Simon Says.... Donna Kauffman

snapped those cords with such casual violence. She realized, perhaps truly for the first time, even after having a gun aimed at her, just how much trouble she was in. He’d seemed so … civilized. Before.

      As civilized as a half-naked man who looked and sounded like he could be in the next Bond movie could seem, anyway. It was the accent. So smooth, so polished. With just that hint of Down Under to roughen up his gorgeous edges.

      Now all she could do was stare at the swift way he looped those cords around his hand … and wonder how many women he’d tied up before. “I’m—That won’t be necessary,” she said, forcing herself not to shrink back as he crossed the room toward her. “I’ll stay here.”

      He extended his hand. “Your key.”

      She instinctively covered it with her hand. “You’re going to use it right now? I thought you said—”

      “Consider it insurance. I come back, and you’re not here, I go immediately to hotel security.”

      “I could claim you stole it from me.”

      “They have cameras mounted in the hallways, do they not? I’m assuming we could prove you entered my room using this key.”

      “I could come up with a plausible reason for doing that.”

      “One that precludes you wearing your uniform? And not being seen exiting the room for some time? I’m afraid that the only explanations that work won’t paint you in a flattering light. You either snuck in to take something … or you snuck in to get something.”

      Damn him for making her cheeks heat up like that. She hated being fair complexioned most of the time, but none more so than right now. He’d probably noticed her almost genetic inability to keep from staring at him—but in her defense, he was mostly naked, and an Adonis to boot—and he was using her … her weakness against her. The cad. Of course, he could be using it against her in a far more nefarious way. He could be trying to seduce the damn key from her. But no.

      What it said about her that she felt insulted rather than relieved by that little fact, she didn’t want to know.

      “You go take care of your errand and I’ll be here when you get back. Then we can discuss what you want to use the key for and when you plan to use it.” There. She’d sounded almost businesslike. Like she worked with gun-wielding thieves all the time. She just wanted to get him out of the room so she could get away from him and figure out what her options were. “As you’ve pointed out, running wouldn’t be a very smart move on my part.” Not that she’d made any smart moves thus far this morning, but why stop now?

      “The key. Or I secure your presence here in other ways.” He dangled the electrical cords. “Primitive, I know, and my apologies. But your company was unexpected and I’m afraid I didn’t come prepared.”

      So damn smooth, that voice, that smile, those eyes. Were ruthless thieves supposed to have kind eyes? And a body made for complete, unadulterated sin?

      He wants to steal something from your hotel. Think, Sophie, think. And what she was thinking was that her only defense against his threatened accusations of breaking into his room—which, of course, happened to be true—would be if she somehow managed to thwart whatever mission he was on, thereby saving the hotel from both the robbery, a possible lawsuit from the guest he planned to steal from and the resulting negative media splash that scenario would provoke.

      She’d started the morning with a headache from working all night on too little sleep and too much alcohol, and a very real concern for her best friend’s future. Somehow, since then, she’d landed herself in a remake of It Takes a Thief. Complete with devastatingly handsome leading man.

      “You said trust was built on mutual blackmail,” she said, scrambling. She couldn’t let him take that key.

      “Did I?” The corners of his mouth kicked up in an amused smile that put a little devilish twinkle in his eyes. God, they were so green. Honestly, the gene fairy had just had a field day with this guy.

      “More or less. The way I see it, the career I’ve worked so hard for is in jeopardy.” She lifted a hand. “My fault, I know, but other than invading your personal space uninvited, I haven’t committed any real crime or hurt anyone. But you could report me and cost me everything. So I’m inclined to help you. Even if you hadn’t held a gun on me, though that did make an impression, let me tell you. Not only do I want to protect my job and my reputation, but if I were to run, you know where I work. You could track me down pretty easily. And we both know you’re armed and dangerous.”

      Her gaze dipped to the cords and she stifled an involuntary shudder. She told herself it was the image of him ripping those cords from the wall that caused the reaction, when, if she were really honest, it was the image of him putting those hands on her, for any reason. Pathetic, really, but there it was. If she got out of this in one piece, the first thing she was doing was getting laid. Clearly she’d neglected that part of her personal maintenance for far too long if she was fantasizing over a guy who was threatening to either shoot her or tie her up.

      “You don’t even need to order room service for me,” she went on. Like she could eat anything. But … could it be he was seriously considering her argument? “Probably better we don’t take a chance that any of the staff catches me in here anyway.”

      “Another good point.” He cocked his head. “You’re a surprise, Sophie Maplethorpe.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Well, you have an angelic look about you.” His smile grew. “And yet, here you are. Bargaining with an alleged thief.”

      “I’m just trying to save my job, my future,” she said, feeling a bit miffed at his characterization of her. Here she was giving him her femme fatale best, going head to head with Bond II, and he thought she was an innocent angel.

      “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided to break into a guest’s room.” He knelt down. “Sorry, love, but you’re a flight risk. And that’s one risk I can’t take.”

      “But—”

      “You keep your key. For now. And I keep you.” He nodded. “Palms together.”

      She gripped her tags more tightly. “What’s to keep you from taking my key once you tie me up? Where’s the trust here?”

      “I suppose you were right about that after all.”

      “No trust amongst thieves, then?”

      His eyes twinkled. “Most unwise, I’d think. But I operate alone, so I can’t rightly say.”

      “So you do admit it, you are a thief.”

      “Recovery specialist.”

      “That’s clever, but doesn’t it mean the same thing?”

      “It’s the truth, actually.”

      He moved so suddenly, so smoothly and swiftly she couldn’t react until it was too late. He pinned his weight against her knees, preventing her from kicking out at him, while he took her hands, still gripping the tags on her lanyard, and quickly and quite expertly looped the electrical cord around her wrists, binding them just tightly enough that she couldn’t wiggle them free. The instant he was done with that, and while she was still reeling—much to her own shame—at the feel of his big, warm hands on her skin, he had them on her ankles. He shifted just enough to loop the cord around them in seconds flat, then cinched them together and tied the remaining cord to the wooden cross bar that connected the legs of the chair to each other.

      She tried to kick out, but her heels were snug to the wooden bar. She swung her tied hands at his head, as much out of frustration as anything, but he easily caught them in one fist. “Now, now.” He took the loose end of the cord from her wrists and tugged it down, pulling her joined hands between her knees, then, pinning them there, tied the wrist cord to the one at her ankles.

      Then he rocked back on