“A FitFlex?”
“Aye. And a pool table—”
“So, no free weights, then?” I’d been hoping for free weights. Free weights could become weapons, if it came to it.
“No free weights.” His tone was easy but those eyes...those eyes were all too knowledgeable. I’d have to play my own cards close to get anything over on this man.
I hummed noncommittally, thinking. I could use a pool cue, I supposed. Or perhaps talk him into a game and bean him with the cue ball. I was hell on a break. Back on base, no one had dared stand in front of the break because of my tendency to send the ball flying. I’d broken two noses and nailed one poor guy in the nuts.
Yes. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.
I looked at him from beneath my eyelashes. “Fancy a game of eight ball?”
“Not with that look in your eye.”
“Chicken.”
His lips thinned and he reached to smooth the scruff on his chin. My gaze followed the motion of his fingers, intrigued. All the men I’d dated or fooled around with had been smooth shaven. I found myself wondering what that hair would feel like...under my fingers. Against my mouth.
Between my thighs.
I squirmed at the thought and felt a tell-tale heat rise in my cheeks. What the hell, Cotton! Why was I thinking shit like that about my kidnapper? About any man, when it came right down to it? What was wrong with me?
“You’re suddenly very amenable.”
“Amenable. Look who’s been in the thesaurus. And I’m not, really. Just bored out of my mind.” Rising, I wandered to the bookcase and skimmed a finger along the spines. “Are these all yours?”
The temperature behind me increased fractionally and I knew he had come to stand just far enough away to be respectable.
“They are.”
I pulled a book out and examined the cover. “Nicolas Sparks? Didn’t take you for a sap, Brodie.”
He shrugged. “Is it sappy to enjoy women and wish to understand them?”
I looked at him in surprise. “Really?”
After a moment he shrugged. “They came with the house.”
He was being disingenuous. Big, bad Brodie didn’t want to admit to having a softer side. “Hmm.” I continued my inspection of his reading material. “What about this one? What did it help you ‘understand’?” Forefinger to the top of the spine, I tugged one of the books on a lower shelf free and held it up. The cover was innocuous, just a silk tie on a monochrome background. Innocuous if you didn’t know exactly what that tie represented.
He didn’t answer right away, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to find his eyes glittering. “That was definitely research,” he replied.
Lips twisting, I replaced the book. “I guess tutelage in the art of bondage would be appropriate for a man who kidnaps—”
“I learned much more than how to tie a knot with that one.”
“Such as?”Why, oh why, was I pursuing this line of questioning?
He leaned closer to me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. “I learned that sometimes a woman likes a man to take control. Take her choices away, even while giving her all the power.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Sure, there is. Think about it for a moment.” The featherlight brush of his finger trailed along my neck, prompting an unwelcome shiver. “It’s a paradox. There’s submission in dominance and dominance within submission.”
With difficulty I wrenched my focus away from that finger on my neck, away from the sparks igniting beneath the skin covering my spine. “Sorry, I think that’s bullshit.”
“If a woman chooses to be a sub, there’s a certain amount of power in her choice, don’t you think?”
