Quinn's Woman

Her first thought was that he was dead. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her second thought was that she had better get him tied up while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen when he came to.

Chapter Two

Quinn regained consciousness several seconds before he opened his eyes. He quickly registered the fact that he was lying on his back in the mud with his hands tied behind him. He silently swore in disgust. He’d been downed, not by superior training or force but by dumb luck. Wasn’t that always the way?

Worse, the woman had tied him up while he’d been unconscious. Not that she would have been able to secure him any other way. He gave her points for gutsiness, but none for the lucky head shot.

Now what? He figured he would fake being out for a while, just long enough to make his captor sweat his condition. But before he could put his plan into action, he felt a hand settle on his ankle. His interest piqued—no way was he going to miss any part of a show—he opened his eyes.

The sun had gone down, but there was plenty of light from the small battery-operated lantern she’d set on the ground. He wasn’t sure why she was willing to risk the light, but he appreciated being able to see what she was doing.

The woman crouched beside him. She felt along the inside of his left ankle and pulled out the knife he’d slipped into his boot. He turned his head and saw she’d already removed the one he’d tucked into his utility belt.

She ran her hand along the inside of his leg to the knee, then down the outside to his boot. After repeating the procedure on the other leg, she shifted and pressed her palm along the length of his thigh. When she’d nearly reached the good part, he grinned.

“A little to the left,” he said.

She glanced up. Sometime in their scuffle, her hat had fallen off. He registered long dark hair pulled back in a braid, brown eyes, a well-shaped mouth and a sprinkling of freckles on slightly tanned skin. Pretty, he thought absently. No, more than pretty. She was both elegant and tough. An intriguing combination.

One of her well-shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “A little to the left?” she repeated, then slid her hand over his groin and patted him. “I know most men like to think of their equipment as a weapon, but it’s not all that interesting to me.”

He chuckled. “You say that now, with me tied up and at your mercy.”

“Uh-huh. Just so we’re clear, there are no circumstances that would change my mind.”

She rose, stepped over to his other side and crouched again, this time running her hands over his other thigh. From there she felt her way up his stomach to his chest.

He liked the feel of her hands on his body. She moved quickly enough to show she really wasn’t interested, but thoroughly enough to find any concealed weapons. Or so she thought.

When she’d finished going through his jacket pockets and checking the hem and lining, she sat back on her heels. “You seem to be disarmed.”

“What about taking off my shirt?” he asked. “I might have something taped to my skin.”

“If you do, you won’t be getting to it anytime soon, will you?” She tapped his upper arm. “I tie a mean knot.”

He’d already figured that out. Pulling against the ropes hadn’t loosened them at all. He was going to have to find a different way to escape. Not that he wanted to go anywhere this second. His captor was the most entertainment he’d had in months.

He swept his gaze over her chest, lingering long enough on her breasts to make her shoulders stiffen. Then he returned his attention to her face. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, but she didn’t complain. Somewhere along the way, she’d learned the rules—if she was going to play in a man’s world, she would have to live by male rules. But that didn’t mean she had to like them.

They stared at each other, a minor contest of wills. Quinn knew he could wear her down eventually, but decided on something more interesting. A challenge.

“You cheated,” he said softly.

He waited for the blink, the blush, the guilt. Instead she only shrugged. “I won.”

“You took advantage of an accident.”

“Exactly.” She shifted until she was seated next to him. “Would you have done things any differently?”

He wouldn’t have needed an accident to win, but there was no point in saying that to her. She already knew.

“Besides,” she continued, “that was my only chance to tie you up. You wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise.”

“Good point.”

“So who are you?” she asked.

“Your prisoner of war. Do you plan to abuse me?”

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Stop sounding so hopeful. You’re perfectly safe.”

“Darn.”

The twitch threatened to turn into a smile, but she managed to control it. When her expression was serious again, she said, “You never answered the question.”

“I know.”

She wanted to know who he was, and he would tell her…in time. Right now, despite the cool evening and the damp mud, he was enjoying himself. He had thought the war games would be boring and without any challenge. He was glad to be wrong.

She drew one knee up to her chest and leaned toward him. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me why you looked down. You’re a good fighter. You had to know it was a mistake.”

A good fighter? Now it was his turn to hold in a smile. He was a whole hell of a lot more than that. She’d never stood a chance, and he would guess she knew enough to figure that out.

Her chin jutted out at an angle that was pure pride. Who was she? Military?

“I knew you were setting me up and I wanted to see what you would do,” he said.

She stiffened. “You were testing me?”

“More like playing with you.”

Her breath caught in an audible hiss. Dark eyes narrowed again and he had a feeling she was itching to draw blood.

“Quinn Reynolds,” he said to distract her. “Now that you’ve felt me up and all, we should probably be on a first-name basis with each other.”

She ignored the bait. “So you won’t tell me when I ask, but you’ll share the information on your terms?”

“Something like that.” He figured she wasn’t going to offer her name, so he changed the subject. “Where’s your partner?” he asked.

“He’ll be back any minute, and then we’ll take you to headquarters. He took in our first four prisoners. Where’s your partner?”

“I got here too late to be matched up with anyone. Besides, I prefer to work alone.”

“Of course you do.” She sounded mildly amused. “You macho paramilitary types always do.”

“That’s more than a little judgmental.”

“It’s accurate.”