Page 39 of Unlawful Seduction

“I disinfected the wound. You should be fine.”

His voice again. Him. The man who’d rescued me from the side of the road. The man who could play Scrabble like nobody’s business. And the man who’d… saved my life from an unknown assailant determined to kill me.

That’s when I jerked up, instantly regretting my quick actions. Nausea filled my stomach, a blinding ache taking up residence in my head. “Oh, God.”

Another memory hit me harder than the body aches. There was a dead man inside my house, lying right in the middle of my kitchen floor. He had vacant eyes like I’d seen in a police drama.

“Take it easy,” Beckett advised and suddenly, there was a glass placed in front of my eyes still held by the man.

I lifted my head as I reached out automatically, my fucked-up mind still putting the pieces together. Basically, I’d been tossed around like a kewpie doll by assassin number one and could have a mild concussion. I’d been saved by possible assassin and definite killer number two who’d then accused me of knowing assassin one before kidnapping and taking me… Somewhere. I had no idea where I was except for on a huge leather couch in front of a roaring fire, the fabulous stone fireplace with a thick heavy wooden mantel straight out of some glossy magazine.

Oh, and I’d fucked assassin number two as well. Or was I wrong? Assassin number three? I was losing track. A laugh bubbled to the surface since I was obviously living out some episode of a spy thriller.

Yep. I was having a banner week.

What would come next?

I accepted the drink, trying to avoid any skin contact, but either he pushed so our fingers would touch or I had. Either way, a series of electric sensations rocketed through me. I immediately jerked my hand away, sloshing some of the liquid on myself in the process.

He chuckled in his dark and husky tone, moving around the table toward one of the chairs. With purpose, he sat down and immediately stared at the fire. Several seconds passed by, then minutes.

Okay, this was going to be the way we played the game?

Jax was right there, allowing me to scratch behind his ears. He was bright eyed, his long tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and his tail constantly moving.

“How’s Jax been doing?” I asked to break the ice.

“No signs he went through anything.”

I shifted so I could take a better look at the stitches. Beckett had obviously had him resting. That was good. “What about you? You were bleeding through.”

“I cleaned the wound while you were sleeping. No big deal. It’s starting to scab over.”

While it was completely inappropriate, I burst into laughter. “While I was sleeping? Do you mean while I was unconscious from a possible concussion obtained by some crazed man I don’t know who broke into my house?”

All signs of the passion I’d seen in the man had vanished. As he slowly turned his head, I could tell he was all about business. He was also angry. The two attacks had something to do with each other. I felt it in my gut. He took a couple of sips of whatever the hell he was drinking, but there was little other sign of life in the man.

“Where am I?”

“My place.” At least he’d answered honestly.

“The cabin in the mountains,” I whispered. He’d taken me out of town. “You know, I think I’m going to be just fine. You can take me back home.”

“No can do.”

“Why is that? Because you have some desire to keep a woman you don’t know hostage?” I was trying to remember any of the details before I’d blacked out. Something did suddenly come to me. “Wait a minute. You accused me of knowing who the asshole was who broke into my house. And why the hell did you just drop by, or was that not really the case? Did you come to my house on purpose?”

I’d moved to the edge of the couch, sipping my drink in hopes the nausea would be kept to a minimum. My head was killing me, but I had the distinct feeling I was very lucky.

Beckett crossed one leg over the other, placing his elbow on his knee and rubbing his index finger across his lips. The man was studying me like a specimen.

“I know you can hear me. Why aren’t you answering?”

Seconds ticked by.

“Tell me about your father.”

His statement, or I should say his demand came so out of the blue I jutted my head forward. I knew I had an evil look on my face. “My father? My father is dead.”

---