Illicit Captor by Maggie Cole

3

Scarlet

Aidan's broad back that stretches his T-shirt and rock-hard ass underneath his gray joggers aren't helping me. I can't tear my gaze off him while he does the dishes.

What kind of man does the dishes?

Definitely not ones like him.

But there he is, scrubbing plates.

Stop looking,I reprimand myself. Yet, I continue to fixate on all his body parts, which I shouldn't do.

I've just been with Tommy too long, and that's why I'm finding him attractive.

He drugged me.

But he got me away from Tommy.

Tommy will kill me when he hunts us down.

I sigh. Aidan seems nice. He's a little overboard about my safety, and I can tell he's got a crazy streak in him. It isn't any different than all the men I've ever known, but that's where the similarities end. He's only shown me kindness and tried to care for me, which confuses me.

Tommy's a cruel monster. There's no heart inside him. Every moment with him was torture.

His face pops into my mind, and I shudder, tugging the blanket tighter. I lean my head against the back of the couch and peek over the edge, continuing to stare at Aidan.

Why do I feel safe with him?

I'm not. Tommy will find us. This isn't permanent.

My inner voice warns that I don't even know who Aidan really is, so I shouldn't trust him.

All I know about this guy is his first name. He says he's friends with Alaina, but that doesn't make sense. My sister doesn't have friends. I rack my mind trying to think about who in our clan is named Aidan, but the ones I know don't come close to resembling the tall, rugged man standing in front of me.

They definitely wouldn't be doing dishes.

Why would he go against Da and Tommy?

Da's going to kill him if Tommy doesn't.

Something about that thought makes me sad. And the fear I can't escape of the consequences of being here with Aidan grows.

I sink into the couch and close my eyes. A shiver runs down my spine. I wish I could hide from the anxiety and trip down memory lane, but I can't.

My da didn't protect me. He fed me to the lions when I tried to run away. I just wanted to escape the clan, his ideas of what a woman in the clan's life should be like, and live like an average person would.

Yet I couldn't hide. He sent Tommy to find me in London, and within a day, I was right back in my father's house. And he was angry. He saw my actions as a betrayal. As a punishment, he forced me to marry Tommy. Now, Da's surely hunting me just like he did when I ran away.

I get lost in my thoughts, sinking deeper and deeper until Aidan's voice tears me out of them. "Scarlet, want me to take ya to bed?"

Adrenaline shoots through my core. I open my eyes, speechless, inhaling his cedarwood and musk scent. He's crouched on the floor next to the couch. His dark eyes peer at me. They swirl with concern and something else. Something I haven't seen since before Tommy, when men would look at me with interest.

The longer Aidan pins his gaze on me, the more the heat grows. I wonder if I'm imagining it.

He says, "Should I carry ya to the bedroom?"

My pulse skyrockets, and butterflies fill my stomach.

Jesus. What will he do to me in there?

What am I thinking? I have to stop these thoughts.

I'm married.

My body is disgusting right now. I look like a skeleton. No way he'd be attracted to me. He even admitted I need to gain weight.

But why is he staring at me like that?

He should be shot for those chiseled features.

"Scarlet, do ya want to sleep?" he asks again.

I force myself to sit up and blurt out, "Let's play a game."

Surprise fills his expression. "A game?"

I glance around the tiny space but don't see any board games or cards.

Aidan declares, "I don't think there are any games here, petal."

Petal.

Everything in my core heats up. I lick my lips. My heart races faster, and I pat the cushion beside me, ordering, "Sit down. I know a game."

He hesitates. "What kind of game?"

"You'll see. But what's your last name? I know it's not O'Leary," I claim, tilting my head.

His face hardens. "No, it's not."

My chest tightens. "Then what is it?"

"It's just Aidan."

"Ya aren't going to tell me your last name?"

"Not right now."

"Why?"

"Change the subject."

The hairs on my arms rise and I take a deep breath.

His expression stays hardened, and something tells me not to push him on it right now. So I ask, "Are ya scared to sit next to me? I won't break in two from your..." My eyes glance down to his groin and my face heats.

Jesus, that bulge is so big.

His lips twitch. He's not even slightly embarrassed. "My what, Scarlet?"

I circle my finger in front of his muscular pecs. "Your large self," I state, but it only embarrasses me further.

Arrogance washes over him. It might be the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

No, no, no. It's not sexy.

I've just been with Tommy too long.

His lips twitch as if he can read my mind, and he arches his eyebrow.

"Well, do ya want to play a game to pass the time or not?" I challenge.

He slides next to me, and more zings fly to my core.

Oh shit, this is bad.

Why did I tell him to sit next to me?

He rolls his head next to mine and stares at my lips, stating, "I'll warn ya, I'm not much of a rule follower."

My tingles grow more intense. "No? So I have to worry about ya cheating? Typical man."

His eyes meet mine. He firmly reprimands, "No, I'm not a cheater. Real men don't cheat at games or anything else."

"Anything else?" I squeeze my legs together. My heart pounds harder.

He gives me another expression that burns the blood in my veins, then admits, "I might, however, bend things to go my way." He grins and winks. Then he puts his large palm over my thigh.

I glance down, and more shame fills me. I look like I have a chicken leg. I'm so bony. But his touch just adds to the intensity of my adrenaline.

I need space.

I scoot my ass to the armrest, as far away from him as possible, and crisscross my legs, facing him. I rearrange the blanket over me and start, "Here's how ya play. I ask, 'would ya rather', and ya have to be honest with your answer."

"How do I win?"

"There isn't a winner, really."

"But this is a game?"

"Yea."

He declares, "All games have a winner and loser."

"Not all."

"Name one?"

I ponder his question. I can't think of any game that doesn't have a winner or loser, but I also don't want to admit it to him. Instead, I question, "So ya don't want to play, then?"

He stares at me, sniffs hard, then glances at my lips again. He lowers his voice. "No, I'll play. Show me what ya got, petal."

The sensations in my core I shouldn't be feeling grow. I blurt out, "Why do ya call me that?"

He arches his eyebrows. "Does it bug ya?"

I think about it for a minute and decide to be honest. "No."

"So ya like it," he cockily declares.

A warm flush deepens on my cheeks. I debate how to answer.

Before I can, he says, "It's okay. Ya don't have to admit it, petal."

Jesus, help me.

I'm married!

And beyond disgusting with my chicken legs.

I point at him. "Let's focus on the game. Ya have to answer all questions honestly."

He shrugs. "Okay, no problem."

I smirk and bat my eyelids. "Can I trust ya to be honest?"

He grunts. "I'm not the one with the history of deceit."

I ignore his comment, cursing myself for walking into that trap. I begin, "Let's start. Would ya rather drink only stout or whiskey for the rest of your life?"

"That's easy. Stout."

His answer surprises me. While all the men in my clan drink stout, whiskey's the number one go-to. I ask, "Not whiskey? Even top-shelf?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Guinness all day long."

"Hmm."

"Ya don't like Guinness?" he questions.

I confess, "No. Tommy and my da drink whiskey. If I never smell it again, it will be soon enough. That and cigarettes."

Silence ensues, and pity grows on his face. Once again, I scold myself. Why can't I just shut my mouth today?

I clear my throat and declare, "Your turn to ask a question."

He recovers and asks, "Okay, if ya could only eat cola bottles or clove rocks for the rest of your life, which would ya choose?"

I gasp. "Taking away my sweets? Going right for my jugular."

He grins and points at me. "Pick."

"Cola bottles."

"Why?" he asks in surprise.

"They're soft."

"Ya don't like hard things?"

"Soft is nicer."

"Hmm, is it?" he teases.

"Yea. Soft candy is definitely better."

"In my opinion, soft is better only for special circumstances," he proclaims.

Something tells me I'm falling into a trap, but I still go there, stepping right into it. I ask, "Okay, when is soft better than hard?"

His eyes fall to my chest for a beat and then lift back to my face. "Women, for instance. Soft is good for a woman, but a man should be hard. Don't ya think, petal?"

Heat flies to my cheeks. I swat his arm, reprimanding, "Behave."

"See? Another example of what ya don't want soft," he declares.

I huff, questioning, "What would that be?"

He flexes, answering, "My bicep. Don't lie and say you'd want it to be soft."

I groan and cover my face with my hands while laughing and shaking my head. "You're so cocky."

He shifts on the couch and puts his arm over the back. I'm tempted to lean against it but force myself not to. He does have incredible arms.

Ugh! This is so bad.

He asks, "What's the next question?"

I lift my head out of my hands, inquiring, "What if ya had to choose between your eyes or your ears?"

His eyes widen. "Seriously? My sight or my hearing?"

"Yep," I answer, satisfied with myself.

He thinks about it, then replies, "I guess my eyes."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I would use technology to record what people say and have it dictated on my phone screen to read. I can't think of anything I could use to help with my sight. So yea, I'd choose to lose my hearing to keep my sight."

I softly clap, impressed with his answer. "Bravo."

He taps his head. "I do have a brain."

"Well, aren't ya the Scarecrow after he went to the Emerald City?" I tease.

He grins bigger. "Are ya a Wizard of Oz fan?"

"I loved it when I was little."

He grins bigger. "Me too."

"Really?"

His face lights up. "Yep."

"Well, it's good to know you're not all hard muscle," I state, immediately regretting it.

What is wrong with my mouth tonight?

His cocky expression flares on his sharp features. He assesses me for a minute, then asks, "Are ya ready for your question?"

I compose myself and take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. "Yep. Bring it on, kidnapper."

Amusement fills his face. "Is that what you're going to call me? Kidnapper?"

"Sorry. I should call ya my drug injector."

He groans. "Your disdain for how ya got here is getting old, petal."

"Is it?" I question.

He leans closer and drags his finger over my jawline as tingles fill every cell in my body. He slides his finger over my lips, then holds it there, asking, "What if ya got to keep your tongue or if I got to keep my tongue? What would ya choose?"

I swallow hard, mumbling against his finger, "What? How is it even a choice?"

"It's definitely a choice," he claims, then scoots closer and takes his finger off my lips, watching me intently.

"Is this a trick?" I ask.

"No. Why?"

Confused, I step into his trap and question, "Why would I let ya keep your tongue instead of keeping my own?"

A lewd expression fills him. My butterflies flutter harder. He says, "If ya let me keep my tongue, you'll get the benefits of it."

My entire body ignites with fire. I blurt out, "I'm a married woman. Ya shouldn't say things like that to me."

His expression falls and hardens. His voice turns cold as he says, "Ya were forced to marry that thug."

"How do ya know?" I question.

"Weren't ya?"

Shame fills me. I'm unsure why. All I can think about is Da telling the priest that I do and making a vow for me that made me a prisoner. But I still insist, "It doesn't change that I'm married. This isn't appropriate."

He sits back, and his chest rises higher with each inhale. He asks, "What exactly is not appropriate, petal?"

"Even ya calling me petal isn't appropriate," I declare, immediately regretting the words. I like it when he calls me petal.

A bit of hurt crosses his face, but he proclaims, "No, it's not inappropriate. Ya were forced to take a vow and should have no loyalty to him. You're free. So what's inappropriate?"

I motion between us. "Your seductive grin and sexy scent...that fire in your eyes... Well...they're not appropriate." My mouth turns dry, and I look away.

Why the hell did I just admit that to him?

He doesn't move, and I can feel his gaze locked on me. He declares, "Women forced to marry men they don't want and who abuse them aren't obligated to keep vows, and if I have to tell ya that 5,000 times, I will."

My heart feels like it'll pound out of my chest. I nervously laugh, "In what world? And I'm not an abused woman."

He crosses his arms. "Ya think what he did to ya wasn't abuse?"

Shame and mortification fill me. I insist, "I wasn't abused. I'm not a victim."

Aidan argues, "Ya were. And ya owe him nothing."

Anger mixes with my embarrassment. I shouldn't direct it at Aidan, but I jab him in the chest, accusing, "So ya think I'm yours to fuck?"

"I didn't say that," he claims.

"No? Ya might as well have."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Scarlet."

I bolt off the couch and race to the bedroom. I slam the door and lock it.

"Scarlet!" Aidan shouts, pounding on the door.

"Go away!"

He commands, "Open this door now."

"No!"

"I'll knock it down if ya don't," he threatens.

"Leave me alone, Aidan. For God's sake, just leave me alone." I slide under the covers, pulling them over my head, expecting him to kick the door in at any minute.

He pounds a few more times, but he doesn't make good on his threat for some reason.

I eventually drift off to sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and have to go to the loo. I exit the bed and quietly open the door, tiptoeing into the bathroom.

I do my business, step out of the bathroom and stare at the couch. The moonlight streams through the window and onto Aidan's huge frame. His legs hang off the end. The tiny throw barely covers his torso.

Guilt eats at me. There's only one bedroom here. He'll have a backache tomorrow.

I go grab the top blanket off the bed. I return to the main room, remove the throw, and put the quilt over Aidan. Then I take the thin material and return to the bedroom, curling up under it. I pull the other blankets over me, wondering about everything Aidan insisted earlier.

Do I really not have to remain loyal to Tommy?

Am I an abused woman?

Neither of these thoughts bring any comfort to me. Fear of going against Tommy paralyzes me. My only hope is he'll give me mercy since Aidan kidnapped me and I didn't go willingly.

As much as I want to live in that notion, I know it's false. Tommy knows no mercy. This will be my fault. And when he finally finds me, there will be a new hell waiting for me.