Fueling His Hunger (Masters of Adrenaline 2)

“Not here. It’s not safe here.”

“So?” She opened the door, and he opened his. As she tried to step out onto the asphalt, she fell off the heel of her shoe and stumbled. He grabbed her elbow to steady her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was willowy, and gave the impression of being brittle—breakable.

“Get in and I’ll drive you home, or somewhere safe,” he said again. “I can’t just leave you here.”

She turned in a circle, half limping. Her bottom lip trembled.

“You just wanted my truck . . . thingy. I’m not your problem.” She straightened her shoulders and started weaving a path back toward the road. Should he stop her? What was he going to do, grab her and force her into the vehicle? Maybe he could call her a cab and just leave the Mercedes here in the parking lot.

A few feet away, she tripped over broken pavement and went down. Lying on her side, she heaved, gulped, then heaved again. By the time he’d reached her, she’d regained her feet, but lost a shoe, abandoning it as she moved doggedly toward the main drag. She was sobbing.

“Stop. You can’t walk home and you don’t have a purse or anything with you. At least let me call you a cab.”

She shook her head then frowned as though bewildered. “This parking lot is like a maze.” She turned her back to him and leaned over, gagging. He caught her hair back just as she st

arted to puke.

“Just go,” she gasped out. “’M fine. Do this all the time.” Just as the words left her mouth, she started to topple. He caught her. The poor thing was stick thin, her bony elbow poking at him in objection.

By the time he pulled her slight frame into his arms, she was out.

Chapter 3

Ophelia was no stranger to waking up with a splitting headache. It’d been like this every weekend since her father had died. Groaning, she rolled over, then flung out a hand to reach for the bottle of aspirin that she kept on her nightstand.

She grabbed at air several times until she finally flopped against what felt like an alarm clock. What the hell? Where was her bottle of water and aspirin? She popped open her eyes, then immediately shut them again.

Sun beamed in from an open window, making her head throb even worse. What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t her room.

Memories from the night before streamed in, as assaultive as the sun. There’d been a stranger. He’d . . . kidnapped her?

Heart racing, she shot upright. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, she scanned the room. Beige walls, white sheer curtains, TV directly in front of her. The blankets were plush, white, and covering her legs. She looked underneath the bedcovers and sighed in relief to see her pants were on.

Slowly, she turned her head to the second bed beside her. The blankets were rumpled and covered a large figure. She swallowed hard, hoping her stampeding heart wouldn’t wake whoever was there with her. Was it the kidnapper? Shouldn’t he be awake and making sure she didn’t escape?

As quietly as she could, she slid from under the blanket. She found her shoes next to the bed. If they hadn’t been within arm’s reach, she’d have left them behind. But she scooped them up, then tiptoed to her purse on the desk.

Where was her phone? Did her captor steal her money? Credit cards? She grasped at her neck, relieved her necklace was still there. So he hadn’t stolen that, at least. Not that she cared that much about it. Just another one of the dozens that designers had given her for the chance to have it seen when she stepped out for the night. But it was probably worth more than whatever cash she had in her wallet.

Just as she reached the desk, the bed creaked behind her. Blankets stirred then a voice cut through the silence. “Where you going, princess?”

A thrill of fear stole down her spine. Such a deep, menacing voice. She stifled a scream, and turned to face him.

The man was sitting up in bed, watching her. Shadows lurked ominously in the heavily curtained room, hiding the details of his face and the nuances of his expression. His dark hair, short, messy, shaved on the sides, made him look edgy and dangerous. The blankets, having fallen to pool around his hips, revealed a hard, chiseled body and a wealth of tattoos.

Oh my.

And were those nipple rings?

Who the hell was this guy?

“How much do you want? If you want cash, I only have about . . .” She scrambled for her purse, backing away from him, but she felt like a bunny on the run from a big, nasty predator. If he wanted to, he could just grab her, and . . . and . . .

“I don’t want your money.”

Crap.

“Well, what then?” She only had one thing of value left. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her chest. If he’d wanted sex, though, he’d had every opportunity last night. She probably wouldn’t even have noticed. That was a disturbing thought. She didn’t feel sore, and she doubted this guy would have been gentle.