I looked from his shorts to his face. “Do you have a blanket?” I asked.
“Why?” he asked back, stopping close.
“So I can sleep on your couch.”
“You aren’t sleeping on the couch.”
I looked around, confused then asked, “Why not?”
“You’re sleeping in the bed.”
“So, you’re sleeping on the couch?”
“No.”
“Are you sleeping on the floor?” I asked, surprised, but figured it was maybe some Zen, macho guy thing, roughing it on a plank wood floor.
“No.”
Uh-oh.
“Where are you sleeping?” I asked.
His hand shot out and, too late, I saw the blurry glint of steel and heard the clanking right before the bracelet was slapped on my wrist.
I pulled back. “Oh no,” I said, my heart thumping in my chest and my blood pumping through my veins.
He slapped the other bracelet on his own wrist.
“No!” I shouted, yanking back, viciously this time, but it was like he didn’t feel the pull. He just leaned in, shoulder to my belly, picked me up, his free arm around my thighs, his other wrist bound to mine and he started to the bed.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, feet kicking, pushing at his waist with my free hand.
This was too much. Too f**king much.
“Going to bed,” he said calmly.
“Handcuffed to me?”
“Damn straight.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I’m not taking any chances,” he said, tossing me on the bed and coming down with me.
I tried to scramble away. He pulled me back with a jerk on the cuff.
I stopped scrambling and stared at his fuzzy face in the dark. “Not taking any chances with what?”
“You taking off in the middle of the night, getting shot at again, kidnapped, car bombed, any of it.”
I was right, he was nuts. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning, after you tell me about your little bit of trouble.”
Eek!
I decided to ignore the second part of that. “Tell me now.”