She didn’t want those reminders or that guy who’d hurt her so badly. She wanted the one she could have for the next thirty-six hours, then walk away from and completely forget. So she tore her attention from the curl and onto the jutting jaw, the blazing blue eyes, the slashing line of his full lips.
Better. Much better.
“I think you’d better stop talking now.” He shifted closer, until his foot brushed the bottom hem of her gown.
“Or what?” she asked with a sweet smile. “Going to get out the chains and whips to go along with the cuffs and rope?”
Towering over her, he opened his mouth as if to retort, but quickly snapped it shut. His eyes flashed, his breath audible between his lips. Awareness and heat erupted off him.
He was angry. He was worried. And he was interested. No matter what his silence said, his body language made it clear.
Yes, this was definitely better. This angry, wildly sexy man would take what he wanted and not plan to give anything more than a few hours pleasure. Which was all she’d expect.
Now she could forget all about the nice, smiling guy she’d fallen for. And focus on the sexy, dangerous man she was going to be getting to know much better before the night was out.
HE MIGHT HAVE MADE a very serious mistake.
Dean hadn’t planned on physically hauling Bridget out of danger tonight, he’d acted on instinct. He’d seen red when she’d come sauntering back into the club, heading down a dark, silent hallway where anything could have happened. And when the surveillance team had radioed that her room at the hotel had been broken into and the suspect’s car was in the vicinity, he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what he was doing.
He’d taken her and run
Still high on adrenaline, as well as fury that she might have walked into her hotel room and into the arms of a killer, he’d headed out of Chicago, aiming for anywhere that took her out of the line of fire. Eventually, he realized that anywhere was a small, old fishing cabin a buddy of his owned. It was off the main road and had little in the way of amenities. Though he remembered there being adequate plumbing, he wasn’t even sure it had heat. But it had a woodstove and firewood. And they had the food he’d just picked up at the convenience store. Most importantly, nobody could connect either of them with the cabin so there was no way anybody could track them—her—down.
They could rough it until Monday. At that time he’d deliver Bridget to the courthouse, then go back to the office to lay his head on the chopping block.
Sounded like a plan. A bad one, maybe, but better than leaving Bridget in the city and giving some armed scumbag an extra thirty-six hours to get to her. So he’d stick with it.
But he’d known by the glint in Bridget’s eyes when she’d exited the ladies’ room that she was going to do something to screw with that plan. And to screw with his head.
When she climbed into the front seat of his SUV and took off her coat, he knew he was in trouble. She claimed it was too warm—as if their breath wasn’t fogging up the interior, which had grown frigid in the brief time they’d been in the store. Dean, however, knew what she was really doing.
The woman was tormenting him. Laying herself out like a rich, delectable dessert in front of a diabetic, just daring him to take a bite. And she’d be just as dangerous to him as a deadly overdose of something sweet.
He couldn’t be sure about her motives. She was almost certainly trying to drive him crazy with lust as she crossed her legs, the red fabric of her dress parting at the slit to reveal her long, slim thighs. She didn’t relent, leaning over to adjust the radio, coming close enough for him to feel her body’s warmth and see the soft line of cleavage revealed by her low-cut gown. Yeah, it was definitely intentional.
But why she was doing it was another matter. It could be that she already knew he couldn’t act on that lust and she wanted him to sit with an uncomfortably full lap. Or she hoped he would act on it so she could shoot him down as some kind of revenge for what had happened between them four months ago.
Either way spelled trouble for Dean.
“Are we almost there?” she asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Where exactly is ‘there’?”
“A friend of mine owns a fishing cabin near here and I know where he keeps a spare key.” The place wasn’t far at all, if he remembered correctly. He kept his eyes front, watching for the small side road. Not just because he was afraid he’d miss it, but also for pure self-preservation.
“Does your friend stock warm women’s clothing?”
He couldn’t help casting a quick, corner-of-the-eye glance at her. Bridget smoothed her hand over her gown, trailing her fingers across the deep V-neck then lower, over her midriff and down to her hips. Dean glanced at her, as she’d obviously wanted him to. She caught him looking and smiled.
Yeah. He was definitely in trouble.
“I remember there being some old clothes there.”
“Size eight?” she asked sweetly.
A throbbing started in his temple.
“And 34 C?”
It turned into a pounding.
“I can’t very well go around in this tiny little red bra I have on. It was meant to push up, not really cover anything.”
Give me strength.
“And the thigh-high stockings I’m wearing won’t do a thing to keep my legs warm.”
The woman intended to torture him. She knew he wanted her—had wanted her for a long time. Playing sexual games she had no intention of following through on would make him uncomfortable physically and would test the limits of his control.
Because if she pushed him too far, he might just push back. As he had that day in her office when he’d almost banged her brains out right on top of her desk.
“And it’s not like I can just wear my wool coat. It’d be much too rough against my bare skin.”
“Knock it off,” he muttered.
She ignored him. “I certainly can’t be expected to walk around naked for the next day and a half, now can I?”
“Enough, Bridget,” he snapped.
“Enough what?”
“Enough of the sexy come-ons.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The glittering eyes and self-satisfied expression made a lie of that statement.
“Yeah, you do. Look, I know you’re angry because I used you to get information on Marty….”
“Don’t forget the kidnapping part.”
He sighed heavily. “I know. But you can get even with me another time, after this is all over, okay?” Swallowing, he added in a low voice, “Don’t do it like this.” Don’t.
“Like what?” she asked softly, her smile fading, like she really wanted him to answer.
So he did. “Don’t throw yourself out as sexual bait with no intention of being caught.”
She said nothing for a long moment, but she didn’t look away. Then, finally, she licked her lips and slowly smiled. “But Dean…I do intend to be caught.”
4
DEAN HAD REMEMBERED correctly—there were some clothes in a trunk in the small, remote cabin, which they reached about thirty minutes after leaving the store. But Bridget