A Wicked Seduction. Janelle DenisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he could argue further, she slammed the door on his heated retort and strutted back toward his house, leaving him to wonder how in the hell he’d gotten himself into such a mess.
More importantly, how was he going to get out of it?
3
SHE’D CAUGHT DEAN COLTER just in time. Judging by the camping paraphernalia Jo discovered in his car, she surmised that he’d been on the verge of fleeing again. Another ten minutes, and he would have left nothing but a cold trail in his wake.
Yes, success was sweet, indeed.
After executing a quick search of his vehicle, she grabbed his duffle from the back seat, set the bag on the trunk of the car, and unzipped it. She rifled through the contents for weapons, drugs, or anything else illegal she had no desire to transport across two state lines and found nothing but clothes and personal items. The most lethal thing he had on him was a razor for shaving. The front pocket held his wallet, and she flipped it open, inventorying credit cards, cash, and a Washington State driver’s license confirming everything she already knew about Dean Colter.
The guy was completely clean—and one of the most accommodating skips she’d ever encountered. The beanbag shotgun she’d armed herself with had been a formality, not a necessity. There had been no foot chase or struggle, no use of force or violence, just a ridiculously easy capture that made this job, and the cash she’d make once she turned in Dean Colter to the authorities, the easiest money she’d ever deposited into her savings account.
Of course it had helped tremendously that he believed she’d been a stripper sent as a birthday gift, she thought with an amused grin. His guileless assumption explained his flirtatious behavior when she’d first arrived, his carefree acquiescence in obeying her orders, and his easy compliance as she’d frisked him.
But that in no way explained her own startling reaction to Dean Colter, she thought with a frown as she stuffed his wallet back into the front pocket of his duffle. She’d been professional and sensible during her body search—until he’d made that playful comment about her finding his only concealed weapon and she’d countered with her own cheeky retort.
It had been an automatic reply, one she’d regretted as soon as the words had left her mouth. And much to her own chagrin, she hadn’t been able to stem the awareness that had flooded her in the aftermath of that careless, shameless rejoinder. Suddenly, patting him down had become more than a professional duty.
The man had a nice body—not overtly muscular, but athletically built with wide shoulders, toned arms and a lean waist and belly. His thighs had been rock hard, his buttocks nicely rounded and defined. And when her hands had brushed over the fly of his jeans and felt his reaction to her search, she hadn’t been able to stop the tide of heat that had suffused her veins and settled in places it had no business settling. Even now, the recollection had the ability to make her pulse pick up its beat.
Get a grip, Sommers. Dean Colter might be good-looking, charming, and likeable despite his recent rap sheet, but she’d never lusted over a guy she’d taken into custody. Hell, she couldn’t remember the last man who’d even prompted such instantaneous lust, which made her reckless response to Dean all the more perplexing. He might not be a murderer, but he was a felon nonetheless.
She could only blame her actions and reactions on exhaustion, she reasoned as she checked the entrance to the house to make sure the door was locked. She’d pushed herself to get here before sundown, taking minimal breaks along the drive. Although she’d met her goal, she’d only gotten five hours of sleep the night before when she was someone who needed a good, solid eight—or more. After ten hours on the road today with two more to go, she was not only fatigued, but obviously a little loopy, too.
Or just too damned sexually deprived.
She snorted at that, but suspected there was a kernel of truth in the sentiment. But no matter what her excuse, she’d do well to remember that she had a job to accomplish—one that had no room for the kind of distraction Dean Colter posed. She needed her guard up and her psyche alert.
Duffle bag in hand, she hit the switch that controlled the garage door, then ran out. The rolling metal panel doors clanged shut behind her seconds after her retreat, and she headed down the driveway to her vehicle, anxious to be on her way again.
Her captive didn’t seem as flirtatious and carefree now that he realized what an error in judgment he’d made with her. In fact, the scowl creasing his features as he stared out the passenger window watching her approach clearly reflected his displeasure.
She circled around the back of the Suburban, tossed his bag into the back seat, then slid behind the wheel. A loud “click” echoed in the vehicle as she took her usual precaution and activated all the door locks from the control panel on the armrest.
“So, where were you off to before I showed up?” she asked, wanting to gauge his mood and what kind of personality she’d be dealing with before she hit the road.
Her prisoners usually fell into one of three categories of behavior during the transport back to jail: belligerent and verbally abusive; brooding and opting for the silent treatment; or attempting to reason with her and trying to validate their innocence.
Dean wasn’t happy about the situation, but one look into his clear, striking green eyes and she knew she could rule out the first scenario. There was no malice in his gaze, just a wealth of frustration. His inexperience and first-time felon charge obviously hadn’t jaded him. Yet.
“I was on my way to a much-needed week-long vacation at a secluded cabin in the mountains.”
The gear she’d found in his car certainly verified his claim. She appreciated his honesty, though she thought the “much needed” part stretched credibility. “That would have been a good place to hide out,” she agreed, snapping on her seat belt. “I’m sorry to put a crimp in your plans.”
He shifted in his seat, managing to turn those wide shoulders her way so he was looking at her straight-on. His presence was potently male and more than she’d bargained for, filling the interior of the large cab with an enticing masculine heat and scent she hadn’t anticipated having to deal with. The combination aroused her senses and stirred something vital deep in her belly.
Hunger, she told herself, startled by the unexpected fluttering sensation she’d experienced. A craving for food, not something totally forbidden to her. She’d skipped lunch and had only munched on a chocolate-covered granola bar she’d brought along for the ride, and her stomach was making its needs known.
That’s all it was, she assured herself.
Dean’s gaze was direct as it connected with hers, his expression businesslike. “Look, Ms. Sommers, I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
Here we go, she thought. Reality was finally settling in, and he was grasping at any excuse to gain back his freedom. Unfortunately, the argument he’d chosen was particularly overused, and a feeble one at that.
Unclipping the set of keys from the waistband of her jeans, she inserted one into the ignition. She actually felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He seemed so green about this entire process—or maybe he was dreading the return trip to San Francisco to testify against the leader of an auto theft ring. That would definitely explain the inkling of desperation she detected beneath his more confident facade.
“Mr. Colter, this isn’t a mistake.” Surprised to hear the regret in her own voice, she quickly replaced it with indifference. “Your arrest is as real as it gets. I have the paperwork to prove it.”
At the sound of the engine turning over, a touch of panic flared to life in his eyes. “Don’t I have any rights?” he demanded. The handcuffs behind him clanked together as his arms and shoulders flexed from their unnatural position. The corded muscles in his biceps bulged, drawing her gaze as they strained against the short sleeves of his knit shirt.
Impressive muscles she’d be a fool to underestimate—no matter how much they, or the man, fascinated her.
“I