Willing Captive(26)

What the-

Obviously having seen the uncertain look on my face, she laughs sweetly, “Oh, darlin’, this is a small town. Everyone knows everything about everyone.”

Nox pastes on a brilliant smile and holds his hand out, “We sure are. I’m Hank.” He points a thumb over at me. “And this is Maude.”

Hank… and Maude?

Still shaking Nox’s hand, she looks over at me, smiling in acknowledgement.

But I’m still stuck on Hank. And Maude.

Nox finally lets her hand go and she flushes while giggling to me, “Oh, darlin’, if I had me a man as strong and big as he is, I’d never let him go.”

And I just can’t help myself. Wearing a look of utter disappointment, I say dejectedly, “Yeah, you’d think he’d be big all over, but…” I fade out while my eyes drift down to his crotch, leaving her to finish that sentence in her mind. When her smile fades a little, I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at Nox.

My body jerks and my knees bang on the table hard, forcing the cutlery to bounce all over. Suddenly, my butt is throbbing.

The jackass pinched my ass!

Nox forces out a laugh, “Oh, don’t worry about Maude. She’s a joker. It’s what I love about her.”

Looking a little uncomfortable, the waitress hands us our menus and we order. Our meals come in record time and I have to admit, I didn’t realize I was hungry until the smell of bacon wafted up into my nose. The first bite confirms it. I’m starved.

Nox watches me eat and a look of disbelief crosses his features when I finish my plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and pan-fried tomatoes. When I see he’s stopped eating and watching me, I ask, “You gonna eat your pancakes?”

His brows rise, his lip twitches, and without a word, he moves his plate forward.

I douse the pancakes in butter and syrup, licking my lips all the while, then wolf them down. Nox asks in wonderment, “Where the hell does it all go?”

Still chewing, I speak around my food so my reply comes out garbled, “Dad says we have hollow legs.”

Shaking his head, he pushes my orange juice forward and I down it in one hit.

That was a great brunch. I know I look pregnant now, but…so worth it.

Nox flags down our sweet waitress and asks slyly, “Do you think you could organize for a platter of sandwiches to be made up?” He smiles a dirty smile. “We may not want to leave our room later on.” Then the ass winks.

Our waitress, clearly smitten with Hank, giggles all the way back to the kitchen after confirming this was more than okay.

On her return, Nox pays for our brunch, our sandwich platter, and leaves a very nice tip; then he takes my hand, links our fingers, and we walk back to the motel room. Well, Nox drags me along. I’m having difficulty walking (and breathing) because I was such a fatty-fat-fat at the diner. Nox lifts me bridal-style and carries me. Normally, this would bother me.

Today? Not so much.

I’m so tired that I’m tempted to cross my arms behind my head, kick back, and relax. Fumbling with me and the key, Nox manages to open the door, no thanks to me, and just as I sigh peacefully from the enjoyment of my ride, he throws me onto the bed.

I jerk and bounce so ungracefully that my hair thrashes about, then falls over my eyes. Currently blinded by my thick locks, I throw both my hands up in the air, flipping him the bird. He laughs to himself as I hear the bathroom door close.

I yell out, “Can I grab some clothes out of the bag?”

Nox replies, “Yeah.” A second passes before he adds, “Don’t touch anything else.”

Which makes me wonder what else is in there to touch.

Sliding my body off the bed like an overweight slug, I crawl to the bag in the corner of the room. I try lifting it but it’s heavy, so I do what any other lazy person would do. I tip it upside-down and the contents spill out all over the place.

The sound of the shower starting alerts me to the fact that I only have a few minutes to snoop through Nox’s things. Quick as I can, I spread it all out and look down wide-eyed in wonder.

How the hell did all this fit into that small bag?

There’s approximately five sets of Nox’s man clothes, deodorant, new toothbrushes and toothpaste (thank God), rope, that damn blindfold, which I shove in my pocket, something that looks like a mini electronic tablet, USB sticks, ski masks, the shiny black cell phone I talked to my dad on, and my eyes widen even more when I spot the collection of switchblades.

Picking up the largest one and opening it, I press my finger to the blade lightly. It’s about eight inches long including the handle, and sharp as hell. I don’t need to press any further to know this thing would surely take off my finger if I tried to push any further. It looks like a hunting knife. The blade is shiny and curved, the sharp tip on an angle.

Running my hand down the back of the blade, Nox says in eerie calm, “What you got there? Not planning to take me out, are ya, princess?”

Eyes still trained on the blade, I whisper, “I want you to teach me how to use this.”

His rumbling laughter fills the room. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Eyes pleading, I snap my head up to beg when I see Nox.

Nox in a towel.

Nox in a towel stalking towards me.

His frame is so big that he can’t even wrap the small towel around his waist, he grips the edges shut with a large hand. With every step he takes, I see more of his muscular thigh. His short hair dark as night, and his body glistens with drops of heavenly dew.