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“You’re crude,” she said scathingly, “as well as being criminal.”
He smiled cynically and whipped off the makeshift headband, tossing it out of the tub and down on top of his other clothes. He ducked his head under the shower’s spray just long enough to moisten it, then picked up a bottle of shampoo. He sniffed the top of it before pouring a dollop of the creamy stuff into his hand, slapping it to the top of his head and lathering it into a white foam that soon coated the ebony strands of his hair. He scrubbed mercilessly.
“This smells better than prison shampoo,” he remarked as he ran his fingers through the luxuriant lather.
Aislinn said nothing because a plan was formulating in her mind. If he had put his head under the shower nozzle to wet his hair, he’d have to put it under there longer to rinse all the shampoo off, wouldn’t he? She didn’t have long to think her plan through. Already he was squeezing the suds out of his hair and slinging them off his fingers into the water that swirled around his feet.
There was a telephone on the nightstand beside her bed. If she could dash through the bathroom door and manage to dial “9-1-1” before—
He plunged his head beneath the shower’s nozzle. There was no more time to ruminate.
Aislinn hurled herself toward the door, pulled it open, almost wrenching her arm from its socket in the process, and flew into the bedroom. She reached the nightstand in less than a second, grabbed up the telephone receiver and frantically dialed “9-1-1.”
She pressed the receiver against her ear and waited for the ring. Nothing happened. Damn!
In her haste, had she punched a wrong number?
She clicked the disconnect button and tried again, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the receiver. Risking one frenzied glance over her shoulder, she was dismayed to see Lucas Greywolf framed in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, his shoulder propped against it in a stance of lazy indifference.
A towel was draped around his neck. Other than that, he was naked. Water dripped from his wet hair and funnelled down his coppery body. Beads of it clung to places she wished she didn’t notice. He held the wicked knife in his right hand, idly tapping the flat side of the blade against his bare thigh.
Aislinn realized that the second telephone call hadn’t gone through either and that no other calls were going to go through. “You did something to my phone.” It wasn’t a question.
“As soon as I entered the house.”
Rapidly, her hands moving end over end, she reeled the telephone cord up from behind the nightstand. The connector that normally fit into the wall outlet had been ruined, ground by a boot heel as best as she could tell.
Frustration overcame her then. And fury. It enraged her that he could appear so composed when she felt ineffectual and idiotic. She cursed and threw the telephone toward him, then launched herself toward the door, seeking escape at all costs. It was hopeless, of course, but she had to do something.
She managed to reach the door; she even managed to get it open a crack before his wide hand splayed over it directly in front of her face and shoved it closed again. She turned, her fingers curled into claws, bent on attacking him.
“Stop it!” he commanded and grabbed for her flailing arms. The knife nicked her on the forearm. She screamed softly in pain. “You little fool.”
He grunted with surprise when she drove her knee up toward his crotch. She missed her mark, but succeeded in unbalancing him as he made a dodging movement. They fell to the floor, struggling. His skin was still wet, slippery, and he easily deflected the blows and slaps she frantically delivered. In seconds, he had her pinned beneath him, her wrists stapled to the floor by his widespread fingers.
“What the hell was that for? You could have gotten hurt,” he barked. His face was a scant few inches above hers. His chest was heaving in and out from exertion. The anger in his eyes struck terror in Aislinn, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she glared up at him.
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” she ground out.
She had no time to prepare herself before he jerked her to her feet. Her teeth clicked together. She was still trying to regain her equilibrium when she saw the knife arcing down toward the side of her face. She felt a rush of wind as it passed. She tried to scream, but the sound became a faint little whimper when she saw the lock of her hair dangling from his hand. The wavy blond strand of hair being squeezed between those hard brown fingers symbolized her frailty and emphasized how easily his strength could overpower it.
“I meant what I said, lady,” he said, still breathing heavily. “I have nothing else to lose. You pull one more stunt like that and it’ll be more than your hair I’ll use this knife on. Understand?”
Eyes round and gaping at the strand of curling blond hair still clasped between his fingers, Aislinn nodded dumbly. He opened his fingers and let the light-catching strands of hair filter to the floor.
Accepting her acquiescence, he stepped away from her and retrieved the towel. He dried the remaining moisture from his skin and made a pass over his chin-length hair. He tossed the towel to her. “Your arm is bleeding.” She hadn’t noticed. Looking down, she was surprised to see a thin trickle of blood oozing from the nick just above her wrist. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” She shook her head no. “Get over there by the bed.”
Fear tamped her resentment at being ordered around in her own house by a fugitive from justice. Without a murmur of protest, she obeyed him. The bleeding on her arm had stopped. She laid the towel aside and turned to face her captor.
“Take off your clothes.”
She had thought he couldn’t frighten her any more than he already had. She was gravely mistaken. “What?” she wheezed.
“You heard me.”
“No.”
“Unless you do as I say, that cut on your arm is on
