Page 68 of The Promise
"I hardly think you're in a position to be giving me orders." He twisted her arm behind her, pulling her even closer, her hand pinned against her back. He traced the tip of the gun along one breast, then used the barrel to work the buttons on her shirt free. "I've been waiting for this a long time."
A scream split the air.
Michael broke into a full run, leaping over the fence into the yard. His brain clicked into gear, just as he was starting to bound onto the porch. No sense in tipping his hand. He swerved to the side, bending low to the ground.
The Jeep was parked at the side of the house. He moved to its far side, inching the door slowly open. The rifle was still hanging against the back window. Reaching for it, he prayed that whoever was inside wasn't looking out the window.
His hand closed around the stock and he lifted it carefully out of the brackets. He had to admit, it felt good to have it in his hand. There was definitely something equalizing about carrying a weapon, no matter what century a man occupied.
He slid along the side of the house, ducking under the window. Slowly, slowly, he inched his way up, until he could see into the room. He choked back a cry of rage. Vargas had Cara trapped, his gun at her… He clenched a fist. The bastard would pay.
He ducked back down and slipped around the corner to the rear of the house. The bedroom window was cracked openslightly. He heaved a sigh of relief and shoved it higher. He tossed the rifle onto the bed and he threw a leg over the sill. Dropping onto the floor, he retrieved the gun and edged forward toward the open door.
Cara closed her eyes,trying to think what to do. Nick's hand was firmly holding her captive, threatening to snap her wrist each time she tried to rebel against his ministrations. She squirmed against him as the hand with the gun dipped lower, tracing a path against the bare skin of her abdomen.
"You didn't realize a weapon could be used with love, did you, Cara mia?"
She heard the slide of her zipper and sucked in her stomach as cold, hard steel rubbed against soft skin. "What you're doing has nothing whatsoever to do with love, Nick."
"You disappoint me, Cara, I thought you were more adventurous." He kissed her, forcing her mouth open and drilling into her with his tongue.
Cara gagged and tried to wrench her head away. Yanking her free arm from between them, she dug her nails into his skin. He jerked back, a queer smile lighting his face, a trail of blood along his cheek. She sucked in a ragged breath, realizing she'd played right into his hands. The man got off on pain.
"So the lady likes it rough." He jammed the gun upward, digging into her tender flesh. "Do you realize, darling, that if I were to pull the trigger now, you would be shattered inside and out?" He waited, watching her, wanting a reaction.
She bit her lip and met his gaze full on, trying to keep her emotions in check. She'd be damned if she'd add to his pleasure.
He frowned and moved the gun muzzle up to the tender skin under her chin. "But then, we don't want things to go too quickly, do we? After all we're still waiting for your man of the hour." He pushed the pistol into her neck, pressing it against her larynx. Then he slid around so that he was behind her, her body pressed against him, her arm trapped between them.
"Let her go, Vargas."
"Ah, Macpherson, right on time," Nick jeered. "I've been expecting you."
"I said to let her go."
Cara had never seen Michael look so angry. He held the rifle pointed at them, his stance stiff and unyielding. His eyes were narrowed into thin slits of cobalt, and if the old adage that looks could kill was true, then Nick Vargas was a dead man.
The gun bit into her throat. "I hardly think you have the upper hand here, Macpherson. If you don't want to see Cara's brains splattered about this charming living room, I suggest you drop the Rambo imitation and the gun."
Cara wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Michael didn't even know who Rambo was. She heard the click of the safety being removed and held her breath.
Michael dropped the rifle, but kept his tense stance, looking a lot like a snake about to strike. "All right, I've dropped it, now let her go."
"Well, now, that would be a mistake, wouldn't it? Just the edge you need." Nick's voice was even and pleasant as if they were attending a dinner party together. "Kick it over here."
Michael kicked the rifle and it spun away to the left.
Nick watched the rifle slide across the wooden floor. "Not very good at following orders, but it will have to do. I know who you are, Macpherson."
Cara sucked in a breath and watched as Michael stiffened. How could Nick possibly know?
"Did you think I wouldn't recognize the name? I had your family thoroughly investigated, but obviously the buffoon missed a branch. According to him, the only Macphersons left are in some godforsaken lake valley in Scotland."
"Crannog Mhór."
"Whatever." Nick waved the gun. "The point is I have no intention of sharing my find with you."
"Find?" The words popped out before Cara could stop herself.
