Page 121 of Not Just a Trick Play

“Jake…?”

My jaw drops. “Amelia?”

“Hi.” Her voice is soft, unsure.

“What the?—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, her lovely accent raw and ragged, as if she’s speaking past daggers in her throat.

Details become clearer as I adjust to the dim light, and my gaze sweeps up her body, taking in red heels, smooth thighs, and barely-there panties and a bra to match. Her chest is thrust high, and her dark hair’s spread across my pillow looking like a Christmas present down to the tiny bow in the center of her breasts. My dick seems to be getting the picture, because it snaps to attention even though my brain’s still trying to process the image.

I blink. Her expression is uncomfortable, and a little freaked out. Doesn’t gel with my fantasy. Above her head, her wrists are locked together.

Jesus. The handcuffs.

She’s chained to my bed. The sight jolts me into action. I rush to close the distance between us, almost expecting Stella to pop out of nowhere. Did she kidnap Amelia before she could get on the plane?

I lean over her, and my hands meet cold, clammy skin, pebbled with goosebumps. Slight shivers wrack her form.

Fuck, how long has she been here? I rub along her sides, trying to warm her up, then reach to fumble for the hidden catch Connor showed me. I can’t find it.

“Where’s the key?” I push up on my palms. I need to get her free. I look around desperately.

“Behind the bed. It fell by mistake.”

Shock surges through me, and I pause mid-motion. “Hold on. You did this?” Slowly, she nods and my incredulity spikes. Why would she do this? “What if I hadn’t come home? Or the building caught on fire? Or a cat burglar got in?”

Dropping to the floor, my fingers sweep across the wood like drunken spiders skittering for cover. I try to steady my thundering heart, so I can scour the ground with purpose, not panic. But the less success I have locating the key, the more my mind spirals.

Shaking off grim what-ifs, I sit on my knees, flick on the light, and renew my hunt. There. My target glints by the baseboard. I grab it, relief and urgency propelling me upright.

I’m at the lock again, my moves almost jerky in their haste, but Amelia’s bound hands catch my wrists. “Wait.”

I freeze, poised above her trembling body.

Her breath gusts out, and her gaze overbright and glistening at the corners. “I know you’re upset I’m here, but I need you to listen before you boot me out.”

Upset? I’m thrilled she’s here and not flying over an ocean to Pencil Dick. How could she think I could throw her out?

“I—I…” she begins, but her words tremble, scarcely making it out. Fuck this. I jam the key into the post. “Stop!”

“I’m listening,” I growl.

“You’re probably angry?—”

“Furious. I can’t believe you did this,” I mutter. Furious that she thought this was necessary to get my attention. My eyes flash to hers. Furious and relieved and worried and ecstatic all at once. My sweet, sweet, misguided girl. I stroke her cheek and take a calming breath. The woman’s a hazard to herself. She needs a keeper. Good thing I’m about to volunteer for the job.

My focus snaps back to the handcuffs. The damned key won’t turn. I twist again.

Fucking finally, it cooperates. One ring springs open. Gently, I slide it off her wrist, unloop the chain from the rail, and lower both her arms. She groans in relief, flexing her fingers several times. I take a few seconds to massage the tender skin where the metal bit into her flesh then return to the remaining cuff.

After a moment, she tentatively starts over. “When I told you I was leaving, I need you to know none of it was ever because I didn’t want you.” Urgency quickens her voice, and I nod curtly, acknowledging her confession without letting it distract me from my task. “And I do trust you, even if?—”

A sharp click cuts her off, and her eyes drop to the handcuffs. Confusion flickers over her features before her face swings to me in shock. “What?—?”

I haven’t unlocked her other wrist. Instead, I’ve fastened the open cuff around my own, binding us together.

She freezes, the only movement the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her gaze ping-pongs between her hand and mine, just inches apart.

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