Love Op: A Spicy, Cat-And-Mouse, Thriller Rom Com (Love and Other Jobs Book 5)

5. Mattie

Ifelt like a breakfast burrito. Part of me had definitely been scrambled, and my insides were simmering with heat. I’d been wrapped up and folded tight in a fresh tortilla, unable to move and steaming from the inside-out. And actually, the more I thought about breakfast burritos, the hungrier I got, which only added to the latent crankiness that hovered around the edges of my consciousness.

I creaked one eye open to find a blurry world that swam like antique glass. Blinking hard, I forced the other eyelid to part, and the room slowly came into focus. I swallowed against a dry throat as I took in a boring bedroom from a sideways position. The walls were white and sparsely decorated with framed nature prints. The white, vintage door had been left open, and although I could lift my head with some difficulty, I couldn’t see past two of the walls. Wherever it was, it looked like a guest room.

My stomach growled loudly, and I glanced down at myself. That was when I realized I really was a burrito. A trussed up, blanket-swathed, completely immobilized burrito. Several black belts had been fastened around my body from my upper arms, down to my middle, over my hips, and then two more around my legs. My arms had been pinned to my sides, and a fluffy blanket roasted my body between the belts and my skin.

I struggled, and the old, lumpy mattress squeaked with the movement. Footsteps sounded just outside the room, and then Ghost appeared. His silver-streaked hair stood out at odd angles, and his eyelids looked barely open as he shuffled lazily to lean against the door jam. Then he folded his toned, tatted arms over his broad chest. “She lives.”

“She’s going to slaughter you,” I snarled. “You drugged me.”

“Yes, I did,” he said with one nod of his head. He looked exhausted, and I had to assume he’d been napping before I had woken him up. “And I’m fucking glad I did, because even asleep, you caused way more trouble than you’re worth.”

“I hope you mean that literally,” I glared. “Because if you don’t let me go, I’m going to take one of your fingers with me when I leave this time. Or an eyeball.”

Ghost let out a half chuckle, soft and through his nose. “You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth. Unfortunately for you, Cottontail, you’re worth a lot.”

I groaned, turning onto my stomach like a slug. I pressed my face into the mattress until my breath felt furnace hot and my head spun. Two hands rotated me back around, and Ghost scowled down at me. “Were you trying to smother yourself just now?”

“Yes,” I sniffled. My nose suddenly itched, causing my eyes to water, and with a micro-second decision to be petty, I sneezed in his face.

“Jesus, fu—for God’s sake.” Ghost pushed me away and scrubbed at his face, his handsome features pulling into a grimace. “You are feral, you know that?”

I sniffed again, this time louder. “You’re right. You should probably let me go. I might infect you.”

He let his hand fall away from his face, and his eyes went to half-mast. His gorgeous, glacier blue eyes. Ghost had an interesting look to him—strong face, straight nose, and roguish eyebrows over piercing eyes. But then, the two streaks of gray at his temples, cutting through the dark, wavy hair, gave him a steel edge. Everything about him, from his well-toned body that rippled under his white T-shirt with each movement, to the faded tattoos that peeked out from the collar of his shirt, positively screamed, “Don’t fuck with me.”

And here I was—fucking with him.

Well, regrettably, not fucking fucking with him. I had to admit, if he wasn’t my sworn enemy, he’d be a tempting one-night stand. He gave off major “Daddy” vibes. Pity.

I puffed out a breath through the side of my mouth, wafting a strand of my overgrown bangs out of my eyes. “I’m boiling in here.”

Ghost picked up a digital infrared thermometer off the side table, pointed it at me dispassionately, and when it beeped, he turned it around to show me the number. “Ninety-nine point two. You’re fine.”

“Jesus,” I glowered. “You’re checking my temperature to keep from untying me?”

“At first it was so you didn’t go hypothermic,” he admitted, setting the thermometer back down. “But then, yes, I wanted to make sure I didn’t parboil my paycheck on accident.”

I doubted my parents would care if I showed up parboiled, hardboiled, or cracked and runny. As long as they could pass off my body as living-ish, then they got what they wanted. My nose itched suddenly, and without warning, I sneezed. That time, I aimed it at the comforter, and with a sniff that felt suspiciously thick, I groaned. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” Ghost drawled. “You jumped in a river like a maniac. In October. I’d be surprised if you didn’t feel like shit.”

I writhed against the blanket, already starting to sweat and feel panicky in the restraints. This was really not good. If Ghost actually succeeded in dropping me off at my parents’ threshold, then there would be no escape left for me. I wasn’t sure I’d have the energy to fight anymore. “How do you plan to even get me across the country like this?” I demanded.

Ghost flicked a gaze from my head, down to my toes, and then back to my eyes. “In the back of my car.”

I stared at him, speechless with incredulity. If he thought I was going to meekly go along with his psychotic road trip plan, then he wasn’t as smart as I thought he was. The second he stopped to pee, or get a snack, or gas up, I would be gone. “Okay,” I said, trying to keep my features neutral.

He leaned over me suddenly, bracing his hands on either side of me and bringing his nose an inch from mine. He smelled like eucalyptus and mint, and the warmth radiating from his body nearly set my overheated body on fire. “Until we get to the camper van. Then I’m handcuffing you to the bed until we get there.”

“You’re going to what?”

His cold smile in response sent goosebumps down my tethered arms. “I have one of my operatives waiting for us in Salt Lake City with a convenient little camper van. Should make it easy to haul you across the country without being noticed by anyone you might con into helping you.” He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping. “And if you so much as sneeze in a way I don’t like, I’ll hogtie you and gag you like I threatened.”

Like my nose had understood him with its own sentience, my nostrils itched, and I got the urge to sneeze in his face. I tamped it down because by the way he was staring at me—the hard lines bracketing his mouth and the ruthless intensity in his eyes—I knew he meant it. He was actually going to tie me up and cart me across three thousand miles of interstate until we made it to New York. I really was fucked this time. I couldn’t even blame him for wanting to make sure I stayed caught. It was a decent payout, and as far as he knew, my mommy and daddy wanted me home. There wasn’t anything sinister about it… from the outside.

Ghost straightened, leaving me prone on the bed and struggling for words. “Any other questions?”

I forced my mouth to close. Then I shoved a mask of indifference over my horrified features and settled back into the mattress. “Nope.” It was so much easier to pretend I didn’t care, to give the illusion that these things didn’t affect me. It had hurt deeply when I was younger—never being told you were loved was bound to. But displaying that hurt for all the world to see only gave them a license to poke it. To make it bleed. I’d learned the harsh reality that the world didn’t care if you were a wounded person limping through life. They only cared if they could use it to manipulate you. So, I’d hidden it away where it couldn’t be seen and it couldn’t be abused. Indifference was my armor and intelligence my sword. One to protect and one to strike with.

“Thought so.” With a cheeky lift of one eyebrow, Ghost turned and left the room.

I sniffed again, glaring at the pristine, white ceiling. No matter how stringently I chastised myself, no matter how resolutely I repeated the phrase, you’re fine, don’t cry. You’re fine, don’t cry, my body didn’t seem to get the memo. A stray tear leaked out from the corner of my eye, and it was all I could do to keep myself from spiraling into thoughts of my inevitable future in captivity.

If I did that, I’d think of that person. The monster.And once that started, there was no coming back from the nightmares. If I opened the mental door I kept locked in the back of my mind, the fears and panic would spill out and leak toxic dread over every fold and synapse of my brain. No matter how insistently the monster banged at the door, I would not open myself to thoughts of him. Keep closed. Stay safe.

I usually managed to succeed in keeping my despair dammed up tight, but my body didn’t comply quite as readily as my well-trained thoughts. I squirmed and twitched, restless and sore, and slowly, like mercury in a thermometer, I felt my temperature rising with every labored puff of breath. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my nose started running so badly, I made a mess on the comforter wiping it on my own. So gross.

I fell into a fitful sleep, and when I woke again, it was to a cold hand on my forehead. The light from the window behind me had dimmed, and Ghost had turned on a soft, yellow light from a bedside table. I looked up to find him frowning, and he flipped his hand on my forehead so the backs of his fingers pressed against my dewy forehead. I closed my eyes again, too tired to find my sass. His hand felt so good on my hot skin.

His hand left, and then I looked up again to find him pointing the thermometer gun at my forehead. It beeped several times, insistent and clearly angry. “Shit,” he hissed.

“Did you fry me?” I croaked.

Ghost leaned over me, pressing one knee into the mattress and grasping the black canvas belt around my chest and arms. He loosened it with quick, efficient movements. “I may have kept you in the oven a little long,” he admitted ruefully.

I coughed, trying to lean into my shoulder by habit, and it rattled tight from my chest up to my throat. I groaned as Ghost loosened the second belt. “You really shouldn’t eat rabbits. They’re too cute.”

His hands stalled, and he flicked a loaded glance my way. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

My lips twitched. So, he does have a sense of humor. I tucked that information away for later. Possibly. The third belt loosened, and with creaky limbs, I extricated myself from the blankets, suddenly desperate to feel cold, fresh air on my face and be out of the stifling fabric. I kicked my legs, and Ghost fought me, struggling with the belts. “Calm down.”

“I can’t,” I huffed, kicking the last of the blanket and belts away. “I’m dying. I’m boiling on the inside.”

“Your temperature is one-oh-three, so I’m not surprised.” Ghost helped me, removing the last of the blanket.

I rolled away from him, going spread eagle on the bed and sucking in huge gulps of air. Ghost followed, snaking an arm around my waist and lifting me. “Come on. You need water and cold meds. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

I coughed again, pushing against him, but my arms had gone boneless, and I swore the room wavered like a mirage in the desert. “Get off—ah, choo.” I sneezed loudly, bringing the crook of my elbow up to my nose, and it was at that moment I realized I was wearing the middle-aged woman’s purple jacket still. And my pants were gone. I stared at my bare legs, and then leveled an outraged look his way. “What the hell?”

“Don’t even go there,” he warned darkly, dragging me to the edge of the bed. “Your pants literally froze on you between the trail and my car. Yes. I took them off.”

I noted the still-damp underwear he’d left on me, and then I gave him an affronted glare. “You took my clothes off, you perv.”

“I’m not a perv, I’m a heartless kidnapper,” he replied with a tilt of a laugh in his voice. “There’s a distinct difference.”

“What difference?”

Forcing me to stand with him, he hauled me up against his hard body. I grasped his shirt, surprised. “Follow-through, Bunny. I might have seen, but I didn’t touch. That good enough for you?”

“I wish I’d known,” I glared. “I wouldn’t have shaved my legs.”

Ghost steadied me, and I was suddenly grateful he had a titanium strong arm around my waist, because my legs slumped. Undeterred, he held me upright. “Are you being dramatic, or am I really going to have to carry you to the living room?”

“I’m always dramatic,” I replied flippantly. But I did my best to stand normally despite my head pounding and my skeleton having apparently lost all rigidity.

He helped me into an outdated, tiny living space, passing by a kitchen to the left, and then half-carrying me to the living room any grandmother would be proud of. Hand-crocheted doilies had been draped over the tops of the red velvet armchairs, and in contrast, a black leather sofa had been set below a wide window next to the front door. I pulled an eyebrow up, glancing at Ghost.

“Everything else was rented out,” he muttered.

I snorted. Most likely, we were in an older, Bavarian-style home near Front Street, and he was getting charged out of his ass for it. Amateur. “It’s perfect for you,” I rasped. “Matches your hair.” Although, the snarky effect was ruined by a sudden coughing fit that nearly toppled me back over.

Ghost pinned me to his side, not even bothering to reply to my jab, and dragged me over to the red armchair. “Give me your wrists.”

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, letting my head roll back against the chair. “You’re not serious.”

“Are you serious?” he challenged, kneeling in front of me and snagging my gaze with his imperious eyes. “You think I’m taking chances with you?”

He’d finally gotten smart, damn him. “I have the ague. I can’t go anywhere, anyway.”

“The ague?” he asked with incredulous amusement. He pulled a zip tie out from the back pocket of his dark jeans. “Okay, Lady Thorne. Yes, I admit that you’re probably sick, but I’m sure you’ll survive.” He slapped the thick, industrial-style zip tie around my wrists and ratcheted it tight. “Anyway, aren’t you a med school drop-out?” Ghost asked, standing and folding his toned arms. “I’m sure you know what’s wrong with you.”

Fourth year med school student, actually. I’d been weeks away from graduating and starting my residency. I tsked and sat back in the chair. “‘Drop-out’ is the key word there.”

“Uh huh,” he said, his expression sharp. He didn’t miss much.

Although, over my several encounters with Ghost, I’d ascertained a few crucial facts about him. First, he was wickedly intelligent—the fact that I continued to escape him probably rankled him to no end. Second, he wasn’t actually cruel. This wasn’t the only time I had noticed him being gentle with me. Was he ruthless? Clearly. But cruel? I didn’t think so. And third, most importantly, he wasn’t hurting for money. I knew the brand of his shoes and pants. I’d seen the cars he drove and had glimpsed some of his resources. Whatever my parents were offering him, he didn’t need it to survive.

Which meant, he could be reasoned with. He could afford to take risks. And what I had in mind was certainly a risk.

He went to a duffel bag that had been set down by the front door, and after rifling through it for a moment, he returned with a pair of black leggings. I curled my lip in suspicion. “Excuse me, but why do you have clothing in my size?”

He threw them to me, not even glancing my way as he tapped out something on his phone. “It’s a long drive. It’ll take a few days.”

“You are exceptionally creepy, you know that?” I asked. But I took the leggings in my hands and managed to shuffle them over my feet with my bound hands.

Ghost looked up with one sweeping brow quirked. “If the worst you think of me is that I’m ‘creepy,’ then count yourself lucky.”

“Oh yes, you’re very scary,” I mocked, yanking the material up my bare legs. “I’m sure you’re the top… killer guy in your field. Do hitmen have like an organization where you get badges you can sew onto your sashes when you achieve stuff?” I hitched up the leggings, wiggling my hips and struggling to pull them all the way up while seated on the chair and with my hands tied together. “Maybe you can add ‘Polar Bear Plunge’ next to your ‘Lost a Captive’ collection. You’ve got like three of those.”

Ghost reached me in two strides, bent over me, and hiked my leggings up my hips with startling efficiency. The motion pulled me up close to his face before he dropped me back in the plushy chair. I gasped, sitting away from him and staring into his hard, polar ice cap eyes. The river water had nothing on Ghost’s peeved expression. His hands shifted, pinning my hips to the chair. “I’ll put it next to my ‘Astonishingly Stabby’ badge.” He paused, as if thinking. “Actually, maybe I’ll put it between my ‘Hogtie Proficient’ and ‘Taser Happy’ badges. What do you think?”

I pinched my eyes into dubious slits. “You wouldn’t tase me.”

“Nothing would make me happier than proving you wrong,” he replied with low menace.

“Testy,” I muttered.

Ghost let his hands slide down my thighs, and then they coasted down my legs, igniting a new path of fire that battled for dominance with my feverish skin. His touch zapped straight up my spine and caused a blush to creep up my neck.

Um, what? I thought with sudden alarm. Please tell me I’m not simping for this taser-happy maniac. But I was. I definitely was. Because as Ghost’s strong, square hands glided down my calves and to my ankles, my thighs pulsed together, and desire spiraled through me out of nowhere. Maybe I’d been playing games with him for way too long, because what felt like loathing was starting to morph into something dangerously close to lust.

I watched his hands cross my ankles, and I noticed, not for the first time, that despite his threats and gruff attitude, he was always careful with me. He fit my ankles together so the bony lateral and medial malleoli didn’t bump against each other, and then he zip tied around the fleshy area just above my ankles. I gave him a speculative eye squint. Ideas revved to life in my brain. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.