She owed him for getting her out of danger this evening. That didn’t mean he was the one who had to keep her out of danger from now on. She had friends, she had family. Heck, her cousin Mia knew the law inside and out. She was as tough as any criminal and had prosecuted dozens of them.
Bridget made her decision quickly. She was going to ditch Dean at the first opportunity.
He headed for the only well-lit area near the exit, a small gas station with a convenience store. Parking out front, he said, “Wait a second. It’s too snowy.”
She didn’t have any idea what he meant to do about that until he opened the back door, reached in and picked her up off the seat. “You’d break your neck on this ice, even if you weren’t wearing those ridiculous things on your feet.”
Those ridiculous things had cost her half a week’s paycheck. But she couldn’t even open her mouth to argue it because all the air had been sucked from her lungs when he’d swung her into his arms. He held her close, tight against his warm, powerful body, picking his way across the ice and snow.
The contact was electrifying. His arms cradled her, his breath falling on her cheek and her hair. Bridget lost all sense of time and place, not even noticing the cold until he carefully set her down on the cleared sidewalk.
Finally, with the gift of distance, she could breathe again, think again. Calling herself a fool, she yanked the door open and strode inside.
He was right behind her. “Where are you going?”
“Where does it look like I’m going?” She nodded toward the ladies’ room door in the back corner of the dusty old store, empty but for a dozing man behind the counter.
He frowned, offering a brief nod. “Be quick.”
Oh, she’d be quick all right. Quick to make a phone call to Mia—anybody—to get her out of this mess. Because while she appreciated Dean getting her to safety, there was no way she was spending the next day and a half alone with him.
A tiny voice of doubt told her she’d be smart to go along. Smart and safe. But she knew that little voice meant safety in the physical sense. Emotionally, she would not be safe being closed up with Dean for thirty-six seconds, let alone hours.
As soon as she’d shut the ladies’ room door behind her, she grabbed her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Mia’s number. Mia was not only a lawyer, she was a serious, no-nonsense woman. She wouldn’t go nuts like Gloria might and she wouldn’t worry herself into a heart attack like Bridget’s parents would.
But after three rings, Mia’s cell phone was answered by a voice that was much deeper than her beautiful cousin’s. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry…I think I might have dialed the wrong number,” Bridget admitted, knowing her cousin hadn’t been seeing anyone since she’d moved back to Chicago just before Christmas. “I was trying to reach my cousin, Mia Natale?”
“You’ve got the right number,” the smooth, deep voice said.
Whoa. Mia had picked up a man for the night. A sexy man, judging by the deep, slow voice. “Can I speak with her, please?”
“Sorry,” he replied, “Mia’s in the…middle of something.”
Oh, great. She was having sex with a stranger when Bridget needed her to come bail her out of her predicament. Though she hated to do it, she was going to have to play the it’s-an-emergency card. But before she could do it, before she could say another word, in fact, the connection ended.
The jerk had hung up on her.
A knocking on the ladies’ room door told her Dean was growing impatient. “Come on, we need to hit the road.”
Damn. She hit redial and got Mia’s voice mail. “It’s Bridget. I’m in trouble. Call me the minute you get this.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody,” she called, turning on the faucet and letting the water run loudly. That was the first time she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Bridget was shocked to see the wide-eyed, pale-faced, wild-haired woman staring back at her.
She was a mess. The hair nightmare had probably been caused by being dangled upside down over Dean’s big shoulder. Her makeup was smeary, her eye shadow gone and her mascara runny because of the few tears she’d allowed herself to shed over the thought that somebody wanted to kill her.
And her lipstick…had been kissed off.
Well kissed off.
She kept staring at her lips, her moist, parted lips. Then she focused on her eyes, which sparkled in the dim lighting cast by the bare overhead bulb. There was something in them, even she could see it. It wasn’t exactly fear—though she was, in fact, afraid. Rather, she realized, it was excitement.
“Not at being chased,” she murmured, knowing it was true, “but at being rescued.” By a man she’d once wanted desperately.
That excitement—anticipation—made her stop and really think for the first time since Dean had grabbed her at the club. She had the chance to spend the rest of the weekend alone with a guy who was like sex in a jar. Far from home, with no possible future between them after he made sure she got safely to the courthouse on Monday. Which meant she couldn’t get her schoolgirl hopes raised as she had last August. She knew this was a one weekend event and would go nowhere else.
Hmm. How would they spend their time?
As always, when faced with a dilemma, Bridget played the What Would Izzie Do? game. And without a doubt she knew what her gutsy cousin would do. She’d seduce Dean and get the most fabulous sex she could. Further, she’d keep her heart out of the equation so there’d be no false expectations. Then walk away next week with some incredible memories and absolutely no ties.
“I can take him and get him out of my system once and for all,” she whispered, wanting so much to do it. To stop hurting, to stop wondering. To stop fantasizing in her bed late at night when she thought she’d die from the hollow emptiness between her legs, knowing he was the only one who could fill it.
He’d wanted her once. He might have kissed her only to shut her up tonight, but there had been no denying his physical response when he’d kissed her at work that day. If someone hadn’t come into the dealership, he might very well have taken her right on her desk. Being honest, she’d pushed him to that point, wearing provocative clothes, flaunting herself, letting him know what she wanted.
What would happen if she did so again?
She didn’t know…she only knew she wanted to find out. And luck seemed to be smiling on her, because beside the sink was one of those bathroom vending machines. And it carried condoms.
She bought six. That seemed like a good number, one for every six hours they’d be together. Optimistic, but not slutty.
“Open the door,” he growled with another hard knock, “or I’m breaking the lock. And if I find you climbing out a window I’ll tie you up for the rest of the ride.”
Well, that did it. Because instead of feeling threatened by Dean’s words, a sharp stab of excitement shot through her. With one last look at the almost unfamiliar, hungry-looking woman reflected in the mirror, Bridget grabbed for the knob. Flicking the lock, she swung the door open. She met Dean’s surprised stare, quirking a brow. “Kinky,” she forced herself to say.
He gaped. “What did you call me?”
Channel Izzie, she reminded herself, squashing her instinct to pretend she’d been asking for a Twinkie. “I wasn’t calling you that.” Bridget cleared her throat, plunging forward. “Just saying bondage is pretty kinky. Especially for you FBI types.” Tapping her fingertip against her cheek and ignoring his shocked expression, she continued. “Though, I suppose