Seized By Seduction. Brenda JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       PROLOGUE

      QUASAR PATTERSON WAS a man who appreciated anything female, which was why his gaze was focused on the woman standing within the perimeters of the crime scene tape. He didn’t know her identity, but the one thing he did know was that she was definitely a looker. She was so striking that he felt a scorching sensation in his eyes from staring at her. And he was convinced it had nothing to do with him having run out of a burning mountain cabin in the Shenandoah Valley just a short while ago. He would lay the blame solely at her feet. Even from a distance her facial features were so captivating, so mesmerizingly beautiful, he felt an intense stirring in his gut.

      Her skin appeared the color of creamy cocoa with a sensual pair of cheekbones, well-shaped lips, a delicate nose and dark eyes that were either black or brown. From where he was standing he couldn’t be certain. Regardless of their color, her eyes made the entirety of her facial features exquisite.

      Long, straight black hair fell to her shoulders, and even from across the yard it looked thick and silky. The kind a man would want to run his fingers through...or better yet, grip while thrusting hard inside her. He usually preferred a woman with bigger breasts but concluded hers were perfect for her size. The lush curves outlined in the dark slacks and short leather jacket she wore were appealing as hell.

      He’d first seen her after running from the burning house with his friend Stonewall Courson. He and Stonewall hadn’t thought twice about running into the blazing cabin to save their friend Striker Jennings, and the woman Striker had been hired to protect, Margo Connelly. Striker and Ms. Connelly were being treated by paramedics, and the body of the man who’d tried to kill them lay covered by a white sheet.

      “You okay?”

      Quasar reluctantly shifted his gaze off the woman to glance at the man who’d joined him. “Yeah, Stonewall, I’m okay. What about you?”

      “We’re alive. So are Striker and Ms. Connelly, and that’s all that matters. And that bastard over there is dead,” he said, indicating the would-be assassin. “Good riddance.”

      Quasar nodded in agreement and then switched his gaze back to where the woman stood. Three other women had joined her. He recognized Margo Connelly and Detective Joy Ingram, and when the third woman took out a writing pad he concluded she was a federal agent about to take a statement from Ms. Connelly. Federal agents were swarming all over the place. However, Quasar had no idea about the woman who’d caught his eye. Was she a federal agent, as well?

      When Stonewall muttered something about it being a pity that such a nice house was burning down, Quasar decided to satisfy his curiosity. “Hey, man, the woman standing over there next to your detective—the one wearing the slacks and leather blazer—who is she?”

      Stonewall frowned after glancing over his shoulder. His friend wasn’t all that keen on him referring to Joy Ingram as his detective. Stonewall and Joy had met at a party a month ago, and from the first it was obvious Stonewall had the hots for the detective. Probably to the same degree Quasar had the hots for the woman standing beside her.

      “She is not my detective,” Stonewall said, copping an attitude that Quasar chose to ignore.

      “You want her to be, though. I know the two of you haven’t had an official date yet, but you’ve met up with her a number of mornings at that café on Monroe Street for coffee and donuts. You also met with her at Shady Reds a couple of times to grab a few beers.”

      Stonewall’s frown deepened. “You know too damn much.”

      “Not really, which is why I want to know who that woman is. The one in the dark slacks and leather blazer.”

      “I heard your description the first time,” Stonewall snapped.

      “Well?”

      Stonewall took a huge gulp of water from the bottle he was holding, then swiped across his mouth with the back of his hand. Quasar knew his friend was trying to annoy the hell out of him by deliberately taking his time in answering. Finally he said, “Her name is Dr. Randi Fuller.”

      Quasar lifted a brow. “The psychic investigator?”

      “Yes, the psychic investigator. I admit I was a skeptic at first, but she’s made a believer out of me. She led everyone to this place, and just in time. I don’t want to think what would have happened if no one had taken Dr. Fuller seriously.”

      Quasar didn’t want to think what would have happened, either.

      “Well, let me get back over to Striker,” Stonewall said. “He’s about done giving his statement to the Feds now.”

      When Stonewall walked off, Quasar returned his full attention to Dr. Randi Fuller. Randi. He liked that name and thought it was different. Tired of standing, he decided to crouch down a minute, and when he did so, as if the movement carried a sound that floated through the air, Dr. Fuller turned and looked over at him.

      The moment their gazes connected, desire with an intensity he’d never felt before twisted Quasar’s gut, and primitive male awareness filled his every pore. A throbbing need suddenly consumed his senses, and there was an unmistakable pounding in his crotch. Crackles of sexual energy passed between them, hot, raw and relentlessly carnal. Even across the distance, he swore he could hear the intimate sound of her breathing, the fast pounding of her heart. He was convinced he could even smell her. It was an arousing scent of jasmine and some other entrancing fragrance.

      Shit. What the hell was happening? With him? Between them?

      She must have been trying to figure out that very same thing, because she suddenly broke eye contact with him. He used that time to suck in a deep breath and to force his aroused state under control. The strange connection they’d just shared was a jolt of sexual energy that rocked him to the bone. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

      Moments later, when she glanced back his way and their gazes reconnected, his mind conjured up a number of erotic images. Like him burying his face in the hollow of her throat, undressing her, making hard-ass love to her while those long legs wrapped tight around his waist. His penis throbbed at the thought of pounding