“I can’t get you out of my mind—”
“I know what you’re up to.”
“I doubt that.” Hayes leaned toward her, his hand looping around the back of McKenzie’s neck as he gently drew her to him. “Because if you could see what I was up to, then you’d know I was about to kiss you.”
He brushed his lips over hers, then pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“You don’t have to treat me as if I’m made out of glass and might break,” she said. “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”
“Is that right?” He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him right there in the street between their vehicles. Her full lips parted in surprise. Her sweet, warm breath comingled with his own. She let out a soft moan as he tasted her. Drawing her even closer, he deepened the kiss, demanding more.
Rescue at Cardwell Ranch
BJ Daniels
New York Times bestselling author BJ DANIELS wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a four-and-a-half-star review from RT Book Reviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue that year. Since then, she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and many nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
To contact her, write to BJ Daniels, PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, or e-mail her at [email protected]. Check out her website, www.bjdaniels.com.
This one is for David Rummel, who makes me laugh with his stories and his wonderful joy for life. You definitely make our lives more fun.
Contents
Chapter One
From the darkness, he heard the sound of high heels tapping quickly along the pavement, heading in his direction, and smiled. This could be the one.
If not, he would have to give it up for the night, something he couldn’t bear doing. For days his need had been growing. He’d come here tonight because he couldn’t put it off any longer—no matter how dangerous it was to hunt this close to home.
Since it had gotten dark, he’d been looking. He hated to think of the women he’d let get away, women in their tight skirts and low-cut blouses, women who’d just been asking for it.
But waiting for the right woman, he’d learned, was the smart thing to do. It took patience. Tonight, though, he found himself running short of it. He’d picked his favorite spot, the favorite spot of men like himself: a grocery-store parking lot at night. Once he’d parked next to her car—he knew it was a woman’s car because she’d left her sunglasses on the dash and there was one of those cute air fresheners hanging from the mirror—he’d broken the bright light she’d parked under.
Now the area was cast in dark shadow—just the way he loved it. He doubted she would notice the lack of light—or him with his head down, pretending to be packing his groceries into the trunk of his large, expensive vehicle. Women were less afraid of a man who appeared to have money, he’d discovered.
At the sound of her approaching footfalls, he found it hard not to sneak a peek at her. Patience. This would be the one, he told himself. He already felt as if he knew her and could easily guess her story. She would have worked late, which was why she was still dressed as she had been this morning, in high heels. She wasn’t pushing a cart so she wasn’t shopping for her large family.
Instead, he guessed she was single and lived alone, probably in a nice condo since she drove a newer, pricier car—the kind independent, successful single women drove. By the sound of her footfalls, she carried only one small bag of groceries. He could already imagine his hands around her throat.
The footfalls grew closer.
He’d learned a long time ago not to act on impulse. Snatch the first one he saw and bad things happened. He had a scar to prove it. That run-in had almost cost him dearly. Not that she’d gotten away. He’d made sure of that. But she’d wounded him in more ways than one. It was why he’d come up with a set of rigorous guidelines he now followed to the letter. It was the reason, he told himself, that he’d never been caught.
He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the look in her eyes when she realized she was about to die. This woman had to be the right one because his need had grown to the point of urgency. He went over his guidelines, the memory of his only mistake still haunting him.
He wouldn’t let himself be swayed by an alluring whiff of perfume. Nor would he risk a woman carrying anything that could be used as a weapon at a distance like an umbrella.
Then there was her hair and attire. It would surprise most women to know that what made her his target was her hairstyle. There was a reason women with short hair were not common prey of men like him. Give him a woman with a ponytail—a recent trend that filled him with joy—or a braid or even a bun—anything he could bury his fingers in and hold on for dear life.
Clothing was equally as important. She had