Quinn's Woman. Susan Mallery

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.”

      Quinn couldn’t argue with that. Instead he glanced up toward the damp, gray sky. “The rain’s going to start up again. If you’re not going to march me back to headquarters anytime soon, you could at least drag me under some cover.”

      She, too, glanced at the sky, but in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. He half expected her to leave him in the mud, but she surprised him by getting a tarp out of her backpack and spreading it under a nearby tree. Then she grabbed him under his arms and dragged him onto it.

      Her strength impressed him, while her expression of annoyance amused him. What had her panties in a bunch? That her partner wasn’t back yet? That they both knew he was better than she was and probably only her prisoner for as long as it suited him?

      “So what are you?” he asked. “Not military.”

      She sat cross-legged on the edge of the tarp. “How can you be sure?”

      “Am I wrong?”

      She shook her head.

      Just then the skies opened. Rain pounded the ground. In a matter of seconds the place where he’d been lying became a puddle. He pulled his knees toward his chest to get his feet out of the deluge.

      His captor looked annoyed. He could hear her thoughts from here. How had he known it was about to rain? Who was this guy? Although he guessed she probably wasn’t using the word guy in her mind. No doubt she’d chosen something more colorful.

      “If you’re not going to tell me your name,” he said, “I can try to guess.”

      She adjusted the lantern and ignored him.

      “Brenda,” he said.

      She didn’t blink.

      “Bambi? Heather? Chloe? Annie? Sarah? Destiny? Chastity?”

      She sighed. “D.J.”

      He wanted to know what the initials stood for but didn’t ask. She would be expecting that. Instead he said, “I’d offer to shake hands, but I’m all tied up at the moment.”

      She smiled. “I can see that.”