Masters of Desire. Layla Chase

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bit hard on her lower lip and shot a glance at Seumus. “I can’t tell you.”

      “Then I can’t help you.”

      “Oh, you!” She raised a hand to slap his face. But he caught it in his own.

      “Are you ready to talk?”

      “I told you,” she said through gritted teeth, “I can’t.”

      “Guess you’ll be my permanent guest until after Braithwaite does his deed.”

      “If you won’t help me, then at least let me go so that I might help them myself.”

      “No.” His answer was flat and final.

      She bucked against him, kicking and biting, but no amount of effort broke his grip. When she finally realized the futility of her fight, they’d reached the ship.

      “Toss down a rope,” he called up to the tall redhead leaning over the rail.

      “Aye, Capt’n.”

      A length of rope fell into the boat and a rope ladder snaked down the side of the sloop.

      Rafe bound her hands.

      Even if she wanted to leap from the skiff into the sea, she’d be weighed down by clothing and her hands would be useless. She’d drown before she could make the change into her mer-form. “You’re a monster!”

      He stared into her eyes—his own were black, shining orbs, completely unreadable and dangerous. “Aye, I am a monster, in more ways than you know.”

      Once again, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her up the rope ladder to deposit her on her ass on the deck. “Take her to my cabin.”

      “Aye, Capt’n.” The tall redheaded sailor grinned and lifted her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her more like a child than a sack of meal. At least he had more sense than his captain. When he set her down on the floor of the captain’s cabin, she turned and pleaded, “Please, you must let me go. Braithwaite will attack Siren’s Cove on the morrow and I must be there to help defend it.”

      “My apologies, my lady. Until the captain says so, I can’t let you go.” He backed out of the cabin, his departure followed by the soft click of the lock being turned.

      With her hands tied behind her back, Melodie had little hope of breaking out of the cabin. She searched the room for a knife, sword, or anything sharp to scrape against her bonds, finally settling on the rusty hinge of a trunk. Dropping to her knees she scooted her back to the trunk and scraped the rope against the hinge. A strand broke and she could move her wrists a little better, but she had a way to go before she could free her hands.

      Digging against the hinge, she worked at the rope, scraping the skin off her wrist in the process. Another strand broke. She jerked and tugged her wrists until the rope burned her skin and finally, she managed to free her hands at last.

      As she stood, shaking the feeling back into her fingers, the door opened.

      Melodie shoved her hands behind her back.

      Rafe strode in and kicked the door shut behind him. “Now that we’re alone, you’ll tell me what the witch is protecting in Siren’s Cove.”

      “No, I won’t.”

      A frown settled between his brows and he marched across to her, grabbing her shoulders. “You will tell me, now.”

      “I will not.” She jerked her hands up through the middle of his, knocking his hands free of her shoulders. While she had him off guard and off balance, she shoved him hard.

      The back of his legs caught the edge of a trunk and he fell backward.

      Melodie raced for the door, throwing it open.

      Before she reached the top of the gangway, a hand caught her thigh.

      “Stop, woman!” Rafe bellowed.

      She grabbed the handrail and kicked out at her tormentor, landing a heel on his chin.

      He grunted, but maintained his grip on her leg, dragging her backward until he held her in the vicelike grip of his arms.

      “Let me go. I have to help Busara.”

      Rafe carried her back into his cabin, kicked the door shut and turned to lock it. After dropping the key into a drawer in a built-in cabinet, he turned her to face him.

      Locking her arms against her sides with one of his arms, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead.

      A pang of guilt burned in her gut at the angry red mark marring his chin where she’d kicked him.

      “You will tell me what secret the Obeah woman keeps in the cove before the night is over.”

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