Obsession Untamed (Feral Warriors #2)(16)

He’d knocked her unconscious. Which beat the hell out of killing her, for sure, but the arms of a killer was not where she wanted to be.

Slowly, she opened her eyes a slit in case the man at her back wasn’t the only one in the room. But all that met her gaze were the shadowed furniture and walls of a dark, unfamiliar bedroom. A single, large window covered by sheer curtains glowed from the light of a streetlamp.

Not her apartment. He’d knocked her out and kidnapped her. That could make escape infinitely more difficult since she had no idea where she was or who else might be around to stop her if she managed to escape him.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

In the distance, a truck downshifted, the sound merging with the low rumble of predawn traffic. City traffic. She doubted he’d taken her far.

And why had he kidnapped her at all? Why was she still alive?

Her senses took quick inventory as she shifted slightly. He was holding her, spoon style, his thickly muscled arm heavy across her waist. But she couldn’t feel any bindings to indicate he’d tied her either to the bed or to himself.

She was still wearing the blouse she’d worn to work, the fabric soft but with little give. Her bra was tight against her rib cage. On her legs, if she wasn’t mistaken, were the sweatpants she’d been planning to put on, the ones that had been lying across the foot of her bed.

The thought of his dressing her, of him sliding the pants up her bare legs and her hips, sent a cold chill rippling over her skin. Had he touched her? Had he raped her?

Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to breathe. To think. She didn’t feel sore down there. And she almost certainly would if he’d taken her when she was unconscious.

Besides, why would he bother raping her when she’d begged him to take her? When she’d been so hot for him, she’d come.

Her cheeks heated at the memory even as a familiar ache started up again between her legs. The man’s scent brushed her senses, the scent of sleep-warmed male combined with the hint of wildness that had stirred her so thoroughly last night. And stirred her still.

God, what was the matter with her? Just lying beside him like this had her libido leaping all over again.

She gave a silent groan, forcing herself to tear her thoughts away from the man at her back and focus outward. If there were others in the place, the sooner she knew it, the better. But she heard nothing except the even breathing of her captor.

Apparently her plan to make him think she wanted him had worked well enough since she was still alive. Too bad it hadn’t been an act.

He was a killer.

Or the twin of one. Could he possibly have been telling the truth when he told her he wasn’t the man who’d attacked her? It was certainly a possibility. After all, she was still alive.

Then again, how did he know she’d been attacked if he wasn’t the one who’d attacked her? How did he know who she was? Her involvement had never hit the news.

Whether or not he was the killer, he was clearly involved up to his sunglasses-covered eyeballs. And there was no denying he’d committed criminal acts. He’d broken into the apartment of a federal agent, overpowered her, and kidnapped her. For that alone, he was looking at jail time.

Either way, he had information they needed. Either way, he was going down.

She remembered how fast he’d moved last night and the lightning speed with which she’d been attacked in the laundry room. If she wanted to get him, she was going to have to move fast, without mercy. Because once he woke, her chance to take him down would be over.

Her gaze caught the gleam of the bedside lamp. Brass. Perfect. All she had to do was crack him over the skull with it and run for the nearest phone. Piece of cake. Assuming she managed to get out from under his arm without waking him. His warm breath stirred her hair on a soft rumble of a snore. He was definitely asleep. But would he stay that way?

Her pulse rose another notch as she prepared to find out.

Sending a quick prayer heavenward for luck, and keeping her body loose, as if she were still asleep, she rolled onto her stomach on the soft, cool cotton sheets, away from the man.

His arm slid away from her without protest.

Swallowing a surge of triumph, Delaney lay still as death, willing her heart’s pounding to settle down as she waited for her captor’s breathing to even out again. When she’d waited as long as she could stand, she eased the blanket off her, inch by inch, and swung her legs over the side, her bare toes settling on a soft, worn rug.

In a light, careful move, she rose from the bed and knelt by the bedside table to follow the lamp’s cord to the outlet. When she found it, she gave a quick, silent tug and rose to her feet.

Her heart began to pound. This was it. If she hit him too hard, she’d kill him. At one point, before he’d planted the doubt in her mind that he was the man she sought, all she’d wanted was to kill him. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Legally, she needed to not kill him. But if she didn’t hit him hard enough, she was as good as dead. And she had a feeling it would take a direct hit by a cruise missile to incapacitate the guy.

She grabbed the lamp at its neck, her fingers closing around the cool metal as she took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. In a single move, she flipped the heavy lamp upside down and swung the base of it at the sleeping man’s head as hard as she could.

The lamp collided not with skull, but with moving flesh as her captor’s hand shot out, stopping the deadly arc cold. He wrenched the lamp from her hands and flung it across the room to crash against the wall.