Page 118 of Illicit Temptation

Now with his hair grown out and a trimmed dark beard, he looks wild and feral.

Trace puts the ID away and without any warning, snaps a handcuff around my wrist.

“Wait. No.” I struggle against him, but he’s too strong.

“It’s for your own good.” He brings me to the iron bed frame.

“This is just great.” I clear my voice. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t trust me?”

“No.” He grips my face. “And take that as a compliment because I love your insane sacrificial gesture.”

“By now, they’ll know we’ve taken off, and I’m not sure strolling into Malone’s mansion is an option any longer.”

Trace thinks about that but fastens me to the bed anyway. “Maybe not with a hero’s welcome. But you’d still be received.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw how he looked at you,” Trace growls.

I scoff a laugh. “And this is it? I go back to New York, and he won’t fly there to—”

His icy glare stops me.

“Never mind.”

“When we’re back in the States and we’re living in my Manhattan apartment, there will be guards in the lobby and a drone circling the building.”

“Great.” I swallow thickly, fearing the freedom I enjoyed is over. The career I had smashed.

“It won’t be forever.” Trace prepares for his mission intown but has the decency to leave a bottle of cold spring water on the nightstand. “Any requests?”

Shrugging, I say, “Just some basics, we’re not staying long, right?”

“Aye.” He shoves a hand through his hair. “And if we can’t get a flight, we can’t stay here, either.”

“Then what?”

His jaw ticks up. “Algeria.”

I jump up so fast that I jam my wrist against the metal. “Ouch. What? What the hell is in Algeria?”

“A drug lord who wants Malone dead, too.” He sits me down, rubbing my wrist. “It won’t come to that. I lived here my whole life. I’ve got military mates to call on.”

Makes me wonder why he’s not calling his cousins.

Oh, right. He kidnapped me.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but I lay on the bed and close my eyes. Seconds later, exhaustion claims me.

My sore wrist which started feeling warm from the metal handcuff turns cool when an icepack is laid across the aching joint. I open my eyes and find Trace, unharmed, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling.

“I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Biting my lower lip, I utter with a dry throat, “I don’t see how any news can be good.”

He lifts me onto his lap. “First good news, I got us food, including steaks I can cook on the grill out back, greens for a salad, and potatoes to bake or mash, whatever your preference.”

My stomach rumbles at that. “More good news?”

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