“Good girl,” said the patronizing son of a bitch.

“I meant to ask. How’s your head?”

The ass**le just laughed.

CHAPTER SIX

“Do you always have this much trouble getting to sleep?”

Roslyn wriggled about on the bed, finally rolling onto her side, facing him. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he knew. The noise of her shifting on the sheets and rustling the blankets sounded so loud in the quiet, along with the clinking of the chain.

“Can’t say. I haven’t been held hostage before,” she said.

Whatever sultry, flowery scent she’d lathered on herself had him happily high. How nice it would be to lick her all over. Start with her cute, cold toes and work his way up. Leave no inch of her skin untasted.

“Smartass,” he mumbled.

Their first full day together had been largely uneventful. No further head wounds, at least, which was something to be grateful for. They’d talked a little. Not a lot. Mostly she’d given him shit about the chain. Fair enough. It wasn’t coming off, though. Not a goddamn chance in hell of its removal anytime soon, given her furtive looks at the door. Thankfully, his headache had evened out to a dull skull-splitting roar.

“They’re still out there,” she said, talking about the low, occasional moan coming from outside their back door.

“There’re usually a couple about. I gave up killing them. More just come to take their place. Maybe they smell the smoke from the fire. I dunno.”

“Mm.” Her voice was soft, sleepy. So how come she hadn’t fallen asleep already? Because no damn way could he let his guard down until he knew she was out for the count. Not if he could help it. He heard the clink of the chain again. A small disgruntled noise. Who knew what it was about, but he needed sleep desperately.

Then sheer f**king genius struck him blind. “You want the chain off?”

The noises stopped. “Yes.”

“Alright.” He sat up and flung back the bedding, clicked on the camp light sitting on the bedside table.

Roslyn blinked and scooted up, backing into the headboard. Her red hair stuck out like crazy. Bed hair, from his bed. A strange sort of satisfaction rolled through him.

“You mean it?” she asked.

“Of course.” He rose and retrieved the key, stashed beneath the mattress. Unoriginal, but close by if needed.

She cautiously stuck her foot out as though she were half afraid he’d chop it off. For bed she’d changed into a pair of truly unattractive sweatpants and a gray sweater large enough to swallow her whole. It left everything to the imagination. He’d still take her over Junie—or whatever the hell her name had been—any day of the week.

Nick picked up the padlock and unlocked it, slipped it free of the links of chain. The long length of metal clattered to the floor and lay silent. Ros made a small noise and looked at him, mouth slightly open, holding perfectly still.

“Um, thank you,” she said eventually.

“No problem.”

The woman stared at him like he was suddenly a stranger. One she clearly didn’t know how to take. Her eyes were wide but the little line was back, sitting between her brows. He’d baffled her. Confused would work fine. He could use that. She stretched her toes, rolled her ankle.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.” With a tight nod she slipped back beneath the blankets. “Night.”

“Night.”

The cuffs were likewise stuffed beneath the mattress, waiting. Her arm lay atop the blanket, hand curled into a fist. He snapped one end around her left wrist before she knew what had happened. Locked the other around his own limb and they were a done deal. Her elbow jerked back and smacked into his arm. Her fist flew at him, the one she’d bruised bashing Neil. He caught it midflight before she could do herself any further damage.

“What are you doing!” she screeched.

“Noise, Roslyn.”

“What are you doing?” She tugged hard on the sudden, unwelcome connection between them. Lips drawn back, enraged.

“You didn’t think I’d just let you run loose?” He didn’t smile, kept it matter-of-fact. “Ros, you did attack me. And I am holding you against your will.”

“But—”

“Of course, we’re going to have to sleep closer together.” He slid across the bed, laying their joined hands down between them. Or his half of the pairing, at least. Hers wavered in the air, unsettled. “There we go. More comfortable?”

“No. I want the chain back.”

“Too late.”

Her jaw hung open and her eyes were bright with hate. He’d seen it often enough from her to know it. “No. Nick …”

“Actually, I sleep on my side. Just a minute.” He lay down on his side and wound his arm around her middle, pulling her toward him. From this close her flowery scent gave him a headspin. “You can lie on your back with my arm over you, or you can be on your side with my arm around you. What would you prefer?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s done, Ros. Move on.”

Her eyes promised murder. A brutal death without a hint of remorse.

“Well?” he asked.

Her lips screwed up like a cat’s ass. With a growl she turned onto her side, presenting him with her back, because she always slept on her side too.

“Good choice.” Nick moved in for the kill. He molded his body to her back, keeping his arm tight around her. Of course she squealed and scrambled to try to escape him, getting nowhere. “Easy. Take it easy, Ros.”