Dade. Delores FossenЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“You’ve been good to me through all of this. I won’t forget it.”
Dade stared at her. “That sounds like some kind of goodbye.”
She looked ready to say yes, it was. But Dade wasn’t about to accept a goodbye, so he kissed her. It was ill-timed. But it was also what he needed. Hopefully it was what Kayla needed, too.
“Remember,” he said against her mouth, “I’m the guy who makes you forget to breathe.” He meant to make it sound light, but it sure didn’t come out that way.
Her eyes met his again, but there was no humor, no teasing. “That’s true. And if you don’t think that scares me, think again.”
He brushed his mouth against hers. “Fear is the last thing I want you to feel when it comes to me.”
“Too late.” And she kissed him in a way that made him melt.
Dade returned the favor. “Funny, you don’t sound afraid.” She sounded aroused, and looked it as well, with her heavy eyelids and flushed cheeks.
He felt her muscles go slack, and she slipped her hands around the back of his neck. “I’m only afraid you might stop,” she whispered..
About the Author
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
Dade
Delores Fossen
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
Kayla Brennan sure didn’t look like a killer.
That was Deputy Sheriff Dade Ryland’s first thought when his glare landed on the blonde who was running down the staircase. His second thought went in a different direction.
A bad one.
More specifically to her dark purple dress that hugged every curve of her body. Real curves. Something that always got his attention even when it shouldn’t.
Like now, for instance.
Sex and Kayla Brennan shouldn’t be occupying the same side of his brain.
He’d seen her before, of course, from a distance. Just over a year ago at the Silver Creek sheriff’s office where she was being questioned about her husband’s suspicious fatal car accident. That day Dade watched her from the doorway of his office. But she’d been pregnant then and had hidden those spicy blue eyes behind a pair of designer sunglasses. She’d shown no emotion of any kind.
Unlike now.
He saw just a flash of fear before she closed down. That pretty face became a rock-hard wall.
Dade cleared his throat and kicked up his glare a notch, hoping both would give him an attitude adjustment. It did. But then it wasn’t hard to remember that this curvy blonde might be partly responsible for the death of someone he loved.
“I heard the doorbell,” Kayla announced. She paused on the bottom step when she spotted Dade in the doorway, and her attention flew in the direction of the other man in the foyer. “Who’s he?” she demanded.
Because Kayla apparently didn’t recognize him, Dade tapped the badge clipped to his rawhide belt. “He has a name, and it’s Deputy Sheriff Dade Ryland.” He nudged the other man aside and stepped into the foyer so he could close the door.
Her left eyebrow rose, and her gaze slipped back to Dade. “You’re a deputy?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You look more outlaw than lawman.”
Yeah, he got that a lot, but Dade wasn’t about to let Kayla get away with the observation. “You’d know all about outlaws, wouldn’t you?”
She flinched a little. Just enough to make Dade wonder exactly how raw that nerve was he’d hit.
Her flinch quickly turned to a scalpel-sharp glare, and she was almost as good at that particular expression as he was. “What are you doing in my house?”
House. That was a loose term for what was actually the Texas-sized mansion on the outskirts of his hometown of Silver Creek. A mansion she’d inherited when her husband had been killed. Dade had been raised nearby in a big ranch house with sixteen rooms, but he was betting the Brennan place was double that size.
The same probably went for Kayla’s pocketbook, although Dade had some one-upmanship on her in that particular department. His family had earned their money through hard, back-breaking, honest work on the ranch. Kayla had married her millions, and those millions were as dirty as she no doubt was.
“I’m here on official business,” Dade informed her. He glanced at the bald, gorilla-sized man who moved a few steps away. Dade knew his name was Kenneth Mitchell.
Kayla’s so-called bodyguard.
Probably more like a hired gun as dirty as the woman paying his salary, and that’s why Dade kept his hand on his gun tucked in his shoulder holster.
“The deputy says you’re in his protective custody,” Kenneth relayed to Kayla. His bulky body strained against his black suit, just as the muscles in his face strained against his skin.
She studied Dade, her eyes narrowing. “How did you know I was here? I led everyone to believe that I’d be at my house in San Antonio.”
Dade shrugged, figuring the answer was obvious. “The district attorney, Winston Calhoun, called the sheriff and told him.”
The way she pulled in her breath let him know that the answer had not been so obvious to her after all. “Mr. Calhoun assured me that he would keep my whereabouts a secret.”
Dade tipped his head to the badge again. “He didn’t exactly announce it to the press. He told me because you’re in my protective custody.”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “Protective custody?” she repeated. “How do you figure that?”
Dade walked closer to her. “Easy. You’re the state’s material witness, and the D.A. wants you alive long enough to testify against your father-in-law.”
There it was in a nutshell, but that didn’t begin to cover what Dade wanted from this woman. Yes, he wanted her to testify against her late-husband’s scummy father, Charles Brennan. He wanted