Borrowing Alex Read online

The man just wanted to annoy her.

  And he was doing a good job.

  “Move it,” she ordered. “We need to get you inside.”

  Grabbing one of his pinned arms, she hauled him out of the van. He wobbled on the soft earth, knees buckling before he regained his balance.

  “My legs are stiff.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” But her face prickled. All of his extremities were probably... quite uncomfortable.

  If only Royce’s indecisiveness hadn’t pushed her to this madness.

  Gentling her grip, she helped Alex the few yards toward the cabin—amid much grumbling on his part as he shuffled sock-clad feet to the door.

  She unlocked the cabin, and Bernie ran over from the bush. The Chihuahua darted into the dark interior, Santos following. The big dog’s tail whapped her legs.

  Nikki prodded her guest forward. “I was here two weeks ago, checking the generator and cleaning up. We won’t have to worry about the rattlesnakes or centipedes as long as we stay inside.”

  Alex slanted her a glance. “Been planning this caper awhile?”

  “Not really.” She hadn’t prepped the cabin with the borrowing in mind, but, rather, for a romantic weekend get-away with Royce. Her fiancé hadn’t warmed to the idea, though, another indication they were growing apart.

  It was then she’d realized she needed to do something drastic or risk losing Royce altogether.

  “Call it necessity born of inspiration,” she said as she flicked on the lights. “I cleaned the cabin and then developed my strategy.”

  “Hmph. Does this strategy include untaping me before Royce arrives?”

  “Of course. I can’t expect him to believe you came voluntarily otherwise.” Nikki peered at her guest. Was a sneaky glint lighting his hazel eyes? “Don’t get your hopes up, professor. I’m not leaving you any opportunities to escape. Yes, I’ll untape you...” slipping the rope off her shoulder, she grinned “... right after I tie you up.”

  Chapter 3

  The Captive Grows Restless

  ALEX SHUFFLED DEEPER into the cabin as his captor closed the door behind them. She held the coiled rope calmly, her cupid-bow lips smiling. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and something resembling pride.

  She actually thought she made sense! Somewhere in her beautiful blond head of curls, her crazy kidnapping scheme possessed a loopy brand of logic.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he stated. “Not the rope again. No. Nikki, I’ve spent the last several hours taped like a human hockey stick. If you think I’ll trade one form of torture for another, you’re nuts.”

  The corners of her mouth curved up. “Sticks and stones, Alex,” she murmured in her soft, lyrical voice. “I’m not a lunatic. I’m in love. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you, but... I need you here. I have supplies to unload. Plus Rusty. I can’t risk you running off while I’m back and forth to the van and stuff. I might be a while.” She placed the rope on a scarred wooden dining table, then dragged a mismatched chair to the center of the great room. The chair legs scraped the plank floor painted a chipped and faded sky blue.

  Bernie scampered alongside her, yipping at the rasping chair legs. His ears fanned back from his head like two miniature kites. His luminous brown eyes bulged.

  Nikki planted the chair on the floor. “I can’t keep my eye on you every second while we wait for Royce to arrive,” she continued in a reasonable tone. “I have to feed the animals and make dinner. So, I’m afraid your only choices are to stay taped or—” she tapped the chair back “—agree that you’re fit to be tied.”

  Alex’s jaw tensed. Getting angry with her wouldn’t solve anything. But being straightforward might help.

  “I’m not afraid of you, okay? I’m fed up.” His fingers, hanging over his ass, stiffened. His arms ached with the need to gesture—a side effect from lecturing History 101 to often-disinterested freshmen—but the duct tape restrained his limbs as securely as a hospital patient in traction. “I’m a busy man, with a busy life. Did you consider that when you grabbed me?”

  Her gazed skipped away. “Of course I considered it. I do have a conscience. That’s why I planned our little trip for today.”

  Her reasoning eluded him. He closed his eyes briefly, but no rays of insight dawned.

  “You’ve lost me. Nikki, I’m tired. Not to mention starving. My nose is itchy, my shirt smells like dog slobber, and Bernie’s incessant yapping has drilled a permanent hole in my brain. Please tell me something that makes sense.”

  She blinked. “You’re saying I don’t make sense?”

  “I’m saying I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

  She shook her head. “Which part don’t you get?”

  “All of it. But feel free to start with the kidnapping.”

  She shrugged in a manner that said he could burst an artery if he was determined to do so, but she couldn’t be dissuaded from her plan.

  She was a woman on a mission. An airhead with an attitude. A beautiful, bubble-headed bundle of bafflement.

  And he was at her mercy.

  “All right.” She gazed at him. “I chose today to grab you, because I know you’re busy. You’re a busy man, like you said. Busy, busy, busy. Too busy to take a break. Like Royce.” She strolled to the table and plunked down the tape. Picked up the rope. Unwrapped it. “You inputted your grades today, right? And you’re not teaching the first summer session. I know, because I checked. So, you see, I did consider your schedule before deciding which day you might wish to free up. I even watched your apartment for several afternoons to determine when you’d get home.” Another shrug. “Not that it would have made much difference if I hadn’t gone to all that trouble.”

  Alex’s head spun. Not from fatigue or from lack of food. But from over-exposure to Nikki. “What?”

  She strolled to the kitchen and rummaged through a light yellow drawer. When she returned with a pair of rusty scissors, Santos tagged along.

  “It’s as plain as the egg on your face, Alex.” She snapped the scissors. “It’s Friday night—the beginning of the weekend. You’ve heard of weekends? They’re lovely. Most people think of them as opportunities to relax.” Her lips pursed. “But not you. If you’re anything like Royce—and you must be, or two old pals like you and he would see each other more often—you have a to-do list longer than the string of degrees following your name. Like Royce, you need your breaks arranged for you. And, I need your help. So I decided that tonight you should get a break.” Her dimples flashed. “Consider it a gift. No thanks necessary.”

  Alex’s nostrils flared. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Nikki had projected her resentment of Royce’s heavy schedule onto him. And maybe onto all men who labored for a living, intellectually or otherwise.

  He’d concede that he worked harder than he suspected was healthy. However, long ago he’d accepted that he needed to sacrifice a personal life in order to achieve tenure as quickly as possible. His entire family had scrimped and sacrificed so he could become the first American-born Hart to earn a college education, let alone a Ph.D. He owed it to his parents and sisters to make the most of his credentials. That meant sticking to the tenure track, even though the power politics drove him nuts.

  “I’m in charge of my own breaks,” he advised his scissors-wielding kidnapper. “For your information, I wasn’t planning to work this weekend. I wasn’t planning to do anything but eat, sleep, and slack off.”

  Her eyes brightened. “If you weren’t planning to work, what’s the problem?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Nikki, you made a choice on my behalf that you had no right to make.” Santos nosed Alex’s thigh. As Saint Bernard drool dribbled down his khakis, the fabric clung to his skin like warm paste. He inched away from the old dog’s fetid breath. “My life isn’t your business, just like yours isn’t mine. If you and Royce are having problems, I’m sorry, but it’s not my concern.”

  She turned up a hand. “But you’re Royce’s best man and his
closest friend. Don’t you care whether or not he’s happy?”

  How to answer that? The Royce Alex knew reveled in the freedom of his relationship with Nikki and how their engagement could pave his quick access to Easy Street. Nikki’s father’s dermatology clinic, where Royce practiced and yearned to make partner, garnered rave online reviews from every pimple-popping rich kid in Seattle. And those teens’ wealthy mothers swarmed the city’s luxury stores to purchase the Eternal You wrinkle cream for which Nikki’s father held the patent.

  As far as Alex could determine, Royce’s primary purpose behind proposing to Nikki had never included marriage. Supposedly, she was cool with that.

  However, tonight she didn’t seem at all on-board with the situation. More and more, she came across like a woman Royce had bamboozled with his slick charm.

  Poor girl.

  Alex had always been a sucker for a damsel in denial. Paint the damsel with an angel innocence and his white-knight instincts took over every time. His sisters had trained him well in that regard.

  But he couldn’t allow himself to get sucked into the confusing vortex of Nikki’s problems. She’d whisked him away from Seattle for her own purposes. Slammed the stress back into his stress-free Friday night with not one thought about how it might affect him beyond locating a convenient break in his schedule. Oh, and he couldn’t forget, repackaging that break as a “gift” to appease her conscience.

  He wanted that stress gone. Now.

  “Yes, I care if Royce is happy,” he lied. At this point, he didn’t give a shit. “But what difference does it make if he arrives to find me taped or tied? Either way, he’ll realize that you restrained me by force, which is bound to alert him to the fact that I didn’t come voluntarily. Nikki, the jig will be up as soon as he walks through the door. Your only solution is to untape me without tying me back up. Trust me when I say I won’t take off.”

  “Uh, sorry, no. I’d love to trust you, Alex, but... you didn’t prove yourself trustworthy when we stopped at the red light, remember. All that bouncing around and shouting... If Santos hadn’t fallen asleep on your chest, you probably would have run off by now. I can’t take the risk of not restraining you.”

  “Nikki.”

  “Sorry, I said no. Besides, the rope idea has merit. Rope is quicker to remove than tape. You know, for when we hear Royce’s car. And rope might not seem as strange to Royce. If he barges in before I untie you, he, um, might think I tied you up on purpose, if you know what I mean.” A bright pink splashed her face.

  “Spare me.” Unfortunately, he saw her point. For all he knew, Nikki and Royce bound each other on a routine basis.

  A little bondage with your brie, baby? Yeah, he could buy it. A nutcase had abducted him. Tossing a dash of kink into the mix didn’t seem out of the question.

  “Chop-chop. Time’s a-wasting.” She snapped the big scissors open and closed. “Is it Mr. Hart in the cabin with the duct tape or the rope?”

  “The rope,” Alex grumbled without sounding too much like he wanted to commit murder.

  “That’s the spirit.” She gestured to the chair. “Please sit, and we’ll get on with this. Rusty will go bongo if I leave him in the van much longer.”

  Alex shuffled to the chair. Oh yeah, he had her now. She thought she was so clever? She’d quickly discover otherwise. He’d play along, let her tie him up, then take advantage of the crappy knot-tying skills she’d displayed with the pillowcase and blindfold, and free himself as soon as she left to fetch her cat.

  As he neared the chair, he scoped out the cabin. He’d expected Nikki’s “summer place” to showcase the ultimate in rich-chick luxury. Instead, the simple frame structure could work to his benefit. Screened windows ran the length of the wall facing the lake. Bearing in mind that the entire place appeared to have been constructed circa mid-twentieth-century, he doubted any of the windows sported complicated locks. A windowless wall backed two double beds positioned behind the chair Nikki stood beside. A bedraggled moose head loomed over one bed, and a lamp perched on the shared nightstand.

  To the left of the second bed, the great room extended behind the partially closed-off kitchen. An old upright piano—a weird choice of furniture for a summer cabin, but what the hell—hugged a wall.

  He glimpsed another window around the corner, and the place might also feature a back door. Both presented possible avenues for escape.

  He’d determine his next move after he’d done his Houdini. Hot-wiring the van or running into the forested hills where the battered Ford couldn’t climb provided two viable options.

  Although... he reached the chair... racing into the hills might work best. Even without his shoes, he could outpace Nikki. Hopefully, once she discovered he’d escaped, she’d assume he’d headed for the unlocked van.

  He could lock the doors from inside the vehicle, but she had the keys. They’d play I’ll-lock-and-you-unlock until dawn before he accomplished the hot-wiring.

  Forget that. The hills it was.

  Pasting on a resigned grimace, he sat on the chair. His ribs throbbed from when she’d jumped him at the house, but not as bad as earlier. Likely, he’d just bruised them.

  “Okay, I’m sitting,” he said. “What happens now?”

  “I’ll tie you to the chair without untaping you first.” Circling him, she snapped the scissors. Santos sniffed a nearby couch, his big tail chopping the air. Bernie sat beside the chair and yawned.

  Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. I shouldn’t need more duct tape, unless the rope doesn’t hold. But it should hold. I don’t see why it—”

  “It’ll hold fine. Let’s do this.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Suddenly anxious, are you?”

  “Suddenly ravenous. You promised dinner. I want it.”

  “Patience, Dr. Hart. We’ll get there.”

  Stooping, she set down the scissors, then threaded the rope between his armpit and the duct tape. Her small breasts, covered with the dark green turtleneck, bumped his shoulder. Once, twice.

  Her fingers grazed his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Soft curls brushed his head, and the green-apple scent of her shampoo drifted to him.

  Or was that her summery perfume?

  Or the pure essence of Nikki?

  His stomach clenched.

  Hunger pangs.

  She looped the rope around the chair and below his other armpit, then stood and stepped back, nibbling her thumbnail. After picking up the scissors, she cut the tape binding his arms and torso a couple of inches on either side, peeled it down, and wrapped another width of white rope around his chest.

  Snip, peel went the duct tape. Swoosh, loop went the rope.

  Bits of shirt lint clung to the stripped tape hanging off his chest. The gluey tang of adhesive pierced his nostrils. He smelled like a scratch-and-sniff magazine ad for 3M, and his skin itched like he’d dived into a patch of Poison Ivy.

  As she cut the tape, it landed in sticky gray bunches on the floor. Holding his breath, he puffed out his chest and flexed his pecs so the rope would wrap looser than she intended.

  Several crafty chest-puffs on his part later, she finished peeling and looping. She grasped his hands and positioned his arms to hang over the chair back.

  Then she made a classic rookie mistake—and bound his wrists behind the chair within finger-touching distance of the chunky knot.

  As she fumbled with the knot, Alex suppressed a grin. This was so easy, he almost felt sorry for her. He’d destroy her handiwork as soon as she stepped out the door. She’d mentioned she might take a while—due to “stuff.” He had no clue what “stuff” entailed, and he didn’t care as long as “stuff” allowed him time to escape.

  “Now your feet,” she said, kneeling before him. “I need to untape your ankles before I can tie them to the chair legs.” She looked up. Tiny, light green earrings too pale for emeralds sparkled from her dainty earlobes. “Earlier, you said I could trust you. I need you to prove that to me now, Alex. You
won’t kick me while I’m untaping your feet, will you?”

  He snorted. “What kind of guy do you take me for?” Despite her crazy kidnapping scheme, he couldn’t physically hurt her. She’d be hurt soon enough when she discovered him gone and she needed to make up another story for Royce.

  She smiled. “Just checking.”

  Shoving up his pants legs, she inserted the scissors between his taped ankles. Snnnnniiiiiip. The scissors blades flashed.

  She placed the scissors on the floor, grabbed both ends of the split duct tape—and yanked.

  “Ow!” Alex’s ankles burned.

  “Sorry! I tried to wrap the tape over your socks, but it caught your skin.” She hoisted the tattered strips of duct tape. Dozens of leg hairs stuck to the strips.

  “Damn it, Nikki, couldn’t you have been a little gentler? I didn’t sign up for a chest wax.”

  “Leg wax,” she corrected. “Men can be such babies. It’s no worse than ripping off a bandage. And it’s over now, so why dwell on it?”

  Crouching with her pert ass kissing the air, she retrieved the rope dangling from his wrists and passed the remaining corded length under the chair. One limb at a time, she looped his shins to the chair legs, then tied a second lumpy knot between his feet.

  Standing, she dusted off her hands. “Time to get Rusty.” She picked up the scissors and transferred them to the table. “Santos, Bernie... boys, watch Alex.”

  Bernie, upon hearing his name, lifted his head and whined. Santos tramped over from the couch and panted.

  Nikki looked at Alex. “Now, you...” She wagged a finger. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

  “Where would I go?” Alex asked, widening his eyes.

  When she turned away, he grinned.

  Rusty’s miffed meow issued from the cat carrier as Nikki lugged the unit to the cabin stoop. A light drizzle had begun falling while she’d hidden the van’s distributor cap beneath a loose board at the front of the building, and the air swelled with the fresh scent of springtime. If Alex happened to run off while she needed to visit the outhouse or accompany the dogs on an evening romp, he’d discover he couldn’t start her self-vandalized van.