Madame X - Wilder Jasinda - Страница 44
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“Take off your belt, shoes, and socks,” Logan instructs.
Len complies, unbuckling a thin, shiny leather black dress belt, sweeping it off, then sensible black dress shoes and argyle socks.
“Lie down on your side and put your hands by your ankles.”
Once again, Len complies, slowly rolling and extending wrists together. Logan, the gun still in one hand pointed at Len, shoves the end of the belt between Len’s ankles and the floor, draws the tip of it over Len’s ankles and wrists, feeds it deftly through the buckle, all one-handed. Tugs it taut, and then harder, until Len grunts in pain. Only then does Logan stuff the pistol in the back of his jeans. A few quick motions, and the belt is tied in a knot. One sock gets balled up and shoved in Len’s mouth, the other stretched around to form what looks to be a painfully tight gag.
The whole process of tying up and gagging Len takes Logan less than thirty seconds.
“You okay?” Logan takes two quick steps to me, kneels in front of me.
His eyes are on mine, and they are the indigo of the deepest ocean blue, calm, concerned.
I nod. “Yes.” But then I glance at Len, and I start shaking. “No.”
“You hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt.”
He glances around, as I did, looking for a towel. He sees what I didn’t, however: a cabinet hidden in the wall. He moves like liquid, retrieves a thick white towel, holds it up for me. “Come on. Easy now.”
I stand up, step out. Logan’s eyes remain on mine, and though I am naked in front of him, I don’t feel as vulnerable as I should. He wraps the towel around my shoulders, cocooning me in it.
“Can you walk?” he asks, his voice soothing and warm in my ear.
“Yes.” I take two steps, but then my knees make me a liar. I am still dizzy, disoriented. I feel sapped of strength, and thirsty. Logan’s arms are around me, catching me easily. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep in the tub.”
“That’ll do it. You’re overheated.” He moves with me, twists sideways out of the door, carries me across the room in easy strides. “I need to set you down. I won’t let you fall, though.”
I find my feet, lean against him. I feel stronger now, but his proximity is calming, and I’m confused, tired. I never take naps, and I feel as if I’ve fallen through a hole in the ground into some other place. Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Nothing is right. I shouldn’t be in Caleb’s penthouse, and Logan shouldn’t be here either.
And I certainly shouldn’t feel safe in the arms of a man who just bound and gagged someone at gunpoint, using his captive’s own belt and socks.
But I do.
Logan produces a key—Len’s, I assume—from his pocket. Inserts and twists it to activate the elevator, which takes a moment to arrive, and then the doors open.
Logan nudges me on. “That won’t hold him for long. We gotta move, if we want to pull this off.”
He brings us to my floor, his arm around my waist, holding me up, helping me walk, swiftly, but carefully.
At my door, he reaches behind himself, withdraws the gun, a black piece of metal that looks small in his hand, held naturally, as if an extension of his arm. He throws my door open, an arm around me, his body in front of mine. The barrel sweeps the opening, quickly and professionally. He sits me on the couch, waves at me in a gesture to stay, and then disappears into my bedroom.
Moments later he’s back, a stack of clothing in his hands, shoved at me. “You have literally no practical clothes, X. You don’t even have practical underwear.”
He’s chosen a set of black Agent Provocateur lingerie, shelf bra, boy short panties. A pale blue sundress, sleeveless, knee-length, red flowers printed around the hem. Strappy silver sandals, the smallest heel in my closet.
I shrug, take the clothes. “I don’t purchase my clothing.”
Logan’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t remark on that comment. “Get dressed,” he says, brusque but with a note of kindness. “We don’t have a lot of time.” He turns away, shoves his hands in his back pockets, the gun barrel stuffed diagonally in his waistband at his back.
I dress quickly. It’s strange how having clothes on can change one’s mind-set.
Logan turns, peeks at me to make sure I’m decent, and then turns around completely. He takes my arms in his hands, eyes sincere, warm. “All right, X. I’m only going ask you this one time, and you need to think hard about your answer.” His hand goes to my cheek, brushes a lock of damp hair off my cheekbone. “I can take you away from here, if that’s what you want. But I’m not going to carry you out of here over my shoulder like some barbarian. You can come with me, or not. It’s your choice.”
I swallow hard.
This is all I know. Caleb, Len, this condo. I glance to the left: my library, the door open, all my books waiting. My window, my view.
But upstairs, that scene. Bent over, a hard hand on my throat. The sorcery of Caleb’s touch, as if my will is somehow subject to such easy manipulation. So easily left alone, no explanation, just an expectation that I’d be there, waiting, ready to do as Caleb instructs.
I don’t know what I want.
I don’t know Logan. The unknown is scary, and when you have no past, no identity, when you’ve but rarely ventured out of the small realm of the familiar, everything is unknown and scary.
But Logan is giving me a choice.
That, in itself, is enough to sway me.
The unknown is terrifying.
An eternity of the same few things I do know . . . that’s scarier yet.
“Take me with you, Logan.” I strive to sound confident, when I am anything but.
A very small smile crosses his lips. “I hoped you’d say that.” His palm lifts, cups my cheek.
That touch, so gentle, so kind, hinting at strength held at bay; I nuzzle my cheek into his palm, and my eyes flutter, close. A moment, only, but it quiets the turmoil in my soul, if only for one fleeting moment.
As my eyes are closed, I feel his breath, his lips touching mine. Sweetly, softly,
He kisses me,
and kisses me,
and kisses me.
All in a moment.
I gasp as his lips leave mine, and then his hand tangles in mine, fingers twined, and he tugs me into motion. “Come on, honey. Time to go.”
And he takes me away from everything I know.
FIFTEEN
On the elevator, Logan tugs his cap off his head and fits it onto mine, taps the brim lower over my face. He scrubs a hand through his hair, making a mess of it, the blond locks tangled. But even thus, with his hair in a snarl, he’s so sexy my breath comes short at the sight of him.
“We’re just gonna walk right out of here, okay? Right out the front door.” He slips an arm around my waist, digs his other hand into his pocket, produces his cell phone and hands it to me. “Keep your head down. Pretend like you’re engrossed in Facebook or something, yeah? Just act like you can’t be bothered to look up.”
I take the device in my hands. It’s a big glossy black rectangle in a rubber case, with a single round button at the bottom. Logan presses the button with his thumb and the screen turns on, showing Logan with a large chocolate-brown dog, its tongue lolling out. He leaves his thumb on the button for another second, and the screen changes, showing rows of little icons in different colors with various logos. Behind the rows of icons is a stunning photograph of a spiral galaxy.
I have no clue what to do. I don’t own a cell phone and have no knowledge of how to use one, so it’s likely I’ve never owned one, either.
I just stare at the screen for a moment, and then glance up at Logan. “I don’t know what to do.”
He frowns down at me. “What do you mean?”
I lift the phone in gesture. “With this. I’ve never owned a cell phone.”
His eyebrows rise. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He touches the screen with his index finger and swipes left, pulling the screen full of little icons to the right. He finds one icon, taps it, and it expands to reveal a hidden set of icons; he taps one. “Tetris. It’s easy. Just fit the little pieces so they make a straight line across. Tap them, and they’ll rotate. It’s like a moving puzzle.”
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