Page 31 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Sarah just had to make sure her kidnapper didn’t see them until they were in her driveway and she could run to them.
Sarah tripped over absolutely nothing on her clean kitchen floor and dove for the linoleum, landing on her chest.
The guy dropped to his knees beside her. “Hey, there. You okay?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” She rolled over onto her back with her arms still tied behind her back. “I think I twisted my ankle.”
“That’s not getting you out of it.”
“Maybe if you helped me stand up,” she said, making her eyes wide and helpless.
“I’m not untying you until we’re secure in my house.”
“No, I mean, just help me stand. Maybe I can put my weight on it.” Jeez, she sounded like such a wimp.
Sarah rolled over and struggled, wasting every second she could on the floor where he couldn’t see out her window to allow the authorities to arrive.
The guy held her arm, lifting and steadying her. “If you’re hurt, I can carry you.”
“All the way back to Chicago?” she teased.
He raised one eyebrow. “That would be a challenge.”
As Sarah slowly lifted herself to her feet, pretending she had a gimpy ankle and testing her weight on it, she glanced out the kitchen window again.
Three black SUVs roared into her gravel driveway, skidding and spraying stones as they stopped. Men in black suits threw open the doors and bailed out, looking around at the house and buildings.
Sarah ran, kicked her screen door open, and sprinted toward the black vehicles, yelling, “I’m here! I’m Sarah Bell! That man is in the house, and he took me prisoner. Help me!”
11
Sarah’s Escape
Blaze
As Blaze settled Sarah on her feet after her tumble, his body began reacting to her softness in his hands.
Her sun-browned arm, the curve of her waist, the delicate taper of her legs, all her body resonated a chord in Blaze that he hadn’t felt for years.
A thread of thought ran through his head, that after this was over, after he convinced Mary Varvara Bell that Sarah was off-limits, maybe Blaze and Sarah could have a cup of coffee or a meal together, just to talk.
Maybe her soft skin would be under his hands, maybe she would be in his bed in his house in Chicago, and maybe she would still be there when the housekeeper had left for the day and the house echoed with emptiness. “Sarah—”
She turned and bolted for the door.
He chased her, an instinctive burst of speed and a swipe like lunch was trying to gambol away from a lion.
Sarah kicked the screen door open and ran into the sunlight outside.
As he lurched out the door after her, three black SUVs occupied her driveway, and dammit, Mary Varvara Bell’s henchmen were climbing out of them.
Sarah yelled as she sprinted toward them.
One of the black suits grabbed her around her waist and threw her into the back seat of one of the SUVs.
The others were more relaxed, looking around at the corn and hitching their pants up.
Blaze retreated inside the house. Inside, a different mode clicked in: not chasing, not thinking about a woman, but a methodical focus to complete the mission.
