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  Immediately the scent of freshly baked goods wafted up. Liliana gladly accepted the box and lifted the lid to find half a dozen apple turnovers. Her mouth was already watering and she didn’t care if it made her look ridiculous, she was suddenly ravenous and everything looked better than cold leftover pizza.

  Liliana took a bite and was pretty sure she’d gone to heaven and didn’t much care if it was because Jimmy had killed her. “Oh my God this is fantastic.” The shower started in the other room. She eyed Gina, who was beaming. Considering the box had the girl’s name on it, she probably made the food and wasn’t an employee of O’Hara’s. “You his girlfriend?” Liliana tried to ignore the sudden ping of jealousy at the thought—it was stupid, as Gina seemed nice, and O’Hara was just an asshole who drove her nuts, after all.

  Gina chuckled. “No. I married his best friend, though.”

  Liliana’s gaze went to the other girl’s large diamond ring then. O’Hara had wealthy friends, apparently, which really didn’t surprise her. She saw his clothes, his vehicle—before he traded it for the less obvious one—and the money that seemed so disposable to him. Of course he had rich friends. Everything he had was likely the best.

  “There are cookies, too,” Gina said. “And brownies. They’ll keep for a few days. Some fruit, bread, packages of jam, crackers. Paper plates and plastic flatware.”

  “Part of me is excited.” Liliana swiped crumbs from her lips. “Part of me is realizing this means we’ll be stuck here for days and days yet.”

  “It’s safe, though,” Gina said, and left Liliana wondering precisely how much she knew about what was going on. O’Hara had used her real name, after all. He must trust Gina implicitly—he wouldn’t be so careless. Of course, unless someone was putting out a TV bulletin for her—and there was no reason for that—no one would recognize her name anyway.

  “Where are we, exactly?” Liliana asked.

  “Midsummer. Tiny town, more like a hamlet. Technically you’re outside the border but still in the county.”

  Liliana had never heard of that. Maybe that was a good thing. If Gina was from the area, O’Hara must’ve been too. So why not spring for a nicer place? Didn’t he have people here he trusted who could take her in? Some fancy castle where Gina and her husband lived?

  Maybe he thought the dingy motel was more to her liking. More of what she was used to.

  Well, he’d be right.

  “You know, being with Mike is about the safest place you can be,” Gina said.

  Here we go. Saint Mike.

  “He’s done a lot for a lot of people,” Gina continued. “He helped me. He’s helped my husband. Our friends. Often just...not even as a favor, because a favor implies it should be paid back. But just because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Did he ever handcuff you to a shower or pin you down and stuff your panties in your mouth?”

  Gina blinked at her and parted her lips, though no sound came out.

  Shit. Liliana chewed and swallowed another bite of her delicious turnover. “Sorry. The panties thing was because I was trying to scream for help. I don’t really blame him, actually. I’m a shrieky kind of screamer.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Gina said carefully. “He’s good at what he does. He’ll protect you.”

  Liliana nodded because she didn’t have much to say. She didn’t feel much like eating anymore either, but continued to finish the food she’d started. So now Mr. Perfect was going to get killed trying to save her and all these people who cared about him were going to be heartbroken. More lives ruined by Liliana’s presence. What a fun subject.

  The shower shut off. Liliana immediately stiffened. She licked the last of the crumbs from her fingers and closed the lid of the box, trying to smile for Gina’s sake. “That was really good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gina rose just as the bathroom door opened and O’Hara stepped out. His hair was mussed and damp, a bead of water still on his brow though he’d slipped on a T-shirt and jeans—he’d barely dried himself before darting back out there, apparently. Just in case she, what, went traipsing about in the snow? Maybe kidnapped Gina in the process?

  While Gina bundled up again in her winter wear, O’Hara slipped on his shoes and coat.

  “I’ll be back in a minute with the rest of the supplies.” He glanced at Liliana, the look expressing the “leave and I’ll chain you up when I catch you” threat without actually uttering it.

  She wondered if he didn’t say it because of Gina. Gotta preserve the good guy image.

  Even that felt like a lie, though. He wasn’t a bad guy.

  She’d get along better with him if he was.

  Chapter Eight

  Liliana did discover the motel room had one thing going for it: a mini fridge. It was tucked in the tiny closet beneath a shelf, its door battered but the interior at least cold. Poorly stocked with just a few tiny bottles of cheap vodka, gin, and whiskey, but she took them all so they’d have room to put a few bottles of water and some coffee creamer in to chill before use.

  O’Hara still had his book in hand, reading in silence as the afternoon ticked on. Knees drawn up so the paperback rested on his thigh. The quiet didn’t seem to bother him and while normally Liliana appreciated someone who didn’t feel compelled to speak all the time, after hours and hours it started to wear on her.

  The ancient TV on the dresser across from the bed boasted very little to watch unless one wanted to pay for movies. Liliana scrolled through the menu, hoping something interesting might pop out at her as she sipped some awful-tasting gin.

  She paused at The Bodyguard and grinned. “Hey, can I order a movie?”

  “Help yourself.” His gaze lifted from the book. “Not that one.”

  “Oh, but the sheer irony of it, Mr. Costner.”

  He once again returned his attention to his book. “Coincidence, not irony. And no.”

  “Would you carry me dramatically off a stage past my throngs of fans?”

  “Not if you were stupid enough to go against my advice and be on said stage in the first place. Then I’d leave you to the riot.”

  “You knew the reference. I think you secretly love this movie and watch it over and over.” Liliana finished her gin and tossed the bottle aside, then popped open another that didn’t have a label. It turned out to be vodka. Possibly nail polish remover—it was foul, but drinking it gave her something to do.

  “Everyone knows references to The Bodyguard, especially in my line of work. And I hate it.”

  Never trust a man who hates a Whitney Houston movie. “Whatever. Maybe something else is on.” The gin and maybe-vodka was swimming nicely through her system now, warming her and buzzing in her veins. Not enough to be drunk but enough that she was a little less irritable.

  A little more likely to want to irritate him, though.

  If he hated the movie, he might turn it off if she put it on, and she didn’t want to lose control of the TV, so she kept flipping through the menu.

  Then she came across the lengthy section of adult entertainment.

  Liliana cocked a brow and glanced at O’Hara. “How about a porno?”

  He flipped the page of his book, kept reading. “Don’t care. As long as it’s not based on The Bodyguard.”

  Sadly, she didn’t find any of those, but ended up ordering one based on Scandal, cleverly called Scandalanus. Maybe it would at least have some funny dialogue.

  Not five minutes into the movie, the petite, big-breasted heroine—Olivia Poke—was spreading her legs on the presidential desk while a pair of white guys—Liliana didn’t catch their names, they might not have had any—peeled off her panties and blouse. As for amusing dialogue, all Liliana got was a parody of Olivia’s “Earn me” speech to Fitz in which the porn heroine shouted “Eat me”.

  Very disappointing even by adult movie standards.

  The moans from the television filled the room and she watched the three bodies writhing together. Liliana shifted, a familia
r hum between her thighs, but it had little to do with what was on the screen. She hadn’t been allowed release in weeks with babysitters watching her all the time and now lying in bed all night—and all day, for that matter—with an attractive man not touching her, well, it was building up. She hadn’t eliminated the possibility of stealing a few minutes in the shower, but if she was in there any longer than O’Hara deemed necessary to wash her hair, he’d probably break down the door. She barely squeaked by with time to shave her legs.

  “If this is going to go on for weeks, I might want some privacy at some point, you know.” She lifted her arm, the metal of the handcuffs ringing. “What if I had a boyfriend I wanted to hook up with? Or take care of things myself, right? I’d probably be a bit more mellow, less of a pain in your ass. But, again, privacy.”

  “You’ve wandered around topless and changed in the same room as me, and now you want privacy?” He sounded bored, of all things, staring at the page and ignoring both what was happening on the screen and next to him.

  She watched the two men driving into Ms. “Poke”, one in her mouth and the other in her pussy, most of their clothes gone except for their ties that each had an American flag design. How patriotic.

  “So you don’t care? Nothing bothers you?” She shifted her gaze sideways to watch him. “I don’t need bother with a towel after a shower? Or I can sleep naked like I do at home? Pull my panties down right now and get myself off? None of it bothers you?”

  “Why would it bother me?”

  “How about if I had a boyfriend? You’d let him fuck me right here with you handcuffed to my side?”

  “I might object to that—the bed would be a little crowded.”

  Liliana openly watched him now—he just sat there against the headboard, reading that same paperback, his gaze tracking the page. Breathing even, face expressionless. Like he really didn’t care.

  She kind of wanted to test that.

  Liliana turned her head back to the screen and wiggled a little, getting her back nice and comfortable against the stacked pillows behind her. She focused on the TV, listening to the moans of pleasures and watching the actress’s shaved pussy get rammed again and again while she begged for more of it. Truthfully, the movie wasn’t doing much for her—it was fairly ridiculous—but the natural craving of her body for release combined with O’Hara next to her was definitely having an effect. He wasn’t watching her but he was so close, her right wrist linked to his left. Their elbows inches from brushing.

  She let out a long, low sigh and dragged her free hand up her torso, giving her breast a squeeze. Her nipple tightened in response. She hadn’t bothered with a bra after the shower when changing into the clothes Gina brought and now she was glad there was nothing confining her.

  In the corner of her eye, O’Hara hadn’t moved. Possibly hadn’t even blinked.

  Did he think she was being a total shameless whore? Or was he turned on? Maybe he was really as distant as he pretended to be.

  Hot need pooled between her thighs, new panties already soaked. Her body seemed to be screaming, Yes, yes, now, FINALLY, and it likely wouldn’t take long once she got going. But she decided to drag it out, languidly touching her breast and rubbing her nipple, her heart hammering hard. She was oddly nervous, wondering what was going through his head, if he was getting hard. The thought of him watching, witnessing all this, just made her hotter.

  She moved her right hand, the one chained to him. His arm moved with her, gave no resistance but hung loosely on the bed between them while her fingers slid over her hip and delved past the waistband of her yoga pants. Over her panties for a moment, driving against the damp cotton just enough to make her gasp without really getting into it yet.

  The arousal worked more than the alcohol to loosen any remaining inhibitions she had, her hips bucking to meet her own fingers. Her pants were too confining though, and she swiftly grasped the waistband and worked them down, kicking them off to the end of the bed. She glanced at O’Hara again as she slowly, deliberately let her knees fall open, the right one brushing his leg.

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at her. Breathing still even, like he was completely unaffected.

  That only emboldened her further—she slid her hand past her panties to sink her fingers into the slippery, eager heat at the apex of her thighs, and let out a long groan. The handcuff forced his hand closer to her, the back of his knuckles brushing her bare thigh.

  He took in a sharp breath—she swore she heard him—but still outwardly showed no sign that he paid any attention to her at all.

  Her hips were rocking off the bed now, fingers gliding up and down her folds. If only he’d touch her—just drop the book and roll over, push her hand aside and sink his fingers into her pussy. His mouth would find hers, the kiss would be slow but firm, taking over her completely. If she closed her eyes, she could picture it perfectly, imagine his body heavy against hers, his cock hard and eager as it pressed into her hip.

  But she didn’t want to close her eyes—didn’t want to stop watching him not watch her. The air between them crackled with tension, an electric charge she could feel right in her veins. She continued rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, imagined how much firmer he’d be, just the right amount of roughness that would drive her wild. Her fingers moved swiftly against her pussy, running up to swirl about her clit and then down again. God she wanted to feel him inside her, driving in and out, his thickness stretching her with every delicious thrust.

  Climax came for her swiftly, waves of pleasure building and building. She panted, arched her back, openly watching him now, her eyes practically begging him to stare back at her. Her focus narrowed onto the brief bit of contact, the back of his hand sliding across her thigh with her own movements. When the dam broke at last, she cried out and came hard, her back bowing.

  The orgasm subsided and Liliana slumped, licking her dry lips and blinking as her mind returned to her.

  O’Hara still hadn’t moved.

  She expected sanity to return to her as well, for her to inwardly kick herself for that display, but it never came. Instead she was wryly amused that he remained so stoic, so unaffected by an attractive woman masturbating three inches away from him while porn played in the background.

  Liliana rolled onto her side to face him, her head sinking into the pillow. She could probably slip into a nap easily but instead she focused on O’Hara, deciding to poke him a little. “You know, if you need a little release yourself, I don’t mind.”

  “I’m fine.” His voice was clear and smooth. Still apparently unaffected.

  She looked pointedly along his body, skimming his torso to his groin, which was shadowed by his knees being drawn up. He hadn’t moved a muscle—maybe if he did, she’d find him hard.

  “So do you have a girlfriend?” She dragged her fingers idly up his arm that lay between them, brushing the back of his hand which had been against her thigh just moments ago. “Wife?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend? Husband?”

  “Not gay.”

  “Want to order a hooker?”

  He didn’t dignify that with a response.

  “I was just thinking, this is probably getting pretty dull for you. If you want to sneak out and get some, I don’t mind. I’ll remain chained up in here waiting for you, if you want.”

  “No thanks.”

  “It could be weeks that you’re stuck here, locked up”—she lifted her wrist and his with it—“with just me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is this celibacy by choice or is there something wrong with you? Weird kinks and fetishes? Tragic past?”

  “I’m just content to spend my time reading.”

  No matter how she baited him, he didn’t take a bite. “It’s too bad. We could hit a bar. Maybe each pick up someone to play with for a night. Not really a foursome, not if we kept things separate, but still it’s an option.”

  “I don’t fuck random women.”


  She blinked at him, not expecting that. “Why not?”

  “Just not an interest of mine.”

  Her cheeks heated but she continued to stare up at him. “How do you know if you’ve never tried it?”

  “I don’t fuck women I don’t care about. An old fashioned position, maybe, but it’s the truth.”

  Hmm. Maybe he did have something wrong with him. Or some tragic past. A dead wife. Murdered girlfriend. A woman he protected but who died anyway. Some story worthy of a big Hollywood movie. A movie she’d never be in.

  Liliana yawned, her eyelids heavy as she blinked sleepily. “So why do you hate The Bodyguard?”

  “I prefer happily ever afters.”

  She chuckled. He didn’t. Huh, she suspected he might be serious.

  “I think I’ll nap,” she said. The moans on the TV drew her attention again, and she fumbled behind her for the remote controller. Once she grasped it, she left it with him. “There, if you want to change the channel. Or find a porno more to your liking.”

  Without looking at her, he lifted the remote and shut the television off.

  Liliana shut her eyes, relaxed at last. “Glad you’re fine with everything. Oh, and O’Hara?”

  “What.”

  “You’ve been on that page for ten minutes straight. I didn’t think you were that slow of a reader.”

  Liliana grinned and rolled over before she drifted into a pleasant nap.

  ****

  Mike was seriously rethinking the handcuffing situation.

  She might run if he unlocked them. And steal the car. And leave him screwed and unable to follow. It would be very unfortunate.

  But the throbbing in his cock made him tempted to risk it.

  Every ounce of self-control he had—and some he didn’t know he had—was wound tight and focused on keeping him from reaching for her. She seemed to be making it intentionally difficult for him, and not just when she openly touched herself beside him, as if daring him to join her. It was the little glances, the teasing smile, the swing of her hips when he unlatched the cuffs throughout the day so she could head to the washroom, the nearness of her when she leaned across him to pour a drink as they stood near the coffeemaker.