Since this was not a loving correction, he was as swift and efficient as he could be about it. Raining sharp, stinging swats down onto that gorgeous flesh in an inelegant tattoo that had her yelping from the start and screaming by the end, although he never missed a beat, leaving what had been just slightly pinkened skin a sizzling, furious shade of uncomfortable looking red.

Jenna had silently resolved not to give him the satisfaction of crying, no matter what he did to her, but, to her absolute horror, that vow had lasted through barely more than a handful of those horrible licks.

And, although the fact that he was setting fire to her bottom was bad enough, she realized partway through that, although she protested each smart slap loudly and was absolutely furious that he was doing this to her, there were parts of her – nearby to where his hand landed over and over again – that were rebelliously joyous.

And decidedly desirous.

This was something about herself that she had no interest in exploring at the moment, while held captive, and, for all intents and purposes, naked, over the lap of a man who was most definitely a dangerous criminal, who had no compunction about threatening her life in order to get what he wanted.

The spanking stopped abruptly, and she found herself rolled onto her back on the bed, her wrists unbound from behind her back so that she thought he had reconsidered. That was until she tried to sit up and found them reclaimed. He explained in a soft, almost caring tone that she would be much more comfortable if she wasn't trying to sleep on her hands, as he brought the both of them in one big one of his to a spot above her head, where he began to secure them to one of the rungs of the headboard.

It wasn't the first time she had bemoaned the lack of a bookcase headboard, caused, of course, by her ex's taste in furniture.

She had the fleeting thought that he hadn't even had the courtesy to use it as God had intended – that it was an outlaw who was doing something for her – something to her – that she had always had a secret desire for that she'd never really confronted.

Even the spanking...

No. The spanking was unforgiveable, juvenile, humiliating, and downright fucking painful! There was no good in that spanking, she reaffirmed to herself, over the objections of several body parts that were clamoring against her stance that had most thoroughly enjoyed his hand getting that close to them.

There was no good in any of it, she reiterated silently, even his quiet care for her comfort in choosing how to bind her.

The things she was feeling – the desires that were rising within her – were wrong. It was all terribly, terribly wrong – she had to fight both herself and him.

In the middle of all the vicious rivalry that was going on in her head, the thought occurred to her that he was taking an inordinately long amount of time tying her back up. The pillow seemed to bury his head next to her arms, and he wasn't moving.

Jenna continued to lie still for a while longer, just in case it was some kind of a trick. However, he didn't move a muscle the entire time, so she slowly – very slowly – began to move her wrists, which he had wrapped in the scarf, and which did not hold them together yet, nor were they anchored to the headboard in the manner he obviously intended.

She poked at him gingerly then recoiled, just in case one of those massive arms might reach out and clout her, but neither did.

He'd fainted.

Probably from lack of blood.

Still wary, she eased herself away from him and got off the other side of the bed, coming around to stare down at him, and wondering what the fuck she was supposed to do with him now.

She should call the police immediately and let them know that she had a man she suspected was one of the gang members they were looking for and that he had broken into her house and terrorized her.

She punched the talk button on the phone and got dead silence, which, unfortunately was not surprising. It was one of the costs she paid to live pretty far off the grid. Telephone service out here was cantankerous at best.

That was why Penny had come to her door rather than calling her.

So it seemed she was stuck with him, at least for the time being.

She supposed she could go out into the night and try to flag down a cop, but she didn't like her own odds of not being shot, frankly, and felt infinitely safer here, even with him passed out on her bed.

The first thing she did, before anything else, was tie him down in much the same fashion that he was going to do to her, wishing she had bought the handcuffs she'd been looking at online and wondering if her decidedly amateurish knots – and the headboard itself – were going to be enough to hold him.

At least she'd been able to find some leftover clothesline, thinking its tensile strength would be more than that of silk chiffon, and in his case, she definitely needed it.

The entire time she'd had to climb around him, she'd worried that he'd all of a sudden awaken and grab her before she could get him secured, but he hadn't moved a gorgeous, bulging, prominent muscle.

Even tied as he was, she didn't feel particularly safe from him, but she also didn't feel as if she could leave him in the room alone, either. Jenna stared down at him from her perch on the edge of the bed, biting her lip and noting how flushed he looked, leaning down to press her palm to his forehead – it was alarmingly warm and dry.

She hadn't kept track of when she'd given him the aspirin – or even whether or not he'd taken any, but if he stirred at all, she was going to try to get some down him, regardless, she decided, putting a glass of water and the bottle on the nightstand.

Next to his gun, which she confiscated immediately and considered tucking where her own, non-existent, gun resided. She wasn't as much of a fool as everyone seemed to agree she was, and she knew that there were animals in the woods around her. She just didn't like anyone thinking of her as a hypocrite, so she didn't admit to anyone – really even herself – that she had one.

Then she decided against it. When he recovered, she had no doubt that he was going to be a terror, and she thought it might come in handy.

She was right.

And wrong.

She spent an uncomfortable night in the small recliner that she kept in a kind of reading nook near one of the windows of her bedroom. She was not uncomfortable sleeping in the chair, which she did occasionally when she got a bad cold that made it hard for her to breath. But rather because her bottom, which was now encased in the closest thing she had to armor – jeans – reminded her every time she moved of exactly what it was he'd had the unmitigated gall to do to her. And, to her deep alarm, that intimate knowledge – and even the distinct discomfort, to an extent – set an even more fervent fire to her loins, too, but she was doing her best to ignore the way her own honey seeped onto panties she'd already had to change once.

Not that she was medically inclined, but Jenna was surprised just how fast his fever rose. To the point where he was pretty much delirious, yelling to someone named Andy at times, yelling to someone named Rosie, and crooning to someone named Simone. He told her he only spanked her because he loved her, which made Jenna blush as she wiped his brow with a cool cloth and tried to remember what it was her grandmother had said about what could be done to bring down a fever besides aspirin.

An alcohol bath. It hit her suddenly, and she rejected it, but as the morning wore on and his temperature readings rose, she decided she had to do it.

She was on her way to the bathroom to grab what she had for hand towels and rubbing alcohol when there was another loud banging at her door. Jenna glanced out the window and saw a beautiful luxury automobile parked in her driveway. No one she knew around here drove anything like that.

No law enforcement would drive something quite that gorgeous, either, she thought.

Damn. Maybe Penny was right. She did need a big fucking dog...

She peeped through the side window and saw two men in very expensive suits standing on her stoop.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" she asked,

"Yes, ma'am," the taller of the two answered, tipping his hat at her, while his companion glanced around the place, as if he was looking for something.

Or someone.

"We're a part of the ongoing investigation that's trying to determine the whereabouts of some potentially dangerous fugitives." His smile was entirely too wide, his demeanor too friendly, and his suit entirely too well tailored for him to be who he was claiming to be, but she didn't interrupt him. "Are you aware of the manhunt that's ongoing in the area?"

"Yes, I am."

"Have you seen anyone who might have looked suspicious? Someone who matches a description we acquired of being about a foot taller than I am, with black hair, tattoos, well built and possibly with a gunshot injury? We're quite keen to apprehend all of these men before anyone else gets hurt, but this one in particular is who we're looking for."

If she had thought for a moment that these men actually were from any branch of law enforcement, she would have told them about the man in her bedroom. But as it was, she realized that – besides whatshisname in her room, they were the most suspicious looking men she'd seen in quite some time. And, if she did give him up, and they were who she suspected they were, her already bad situation could escalate to horrific in just a few seconds – the length of time it would take them to strong arm their way in and shoot the both of them.

"No, I haven't seen anyone," she lied with a small smile. "But I sure want to help. Is there a card or a number I could have to call you if I do see someone?"

The other man handed her a card that contained nothing but a phone number.

"That's my cell phone, ma'am. You don't hesitate to call me if you see so much as a guy with a hair out of place." The oilier of the two gentlemen smiled at her – one that didn't get anywhere near his eyes – and the two of them backed away.

Penny thanked them and closed the door, locking it quietly, then watching furtively out her windows to make sure that they actually got into their car and left.

Suddenly, she was airborne, immediately recognizing the arms that were around her waist, as well as the fact that he was totally nude.

This time, though, he didn't seem to be trying to subdue her in any way, in fact, he was laughing. "You tied me up, you little brat!" he accused, but he was chuckling softly as he did so. "I guess you thought turnabout was going to be fair play this morning, hmm? But that's not how this kind of a relationship works, my darling Simone."

Holy crap, he was out of his mind with the fever and thought she was his lover!

Nothing she could have done would have prepared her for when he turned her in his arms and his lips found hers.

It was electric!

It was stupefying!

It was something she knew she shouldn't have been doing, but damn, he was a good kisser, and for a moment – just a short one – felt herself give into it and kiss him back. His arms felt amazingly good around her, holding her gently but firmly, aware of his own strength, one of them wandering down to cup a cheek, squeezing just a bit and making her squeal.

He looked patently unsympathetic, despite how his words dripped with it. "Aw, still sore? Poor baby. Next time, you'll think twice before you do something you know you're not supposed to, won't you?"

Jenna pushed against his arms, and he let her go. She still intended to give him an alcohol bath – she definitely needed to bring down his fever before he decided to use her as even more of a substitute for Simone.

He was much more amiable in this condition, though – even quite likable, if a bit handsy. In some ways, she almost envied his Simone.

Trying to play the part as best she could, not really knowing what he expected, she got him to take the aspirin by pretending she was handing him a drink and something to help prevent a hangover. He didn't know that one of the pills was a melatonin, which would help him sleep more deeply, she hoped, and the third was an antibiotic she had left over from a bout of some kind of infection or other that was still within the expiration date.

He downed them, docile as a Labrador.

She'd brought them into the bedroom, where she felt he needed lie down before he collapsed and left her with the unenviable task of trying to get him into bed herself.

Damn, he hadn't told her his name, so she said, "Honey, why don't you get into bed, and I'll give you a nice rubdown."

"Join me."

There was the autocratic side of him he had subjected her to.

"Yes, of course – but I want to give you a bit of a bath and a massage before we..."

He stretched out on the bed before she could finish the sentence, thankfully.

Jenna thoroughly wet the washcloth she'd brought and – trying not to look at certain parts of his body, she drew it over almost every bit of him, dampening the cloth as she went along, and noticing that he quieted almost immediately, eliminating her concern about having to fight him off as she did so.

Whether he was asleep or unconscious, she didn't know. She just knew that he wasn't reaching for her any longer, cupping her breasts with surprisingly gentle fingers, the sides of his thumbs coaxing nipples that were already halfway turgid from the second he touched them to harden even further while she held her breath.

"Dear God, you're beautiful," he muttered more than moaned.

Eventually, his hands fell away, and his eyes closed as his chest began to rise and fall rhythmically.

Jenna sighed, feeling as if she wanted to collapse, but not before she'd tied him up again, trying to make the knots even tighter this time.

But it was useless, she quickly found.

He didn't always come and bear hug her from behind, but when she would check his temp or bathe him again or just check on him, she'd see that he was free range again, and eventually she just stopped the useless effort. Taking care of him was dragging on her badly, she wondered just how much longer she could do it – to say nothing of the fact that she was running out of bandages, and she only had a seven-day supply of antibiotic. She wondered if that would help someone who had gotten so deathly sick so fast.

That first day ran quickly into a second, and then a third, and, although she was giving him a dose and a half of antibiotic at a time, he was still febrile and delirious, although she wanted to say less so than before. The telephone situation hadn't gotten any better, and she was beginning to think that she might have to take her car into the village to fake the need for more antibiotics at the clinic and get supplies.

Or just give up and call the cops to come get him, which was something she was rapidly beginning to acknowledge she should have done from the beginning. She wasn't at all sure why she'd delayed, but it was something about him. Jenna knew it was stupid, but he didn't seem...criminal to her, despite how he had treated her. And, as run down as it was making her, she actually liked taking care of him. It was nice to have someone to look after.

Perhaps she should go by the pound for a pup some time.

And, besides, by now she'd probably be charged with aiding and abetting, so what the fuck?

She got her bandaging supplies – but was careful not to buy all of them from the same place so as not to raise suspicions – just in case. She didn't know if someone was following or watching her, but she didn't want to assume they weren't and tip anyone off, either. She went and coughed and wheezed at the doctor, who gave her not only a script for antibiotics but a short course of steroids as well – sometimes severe asthma and the ability to wheeze badly when necessary came in handy.

She hoped the steroids would give him the boost he needed to shake the fever, finally.

She conducted her trip as quickly as she could manage, because she didn't want to leave him alone for very long. When she got all of her supplies – including some groceries for real meals instead of the ramen she'd been feeding the both of them for the past couple days – she shuffled into the kitchen, plunking her purse down on the counter she headed into her bedroom, her eyes automatically going to bed.

Where he wasn't.

She looked to the floor, thinking he might well have fallen out or fallen while trying to get up, but he wasn't there.

This time, she heard him take his last step before he grabbed her around her middle, again. Having her back plastered up against him was getting to be routine, she thought. And he was naked again, only this time, he was dripping wet.

All of a sudden, she found his knife at her throat again. She was going to have a permanent divot there by the time this was finished.

"Why is there a man's razor and shaving cream in the shower if you live here alone?" he snarled.

Jenna snorted. "Because I'm a fucking cheapskate, that's why. Do you know how much they overcharge women for pretty pink razors and flowery smelling shaving cream?"

Suddenly, she realized she'd had just about enough from him. If he was going to fucking well kill her, she wished he'd go ahead and do it already, so she stopped fighting him and even leaned into the blade a bit. "Go on, motherfucker. Kill me, for Christsakes! I'm fucking sick of you constantly threatening me with it and never delivering. Go on! Do it! And, by the way, genius, if I live with someone, where's he been for the past three days?"

"Three days?" he sounded amazed.

"Yeah. While you were trying to tie me to my own Goddamned bed, you fainted, and you've been unconscious for the majority of it, running a high fever. I take it you're feeling a bit better, thanks, of course, to the person whose throat you're holding a knife to, but what the hell? If you're so all fired interested in killing me, then fucking well do it. But if you don't, I don't want you to ever threaten me like that again."

She had no idea where the courage to say that to him – however foolhardy it probably was – had come from, but she had to say she didn't really regret it, even if it was the last thing she ever said.

Jenna found herself released so abruptly she stumbled away from him, watching him hold the knife almost abashedly, and she could see what she thought was a bit of a blush on his cheeks – or it could be the remnants of the fever, she supposed.

"You – you took care of me? You must've had to do...well, everything for me."

She turned her back, ostensibly because of his nudity, but more to force some distance between them. She had gotten to know him quite a bit more intimately than he had her over the past few days, and his regaining consciousness brought her rudely back to reality.

Instead of answering his question, she whirled and moved around him, into the kitchen to empty the bags, creating one just for him of crap she had bought him. "Antibiotics, steroids, bandages, more aspirin, your own razor and shaving cream and a set of sweats."

At the mention of the razor his blush deepened, and a hand came up to scrub over his scruff as she stuck the hand holding the bag out towards him, already having turned back to putting away the rest of the stuff she'd gotten, as if whether or not he took it was of no consequence to her.

"I – I can't believe you did that for me…" he began, sounding reluctantly grateful.

Without acknowledging anything he'd said, she snapped, "Would you please put something on? The clothes you were wearing are on top of the nightstand or you're welcome to wear the sweats. They're too big for me."

He was only too happy to have something to do that might make her feel better. He reached for the sweats, figuring that his own clothes were probably still dirty, but then he noticed that she had laundered and folded them quite neatly where she said they were. It took him a minute to get himself dressed but he managed – he wasn't about to ask her for any further assistance in that area – still feeling much weaker than he wanted to and quite stiff, such that the movement of his arm on the side of his injuries was quite restricted.

He was going to have to remedy that, preferably before he went back out there.

If she'd let him, which he doubted.

When he found her again, careful not to sneak up on her, she had already put away the groceries and she was starting to cook something. She barely looked at him, and he couldn't blame her in the least, considering how he'd treated her.

"It might interest you to know that the day after you...arrived here, two men came looking for you."

He was instantly alert. "Tell me everything you remember about them."

She pointed to the card she'd left on the counter. "One of them gave me that. They were both tall, drove a very expensive car that is going to stick out like a sore thumb in this part of the world, and the same goes for their suits. They pretended – without showing any kind of I.D. – that they were a part of the manhunt that Penny alluded to, but I knew they weren't."

His estimation of her – bravery and overall – was already quite high, and just got higher. "You didn't tell them about me?"

Jenna scoffed. "I have a feeling that if I had, neither one of us would be alive any longer."

And she was right about that, too. The woman had good instincts, too.

He looked at her stiff back as she was cooking, how she was holding herself so tight and rigid. He knew that look – she was pissed or hurt or both, and he didn't know exactly why he cared about either, but he did.

So, with a sigh, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he did something he'd never done before. He walked over to her and reached to turn off the burner, then, when she huffed at him and tried to move away, he caught her hand. Not her wrist, her hand, squeezing it carefully as he shook it.

"Jenna McInnis, I'm glad to meet you, although I doubt you can say the same thing to me. My name is John Merck. Most people call me Merck."

She didn't return the handshake, but then he hadn't really expected her to.

"If you're as penurious as you say you are, you might want to know that, in certain circles, knowing my name and my current whereabouts could earn you a boatload of money. Retiring money. Getting decent phone service even out here in the boonies kind of money," he joked. "So, if you've a mind for revenge, you have all the ammunition you need against me. You can drive into town and call the cops, or call the number on that card. I won't stop you. In either case, despite your careful tending, I probably won't last more than a day or two, probably more like hours." What he had told her was the truth, but he wasn't going to offer much more than that – for her own safety, as well as his.

"The cops are going to kill you?" she snorted in disbelief.

An eyebrow disappeared into that beautiful hair of his. "You're one of those naïve citizens who think every cop's a hero? Maybe up here in the boondocks they are. But not in the real world."

"No."

"Good. I didn't think so, because you know from personal experience that we're not," he said baldly, alluding to her experience with him.