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her gaze from those broad shoulders, that muscular chest, those big, fined-toned arms or that washboard belly. Fully clothed, Jake Ingram was a handsome devil. Undressed, he was devastating.
    Jake tossed back the covers. Mariah held her breath, uncertain whether he was wearing his shorts. Thankfully, he was. She sighed quietly. He jerked the white T-shirt from atop his jeans and plaid flannel shirt lying in a neat pile on the floor, then pulled it over his head. It was then that Mariah noticed the dark bruises along his side. Oh, God, he'd been severely beaten. When he glanced at her, his gaze narrowed and a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
    "You were wondering if I had on my shorts, weren't you?"
    "They beat you," she said, her gaze fixed on his bruised side.
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    "Yes, ma'am, they did."
    "Do you think you have any broken ribs?"
    He shook his head; "I'm not in agonizing pain, so I figure my ribs are still intact."
    "There was no need for them to do that to you."
    "I'm afraid there was. You see, I resisted."
    "Of course you did." Putting a damper on her desire, she rushed to him to check his bruises for herself, to make sure he wasn't badly injured. Bad move! She wasn't supposed to care what had happened to him. You're not playing your part very well, she told herself. Act unconcerned, dammit!
    Mariah retrieved the handcuffs she had removed from Jake earlier and walked over to his bed. She hated having to cuff him to the headboard, but if he tried to escape, Lester or Burgess would stop him, maybe even kill him. She couldn't allow anything to happen to Jake. He was too valuable. Part of her job was to keep him safe.
    "Sorry to have to do this, but..."
    He held up both arms. She hesitated, wondering how touching him would affect her. Just do it, she told herself. She grabbed his left arm, cuffed his wrist and then attached the other cuff to the bedpost. Frozen to the spot, the feel of his warm wrist still tingling through her palm, she stared at him, and from the way he was looking at her, she suspected that innocent touch had rattled him as much as it had her. If not, then he was doing a damn good job of faking it.
    "If you need to go to the bathroom during the night, or need anything else, just let me know," she said.
    "I'll keep the offer in mind."
    Once again he'd used her own words against her, changing their original intent into something sexual. Let it go, she told herself. Don't respond.
    Mariah slid into bed, pulled the covers up to her waist, then reached out to turn off the bedside lamp. "I'm going to sleep," she told him. "I suggest you do the same."
    Several minutes later, when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mariah could see a sliver of light coming from beneath the closed door. She lay there, wide awake and wishing she was anywhere else on earth. Anywhere except confined inside a mountain cabin with a man she had to think of as her enemy. A man who, come morning, she would be forced to deceive, playing with his mind the way a cat plays with a mouse before going in for the kill.
    Three
    Much to his surprise, Jake actually slept several hours before waking with a cramp in his arm. When he first awoke, he tugged on his wrist and couldn't figure out why it was bound, but then reality hit him like a splash of ice-cold water.
    Everything came back in an instant flash. His beating, capture and transport to this isolated mountain cabin. Using his free hand, he massaged his aching arm; then as he flipped over, he glanced at the person lying in the bed next to him.
    Dr. Mariah Brooks. The woman fascinated him, but he didn't have the luxury of fully exploring that fascination. What he needed from her—and needed as soon a possible—was her help in escaping. Accomplishing that goal would take finesse on his part. If he pushed too hard, too fast, she might balk. But then again, he really couldn't wait.
    He wondered how deeply