Daring her Captor E-Book

Ann Omasta

• Herausgeber: More Happily Ever Afters
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

He’s the last man she should want…

Belle Davis is a strong, smart, and savvy businesswoman. She wouldn’t know how to play the part of ‘damsel in distress’ if she tried.

Wyatt Foster isn’t playing games when he kidnaps the beautiful heiress to the Davis fortune and takes her to a secluded cabin in rural Maine.

Sparks fly when these two firecrackers are cooped up with each other during a wicked winter storm. Neither wants to admit to their aching desire for the other, but they can’t deny the forbidden lust that sizzles between them.

Will Belle and Wyatt be able to resist the lure of a sexy enemies-to-lovers romance? Even if they give in to their cravings, will they ever be able to move beyond their roles as captor and prisoner? Find out NOW in Daring her Captor.

DARING DESIRES:
1. Daring the Neighbor
2. Daring his Passion
3. Daring Rescue
4. Daring her Captor
5. Daring the Judge

Daring her Captor is part of the Daring Desires set. You can meet these sexy heroes in any order. They smudge lipstick, never mascara. Meet them now!

Leseprobe

Daring Her Captor

Ann Omasta

Contents

Free Book - His First Time: Ranger

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Let’s stay in touch!

About the Author: Ann Omasta

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Free Book - His First Time: Ranger

Ranger and Charlotte’s sizzling short story is a Callie Love Reader Group exclusive––It’s not available anywhere else!

I won’t let her die. I can’t. She means everything to me.

She needs me to stay calm and talk her through landing the plane.

I just can’t let her find out this is my first time doing this, too.

Get His First Time: Ranger exclusively from my co-author, Callie Love. We value your privacy. Just tell us where to send your Hot Shot of Romance Quickie.

Get His First Time: Ranger HERE.

1

I could tell something was terribly wrong as soon as I tried to open my droopy eyelids. My lashes must have been weighed down with tiny barbells. The idea of little eye-sized weights made me feel the urge to chuckle, but my mind was too sluggish to follow through.

As my head lolled to the side, I peeked out at the blurred scenery speeding past the window and realized that I was in a fast-moving vehicle. An overwhelming sense of nausea attacked my stomach as I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. Concerned that I might vomit, I tried to say, “Pull over,” as I lifted a hand to cover my mouth, but neither activity worked as I had planned.

I heard my voice mumble “Pluuuuuh-,” and my arm lifted up a few inches, but flopped back down on the seat without coming anywhere near my face.

Panic began to set in as I realized that I had lost control of my body. The nausea abated as my entire focus went towards controlling my limbs. My mind was working in slow motion as if it was slogging through quicksand, but my body was practically unresponsive to my wishes.

Determined to power through this, I tried again to speak. Someone had to be operating this vehicle, and I wanted the driver to know I needed assistance. “Pluuuvv-,” I tried again, but failed to get my message across.

“It’s okay.” The deep, masculine voice tried to reassure me.

I flopped my head from side to side and said, “Nuuuh.” I wanted to tell this condescending asshat that it most definitely was NOT okay. Nothing was okay. I wasn’t in control of my faculties, and I needed help.

Amending his placating words slightly, the gruff voice said, “You’re going to be okay.”

For some reason, that calm, confident reassurance made the panic subside a bit. My heartbeat was still thrumming loudly in my head, and I couldn’t seem to form a coherent word, but I wanted to believe that I would be okay. There had to be a logical explanation for this. I couldn’t live the rest of my life in this partially lucid state.

Needing to see the person that was so sure I would come out of this, I jerked my neck to lift my head. It immediately flopped back down, but I had managed to catch a glimpse of the driver.

My first impression was that he had the big, muscly build of a military man or bodyguard. He wasn’t classically handsome, but had the rugged, outdoorsy good looks of someone who didn’t take any shit from anyone.

I had only seen his profile, but his prominent hawkish nose and firm jawline made me think this man would crush a lesser woman. I was curious what his eyes looked like, but he kept them fixated on the road ahead of us.

It was probably a good thing he was so focused on his driving because we seemed to be speeding. I didn’t want to chance another bout of nausea by looking out the window again, but we definitely weren’t on a leisurely Sunday drive. I decided to take our reckless rate of speed as a good sign. Hopefully, he was rushing me to a medical facility.

Wanting to confirm that my suspicion was correct, I tried to speak again. “Neee–– hellll––.” The frustration over not being able to say what I meant made me shake with fury. I hated feeling helpless. Being dependent on someone else went against everything I stood for.

My hope that my words had been clear enough for him to understand were confirmed when he repeated, “You’re going to be fine.”

I let out an outraged grunt to let him know that I needed more than that. Evidently it worked because he added, “The best thing for you right now is to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

He sounded so confident. I longed to believe him. Would I fall asleep and wake up back in control of my faculties? Would the magic of sleep restore me to my normal state? It seemed too good to be true.

I needed medical attention, not a nap. But the sweet beckoning of the oblivion of sleep was too tempting. My eyelids were heavy, my body was practically paralyzed, and my mind was sluggish. I needed rest.

Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt anything to close my eyes for just a minute, I let them drift closed.

2

I bolted upright in the bed. Lifting my right hand, I turned it from side to side and was thrilled to see that my control over my limbs had been restored.

“Told you that you’d be fine.” He had the audacity to chuckle as if I should have just taken a stranger’s word that my affliction was temporary and would subside with sleep.

Shoving down my irritation, I tried to figure out which of my many questions to ask first. They came out in a flurry. “Who are you? Where am I? What happened to me?”

I lifted my palms to press into my eyebrows as the throbbing of my head intensified when I spoke.

“These will help with your headache.” The stranger handed me two white pills and a glass of water from the bedside table.

I wondered how he had known I would have a headache. Had he hit me over the head? Was that why I was so out of it earlier?

Even as I held my hand out for the pills, I wondered if I should take them. Was he trying to drug me? I was just starting to feel lucid again. The last thing I needed was to willingly take something that would return me to that loopy state.

I turned the pills over in my palm, inspecting them.

“They’re just aspirin,” he informed me, seeming somewhat amused by my obvious distrust. To confirm his words, he leaned over to pick up the Bayer bottle that was on the bedside table. He jiggled the clear bottle as I peered inside it.

The pills did look remarkably similar to what he had just handed me, but there was nothing about this situation that I trusted. My head was pounding, and I desperately wanted relief, but not so much that I would willingly drug myself.

“I would prefer pills directly from the bottle, please,” I said, primly handing him back the two pills he had given me.

“As you wish,” he responded as he pushed down and turned to open the lid. Tapping two pills out of the bottle into my palm, he commented almost under his breath, “Smart.”

My eyes darted to his. I was stunned to discover they were a broody grayish color that seemed more likely to exist in comic books or highly edited magazine photo spreads than on a real human. I had never encountered such expressive, stormy eyes in real life.

Working to contain the reaction my body wanted to express to his primal appeal, I nodded my head towards the pill bottle and said, “I’ll take three.”

“Living on the edge,” he quipped, and I couldn’t stop the surprised chuckle that burst out of me.

Annoyed with myself for allowing his quick wit to charm me for a brief moment, I tossed the pills back and took a swig of the tap water. Handing the glass back to him, I went into stern, all-business mode. Giving him my signature boardroom glare, I said, “I need the answers to my questions.”

To my surprise, he answered each of my rapid-fire questions from earlier. It took me a moment to process what answers he was giving me when he said, “Wyatt Foster. Maine. You were drugged.”

His name was strong and powerful sounding, like the man himself. It fit my expectations, but the other two tidbits of information he shared with me were alarming.

“Maine? Drugged?” I bugged my eyes out at him, not quite able to believe what I had heard.

Almost of its own accord, my head turned towards the window. I had to tip up to see out. All I could see were trees. This fits with my mental image of Maine, even though I have never actually been there––I guess, here––until now.

Turning back to him, I asked, “Who drugged me? What was I given?”

The man exuded calm confidence as he watched me process the information he had shared. I scooted to the far side of the bed as I realized he was the most likely culprit. My voice sounded squeaky when I asked, “Did you drug me?”

“I did,” he confirmed, not looking like he felt the slightest bit guilty about it.

“What did you give me? And why?” I screeched, not quite able to believe we were sitting here chatting about him drugging me. Was he a psychopath?

“It’s a special cocktail I created,” he sounded proud as he spoke about his illegal concoction. “You shouldn’t have any lasting side effects. The headache will go away soon.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” I asked, the horror of my situation beginning to fully settle in.

“Nope, this is my first kidnapping,” he told me rather flippantly.

“Kidnapping?” I asked aloud as the word rolled around my head. My first irrational thought was that I wasn’t exactly a kid. My second realization was that I needed to get away… now.

My eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape route. I pulled my knees up towards my chest to be ready to spring into action and was thrilled to discover that I wasn’t bound or tied down in any way.

I just needed to find a way to distract Wyatt, so I could make a run for it. It dawned on me then that he had given me his full name. It slipped off his tongue quickly and easily. If he’d made up a fake name, he likely would have had to think about it for a second. Having his real name didn’t seem like a good sign to me. That probably meant that he had no intention of ever letting me go.

Wiggling my toes and fingers, I tested my dexterity. I seemed to have regained full control of my extremities. My main concern was that my body might not yet be able to react as quickly as my mind expected. The last thing I needed was to make my big move and fall flat on my face.

Deciding to pump him for information while I tested my body’s movements and reactions, I brought both hands up to tuck my hair behind my ears. No problem.

“Why did you kidnap me?” I asked him as I stretched my legs out.

“Because my boss told me to,” he answered simply.

“Do you do everything your boss tells you to do?” I snapped, angry with both him and my current situation. Knowing I needed to remain calm, I took a deep breath and twisted my ankles back and forth.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Pretty much.”

I rolled my eyes at that, silently hoping that his boss wouldn’t instruct him to harm me. “So, who is your boss?”

I fluttered my eyelashes in hopes of getting him to blurt out the answer. My ploy didn’t work, but I was pleased to discover that my entire body seemed to be in working order.

“I really can’t say,” he said, as I had expected he would.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I wondered if I should wait to make my escape attempt until he was otherwise occupied. He would have to use the bathroom and sleep at some point, right? The idea of waiting made me squirmy, though. What if he decided to handcuff or torture me? As I looked around the small cabin, I realized there wasn’t much to occupy one’s time here. I certainly didn’t want to become his sole source of entertainment.

Unwilling to risk staying, I decided there was no time like the present. Testing out my best acting skills, I sucked in a deep breath, pointed out the window behind him, and yelled, “What’s that?”