Two Captains, One Chair: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (18 page)

Chapter
Fifteen

A
door opened, and footsteps scuffed on hard flooring as someone walked in.  The footsteps stopped.  I heard a sigh.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Nobody, sir.  Just us, the bartender, and now you.”

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“Yessir.”

“I’ll take it from here,” that someone said.  It was a man’s voice, a tenor. 

I frowned as recognition tickled the back of my mind.

“Sure thing, boss.”  Boots scraped as the goons walked out.

Leaving me alone.  With their ‘boss’.

His footsteps echoed as he approached.  He stopped in front of me, and set something down on a hard surface.  Then another something, this having the metal clatter-ring of a knife.  I started to breathe a little faster, imagining that classic movie-torturer scene, where they unroll their set of surgical blades and tell you you’re going to talk.

I really didn’t understand.  Nobody had to cut on me to get me to talk.  I loved to talk.

I heard something—it sounded like the lid on a glass jar slowly twisting.  I felt like whimpering, imagining what that might be.  Acid?  A jar of scorpions?

The knife-sounding thing moved again, a soft scrape, and then there were a few moments where all I heard was my own heartbeat and harsh breathing, maybe the softest rasp of his clothing as he prepared whatever torture device he had for me.

I couldn’t stand it anymore.  “What do you want?” I asked, my voice squeaking at the end.  “What are you gonna do?”

Chair legs scraped across the floor.  I heard the creak of metal and guessed he had sat.

“My dad’s a cop, you know,” I said.  “He’ll find me.  He’s not gonna like that you’ve taken me.”  I didn’t much care for my father, but in situations like these, you used whatever you had.

“Your dad’s retired,” he said.

I gasped and jerked as he touched me, but he just seemed to be grasping the bag over my head.  It slid up and away, leaving my hair crackling with static electricity.

I blinked, trying to focus in the dim light.

He clicked on a lamp, and shined it straight into my eyes.  Blinding me.

“You’ve been asking a lot of questions,” he said.  “Poking your nose into places it shouldn’t be.”

Eyes watering, I squinted in the light, trying desperately to make out the dark shadow beyond the glare of the bulb.  “I’m just trying to find my gold nugget,” I said.  “I had a big gold nugget.  It went missing a week ago.”

“And so you thought you’d find it at the bar?” he asked.

I was starting to get a bad feeling.  That voice was very familiar.

“I was at the bar,” I said, “because the guides were near the top of my list of suspects, and when I asked around, they all gave me the same lame-ass story about what they did in the evenings.  I figured if they were all here, at the bar, I could come and ask around about my nugget.  Imagine my surprise when I get here, and the place is empty.”

“They were
near
the top of the list?” that shadowy figure asked.  “Who was at the top?”

I knew that voice.  I swear to God…

“There’s this guy in our neighborhood who’s way too nice.  He’s always helping people, fixing things for them.  He lets people take advantage of him, and he never asks for anything in return.  He stood to inherit the nugget, but didn’t.  And I, the neighborhood gossip, knew nothing about him.  It was damn suspicious.”

My eyes were finally starting to focus.  I gazed past the white glare—and gasped.

Ed was sitting on the other side of the table, looking at me.

What.  The ever-loving. 
Fuck?

“Too nice?” he asked.

Oh shit. 
I glanced down at the table, and blinked because on it sat the absolute last thing I’d expected to see.

He’d made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  A glass jar of raspberry jelly sat next to a pretty china plate, a butter knife propped on the edge.  He apparently liked creamy Jif.

“Would you like half?” he asked, catching me looking.

I shook my head, rendered utterly speechless.

He lifted the sandwich, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully as he stared at me.

I stared back, feeling like I’d just been kicked in the chest.  Ed was those thugs’
‘boss’
?  Nice, never-ask-for-anything-in-return, Mr. Fixit, sculpture-welding, object-of-my-wet-dreams, a.k.a. ‘The Beard’
Ed
had me tied to a chair?

No, this couldn’t be right.  I shook my head.

“You’ve been asking too many questions,” he said.

“Why?”  I asked.  “What are you and the guides up to?”

He leaned forward, the blue-green in his eyes catching the lamplight.  “I need you to stop asking questions,” he said, his warm tenor now hard as steel.  “If you do not,” he said, “there will be consequences.”

Obviously, I didn’t know this man at all.  He was being tough and bossy… and I liked it.  The way he said ‘consequences’ gave me a full-body shiver.

I tried to squelch my response, but it was no use.  I twisted at the rope holding my hands, badly wanting to grab him.

In his house, I’d wondered if he’d let me kiss him because I wanted to, because he always said yes.  But this Ed?  This Ed would tell me if he didn’t want my mouth on his.  In fact, this Ed looked like he might just spank me without provocation.

My chin lifted.  “You can’t make me keep my mouth shut,” I said.  He could, with duct tape, but I wouldn’t be telling him that.

He set down his sandwich, and with a screech of his chair legs, he was suddenly looming over me.  His face was very close, and he looked so very dangerous.  Forbidding.

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

I was suddenly very, very wet.  I was staring at his mouth, and I couldn’t seem to stop.  My nipples were hard as bullets, and I squirmed on my chair as arousal tore through my veins.  I had no idea how or why this was happening—but it undeniably was.

I was tied up, I was being held captive, and I wanted Ed like he was the last man on Earth and I’d just eaten a bucket of oysters.

I tried to tell myself it was wrong.  I shouldn’t want this man.  He’d had me snatched.  He was a liar.  And he was threatening me.

But there was no denying I wanted him.  I was helpless, and I wanted him more than ice cream, or a $100,000 nugget.  More, even, than a good rumor.

“Fuck,” I said.

The word drew his gaze to my mouth.  “Are you cussing because you’re capitulating?” he asked.

I shook my head.  Damn, but I wanted him to take advantage of me.  I wanted him to grab me by the hair, and kiss me senseless.

“Listen, Suzy.  You’re a gossip.”

I nodded.

“And yes, you’ve got excellent instincts, and we’re up to something.”

I nodded again, getting excited.  I wasn’t sure if it was because those full, sensual lips had drifted a couple millimeters closer, or if it was because he sounded like he was going to tell me his secret.

“But we’re not hurting anybody, and frankly, I can’t tell you what we’re doing, because Suzy—” he grasped my chin, making my breath catch “—you’re a gossip.”

My chest was heaving, but it wasn’t from fear.  Not anymore.  I didn’t know this Ed, but I did know he wouldn’t hurt me.  No, I wanted this Ed’s mouth on mine so badly, I felt itchy, like a heroin addict gone too long without her fix.

He watched me lick my lips, and he muttered something vile under his breath.  It was something so dirty, something so anti-Ed, that I practically lit on fire.  I’d been hesitating over Ed because he was too nice.  Well, as it turns out, apparently he wasn’t, and
oh my god
, I wanted him
now
.

I lunged toward him, making it a couple more inches before the table got in my way.  His hand wound up cupping the side of my head, and his fingers slid into the mess of my hair.  I was less than an inch from him, but it was an inch too far.

He shook his head slowly.  “You’re not supposed to be trying to kiss your captor,” he chided.

“I don’t care,” I whispered back.  “I want you.  You’re making me so freaking hot with your tough guy act that I can’t see straight.”

His mouth stretched into a smile.  “Really?  Usually I make people piss themselves.”

“It would take something stiffer than a PB&J to get that reaction out of me,” I said.

His free hand cupped the other side of my head.  He was looking at my lips.  “Stiffer than a PB&J, you say?  Hmm… I can’t imagine what might be stiffer than that,” he mused.

I sputtered a laugh, and was just about beside myself with both of his hands on me.  They felt divine, big and warm against my skin, his fingers caressing the tender area below my ears.

“Kiss me, damn you,” I ordered.

His breath was against my lips, wafting across them, tickling me.  His eyes filled my vision, that magnificent melding of blue and green and hypnotic brown.  I fell into them, and waited impatiently for him to ravish me.

And then tell me his secrets.

“No,” he breathed against my lips.  He straightened up and slid his hands away, leaving me all a-throb and tingly and a little upset.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I demanded, remembering the way Annie had rushed out my door and taken the brothers right there on the lawn.  This was supposed to be simple. 
Men
were supposed to be simple.  Not sneaky bastards who were all kind and handy one moment, and then the celibate bosses of fishing guide thugs that tied me up the next.  “What do you need from me, an engraved invitation?” I asked in exasperation.

“I need you to agree to stop investigating,” he said.

I screwed up my mouth and gave him my best stubborn look.  I wasn’t going to be dissuaded from figuring out what he was up to, no way.

He sighed.  “I’ll take you home.  If you come around asking questions again, I’ll have to make things unpleasant for you.”

“What are you gonna do, leave off the jelly next time?  Maybe try some nipple clamps?  I have some,” I pointed out.  My Passion Party inventory also included floggers, and handcuffs, and—

He
was stiffer than a PB&J, I noted as he stepped back from the table.  He was making quite the tent in his pants, and I really, really wanted to see what he had in there.  I wanted to touch him, stroke him.  Put my mouth on him.  Maybe if I told him
that
…

“Don’t tempt me,” he said as he rounded the table.  He pulled me up out of my chair and nudged me to get me walking toward the door.

“How about I throw out some guesses as to what you’re up to, and you tell me yes or no,” I said.  He opened the door for me, and I stepped through.  He grasped my arm, turned me to the right, and started walking with me.

I didn’t wait for him to answer.  “You’re running some sort of gigolo operation, pimping out the guides to the guests, and you’re their madam,” I guessed.

He pulled up short, and I went another step without him.  “That’s a really good idea,” he said.

“Well, if you go with it, I want a percentage.”

He recaptured my upper arm and continued down the hall with me.  He opened the next door, and we stepped outside.

There was still hardly anyone around.  A fishing guide down at the boats gave Ed a respectful nod as we approached.  He totally ignored the way my hands were tied behind my back.

“You’re growing pot, and the guides are your distributors,” I guessed again.

“Another excellent idea,” Ed said, “But no.”

“You’re operating an illegal poaching ring.”

“Nope.”  He picked me up and swung me into his boat, plopping me down on the bench.  He went over to my boat, pulled out my float coat, and bundled me into it, zipping me up like an army-green sausage.  My sleeves flopped empty at my sides.

“I’m not going to be able to swim with my hands tied,” I pointed out.

“I’ll rescue you,” he said. ‘Again’ hung in the air after his statement.  He put on his own float coat.

“You know, it’s called kidnapping to take somebody against their will, tie them up, and threaten them.  And actually, I think the threatening might be called assault.  What’s to stop me from calling the police when you get me home?” I asked.

“You’re supposed to be doing and saying anything to make me let you go,” Ed pointed out as he set the anchor in the bottom of his boat.  “Threatening to call the Troopers on me while I’ve still got you is counterproductive.”  He pushed us off into the river.

“What about my boat?” I asked.

“I think I’ll keep it a couple days.  Long enough for you to cool down and realize it would be wisest all the way around if you quit your sleuthing.”  He stepped over my bench to the back and pull-started the outboard engine.  Its two-stroke roar made conversation impossible as he angled us upstream.

I let my eyes speak for me, telling him in no uncertain terms that his future was about to get interesting.