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Roarke's Prisoner

Slinging the rifle back across his shoulder, Roarke removed his helmet, pulled off his bulky gauntlets and handed them to the yeoman who stood a discreet distance away. Finally he turned to Elise. "Lace your fingers on top of your head and spread your feet apart."

She looked up at him, green eyes narrow and hard. Just when he was wondering if he had to force her, she lifted her hands and obeyed. He stepped closer, acutely aware of how small she seemed against his armored body. The perception sent another unprofessional surge of lust through him.

Careful not to linger, Roarke searched her for weapons, skimming his hands along the fine muscles of her arms, the narrow waist, the sweet rounded curve of her rump. And down those long, long legs that seemed to make up most of her body.

Which was when he realized he should have ordered someone else to conduct the search. Yolanda Boniface, for one, wouldn't have gotten a hard-on.

Erection or no, it took him just less than sixty seconds to find the knife tucked in her dress boot. Raising a brow, Roarke stared up at her as he drew the six-inch stiletto from its sheath. Elise shrugged. "Just checking to see if you're awake."

"I'm awake," he said dryly. Handing the knife to the yeoman, he reached into one of the belt pouches on his armor and drew out a pair of neurocuffs. Though they looked like thin silver bangles, each generated a neural field that locked the prisoner's muscles, immobilizing his arms in place. Because the captive's own strength held him, the delicate shackles were impossible to break.

Roarke should know. He'd once tried desperately to break a set just like them.

Elise paled, then hid her fear and curled her lip. "What's the matter, Captain? Afraid you can't handle me even with boarding armor and a hundred-pound advantage?"

"No, I'm making damn sure your crew grasps your situation," he snapped. "I didn't tell you to take your hands down, Captain. Lace them on top of your head."

Moving stiffly, Elise obeyed as he stepped behind her. Catching one slender wrist, he pulled it around to the small of her back and locked it in a neurocuff, then captured the other wrist and manacled it to the first. Instantly, her arms went rigid as the field kicked in, paralyzing them. Grimacing in distaste -- he knew too well how it felt when the ‘cuffs locked down -- Roarke moved in front of her.

And was suddenly, intensely aware of the way her captive wrists arched her spine, trusting her breasts outward. An image popped into his mind: Elise, lying naked on his bed, her arms 'cuffed under her, her stiff pink nipples pointed at the ceiling. Inviting his hands, his mouth, the lust that had been scalding him for months.

Cut it out, you lecherous bastard.

Disgusted with himself, he keyed his radio implant with a flex of his jaw muscles. "People, please be aware that we're in a very hazardous situation here. Captain Morrell has probably instructed her crew to disregard her safety. I'm assuming they'll be reluctant to endanger her once we parade her by in neurocuffs, but I could be wrong. Stay alert."

He thought he heard her growl.