Honor Bound(5)

Aislinn realized that the second telephone call hadn't gone through either and that no other calls were going to go through. "You did something to my phone." It wasn't a question.

"As soon as I entered the house."

Rapidly, her hands moving end over end, she reeled the telephone cord up from behind the nightstand. The connector that normally fit into the wall outlet had been ruined, ground by a boot heel as best as she could tell.

Frustration overcame her then. And fury. It enraged her that he could appear so composed when she felt ineffectual and idiotic. She cursed and threw the telephone toward him, then launched herself toward the door, seeking escape at all costs. It was hopeless, of course, but she had to do something.

She managed to reach the door; she even managed to get it open a crack before his wide hand splayed over it directly in front of her face and shoved it closed again. She turned, her fingers curled into claws, bent on attacking him.

"Stop it!" he commanded and grabbed for her flailing arms. The knife nicked her on the forearm. She screamed softly in pain. "You little fool."

He grunted with surprise when she drove her knee up toward his crotch. She missed her mark, but succeeded in unbalancing him as he made a dodging movement. They fell to the floor, struggling. His skin was still wet, slippery, and he easily deflected the blows and slaps she frantically delivered. In seconds, he had her pinned beneath him, her wrists stapled to the floor by his widespread fingers.

"What the hell was that for? You could have gotten hurt," he barked. His face was a scant few inches above hers. His chest was heaving in and out from exertion. The anger in his eyes struck terror in Aislinn, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she glared up at him.

"If you're going to kill me, get it over with," she ground out.

She had no time to prepare herself before he jerked her to her feet. Her teeth clicked together. She was still trying to regain her equilibrium when she saw the knife arcing down toward the side of her face. She felt a rush of wind as it passed. She tried to scream, but the sound became a faint little whimper when she saw the lock of her hair dangling from his hand. The wavy blond strand of hair being squeezed between those hard brown fingers symbolized her frailty and emphasized how easily his strength could overpower it.

"I meant what I said, lady," he said, still breathing heavily. "I have nothing else to lose. You pull one more stunt like that and it'll be more than your hair I'll use this knife on. Understand?"

Eyes round and gaping at the strand of curling blond hair still clasped between his fingers, Aislinn nodded dumbly. He opened his fingers and let the light-catching strands of hair filter to the floor.

Accepting her acquiescence, he stepped away from her and retrieved the towel. He dried the remaining moisture from his skin and made a pass over his chin-length hair. He tossed the towel to her. "Your arm is bleeding."

She hadn't noticed. Looking down, she was surprised to see a thin trickle of blood oozing from the nick just above her wrist. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" She shook her head no. "Get over there by the bed."

Fear tamped her resentment at being ordered around in her own house by a fugitive from justice. Without a murmur of protest, she obeyed him. The bleeding on her arm had stopped. She laid the towel aside and turned to face her captor.

"Take off your clothes."

She had thought he couldn't frighten her any more than he already had. She was gravely mistaken. "What?" she wheezed.

"You heard me."

"No."

"Unless you do as I say, that cut on your arm is only a beginning." The naked steel blade of the knife glinted in the lamplight as he waved it back and forth in front of her face.

"I don't think you'd hurt me."

"Don't bet on it."

Cold, unfeeling eyes glittered back at her defiant stare, and she admitted that the odds for her to remain untouched and unscathed through this night didn't look good.

"Why … why do I have to take off my … my…?"

"Do you really want to know?"

No, she didn't think she wanted it spelled out for her because she had a pretty good idea why, and somehow hearing his intent from his own lips only made the prospect more frightening.

"But if you were going to rape me," she said, speaking aloud the question her musings raised, "why didn't you—"

"Take off your clothes."

He pronounced each word carefully. They fell from his stern lips like chips of ice.

She considered her options and decided that she had none. At least if she went along with him, she was granting herself time. Perhaps someone would try to call and find that her phone was out of order. The telephone company would send someone to check, wouldn't they? Someone might come to her door. The paperboy for instance. Anything was possible if she could just keep stalling him. For all she knew the police could have the house surrounded right now, having tracked Greywolf there.

Slowly she raised her hands to the second button of her blouse, the first already having been opened by him. She cast one last, pleading glance toward him. His face could have been carved from stone, his eyes formed from hardest crystal for all the humanity they conveyed. Pride kept her from begging, though she didn't think any amount of pleading would budge this emotionless man.

She pushed the button through its hole and reluctantly lowered her hand to the next.