Page 3 of A Sinful Gift

“Not at all,” he agreed, and stood. She collected her clutch purse and paid her tab. Then she let the man escort her to the back door.

The alley out back was dark and a little chilly, but Hazel breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a waiting car a few yards away. When they reached the vehicle, she turned to thank the man, but she gasped as he pulled her into the dark shadow of the building.

“I—” She started to speak and lifted one hand to push against his chest to force him to step back a little. But he didn’t budge.

She had no chance to react as the man suddenly captured her wrist with one large hand. He twisted something soft and silky around it and then tied it to her other wrist. Fucking Boy Scout—he’d tied some fancy knot she couldn’t pull free from!

“Hey, what are you—” Before she could scream, he pressed a wadded cloth into her mouth, gagging her. She struggled, but the martini was still making her head a bit dizzy. The terror was slow to come, but once it began to build, her heart thrashed against her ribs.

The man opened the car door with ease, scooped her up, and deposited her in the back seat. She tried to wriggle toward the door, but he shut it, preventing her escape. When he got into the front seat, he hit the door-lock button.

This wasn’t the cab she’d hired. It washiscar. He was kidnapping her. All of these realizations built inside her as she tried to free her hands, and failing at that, she tugged uselessly at the car door handle.

With the martini still making her woozy, she made a muffled sound of protest against the gag.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured.

She let out another cry for help.

“I promise, no one’s going to hurt you,” the mountain man said. “I’m taking you to an old friend. You’re the perfect gift for him.”

ChapterTwo

“You’re the perfect gift for him.”

The man’s words echoed in Hazel’s mind as she stared bleakly out the car window. How had this happened to her? She’d been such a fool. She wished she had gone home with Blake. At least then she would be safe. Blake was a sexy asshole, but he would never hurt her.

She wasn’t sure how long they were in the car, but after they left Manhattan, she dozed off in the back seat, thanks to the martini. She was still a little groggy when she came awake to find herself in the mountain man’s arms again. He held her gently cradled against his chest as he strode up the steps to a beautiful mansion. The earthy scent that clung to him smelled like fresh-cut timber. Beneath all of that there was a softer, more male scent that belonged solely to him, and Hazel felt intensely and intimately aware of him as that aroma filled her head. His palms were calloused, and his fingers felt firm as he cradled her legs and her upper back, but not rough enough to bruise.

She made a soft sound against the gag, but he ignored her. The front door opened as they approached, and an older man in a black suit stared solemnly at them.

“Good evening, Mr. Wilde,” the man at the door said.

Mr. Wilde.Hazel looked up at the face of the man who carried her. Wilde. The name suited him. He seemed like some ancient wood god who had stepped out of a thousand-year-old forest and now walked among mortals for the first time.

When her captor noticed her staring up at him, he shot her a boyish grin before he addressed the man at the door.

“Evening, Chalmers. I have a gift for him, if he’s home.”

“I believe the master will enjoy her. Please come with me.” Chalmers offered Wilde an amused smile as he carried her down the hall to a pair of large oak doors. What she glimpsed, briefly, of the house made her think that it might be one of those old oil baron mansions she’d toured on the Gold Coast of Long Island. Yet the furnishings were sleek, modern. Everything had an understated elegance that spoke of money without being flashy. Whoever lived here had nothing to prove to anyone and seemed to just enjoy beauty. There were works of art on the walls, high vaulted ceilings, brilliantly lit chandeliers, and some rooms they passed had color schemes that seemed to come out of an interior designer’s fairy tale.

“The library, eh? He must be in a mood,” Wilde mused.

“Yes, he is. But I believe your gift will cheer him up.” The servant chuckled, as if all of this was entirely normal. Then he left them alone and walked back down the hall.

Hazel’s heart pounded wildly as the mountain man carried her into a vast library that had rows of shelves containing hundreds of books. At the far end of the room, a trio of wingback chairs faced the fireplace. A fire was lit, and it cracked and popped in an otherwise silent room that felt charged with a strange and exciting sort of energy. Hazel glimpsed a man’s hand resting on the arm of one of the chairs.

The master...It had to be. She noticed his sleeve had been rolled up, exposing a swath of tan skin. The muscles of his forearm moved as he swirled a glass of amber-colored liquor. Something about the intimacy of the scene sent her blood pounding through her veins. She couldn’t ignore the instinctive feminine desire that seeing a muscular male arm created in her.

“I have a present for you, old friend.” Wilde’s deep voice broke the silence.

Hazel lifted her head up to stare at him and made a soft whimpering sound, trying to plead with him.

“Hush, sweetheart, you’ll like him. I know it,” Wilde murmured to her.

She lowered her brows and tried to growl at him through the gag. This only made the bastard smile, as if he thought the sound was adorable.

The chair creaked and a man stood, silhouetted by the fire behind him as he downed the last of his drink and set the glass on a table. From his shape, Hazel could tell he was tall and well built. She wondered if his face was as beautiful as his silhouette hinted his body was. Sheshouldn’tcare, she should be screaming and fighting, but something in her, something dark and delicious, was stirring like a covetous dragon rolling on its bed of gold.

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