The Cougar's Pawn Read Online Free Page B

the door in. “I thought Southern girls were supposed to be soft and demure.”
    “If you dislike my language so much, toss me back into the truck and return me to Arches.”
    “No, ma’am. I’m going to deal with your mouth. Apparently my goddess thought I deserved your verbal flagellation.”
    “So why bother complaining about it?”
    He set her down in his foyer and turned on the light to see her pretty face screwed into a ball-withering glower. Well, she had a backbone, his maybe-mate. For his brothers’ sakes, he hoped they all did, but knowing his Ellery had some fight in her meant she wouldn’t cower when she saw what he was—the reason he’d had to steal her in the first place.
    Hundreds of years ago, being taken as a Cougar bride was considered to be an honor in their culture, but Cougars weren’t tribal warriors anymore. There was nothing illustrious about being abducted to be a woodworker’s mate. In fact, it sounded like the basis of a very twisted Lifetime movie. Unluckily for him, he got to play the villain.
    “Seems odd to me a man who would snatch ladies would be so concerned about the gentility of her language.”
    “Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit about your language. I just figured this would be a lot easier for both of us if you were a little sweeter. You might be my wife one day. Congratulations.”
    She made a most indelicate snorting sound and shook her head. “You are
insane
, bud.”
    “My name is Mason. Mason Foye.” He extended a hand to shake, and she locked a malevolent leer onto it.
    Oh. The ropes
. He looped his hand through her arm and pulled her gently toward the kitchen. She tottered, taking the tiny steps afforded by her bound ankles. “I’ve got some shears in here to cut that off.”
    “What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?”
    He let out a long breath. Apparently, she didn’t believe the wife story. “I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking. Hold still.” He picked her up easily and plopped her onto the counter next to the sink. He could feel her glare on the side of his neck as he rooted through his junk drawer.
    “Why couldn’t I stay with my friends?”
    “Don’t worry about them. They’re safe.” It was his brothers he was more worried about. He angled her feet up and clamped them between his thighs while he examined his tight rope work. He didn’t want to ruin perfectly good rope, and was looking to cut it off as close to the knots as possible.
    “That’s good for them, but what about
me
?”
    “You’re safe with me.”
    “You’ll have to excuse me for not taking your word for it.”
    He ground his teeth and worked the scissors between the strands. Once he’d popped the rope and had begun unwinding it from her ankles, he said, “I couldn’t hurt you. Not as long as you’re tethered to me.”
    She lowered her chin to her chest and blinked at him. “Pardon?”
    “Tethered, dear. We’ve got a psychic tether that attached the moment I plucked you up at the campground—the moment I grabbed you. That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t let my brothers pick you.”
    She blinked again.
    “I know none of this makes sense to you.” He tossed the rope to the floor and picked up her delicate wrists with his left hand next. Her long, thin fingers didn’t show evidence of any missing rings. There were no indentations, no tan lines on her dark honey skin.
    “Are you going to cut that?” she asked, rousing him from his thoughts. “I actually do need to pee.”
    “Do you wear much jewelry?” he asked.
    “Jewelry?” There was a note of humor in her voice, as if the question was absurd. Perhaps it was to her.
    “Do you?” He set the point of the scissors in between the tight cords at her wrists and nudged the blade between her forearms.
    “Besides my watch and these hoop earrings I never take off? No. Unnecessary rings get in the way at work. The one ring I do wear”—she flashed her right hand almost too