LITMIR.BIZ

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      Sydney resisted temptation and kept her mouth shut. She scooted as far away from the door as possible and unbuttoned her blouse. Across her chest there were several small red blotches. Nerves did that to her sometimes. Sitting in cool water would help, but having to take off all her clothes with an open door would probably produce another crop of hives.

      Quickly, she shrugged out of her blouse and slid off her skirt, casting several glances out the door. Luke was nowhere in sight. Even so, she left her bra and panties on. There wasn’t much to the scraps of peach-colored silk and lace; wet, they’d be totally transparent. Still, it made her feel less vulnerable to keep them on.

      She adjusted the spigot to keep the water from getting too warm, and when it tested perfect, she splashed water on her face and chest, letting the tepid water soothe her fevered skin.

      “Are you decent?”

      Luke’s voice was entirely too close and she looked around for something to cover herself. “No!” Her blouse was just out of reach. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

      “I forgot to give you a towel.”

      “Leave it outside the door.”

      “I’ll toss it on the sink.”

      “No, just—”

      His arm appeared, and panicked, she slid down into the claw foot tub. But he merely laid the navy blue towel on the corner of the sink and then withdrew. She couldn’t see the rest of him, but knowing he was that close was unnerving.

      “Did I leave you soap?”

      God, couldn’t he just go! She straightened a little to check the sink and found nothing. The soap dish for the tub had…

      She screamed.

      “Sydney?” Luke came through the door like a rocket. “Sydney?”

      “Get out!”

      He stood over her, his gaze sweeping her body. “What the hell is wrong?”

      “Nothing.” Her crossed arms seemed useless under his piercing blue eyes. “It’s a spider, but it’s dead. Go.”

      “What’s that?” He stared at the blotches on her chest.

      “Nothing. Please leave.”

      His eyes met hers, and she was surprised to see uncertainty etched in his face. “You need something for it?”

      She blinked. This might be the opportunity she needed. “Yes…medicine. I’ll get horribly sick without it.”

      His brows furrowed slightly, and then his expression relaxed. “Sorry, sweetheart, you’re a lousy liar.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes. And then I come in after you.”

      His gaze lowered to her crossed arms again before he turned and walked out.

      LUKE CUT INTO the tomato and nearly took the tip of his thumb off. He cursed loudly and threw aside the knife. Meat and cheese were all anyone needed in a damn sandwich, anyway. If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for Sydney Wainwright.

      She wasn’t what he’d expected. She didn’t look or sound or smell rich. Maybe because she’d always been rolling in dough. Not like the Hollywood nouveau riche he was used to. The kind that had to let everyone know they had more than you. She hadn’t even complained about being allergic to the cuffs. That had shocked the hell out of him.

      No matter. He was being paid well for this job and that’s all he cared about. After he collected the other half of his fee, he’d think about a short trip to Brazil. Settling old scores always helped him to sleep better.

      He finished making the sandwiches and sealed them in plastic. Next, he got out a couple of cold colas and a beer. Sydney had been in the tub for almost fifteen minutes. He really ought to yank her out so she’d know he meant business, but he hadn’t counted on her breaking out in a nervous rash.

      He swore to himself. That better be all it was. His gaze wandered toward the bathroom at the same moment she stepped out of the tub. He knew because he saw her reflection in the mirror as her head came up. Taking a pull of beer, he started to turn away, but caught a glimpse of her bare breasts.

      Small, but round and full, they stood out firm, crowned by two large rosy nipples. They were damn near perfect. He swallowed and told himself to look away. It was the decent thing to do.

      But he stared, until his body began to tighten and blood rushed to his groin. That jerked some sense into him, and he turned away with a vicious curse. He downed the rest of the bottle of beer and then splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink.

      What the hell was wrong with him? He knew better than to let his guard down, to let personal feelings separate him from good sense. Sydney Wainwright wasn’t a woman. She was a job. And he wasn’t about to screw himself out of a bundle just because he was horny.

      “Luke?”

      He pushed away from the sink and turned around. “What?”

      At his snarl, she jumped. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup and she looked young. Innocent. The denim shirt he’d picked up for her was a size small and still a little big on her. “I’m done in the bathroom.”

      “Good.” He glanced around for a place to put her while he showered. “Come here.”

      She hesitated, her eyes widening slightly, and then she took a step toward him. “What?”

      He tested the handle of the refrigerator. Too flimsy. The microwave wouldn’t work either. If she had a mind to, she could pick the whole thing up and take off.

      He swept a gaze around the rest of the room. “Looks like I’m going to have to tie you to the bedpost.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “While I shower.”

      “You’re going to put the cuffs on me again?” She started rubbing her wrists.

      “Did I say that?” His mood had gone south, and he still had one hell of a long week ahead of him. “Get over there.”

      She cast a sidelong glance at the bed and then looked back at him with those big doe eyes. “Why the bed?”

      He pulled out the long red scarf he’d found in the closet. “Move.”

      She stumbled backward, her fearful gaze fastened on the scarf. “What’s that for?”

      Luke had a good mind to scare the daylights out of her, but the way she visibly swallowed and the heaving of her chest told him she was frightened enough. “You want me to use this or the cuffs?”

      Her face relaxed. “The scarf.”

      “Then move.”

      “Look.” She pointed to the only kitchen cabinet. “Why can’t you use that?”

      He shook the handle. It seemed sturdy enough, and unlike the cuffs, the scarf could slip through it. “Okay.”

      She slowly approached and held out a hand. It shook slightly. He ignored her trembling and grabbed her other hand and wove the scarf between her wrists.

      “You’re tying them both up?” She tried to pull back.

      He tied her to the handle, and then gave an extra tug to be sure the scarf was tight enough. “You think I should leave you a free hand?”

      “Just so I can have some water.”

      “Right.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, and her gaze flew to his chest. “You can have all the water you want once I’m through.”

      “Through?” Her voice cracked.

      “With my shower.”

      “Oh.” She leaned a hip against the counter, her relief so plain

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