her and treating her like crap on the tip of his boot. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything or try to drown her. In short order he rinsed away the shampoo and set her up again.

  She expected him to leave then, held her breath for it to happen, but he reached for a bottle of conditioner. Her lady parts pulsed with excitement while the rational parts of her shrieked in fear.

  “You know about conditioner too,” she blurted.

  “And moisturizer. And panty lines. And periods.” His fingers dove into her hair again. “I have an older sister.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t eloquent, but it was all she could manage under the assault.

  “I know about razors and shaving cream too. If you want to shave and can do it without slitting anything, there they are.” He pointed to a small shelf next to the head of the tub.

  “Oh,” again was all she could muster.

  “She read fashion magazines she swiped from offices and used them to teach me to read.”

  Half of Greer’s brain cells had been fried in the brew of chemicals the Stas had forced on her. The other half drooled on themselves thanks to Zach’s decisive fingers. Even still, one of them—or maybe a few held hands, joining forces to understand a bit of the enigma that was Zach Saulter—caught the unspoken hints he’d thrown. Zach hadn’t had enough money for proper books a
nd his parents hadn’t cared enough to teach him how to read. If that didn’t explain a thing or two, Greer didn’t know what would.

  All too soon he laid her back into the water. Greer mustered up the courage to look at him. He studied her hair, not her boobs. Stubble covered his proud jaw. Small specks of water ran a path from his sleeve end to his shoulder. The splash saturated the fabric, darkening a dozen tiny circles of the gray blue shirt.

  His earlier words haunted her. If I wanted you, I could’ve had you for the cost of a condom six months ago. He didn’t want her. She should’ve been relieved. Again that empty feeling nestled in between her rib cage damn near her heart.

  In the past men wanted her, especially since she wasn’t easily had. She’d been so hell bent on her career, and simultaneously terrified of getting pregnant or contracting an STD, that she hadn’t given them much thought. When she watched her friends’ relationships and marriages splinter and crumble she patted herself on the back for dodging the bullets. Why have a man when you can have dildos in every shape, size, and speed setting?

  As though his mind followed her naughty path his lips pressed together. A hint of a smile curved one of his lips.

  “When I was older I used them for different things.” He said it so quietly had she not been watching his mouth she’d have missed it completely.

  Greer swallowed. Part of her wished she had missed it.

  He set her up and handed over a bar of soap and a rag.

  “I’ll come get you in a few. Don’t drown.” Zach moved to the door, snagging her soiled clothes off the floor, without a sideways glance at tits nor twat. He drew the door behind him, but stopped with it a few inches from the frame. His gaze swept her top to bottom.

  Greer’s pounding heart stilled.

  “It’d be a shame to waste all my hard work.”

  If she’d had the strength to throw the large bar of lavender soap at his head she’d have given it her all. Her tongue lay like a dead fish in her mouth. Not that it mattered. Her brain couldn’t conjure a comeback to save a saint.

  Zach closed the door with a quiet click of the latch.

  “Asshole.” Greer buried her face in her hands, not knowing who she called asshole-him, or herself for wanting his admiration.

  4

  The bathing process had been a hell of a lot easier when she’d been unconscious. Less pushback. Way less…temptation. Jesus H. Christ. Out cold she hadn’t reacted to his assistance.

  Great, now he lied to himself. Sure she’d made tiny mindless noises of pain the first day and pleasure the second when the drug’s effects began to lose their hold. But she hadn’t known her own name, much less that he was the one scrubbing the filth away. Today though... Her eyes had been open. Her acumen returned.

  She’d reacted to his attention with embarrassment and irritation. And to his touch. Bloody hell. She’d responded with unadulterated lust.

  Zeke stomped his way down the stairs, dumped the sullied clothes and sheets and several clumps of damp hay into the burn barrel with the ashes of the others he’d destroyed yesterday. He’d thought then that she’d be back to normal today, but he wasn’t that lucky. Never had been. It had taken too long to get her right, and even still she couldn’t bloody walk. He hadn’t planned on her being doped.

  At least she could do the actual scrubbing herself.

  Zeke adjusted his pants, cursed, and hustled upstairs to see what he could salvage for breakfast. Judging by the charred smell when he’d walked through with the clothes, something hadn’t survived.

  He’d wanted a full English fry-up, but he’d learned a thing or two during his time in the States. One, Americans thought black pudding came in a snack pack. Two and three, fat as they were, they preferred their bread toasted, not fried, and they usually only ate one meat at breakfast, not three. So, he’d settled for bacon, eggs, salt and pepper tomatoes, and toast.

  “Minus the toast.” He rescued the slightly over-crisp bacon from the pool of warm fat inside the pan, and then placed it on a paper towel. The yolks of the sunny-side eggs had cooked through. At least the bottoms weren’t scorched beyond recognition. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the black squares that had once been bread.

  He chucked the lumps of coal, lowered the heat element, and pressed down two more pieces. After distributing the food between two plates, Zeke eyed the loo’s door. His cheeks puffed. Slowly he let the air out between his lips. If only the tension gnawing on his skull—and elsewhere—-would discharge as easily.

  Pussing out, Zeke set Greer a place at the table, taking extra time with the crease of her napkin. Like he’d ever folded a napkin in his life. He hardly used them. When the back of your sleeve worked well enough, why bother?

  A loud splash sloshed around the barn. What sounded like a thousand droplets rained down inside the water-closet. Visions of Greer executing a cannon-ball in the small tub saturated his mind, but he knew she’d tried to stand again and had fallen. Zeke’s boots churned toward the door before the waves subsided. He almost took the latch with him through the entrance.

  Greer thrashed about, throwing beads of water across the already drenched floor. His blood ran cold. She jerked in stilted motions like she was in the throes of a massive seizure. Then he saw the quiver of her upper lip, the grit of her teeth, and the glint of pure rage in her eyes.

  “Greer.” He barked her name, but she continued abusing the water with all the coordination of a drunkard. “Are you done acting like a child?”

  Her head snapped in his direction and her limbs stilled. The flames in her gaze threatened to roast him where he stood.

  “I can’t walk.” Drops of water speckled her face, neck, and chest. Sheets of hair stuck to her breasts and back.

  “Christ. It’s not permanent. You’ll be pacing by lunchtime.”

  “I know, but have you…” She shook her head. The movement created rivulets down her body.

  “Have I what?”

  “No.” She dismissed him with a shift of her gaze. “I know you haven’t.”

  “Haven’t what?” Why was he pushing this? It didn’t matter what she said. He needed to get her better and get her back to her family. The sooner the better.

  She placed a shaky hand on the edge of the tub and centered his gaze. “You’ve never been helpless. At someone else’s mercy.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me.” Zeke’s voice rebounded off the walls of the small enclosure more forcefully than he’d expected.

  Greer looked at him, really needled deep with those big blue eyes like she did sometimes. Her shoulders slumped as though he’d knocked the wind from her. It didn’t last long. Her jaw shot up. “You’re right. I don’t because you always have the upper hand.”

  Right.

  “And you always have a hard head. No wonder they doped you.” She opened her mouth to rebut, but he stepped forward, cupped the now-cool water into his hands and dropped it on her back. The little patch of frothy bubbles disappeared along with her gusto. “Your stubbornness probably saved your life. I’m sure you put up one hell of a fight.”

  Zeke braced his arms under hers, but her slack jaw and wide eyes stopped him.

  “Did that hurt?”

  She shook almost imperceptibly, but her expression stayed the same.

  His head tilted. “What?”

  “It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was the closest thing to one you’ve ever said to me.”

  “That’s not true. You finished at the top of your training class, you and Coen.”

  “I know, but you never gave me a word of praise.” Her lips closed and curled into a frown. “You patted Derrick on the back and glared at me.”

  Well shit. He’d noticed Greer Britton from day one. Any man between the ages of birth and death would with her doe eyes, angel hair, and hot-as-the-devil body. He’d tried not to treat her special, tried not to stare at her perky breasts that’d fit just so in his mouth, lithe legs made perfectly for wrapping around his w
aist, and a high, tight ass he could think of all kinds of fun uses for. In doing so, he’d still treated her special…only especially badly.

  “You hungry?”

  She quirked a brow, but didn’t push the subject. “I think I can eat.”

  Zeke helped her stand, lifted her over the edge, and then set her on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a towel and started on her hair.

  “So, you bathed me before?” Greer’s gaze shifted to the ceiling.

  “Twice.” He worked his way down her back and arms. “I don’t do well with the stench of vomit.”

  Greer muttered a string of curses.

  “I’ll get your legs, and then let you get your middle while I grab you some clothes.”

  “Okay.”

  After he blotted her prickly legs and tried not to stare at them or the patch of hair above her cleft, Zeke evaced to the chest of drawers next to the bed. He snatched a T-shirt and a pair of underwear, dragged in a few ragged breaths, and then returned to the battle ground.

  He had plenty of experience undressing women, but he’d never dressed one before. Cripes, he hardly stayed around long enough for them to dress themselves. There was something too intimate about the way Greer tucked her polished toes into the leg holes, and even more so when he tugged them up her thighs.

  His knuckles grazed her hips. Greer drew a breath and held it. His cock lengthened unabashedly. Ah. Put him out of his misery already. Zeke barricaded his lust and braced himself for close contact.

  “Up you go.” He wrapped one arm under Greer’s and lifted.

  They stood chest to chest. He slumped to keep his dick out of the equation…and to reach her knickers. No, his underwear. It helped to think of them that way. Her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his pecs. The softness nearly buckled his knees and plopped them both on their arses. Damn, he should’ve gone top first. Not that it’d help this next part.

  Zeke looped his first two fingers inside the band. Greer’s shallow breath quivered along his collar bone. Her skin warmed his knuckles. He pulled them over the swell of her bottom on his right side, and then reached across her back, across the crests and valley.