that’s what you aimed at, but it’s not what you hit.” She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip. “I think my wrist is broken.”
He frowned. “I didn’t hit your wrist.”
She glared at him. “Right. Because in those boots you’re wearing you could feel exactly what you connected with. My mistake.”
Mentally she crossed her fingers, then nearly crowed with delight as he glanced down at his boots. One nanosecond of inattention was all she needed.
D.J. lashed out with her foot, connecting firmly with the man’s midsection. Even as all the air rushed out of him, he grabbed for her leg. But she’d anticipated the move, and had already spun away.
The gun disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He had to be weak from lack of air, but he still moved toward her. D.J. prepared for his attack, but when it came, she barely saw movement before she found herself tumbling onto the wet ground.
Part of her brain tried to figure out what exactly he’d done, while the rest of her recognized that the lack of pain anywhere meant he’d held back. He’d upended her with enough contact to send her tumbling but not enough to cause pain. How did he have that much control?
She wanted to summon up a little righteous indignation. How dare he treat her differently because she was female? But she was too busy scrambling to her feet and trying to figure out what he was going to do next.
D.J. crouched and cleared her mind. With a deep breath, she centered herself and knew she had to attack rather than wait to be bested.
As she moved toward him, she saw his arm push out. She ducked, spun and, instead of kicking at his knee as she’d planned, found herself slipping on the wet leaves. Something glinted and she instinctively reached out. Her fingers closed around his gun. He knocked her forearm with his hand so the gun went tumbling. She managed to kick it with a foot, sending it back into the air. With a graceful pirouette, she caught it and started to turn toward him. He ducked, her foot slipped again, and she began to fall. Her right hand shot out, and she accidentally brought the gun down hard on the back of his head. He fell like a stone.
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.”
