Page 188 of Hard Knot

Heat rises to my cheeks as I study the hickey, remembering the way his teeth had grazed my skin, how he'd marked me so deliberately while I was too tired to protest.

Sneaky bastard.

My phone feels awkward in my hand as I gather my things, and with no pockets in these leggings, I do what any self-respecting woman would—slip it into my bra. The complementary tote from the flight becomes a makeshift makeup bag as I start packing away my newly purchased products.

At least I remembered the essentials.

James has my passport—he'd insisted on holding onto it, his nervous flyer tendencies making him extra paranoid about documentation. My favorite YSL lipstick is with Carter, who'd better treat it with the respect it deserves after I'd carefully applied it and entrusted it to his care.

"If you ruin that shade," I'd warned him, "you're buying me a new one. Exact color, Carter. Don't think I won't notice if it's even slightly off."

He'd just grinned, tucking it safely into his jacket pocket like it was precious cargo.

Standing in front of the mirror, I run through a mental checklist of my belongings.

Passport with James.

Lipstick with Carter.

Phone in bra because fashion designers hate women enough to deny us pockets. Makeup in the tote...

"I totally forgot something," I groan, trying to remember what essential item I'm missing.

"You won't need it."

The voice behind me sends ice through my veins because they’re not supposed to be here at all.

Before I can turn — or even scream — I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the mirror's reflection: something hard connects with the back of my head.

The world tilts sideways, colors bleeding into darkness as my knees buckle. The last thing I register is the cold tile floor rushing up to meet me, and a distant thought that Holmes is going to be really pissed about me taking long.

Opps…

Then everything goes black.

Bait And Switch

~ELIZABETH~

Consciousness returns slowly, like wading through molasses.

The first thing I register is pain—a dull, persistent throbbing at the back of my head that makes me want to crawl back into the darkness. The second is the rough scratch of rope against my wrists, tied behind what feels like a metal chair.

"Fantastic," I mutter, my voice hoarse. The word echoes slightly, suggesting a large, empty space.Warehouse maybe? How original.

Memories start filtering back in fragments: the plane ride — oh god, the plane ride— Holmes's hands, the airport bathroom, changing into my Lululemon set because comfort was supposed to be the priority for our three-hour drive, and then... nothing.

"Holmes is going to kill me," I groan, letting my head fall forward despite the protest from my aching skull.

After all his paranoid security measures and protective hovering, I go and get myself kidnapped in an airport bathroom.

He's never going to let me live this down.

"Not unless we kill you first."

The voice emerges from the darkness before my eyes have fully adjusted, but I'd recognize that particular blend of entitlement and daddy issues anywhere.

You've got to be kidding me.

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