Sunlight blasted through the window, blinding Harper as she stirred. She tried to raise her hand to block out the bright beams. Only her hand didn’t budge. She tried to move her other hand, but met the same result.

Alarm flared through her body. She lay on her back with several layers of rope around each wrist. Making tight fists, she flexed her arm muscles and struggled against the secure bindings, but the more she fought, the tighter they became.

Relaxing for a moment, she sat up a little farther only to find that she couldn’t move her feet. She strained her neck to see similar rope trussed around each ankle. Harper also noted that she was lying on a brown and orange plaid couch. The rope tied to her right arm disappeared over the seat back and the left arm’s bindings trailed underneath the sofa.

Experimenting, she pulled her left hand toward her right. As she moved, her right hand shifted farther up the back of the couch. She then pulled her feet upward and found that motion caused her arms to be dragged downward. Her arms must have been tied to her feet.

Panic flooded her. She closed her eyes and wrestled it down. She had to keep her cool or suffer another vicious bout of whatever was happening to her.

Besides, it couldn’t be too bad. Though she was tied up, she was bound to a really comfortable couch. So she couldn’t be in too much trouble. The rushing anxiety drained away as she fought for control and flopped back down into the plump cushions, feeling the tickling strain on her abdomen fade.

Harper looked carefully at her prison. Unfamiliar. Nothing sparked recognition. A solid, hearty wood coffee table sat between the couch and a huge flat-screen television, nested above matching wooden shelves stocked with sophisticated black entertainment components. Sparing an appreciative glance for the sleek technology, she then peered at the rest of the area.

The decor was simple, yet the pieces there were of good quality. The space was wide-open and airy, especially with sunlight gracing every corner. The walls were adorned with snowy mountain landscapes encased in heavy wood frames. Dark blues and rich greens, which mingled with the plentiful natural light from the wall of windows that commandeered half the room, were the only colors present.

She hated to pigeonhole the place, especially given her own spartan dwelling back in San Francisco, but the place hinted at a man’s touch.

Man’s touch. Harper shot forward, wincing at the tight bindings. She flopped back into the plush confines of the couch.

Flashes of memories showered over her, crackling inside her head like sparks. The last thing she remembered was wrestling with a shadowy figure just before he’d pinned her to the cold concrete floor of Bobby’s ruined lab. She’d had a second episode of the mind thing and events had been pretty hazy until all of a sudden he was there, facing her.

Her recollections were spotty, but she recalled the man had quicksilver moves. Thankfully, her body’s fighting instincts had kicked in. Hadn’t she gotten in a solid jab? She flexed the fingers on her right hand. A slight prickling of pain radiated from her knuckles. A smile broke out despite the circumstances.

He’d held her down under his hard-as-granite body, clasping his feet around her legs like an unbreakable vise and pinning her arms hard to her chest. She remembered her futile attempt to squirm out of his unyielding confinement. Then she’d finally asked him why. Why was he doing this? He’d seemed strangely confused at her question. Almost as confused as she was. And then she’d passed out.

Was this his place? Was he keeping her hostage? Had he done something to her? The man seemed to have known her. Been looking for her. Why? As if things could get more convoluted.

Shaking her head to clear it, Harper decided she’d better try to escape before finding the answers to any of those questions. Regardless of the cozy setting-not including the rope-she had no idea where she was or whether she was safe. Maybe there was no safe place for her anymore.

Raising her head, she searched her immediate area for anything she could use to cut through the thick rope. The four electronic remotes scattered on the table wouldn’t do the trick. Neither would the rolled-up, halfempty bag of potato chips.

But that glass might. Though a little crusty from recent use, it looked like the edges of the hefty pint glass would be thick enough to slice the twine as long as she could break the glass itself. It was resting on a coaster. Coaster?

If she could only get to it. About a foot from the edge of the table, it would be a challenge. If she could just jar the table enough, the glass would roll off and shatter against the hardwood floor. Or better yet, break against the solid table itself.

Harper squirmed on the couch in an attempt to twist close enough to bump the table. Wriggling like a worm, she knocked her knee against the wood table. Sucking in a wince from the clumsy bonk on her kneecap, she watched as the glass wobbled across the tabletop, moving closer to the middle instead of the edge.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her bindings taut and shimmied again. She banged her knee harder against the table, ignoring the same painful jolt. The glass fell over and rolled away from her, off the far side of the table. It dropped to the hardwood floor with a clatter. But it didn’t break. Sighing in dismay, she closed her eyes and sank into the couch.

Her eyes snapped open at the deep snickering coming from the room’s large open entryway. Straining her neck to see the source, her breath caught when she gazed into the laughing, clear blue eyes of her nemesis from the lab. The shadows there had masked him well, but here in the bright daylight, she was absolutely sure this was the man who had gotten the best of her last night.

He lounged against the wall, holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She guessed he was easily half a foot over her five feet ten. She could see the evidence of rock-solid muscles under his tight black T-shirt. Snug blue jeans barely concealed the similarly evident muscles in his legs. Memories of that firm strength against her own body washed over her.

He was staring at her, the slight quirk of his alluring mouth indicating his patience with her appreciative perusal.

Cropped dark hair framed a rugged face. Stubble shadowed his jaw, maybe a day or two of it. Harper couldn’t stop the grin from creeping onto her face as she saw the beginnings of a hearty bruise covering the upper part of his nose just below his left eye. She’d done that. Good. She hoped he had a rhino-sized headache.

“Yes, it hurts,” his deep rumble confirmed. Long fingers from a large hand gripped the spoon tighter and dipped it into the bowl. He scooped some cereal into his mouth without breaking his piercing blue gaze.

Harper didn’t know what to do. Should she demand that he free her? Should she ask nicely? Should she act crazy and make threats? Having never been tied up before-well, she’d been tied up for naked fun and games, but never by a stranger with a gun-she really had no frame of reference for this kind of thing.

The man took another spoonful and moved to the oversized green chair to the left of the couch. He eased down and propped his booted feet up on the table, then stared while he chewed.

Her stomach shuddered with an involuntary growl. Watching him chomp away, Harper suddenly couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Was it yesterday? Two days ago?

“Hungry?” the man asked, the muscles in his square jaw flexing with another crunchy bite of cereal.

The truth? “Yes.” Harper sighed, plopping her head back down onto the couch, keeping her gaze steady under his. She was actually starving.

“Honesty,” he stated with a hint of surprise and a twitch of his lips. “Good. That’ll make things easier.”