Body… And Soul
Carolyn Faulkner
2004 2010 by Blushing Books and Carolyn Faulkner
Body… And Soul
2004 2010 Carolyn Faulkner & Blushing Books
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Body…
And Soul by Carolyn Faulkner
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ISBN: 978-1-60968-131-9
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Chapter One
White slavery.
A strong shudder ran through Abby Sinclair’s body as she struggled in vain against the bonds around her wrists and ankles; a cruel gag stretched her lips back from her teeth, drying out her mouth terribly. She’d been kept in this closet for she didn’t know how long, and now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be rescued or not. Her knees were bent and her arms were anchored securely behind her, and various muscle cramps had already set in.
Suddenly, the door opened, flooding the small chamber with light, making her turn her head as her eyes watered while trying to adjust. She was roughly lifted up and out, but her legs wouldn’t support her and she crumpled to the floor next to the big bearded oaf who was holding her, only to be lifted again and dragged to a chair. Although Abby fought as well as she could, although in her weakened state her efforts were ridiculously ineffectual. When the dark-haired man produced a knife, he took great care to menace her with it, trying to evoke as much fear as possible. She stiffened, cringing away from him, but the back of the chair brought her up short. Her eyes widened and filled with tears as he pressed the knife against her throat, caressing it slowly down to the collar of her shirt.
The bastard was thoroughly enjoying himself, she knew, but there was no way she could control the absolute fear that that knife was going to find its way between her ribs, or worse. He made quick work of slicing open and peeling away her blouse, then her bra, stopping momentarily to stare lustily at her bare breasts, reaching out with a surprisingly clean hand to squeeze the sensitive mounds painfully. Abby bit her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of moaning but the sound was rapidly building in the back of her throat as he treated the other breast with equal cruelty.
Seeming to remember the task at hand, he then cut off the light, summery pants she was wearing, then slit the sides of her rose colored bikini panties, rendering her completely nude to his lascivious gaze. With her hands behind her, there was nothing she could do to cover herself from that degrading stare, so Abby turned her head away. He could stand there and leer at he for as long as he wanted, but she didn’t have to watch him do it.
Finally, he put a long black garment over her that she recognized as a chador. It covered her from head to toe – there was not even a slit for her eyes, effectively blindfolding her. Her eyes were wide open, but the dense weave of the material prevented her from seeing anything but light and shadow.
From there, she had no idea where they went – beyond down some stairs and out to a vehicle. Trying to keep her wits about her, she attempted to commit to memory any little details she could – how long they drove, when they turned, et cetera. Abby shrugged to herself fatalistically. For all of the good those memories would do her. She’d probably end up dead, anyway. But at least it occupied her active mind and kept her from screaming in panic.
She was unloaded from the car and taken up a flight of stairs, then down several corridors and into a room. The bastard with the knife had maintained a death grip on her upper arm through it all, and she knew she would bear bruises in the shape of his handprint within the next several hours.
Abby was not forced to sit, but knife-guy kept her close to him, so close that she could tell that someone else had entered the room because he had suddenly come to attention. There were more and different voices in the room that seemed, from their tone, to be arguing. She listened carefully, not knowing the language was a terrible hindrance, but she tried to concentrate on their tone.
Oh, shit! Abby recognized the tone of the exchange from the marketplace she frequented – they were bargaining, and she would bet it wasn’t over the price of her chador!
There was a sharp exchange, and then something that sounded like an order, and Abby began to struggle the moment she realized that the hem of her garment was being raised. Though she fought like a wildcat, and knife-guy ended up needing help from two other men, they succeeded in pulling it up and off her. As soon as the robe cleared her head, Abby stood stock still, not wanting to give whoever was ogling her any more of a thrill by jiggling herself around in what might be construed as a sensual manner. She tried to remember all she could about what she saw in an effort to distract herself – but what registered most in her terrified state was that guns were everywhere. Each of the men who held her, as well as the three men in front of her had a machine gun either at the ready or slung over their shoulder, as well as a handgun in their waistband.
Though she was embarrassed to be naked in front of she didn’t know how many men, Abby had never been particularly prudish about her body, so although it was uncomfortable for her, it wasn’t overwhelmingly shameful. She had a nice body – if a little too much in the mammary and glutial area for her small frame – her skin was almost translucently fair, setting off the curls of long auburn hair that trailed in a matted mess down her back. Abby wasn’t reed thin as American beauty standards dictated. Instead she was well-rounded – carrying about ten pounds extra, according to current medical standards, that her doctor always needled her about. She was five foot, five inches, nicely proportioned, with pretty legs and beautiful feet.
Despite her lack of concern about being nude, the room was cold. Her nipples puckered painfully on their own, and she heard a round of laughter from the men, but then goose bumps roughened her flesh and she began to shiver. Immediately, another command was issued, and she was again covered head to toe.
For the second time, she was bundled into a car and driven some distance. Abby would estimate that they had driven about an hour and half, and by the lack of sounds filtering into the car from the outside, she would say they had driven out of the city. The hands that helped her out of the car on this end were considerably more kind, and a gentle yet masculine voice made sure that she knew where all the steps and turns were, kind of like a vocal guide dog. A door opened and closed, and she knew they were inside a building of some sort. The headpiece of her robe was removed, revealing that she was in someone’s house. A very nice house.
Abby turned to get her first look at her rescuer, not surprised it was a man in this male- dominated society. He was about six foot four, with thick black hair that curled a little at the ends, but that feminine trait was about all there was to soften his rugged appearance. His skin was darkish; eyes a piercing black, with thick lashes that any woman would die for. Full, sensual lips were surrounded by a neat goatee that framed his whole mouth and was trimmed closely, ending at his chin.
He wore a black silk shirt and dress slacks, both well fitting enough to outline the latent bulge of muscles beneath the material. By the expensive cut and style of his clothes, Abby surmised that this stranger had money – probably a lot of it, since this house was definitely not a one-roomer. He said nothing to her, simply let her look her fill, watching her with a kind of alert edge to his gaze, as if he didn’t quite trust her not to fly into hysterics.
The effect of his appearance was one of overwhelming masculinity worn with casual grace, as if the idea that he was a walking wet dream had never crossed his mind. The thought that kept repeating itself in Abby’s mind was that he could easily be cast in either of two classical dramatic parts: a vampire or the devil. Neither character comparison inspired any warm fuzzy feelings in her, though.
Abruptly, he put his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, propelling her forward. Though she was not the type to swoon over any man, she could literally feel her skin tingle with awareness under that hand. He guided her into the living room, then turned her to face him, speaking for the first time.
“My name is Dane.” Abby was startled to hear he had an American accent and name. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I need to get your hands untied, and I don’t want to just remove your chador and leave you standing there naked. I’m going to leave you alone for a moment. I’ll be right back. Will you be all right?” His voice was deep and disturbingly sexy.
That was the last thing she should be thinking about in a situation like this, she chided herself. “Yes,” croaked out due to her dry, raw throat. “I’ll be fine.” Each word was a little stronger, and she even managed a small, shy smile for him. It tore into his chest and stabbed at his heart so strongly he could barely breath.
Dane went in search of his sharpest knife, the biggest t-shirt he owned, and a glass of water, all the while unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the tantalizing idea of who was waiting for him in the living room. This woman was trouble, with a capital T, he’d known it from the instant that black curtain of material had been lifted from her slender body while he was still in negotiations with Muhammad. His own body had gone instantly hard, redheads had always been a weakness of his, and Muhammad knew this. That was why he had gotten the right of first refusal on this one.
It had been unusually hard to keep himself from throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away from that sordid situation, but he had been able to control that primitive instinct, barely. His teeth had ground together hard, however, when he saw the undeniable evidence of manhandling on those beautiful breasts – the print of a large hand was already beginning to stain an angry, dark blue beneath baby white skin. He had upbraided the other man for not taking better care of his merchandise, and then, when he saw her growing cold, Dane had ordered the man who was holding her to cover her again.
From the moment her glorious nakedness was displayed to him, and she had stood proudly before them, despite the fear and pain she must’ve felt, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have her. The only thing that had remained to be settled was the price.
Muhammad was unhappy that he had not bargained much, agreeing almost too readily to pay a much higher price that he probably should have. Dane wanted her, yes, that fact was undeniable. But mostly he wanted her out of this room, out of what was a terrifying and humiliating experience for her. Such proud beauty should never be cheapened like this.
Once he had collected what he needed as quickly as possible, he returned to her. She hadn’t moved much from when he’d left. Probably shell-shocked to a certain extent, he thought. He put the stuff in a lump on the sofa, deciding that, first things first; he should get her hands untied.
But when Dane turned to her with a huge, wicked-looking machete in his hands, Abby couldn’t help but take a big step backward, eyes wide and frightened. Dane understood immediately and could have kicked himself for not being more considerate of her. He put the knife down on the coffee table then turned back to address her in a low, soothing tone. “What’s your name?”
“A-Abby,” fear made her voice almost soundless.
“Well, Abby, I want to free your arms. Your shoulders must be aching badly by now. But I don’t want you to move around a lot, because this knife is very sharp and I don’t want to cut you.” He kept his voice calm, as if he were coaxing a timid woodland creature to eat from his hand. “I’m going to tell you right now exactly what I’m going to do, ok?”
Abby nodded obediently, her eyes still fearful.
“I’m going to go behind you and pull up the robe, only enough to get to your wrists. Once you’re free, I’ve brought a shirt for you to wear, and a glass of water and some aspirin. Then we’ll go from there.” Without waiting for her response, he walked slowly behind her, the knife in his right hand.
Abby raised her wrists away from her back as far as she could, despite the pain it caused, hoping to make it easier for him to saw through the ropes. Dane lifted the back of the chador swiftly, pulling it up far enough to drape it forward around her shoulders. Abby cringed at the idea that he was now staring down at her naked backside, but then, he’d seen more than that and had yet to be anything but chivalrous toward her.
Dane was trying desperately to control his baser instincts as he marveled at the sumptuous expanse of creamy flesh before him. He wanted nothing more than to run a possessive hand down her bare flank and cup a cheek of the generous, heart-shaped bottom before him, but managed to restrain himself. It was a close call. But then her knees started to shake, and whether it was from fear or exhaustion, it had the immediate affect of dampening his ardor, if not his appreciation. It took some minutes for him to get through the thick ropes, even with his best knife. Eventually, Abby’s strength gave out, and she could no longer hold her wrists out for him.
“Relax,” he encouraged. “Let me do the work, honey.”
She was only too ready to let him do just that. When she was finally free, tears ran down her face as her arms fell excruciatingly forward again for the first time in what seemed like years. Dane grabbed his worn, drab Army green t-shirt and efficiently popped her into it, reluctantly covering her wonderful body almost to her knees. As he put her arms through the armholes that hung practically to her waist, he frowned darkly at the sight of another set of handprint-shaped bruises encircling her upper arms. There was no doubt about it; he was going to have a talk with Muhammad about his employees.