One Wild Wedding Night

“Let me go!”

“Shut up, Bridget, we’re getting out of here. I’ll explain everything later.”

She wriggled and kicked, seeming to suddenly have eight arms and legs, all of which were battering at him, demanding her freedom. “I swear I’ll scream.”

“Nobody’ll hear you over the emergency alarm,” he replied, not a bit fazed by her threat. “Now get in and stay down… This is serious.” He pushed her into the backseat. Knowing he couldn’t trust her not to make a break for it the moment he moved to the driver’s seat, he took her chin in his hands. Staring into her blazing eyes, he said, “Someone’s been following you.”

“You,” she spat.

“No,” he replied, crouching down behind the open door. “Someone doesn’t want you to testify next week and they’re going to try to make sure that you don’t.”

Her mouth opened, then quickly snapped closed. Bridget’s eyes narrowed and her brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of his words. To process the idea that someone might actually want to hurt her.

He still hadn’t quite processed it. Because since the moment he’d found out—after being called in by the Bureau chief three days ago—he’d been operating on pure anger and adrenaline.

God help the bastard sent to harm her. When Dean found him, the guy was going to wish he hadn’t been born.

“Trust me, Bridget,” he asked, his voice low and resolute. He needed her to cooperate. Now. “I know you hate me, and that’s understandable. But I swear to you, I’m trying to protect you.”

She glared and he knew she was planning a sarcastic response. That sarcasm and strength were two of the things he liked about her, especially because they were so unexpected given her quiet demeanor and beauty.

Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by the sound of sirens approaching. She glanced toward the building and the driveway leading to the front lot as if contemplating taking refuge among the crowd with the rescue workers. Then she looked back at Dean. The frown faded. And though the anger remained, the distrust disappeared from her expression.

The woman was furious, all right. But she was not stupid. She might hate him, but she knew he could protect her.

“All right. What is it you want me to do?”

2

DEAN HAD PROVED HIMSELF a liar several months ago when they’d met. But now, tonight, Bridget knew he was telling the truth. His tension and barely controlled fury spoke volumes about his genuine worry. For her. The star witness.

That was the only reason he was here, she knew enough about him to realize that much. It certainly wasn’t out of any personal regard. The kiss he’d just laid on her had rocked her world as much as the ones they’d shared in her office last August. But they hadn’t so much as caused him a tremor. She meant nothing to him—he’d made it clear that day when he’d let her be interrogated for hours by his other FBI buddies, who thought she had something to do with Marty’s not-so-honest dealings.

Letting her be interrogated had been the least of his crimes. Letting her care about him…that was the one she couldn’t forgive.

“Stay down,” he barked as he started the vehicle, gunning the engine hard.

She did as he ordered, crouched in a ball on the backseat. The SUV jerked and swayed, angling sharply to the right, almost knocking her to the floor. Dean’s big hand appeared out of nowhere, blocking her fall with a firm grip on her shoulder.

God, she hated her own weakness for immediately sucking in a breath of pure excitement at the rough touch of his hand. “I’m fine,” she managed to say between clenched teeth.

“Don’t move.”

As if she could.

“And don’t pop your head up.”

“I’m not a jackrabbit. Just pay attention to the road.”

He didn’t respond, but he removed his hand, putting it back on the wheel. He obviously needed it because he intentionally maneuvered in jerks and swerves as he tore off down the street, as if physically trying to shake off pursuit. He drove like it was a sunny, warm day with miles of dry blacktop in front of them. Not as though there’d been a blizzard up until this afternoon and patches of slick ice were lurking beneath snowdrifts, anxious to send a car into a deadly spin.

He drove that way for a good five minutes. Bridget watched him from between the front seats, seeing the way he leaned forward, his chest almost against the steering wheel. He stared out, his gaze constantly moving from side to side. But even that rapt attention couldn’t keep him from almost fishtailing into the path of a long, black stretch limo.

“Watch out!” she yelled.

“You’re supposed to be staying down.”

“You’re supposed to be preventing me from getting killed.”

“I’m the one driving.”

“Seems to me like you’re the one almost wrecking,” she muttered under her breath, even as he brought the SUV back under control and the limo driver honked his horn wildly.

Oh, did she wish she was in one just like it, preparing to go back to her hotel and her nice, plush bed. Rather than here. With him. The guy who messed with her head and filled her senses up with the musky smell of him and the big, strong sight of him and oh, Lord, his heat.

The Dean she’d known had been cute and endearing. Good-looking but usually appearing self-deprecating. Boyish.

There was nothing boyish about the man whose whole body was tense with adrenaline as they tried to outrun danger.

Danger. To her.

“Does someone really want to kill me?” she whispered.

Even in the low lighting from the dashboard, she saw the way his jaw jutted out and his eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

It was almost too much to believe. Bridget was a big fan of crime shows and mystery novels, but the idea that she could be a target was so crazy she had trouble grasping it. “Is it Marty?”

He appeared to hear the note of hurt in her voice, which she just couldn’t hide. She’d known Honest Marty since she was a kid growing up in the neighborhood. He’d been a nice, paternal, if slightly overbearing, boss. And he wanted her to die?

“Not Marty,” Dean finally replied, sounding loathe to admit it. “His…former colleagues.”

She didn’t know why it relieved her that a bunch of drug dealers wanted her dead but one pudgy, blustery car dealer did not. But it was true. A little, anyway. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “He was the one who came forward with the information about the hit.”

“The hit?” she yelped. “As in hit man?”

He reached back, seeming to want to calm her down with a hand on her shoulder. But he didn’t touch her shoulder. Instead, those strong, rough fingertips of his brushed her cheek. Lightly, carefully.

Bridget felt the touch clear down to the bottoms of her aching-in-spiked-heels feet.

He’d touched her only a few times in the past. And, like the passionate encounter they’d shared in her office, his touch had imprinted itself on her memory. The thoughts sometimes eased out of her subconscious to torment her during long, sleepless nights when she wondered why she couldn’t get over him. Why the fully clothed kisses they’d shared had seemed much more intimate and erotic than the sex she’d had with other men.

Dean’s fingers traced a delicate path on her cheek, but when his thumb dropped to her bottom lip, scraping across it in a sensual caress, he obviously realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand away quickly.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll be fine.”

Swallowing hard, Bridget rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek, which felt so cold again now. Trying to keep her thoughts strictly on the crisis that had made him haul her into his car, she asked, “What exactly did Marty say?”

“He had been keeping his mouth shut about his accomplices, until he got word that they were going to try to remove some of the evidence against him. Starting with you.”

“I don’t know anything!” she insisted, as she’d tried to explain to the other FBI agents and the prosecutor. “I never saw any drugs, never handled anything suspicious.”

“It’s not what you know, it’s the context you can provide about his business. How much money should have been coming in versus how much did. Accounts you saw open and close.” He lowered his voice, as if not liking what he had to say. “You are important to the case and Marty’s former associates know it.”

Yes. That’s what the prosecutor had said.

The full implication of Dean’s words finally washed over her and she sucked in a quick, hopeful breath. “So Marty’s cooperating now?” Meaning maybe she wouldn’t have to testify!

“Not exactly.”

She sighed.

“He’s not naming names, he’s trying to score points by being cooperative only as it pertains to you. I think he’s hoping whoever is after you will get caught and turn on his bosses so Marty doesn’t have to.”

“What a guy.”

“Yeah, I’d really like to thank him one of these days.”

Dean’s tone suggested his “thank yous” would be punctuated with his fists.

She shivered a little, not only because of his audible rage, but because she still couldn’t get over the strength and power of the man. She hadn’t seen this side of him, not ever. He’d been the cute guy she worked with, then the cold investigator. She had never seen the powerful, enraged man.

“I think it’s safe for you to sit up now.”

Bridget did so, slowly rising, keeping her hands on the backs of the two front seats. She remained forward on the seat, her butt perched on the edge, her face leaning close to his shoulder. Close enough to smell him. To see the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck, with the hint of curl she’d loved in his much-less formal, used-car-salesman look. Her fingers almost throbbed with the need to slide against that thick, blond hair and mess it up, push away the conservative agent and bring back the nice guy she’d once laughed with.

Why did her body not remember that she hated him?

But it didn’t. She was obviously still very susceptible to the man, at least physically. Despite being scared out of her mind that someone could have blown her away in front of her family and friends at the bar just now; despite being furious at having been kidnapped for her own good the overwhelming feeling flooding through Bridget was awareness. Physical awareness. Her thighs were clenched, her fingers shaking. Her heart was racing out of control; her breaths were ragged and irregular.

And her most feminine parts were running a foot race trying to be the first to remind Bridget that it had been a long time since she’d had sex. As if she could forget. Between her nipples scraping hard against the soft fabric of her dress and the warmth gathering between her thighs, there was no mistaking her physical response to Special Agent Willis.

If he pulled over and invited her to climb into the front seat and get on his lap, her legs would be scrambling forward even as her brain told them to stay put. She knew it just as she knew she’d hate herself for it afterward, when she got her hopes up about Dean again, only to watch him cruise back out of her life once his job was done.

Which meant one thing. She had to get away from him at the very first possible moment.

DEAN DROVE. He wasn’t entirely conscious of where. Not where he was going or of his final destination. He just drove away from any danger to the slim young woman in the backseat. The one who’d probably been glaring fireballs at the back of his head from the minute he’d shoved her inside.

“Where are we going?” she eventually asked. “Are you taking me to your office?”

He shook his head. “Somewhere else.”

No point telling her that the local field office was the last place he could take her. Considering Dean hadn’t exactly been authorized to snatch her off the streets, he didn’t imagine his boss would be happy if they showed up there.

He might end up unemployed after this. But damned if he could bring himself to regret it. The rest of the Bureau might not care about putting a young woman’s life on the line in an effort to nab a bigger suspect, but Dean wasn’t about to go along. Definitely not when the woman in question had not given her permission to be used as bait.

And especially not when the woman was Bridget Donahue.

“Where else is there?” she insisted, leaning closer between the front seats. So close her long, smooth hair brushed his arm. He wore not only a jacket but also a long-sleeved shirt, yet something in him swore he’d felt the contact. Maybe because he’d imagined it. Imagined sinking his hands into her hair, wrapping it around his fingers, holding her still as he explored the depths of her mouth…then every inch of the rest of her.

“Hello? Are you taking me home now?”

“Absolutely not. We’re going someplace safe and you’re staying there until we eliminate this threat.” And he suddenly thought of the perfect place. It might be difficult to reach in this weather, but the SUV had four-wheel drive. They should be able to make it. Or at least get close enough to hike in.

Not with her in that dress, an internal voice reminded him. He ignored it. He’d deal with that issue when he had to.

“Is it a safe house?”

“No.”

She met his stare in the rearview mirror, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Please don’t tell me you’re taking me back to your place for my own good. Because I might have been Miss Naive a few months ago when I fell for your routine, but I’m not that girl anymore. And if you kidnapped me for any personal reasons, I’ll have you thrown into jail.”

Dean couldn’t help barking a laugh at her fierce expression and threatening tone. The woman was not the quiet bookkeeper he’d first met last summer, which wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, the fiery, feisty Bridget was the one he’d most missed after he’d had to cut ties with her because of the case.

“We’re going to a place right outside the city.” He watched her expression as she absorbed that news, not missing the way her lips parted on a quick, inhaled breath, or the slight widening of her glittering eyes.

He’d bet money it wasn’t fear he saw in her face. It was excitement. Because though Bridget might want to deny it, they’d had intense chemistry. That had been proven one afternoon in her office. Dean had found one of the other salesman making an aggressive move on her and had tossed the other guy out on his ass. Pure anger and the sexual awareness that had been sizzling between them for weeks had come to a head and he’d ended up with his tongue down her throat and her legs wrapped around his hips. He could have had her right there, on top of her desk, and he’d wanted that more than he’d wanted to see another morning.

He hadn’t done it. Both because of the job…and because she’d have hated him even more once she found out who he was.

Not that it mattered. She hated him enough already. Except…that little flare in her eyes and the way her tongue now flicked across her lips to moisten them said her hatred hadn’t stopped the other feeling she’d had for him.

Desire.

“I can’t go stay in some hotel with you. I don’t have so much as a toothbrush with me, much less any…” Her words trailed off, her eyes dropping, no longer meeting his in the mirror. And he knew her mind had instantly gone to other, more personal items she might be missing.

Like spare panties.

His teeth almost breaking as he clenched them together, Dean cleared his throat. “We’ll make do.”

“I am not going to wear this bridesmaid dress until I testify Monday.”

She had a point.

Apparently getting over her embarrassment, she tossed her head back in visual challenge, she added, “And you can absolutely forget about me wearing nothing but what’s under this bridesmaid dress until then, either.”

Damn, there she went reminding him of the panties. And not only that, her words had sounded almost like a challenge. The thought of accepting it—of seeing how long he could hold out if he saw her wearing nothing but silk and lace, maybe in the same sexy shade of red as her dress—made Dean shift in the driver’s seat. A litany of images flashed in his brain as he pictured her in her strappy high heels…with nothing else on her but him.

“Stop somewhere so I can get some clothes.”

“It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night after a blizzard.” His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. The tone was caused not by irritation with her for the demands, but rather at himself…for being unprofessional enough to get a hard-on for a woman he was supposed to be protecting.

“Then take me back to my hotel so I can grab my suitcase.”

“Your hotel room was compromised.”

Bridget’s mouth fell open and she sagged back into her seat. “What?”

He began to explain, assuming she’d have questions. But when he caught sight of her reflection, the words disappeared. Bridget’s eyes were closed, her lips sucked into her mouth. She was shaking her head back and forth in silent denial. And she was trembling, long shudders racking her body.

But not, he suspected, from the cold.

She’d been strong, holding it together, not asking too many unnecessary questions and trusting him enough to come with him. Now everything was obviously sinking in. Reality was washing over her, cold and unrelenting. And terrifying.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered harshly, talking as much to himself as to her.

She opened her eyes and met his stare for a long, pregnant moment. Then, finally, she nodded once. The shudders finally ceased and she drew in a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry. That just hit me hard. Made it all real, you know?”

He knew.

“I’m okay now.” Pure strength…she was the picture of it.

Dean wanted to pull over, tug her out of the backseat and into his arms to offer comfort. Just that. To let her know she didn’t have to be strong alone.

But they needed to push on to make sure nobody could locate them—not the man following her. Not even his own coworkers. Then, when he knew they wouldn’t be found, he’d get her out of the car and keep her secure. Warm. Safe.

Or die trying.

3

THOUGH SHE BADGERED HIM, it was another hour before Bridget could get Dean to even consider stopping for supplies. God, how she wanted a toothbrush, at least. But he refused, saying he wouldn’t risk it until they were clear of the city.

Clear of the city…as in, he was removing her from Chicago, far from her home and her family and her friends. She had not a stitch of extra clothes, no one knew where she was and he’d essentially kidnapped her.

Why am I not terrified?

Maybe it was because of the calmness of his tone, his certainty that she would be fine. Or the way he’d said those seven words: I won’t let anything happen to you.

He’d meant it… It had been more than a promise, it had been a vow. Physically, he would not let her be harmed.

Emotionally, however, was another story. It had taken months for her to get over what he’d done to her…and if she were to be truly honest, she still wasn’t over it. So she had to get away from him. As soon as possible.

In the meantime, though, she figured she ought to find out what she could. She listened in silence as Dean told her what he knew, then finally said, “So if Marty hadn’t come forward with the information, I could have walked into my hotel room tonight or my apartment tomorrow and found a gun pointed at me.”

“It won’t happen, Bridge.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you won’t be there,” he replied, his tone even and unhesitating. “And after you testify, it all becomes moot. There’s no gain in removing you from the equation.”

“So whoever’s been following me just gets away with it because he doesn’t have to kill me anymore?” she asked, her anger rising. It had been growing with every word Dean had said. Especially when those words included contract killer and gunning you down.

“He won’t get away with it.” Dean didn’t so much speak the words as growl them. She instinctively knew he meant it—whatever he felt about her personally, Dean had sounded almost vengeful.

“So if you don’t know who is after me, how did you know he’d followed me to the club?”

Dean glanced at her in the near darkness of the car. From the glow of the dashboard, she could see the way his brow was furrowed into a deep frown. “We’ve been running plates on cars that have been near your home and office in the past forty-eight hours. One turned up at your hotel—right before a guest reported a man acting suspiciously outside your door.”

Her stomach rolled. “He broke into my room?”

Dean nodded once.

“My cousins…”

“They’re no threat and wouldn’t be on this guy’s radar.” Dean’s voice grew deeper—slow and tense. “He’s only after you.”

Great.

“I got the call about your room just as I saw you heading for the exit. The surveillance team had lost the car. Then the local PD called in a sighting of it…in the area of the club.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“I followed you outside, but stayed out of sight when you came back in. Not knowing for sure who was after you, I couldn’t just let you stay there—or go back to the hotel—when you had no idea what was going on.”

Still trying to find a way to comprehend it all, she whispered, “So you grabbed me.”

“I grabbed you.”

Before she could continue, he surprised her by flipping on his turn signal and heading for an exit. Fortunately, the plows had done a good job of clearing the main roads and exits…but the side one they ended up on was still dusted with white.

“We’ll be okay, it’s a four-wheel drive.”

It was as if he’d read her mind.

“Are we going to stop now?”

“Yes. We’ll need some food. We’re going to be roughing it.”

Roughing it. In a velvet bridesmaid gown and skimpy lingerie. Wonderful.

Then Bridget thought about it and realized she wouldn’t have to. Because he was stopping in a public place, where she could get help from someone else. Someone who wasn’t Dean, who didn’t arouse her even as he infuriated her.

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.