Entrapment. Kylie Brant

sooner you learn that the better for both of us.”

      Their gazes did battle, but if he thought she was going to agree with his outrageous statements, he was doomed to disappointment. He released her and turned, heading down the hallway. When he ducked into her bedroom, she was compelled to follow. “No, not that one…”

      “A whirlpool.” His tone was practically reverent. By the time she entered the adjoining bathroom behind him he’d already started the jets.

      “Absolutely not. You aren’t using my bathroom. There have to be some boundaries, Tremaine. And this is…what are you doing?”

      He already had his shirt half-unbuttoned. “This is really your fault, you know.”

      Try as she might, Juliette couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wedge of broad chest he was baring. “How do you figure that?”

      “Your kick on the roof caught me in a bad spot.” His voice was sardonic as he dropped the shirt on the floor. “But I kinda figure you knew that at the time.”

      Dammit, he wasn’t going to make her feel guilty. She forced her gaze off his heavily muscled torso, wide shoulders, impressive biceps. She’d known the night they met on the dance floor that he was favoring one leg. It had been instinct that had driven her to strike at his vulnerability, and she wouldn’t apologize for it now. As a matter of fact, given a chance, she’d kick him again.

      Her gaze fell to his dark shirt on the floor, with the necklace spilling out of the inner pocket. The temptation to grab it and run, fast and far, was nearly dizzying. She was familiar with the layout of the hotel. It was possible she could outrun him. But it wouldn’t change anything. Even if she could get away from Tremaine, get a new identity, start a new life, her grandmother would remain behind.

      And there was no way she would abandon the only person in the world who loved her.

      The sound of his zipper shattered her thoughts. Her gaze bounced back to him incredulously. He’d already kicked off his shoes and socks and his loosened dark pants were clinging precariously to his narrow hips. “This is a little more togetherness than I have in mind.”

      “Really? There’s plenty of room for two in that tub.” There was a devilish look in his eyes. He knew exactly how uncomfortable he was making her. That realization alone forced her to stay her ground, school her expression to polite boredom.

      “I know exactly how much room there is in that tub.” She manufactured a throaty laugh. “As a matter of fact, I can also tell you how long the hot water holds out. In case you’re interested.”

      “I’m interested in anything you have to say, Juliette.” The pants slid down long hard legs. He was left wearing only form-fitting black boxers, the sort that left little—very little—to the imagination. Something told her that after this scene her imagination was going to be very active indeed.

      He grabbed the towel bar with one hand and stepped into the tub. Her gaze went to his injured leg and she nearly gasped aloud. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the jagged angry-looking scar that traced down his thigh. It started just beneath his hip and was at least eight inches long. Still red, it looked to be fairly recent. And as close as it was to a major artery, it had to have been a life-threatening injury.

      Throat dry, she could only stare as he stepped the rest of the way into the tub, hissing out a breath at the temperature, before easing himself down to a sitting position. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the picture of a healthy, blissful male animal.

      “You know what would make this perfect?”

      Somehow, she managed to swallow. Not trusting her voice, she merely shook her head.

      “If you’d refill that glass of Scotch and bring it in here to me.” He opened his eyes long enough to aim a coaxing look at her.

      Without a word, she turned and went to fetch his glass, using the opportunity to draw a deep breath. She’d always prided herself on her ability to think on her feet. Instinct had driven her for so long, it was the primary sense she relied on. But right now she felt like she were standing on quicksand, with the earth constantly shifting and moving beneath her.

      Her hand was not quite steady as she poured the Scotch. Crossing to the freezer, she withdrew some ice cubes and dropped them into the glass. Had it not been for her grandmother, she’d take her chances and make her escape right now. But Tremaine held the trump card, and he knew it. Her head was whirling, but try as she might, she couldn’t think of one other way out of the surreal situation she found herself in.

      She stood in the kitchen a moment longer, her hand clasping and releasing around the glass. When cornered, her instincts were to evade, bluff or parry. She didn’t capitulate to trouble, she punched her way out. There were options here; there had to be. And once she had more information, those options would become apparent to her.

      She took a breath. Right now, however, much as she hated to admit it, her choices were depressingly limited. The realization, dismal as it was, was unavoidable. With reluctance weighing every muscle, she squared her shoulders, turned and retraced her steps, returning with the freshened drink to the half-naked man lounging in her whirlpool.