Dance With Me - By Hayden Braeburn Page 0,22
could be anywhere. Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he tested his tingling limbs. His wrists were bound to the bed frame that housed the mattress cushioning his back. His ankles were similarly bound. He wondered if he had any hair left where he'd been taped and re-taped, almost thankful for whatever drugs she kept injecting into him. He didn't know how many hours had passed since she initially grabbed him, didn't know how he was going to get away, didn't know if Kat was still safe, but he made a silent vow. He would get out, and he would find his way home.
Priscilla had Mason in a safe place. After a stop, leaving evidence to throw off anyone on their tail, they were finally in a cabin that couldn't be traced to her. She'd switched vehicles, upped Mason's sedative, and changed clothes as well. She smoothed the nightie she wore, checked her stockings and stepped into the room.
Oh shit. Priscilla stood in the doorway, dressed in black satin, thigh highs, and skyscraper heels. He was helpless, and he did not like where this was going. He chose not to acknowledge her attire, instead saying, “Just kill me and be done with it.”
She pouted. “But if I kill you, what will happen to Christian and Catherine?”
Who? “Christian and Catherine?”
“Our children.”
He jerked off the bed as far as his bonds would allow. “Our what?” How had she kept a pregnancy and children away from him this long? “We have children?”
“Not yet we don't,” she answered with a shake of her head. She crossed the room, the swing in her step causing the negligee to fly up and reveal the g-string beneath. She stopped within a foot of the bed, her blue eyes flashing in the semi-darkness. “You're going to give them to me.”
Was she really going to rape him? His mind was screaming at him to stall, to keep her talking, to redirect. He couldn't let her touch him; he'd have no way of controlling his body if she started... He slammed his eyes shut. No, he wasn't going there. He would fight. “We'll have two children?”
Her face softened. “They will be perfect.” She smiled before turning away, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “Christian will play tennis like you did. He will be offered scholarships everywhere, but will ultimately follow in your footsteps and go to UVA.” She crossed to him again, laid a hand on his chest. “Catherine will be like me. Beautiful and smart. She will win more pageants than even I did, become Miss America and go to Brown.”
Keep her talking. “Brown is up north. Are you sure you want her to go to a Yankee school?”
Her fingers clenched in his t-shirt. “Brown is Ivy League. She needs to go Ivy League.”
“Why? Why shouldn't she also go to UVA? Or William and Mary?”
“William and Mary!” she screeched.
Fuck. He hadn't meant to set her off, just keep her talking. Calmly, he offered other options, “Harvard? Yale? Princeton? Corne—”
“They are all good schools,” she interrupted, “but our Catherine will go to Brown, and she will win Miss America.”
Well. “And what will she do after that?”
“Broadcast journalism.”
“What will our boy do?”
“Oh, he'll be President,” she answered breezily.
Was she making up a life for her children or her dolls? “Wow.” He tried to cover his jubilation at working an ankle almost free by asking another question. “If our kids are off running the free world, who will take care of our businesses?”
She shrugged. “It won't matter. Your father already sold the bank. I can sell McClaren as soon as my father dies.”
She seemed almost gleeful when she spoke of her father dying, and that rattled him. Here he was, trussed up a like a Christmas turkey, dressed in nothing more than underwear, and she was almost salivating over the hypothetical death of her father. His blood chilled. What if it wasn't hypothetical? What if she'd already murdered her father? “You won't inherit for a long time.”
“Next year.” She grinned. She would get everything she deserved, everything she wanted, everything she'd worked and planned for in the next year, starting with Mason. “He decided to retire and leave it to me.
Bad move. “You'd just sell it?”
“Not at first.” She returned to his side to run her fingers through his hair. “I wish you'd just make love to me like you used to. I wish you didn't make me hurt you.” She laid her mouth over his then,