A Wicked Seduction

“Mr. Colter, this isn’t a mistake.” Surprised to hear the regret in her own voice, she quickly replaced it with indifference. “Your arrest is as real as it gets. I have the paperwork to prove it.”

At the sound of the engine turning over, a touch of panic flared to life in his eyes. “Don’t I have any rights?” he demanded. The handcuffs behind him clanked together as his arms and shoulders flexed from their unnatural position. The corded muscles in his biceps bulged, drawing her gaze as they strained against the short sleeves of his knit shirt.

Impressive muscles she’d be a fool to underestimate—no matter how much they, or the man, fascinated her.

“I have to have some kind of rights,” he reiterated when she didn’t immediately answer him. “A phone call to my attorney, at the very least, to sort out this misunderstanding?”

She shook her head, which helped to gain her bearings and remove her traitorous gaze from his physique. “You forfeited all your rights when you jumped bail. You can call your attorney, or anyone else you want, when you’re back in jail.”

Exasperation clenched his jaw and radiated off him in waves. “I want to see that information you claim to have on me,” he said abruptly, just as she reached for the gear shift to put the vehicle in Drive. “Is that within my rights?”

He sounded so indignant, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She recognized his appeal for the stall tactic it was, but decided to grant him this one small concession which would only take a few minutes out of her time. Besides, in her experience, she’d always found that being faced with irrefutable facts had a way of making a person much more accommodating, and much less argumentative.

And there was no refuting the incriminating evidence she had on Dean Colter.

“I’d be happy to show you the information.” Smiling sweetly, she withdrew the pocket folder she’d tucked between her seat and the console, then pulled out the file nestled within containing all the pertinent reports, releases and documents she had on him.

“You could have killed me with that shotgun you were carrying, you know,” he said, his tone rough with censure.

“What?” His abrupt change of topic threw her off-kilter, and she looked up from sorting through the papers to find his expression disapproving, and his full lips thinned into a flattened line. Then it dawned on her what he was referring to. “Oh, that wasn’t a shotgun. Not a real one, anyway.”

He gaped at her. “You go around confronting people with a toy gun?”

Her stomach clenched, and her hands grew cold and clammy as unexpected memories swamped her…of a pistol trembling in her hands, her frantic shouts to the perp she’d cornered to drop his gun, and ultimately her inability to follow through with the threat he’d posed, to her and her partner. Then two simultaneous gunshots—one the perp’s, the other Brian’s.

She winced at the awful recollection, which still remained so sharp and fresh in her mind—as if the life-altering incident had happened yesterday instead of two years ago. The revolver holstered at her side felt like a two-ton weight, reminding her of failures, disappointments and the heart-wrenching burden she’d have to live with forever.

Yes, she carried a real gun with her, but she wouldn’t draw it unless she absolutely had to. Because now she knew if she drew her weapon, she’d put herself in the position of having to fire the gun. And she doubted her ability to do so, more than she feared protecting herself with less deadly forces.

She swallowed to ease the tightness closing up her throat. “It’s a beanbag shotgun,” she replied, her voice still tight from those grim memories of the past. At his questioning stare, she explained. “It would have brought you to an immediate halt, possibly knocked you on your ass, and no doubt have given you a nasty bruise, but you would have lived.”

“I’m so relieved,” he drawled sarcastically.

She shrugged. “You’re certainly no good to me dead,” she said, adopting a flippant attitude.

A huff of disbelieving laughter escaped him at her sassy reply. Feeling a smile tug the corner of her mouth, she ducked her head and trained her thoughts back to the file. Spreading the folder open on his lap, she allowed him a quiet moment to read the bail bond and authorization form, as well as look over the photographs the bondsman had provided.

His gaze narrowed and a frown formed as he glanced from the unflattering mug shot to the picture on the copy of his driver’s license. He examined each one, back and forth, his intense scrutiny causing her own gaze to drift to the photographs to do her own idle comparison.

Without a doubt, the men in each picture resembled two different personas. But their coloring and features were so similar it was difficult to refute that they were one and the same. In both photos, Dean was cited as having green eyes, and the man in front of her definitely had those…gorgeous, sexy green eyes she’d seen darken with desire earlier, and flash with annoyance moments ago. Both pImages** possessed pitch-black hair, and it was clear to her that the man sitting beside her owned a head of thick hair as dark as a raven’s wing.

Somewhere between his booking photo and today, he’d gotten a haircut, changing back to his short, neat style—an executive cut with the longer strands on top falling into soft, precision layers that invited a woman to touch and feel.

And she had.

She’d gained intimate knowledge of just how silky and warm those strands were—could still remember the velvet texture and warm feel as those locks had sifted through her fingers when she’d touched his head to guide him into the car. Could still recall the shimmering awareness that had taken up residence within her with that brief contact.

The only thing she couldn’t find any resemblance to was the cocky, arrogant smirk on the face of the man in the booking photo. Her instincts stirred. She’d yet to see that side of the Dean Colter she’d cuffed—the flirtatious, charming guy who’d only revealed a few bouts of ire and frustration, and not the aggression she would have expected judging by the conceited expression in the mug shot. If contrasting personality traits gave her a second’s pause, then it was the glaring evidence Dean himself had provided that brought everything back into perspective.

He’d openly declared to being Dean Colter.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, looking both stunned and confused when he glanced back up at her.

“I take it you’ve seen enough?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. The file balanced on his thighs started to slip, and she made a grab for the folder, then returned the information to its spot next to her seat.

“You’ve got the wrong guy, Jo.”

His voice was quiet, eerily so, causing a distinct shiver to ripple down her spine. No pleading. No begging. Just a statement of fact that discounted everything he’d just read. His eyes had turned a shade of green so startling clear and sincere they made her want to believe him.

But she knew better than to be conned, no matter how convincing his act. She wouldn’t underestimate the power of his charms and attempts to persuade her. “Oh, now that’s original. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that line as a cop I’d be a very rich girl.”

He stared at her for a moment in amazement. “You’re a cop?”

“I was,” she said, seeing no reason why she shouldn’t answer his question. Between tonight’s two-hour jaunt and tomorrow’s long drive, they’d be confined to this vehicle for fifteen hours, and she didn’t mind making polite talk as opposed to putting up with brooding silence. “I quit the force two years ago.”

“To pursue a career in bounty hunting?”

More astonishment, and the way he was looking at her…taking in her ponytail, her features, then taking quick inventory of the rest of her body before returning to her face. She suppressed the warm glow that followed in the wake of his thorough assessment.

“I work for my brother as a P.I.” Putting the Suburban in gear, she pulled away from the curb and eased onto the road. “I specialize in missing persons and abductions, but I do the occasional bail recovery on the side to make extra money.”

He looked back at his house as they drove away and left his sanctuary behind. “Bail recovery?” He snorted derisively. “This is kidnapping, you know.”

“Kidnapping?” She rolled her eyes and flipped on the air-conditioning to low, welcoming the cool rush of air that billowed across her skin. “Not according to the information you just read.”

“I’m not that guy!” he said through gritted teeth.

Would he never give up? “I looked through your wallet in your duffle,” she told him. “Not only do you say you’re Dean Colter, so does your license.”

He blew out a frustrated stream of breath. “I am Dean Colter, but I’m not the guy in that mug shot.”

“Oh, I believe you,” she said drolly as she headed out of the residential area and back to the interstate. “But it’s the judge you’re gonna have to convince, not me.”

His lip curled sullenly and, unable to do otherwise, he settled back into his seat. “Great,” he muttered as he stared out the window moodily. “Just great.”

She made a right-hand turn up the I-5 on-ramp and moved over to the fast lane, leaving Seattle behind. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the trip?”

“It’s kinda hard to relax when these damned handcuffs are stabbing into my back and my arms are falling asleep,” he grumbled.

Poor baby. “If you flatten your palms against the seat it’ll relieve some of the pressure.”

“And if you took off the handcuffs it would relieve some of the pain.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “But I can’t risk my safety for your comfort.”

He heaved a gut-deep sigh. “So I’ve got to be trussed up like this all the way to San Francisco?”

“Pretty much.” She reached for the trip ticket she’d tucked into the visor, which mapped her drive back to San Francisco and the places she planned to stop along the way. Giving it a cursory glance while watching the road, she pegged her next destination as Kelso, Washington. “I’ve been on the road since six this morning. We’ll be stopping in a few hours to get a hotel for the night, and I’ll let you stretch your arms then. We’ll get something to eat, too.”

“A free meal. At least I get something out of this trip.” The slightest bit of humor had returned to his voice, as if he’d resigned himself to the inevitable. “And just be warned, I skipped lunch today and I’m starved.”

The way he said the word starved, with a low, rumbling growl in the back of his throat, brought a whole new meaning to the word.

Apparently, his appetite matched her own.

BEING HAULED to San Francisco by a female bounty hunter wasn’t exactly the vacation Dean had envisioned, but as the chasm between Seattle and him widened, he decided he had no choice but to improvise and be adventurous.

Spontaneity. Relaxation. Being impetuous. All nuances of his old life he missed. That had been part of the reason he’d decided to take a vacation in the first place, based on the startling realization that he was fast on his way to becoming a workaholic like his father had been. Putting the company before himself was something he’d sworn he’d never do, yet he’d spent the past three years doing exactly that, to the extent that he was teetering on the verge of burnout. Not only did he need the time away from work to think about the fate of Colter Traffic Control and his future, but it had been too long since he’d put himself, and his desires, first.

And there was no doubt he desired Jo Sommers. Despite having no idea how he’d gotten himself into this mess, this sexy, spirited woman intrigued him. Aroused him. Fascinated him. And it had been a long time since any woman had captured his interest so thoroughly.

Whether he liked it or not, he was on this wild ride for the duration, until they reached San Francisco, his attorney was contacted, and the authorities realized they had the wrong guy and cleared his name. He couldn’t deny that the driver’s license and information that Jo had shown him was his, but the guy in the mug shot was not him, though there was enough of a resemblance to draw the conclusion that they were one and the same.

This had to be a huge misunderstanding of some sort, one he obviously couldn’t explain or find a logical reason for, but it was still a mistake. One he wanted to remedy. And he had two days to figure out a way to convince Jo that he was an innocent man. The challenge was more than he could resist.

He might have lost his vacation, but he’d just gained something far more exciting and fun. The way he figured things, he had two options during this trip—resist or surrender—and being a willing and accommodating captive for Jo would be a far more pleasurable experience. To his advantage, no one would miss him or worry about his absence, since everyone believed he was off to the mountains for a week of quiet and solitude.

He was a guy who’d always made the best of a bad situation. This mishap would be no exception.

But first, he needed to make amends for his earlier grumpy behavior. Resting his head on the back of the seat, he let it roll to the side until he was looking at Jo’s profile. The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon and the pastel hues made her smooth complexion shimmer with radiant warmth.

“I want to apologize for my attitude,” he said, breaking the silence that had descended over the cab the past half hour. “I’m sure after I’m cleared of all charges and they find the guy who impersonated me I’ll find this abduction all very humorous.”

She slanted him a dubious look. “You think so?”

“It’s what I keep telling myself.” He blinked lazily. “You really do have my full cooperation. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I can’t prove my innocence until we reach the authorities, so I plan to enjoy the ride.” And you.

The corners of her mouth curled upward, drawing his gaze to her full, luscious lips. “I like your new attitude.”

“I like your smile,” he countered honestly.

Said smile faltered self-consciously. “Thank you.”

He suppressed a grin of his own. “You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t help notice the flush on her skin. His unexpected compliment had caught her off guard, and he admitted he liked having that slight advantage. “Are you married?”

She paused, absently ran her tongue across her bottom lip, then admitted, “No.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” When she gave him a quick, care-to-explain look, he shrugged his rapidly stiffening shoulders and said, “It’s hard to imagine a husband allowing his wife to work as a bounty hunter.”

She released a pfft sound of derision and rolled her eyes at what she obviously thought was an antiquated viewpoint.

“How about a boyfriend?”

She shot him a pointed look and visibly bristled. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you kept your added commentary about that to yourself,” she warned.

His mouth twitched, then spilled over with the amusement he could no longer contain. Obviously, there was something about mixing a significant other with her occupation that was a source of contention for her, and he was curious to know why. He wanted to know everything he could discover about Jo Sommers—her job, why she did what she did, and the sensuality he detected simmering just beneath her tough facade.

Yeah, especially that.

Physically, he might be restrained. Mentally and verbally he was not.

The wicked possibilities were alluring and endless. He’d wanted his old life back, and here was his chance to embrace a little bit of fun.

4

A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR later, Jo pulled off the interstate and into the drive-through of a fast-food restaurant in Kelso, Washington, located next to the roadside motor lodge she planned to stay at for the night. The town was small and quiet, which suited her just fine since she wasn’t looking for excitement or entertainment. All she wanted was food in her stomach, a long, hot shower to ease the tense muscles across her shoulders, a good night’s rest, and total cooperation from her fugitive.

Since leaving Seattle and promising to be on his best behavior, Dean had held true to his word and been an exemplary prisoner. Then again, there wasn’t much trouble he could get into being handcuffed and strapped securely into his seat.

There were no more protests of not being the man she sought, no more complaints about being restrained, and no more frustration underscoring his tone. Just light, comfortable conversation—mostly about her and questions about her time as a cop, the stories of which he’d found fascinating and amusing—mixed in with an occasional flirtatious comment that filled her with too much awareness. Much to her surprise, she’d actually enjoyed their easy exchange, and the time and miles had passed quickly.

She brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the large, lighted outdoor menu, keeping her window rolled up while they perused the available entrees. Deciding on what she wanted to eat, she turned and glanced at Dean, who was still looking over the selection. “What would you like?”

His deep green eyes found hers, and an irresistible grin creased the corners of his mouth. “Well, since the meals are on you, I’ll have two of the double western bacon cheeseburgers, a supersize order of fries, and a supersize Coke.”

Her brows rose in disbelief at the amount of food he was ordering. “Is that all?” she drawled, wondering where in the heck he planned to put the small feast. His lean belly didn’t look big enough to hold two burgers at one time, let alone everything else he planned to consume.

His broad shoulders rolled in an attempt at a shrug, and his biceps flexed with the awkward movement. He winced, a clear indication that his muscles had grown stiff and sore during the drive. Still, not one derogatory word or a plea to release his cuffs slipped past his lips. “Hey, I warned you that I was starved.”

So he had, and she’d obviously underestimated the voracious appetite he’d claimed to have. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want some dessert to go with your supersize dinner?” she asked, a light, teasing note threading her voice.

He glanced at the menu again. “Now that you mention it, I’ll take a slice of that chocolate mousse cake they’re advertising.”

She’d been joking. He was completely serious, and all she could think was that he must burn a whole lot of energy if he ate like that on a regular basis. As her gaze drifted over that toned, virile body she’d patted down earlier, various ways of burning calories came to mind. The unbidden pImages** that formed had little to do with conventional exercise, and more to do with the workout provided by hot, hard, sweaty sex…two slick bodies straining, hips pumping, thighs clenching, pulses racing uncontrollably…

Oh, yeah, her pulse had most definitely picked up its tempo. Her own body throbbed in cadence with the erotic visions that had flitted through her head, and the interior of the vehicle grew warm, despite the air-conditioning blowing cool air across her skin. She was shocked at her provocative thoughts and the path they’d traveled…and who she’d allowed to be the male lead in her sexual fantasy.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she inhaled a slow breath. Get a grip, Joelle. The man is a felon, no matter how gorgeous, sexy, and charming he might be, no matter how convincing and genuine he seems. No matter that she’d been way too long without a man to ease the kind of sensual cravings that had recently taken up residence within her.

He wasn’t a man to trust, or even lust after—not when he was on his way to jail and a future destined to be spent behind bars. Chanting that reminder silently in her head, she rolled her window down, placed his enormous, supersize order and opted for a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea for herself.

Less than ten minutes later, without any mishaps at the restaurant’s pickup window and her mind firmly back on business, she pulled the Suburban into the motor lodge parking area. After circling the lot once, she chose an isolated spot far enough away from the registration office and anyone exiting the two-story, U-shaped structure.

Turning off the engine, she withdrew the keys, unlatched her seat belt, and grabbed her wallet from the console. She cast a quick glance Dean’s way, making sure he was still trussed up and immobile. “I’ll be right back,” she told him, satisfied that he was still firmly restrained. “I’m going to get us a room for the night and we’ll eat once we’re settled inside.”

He flashed another one of his easygoing grins. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”

She opened her door and slid out of her seat, biting back a smile at his obliging attitude, as if it were his choice to sit tight while she was gone, and that he’d enjoy every minute of the wait. Amused with his pleasant disposition despite his predicament, she locked him into the truck and engaged the alarm.

She walked briskly across the half-full parking lot and into the small, glass-enclosed office that enabled her to keep an eye on the Suburban and Dean while she registered and paid for their one-night stay. Per her request to the night clerk, she was able to secure a room with two double beds on the first level, located around the backside of the lodge where they’d be afforded a semblance of privacy.

The transaction went smoothly, and without any trouble from Dean in the car. She drove the vehicle around the building, parked in the designated slot in front of their motel room door, and within minutes she had everything unloaded—including Dean, their duffle bags, and their food. After securing all the locks on the metal door and switching on the cool air to clear out the stuffiness, she turned her full attention to her silent, patient prisoner standing in the middle of the room.

Alone in such a confined space and surrounded by an intimate setting that included two beds, the size of him registered in a purely feminine way. When she’d first cornered him in his garage, she’d been running on pure adrenaline, ready for action and focused on apprehending him. Now, she was keenly aware of how potently male he was with those big, wide shoulders and toned arms that would have no problem wrapping around a woman her size. Then there were his lean hips encased in soft denim to consider, and strong thighs that framed impressive male anatomy. His stance was completely relaxed, his gaze warm and sensual. He gave no indication that he was wired and ready to spring to action at the first opportune moment, an attitude she’d come to expect from most of her captives.

He was tall, too—a good six inches bigger than her own five-foot-five stature that qualified her as petite, a word she’d hated from the moment she’d learned what it meant to the male gender—small, delicate, and a featherweight, a nickname Noah always loved to torment her with. The continual comparison of how small she was had been partly responsible for her determination as a teenager to break free from her brothers’ overprotectiveness. That same fierce perseverance had followed her into her adult years as she’d struggled to prove herself as a capable law enforcement officer to her family and colleagues.

Unfortunately, while she’d proven her physical strength, agility, and endurance, she’d failed miserably at the emotional and mental fortitude she’d needed to do her job—a personal failure that had ended up costing her Brian’s life.

Those thick, black lashes framing slumberous eyes blinked lazily at her. “Food’s getting cold, sweetheart,” Dean said, his tone a low, rich murmur in the quiet room. “And I’m getting hungrier by the second. Are you going to take off the cuffs, or do I get to enjoy the pleasure of you hand-feeding me?”

He sounded like he wouldn’t have minded the latter. Refusing to allow her misbehaving thoughts to travel in that direction, she glanced around the room once more and considered her options—and performing the intimate task of feeding Dean Colter by hand was not one of them. Finding the small, rectangular table between the second bed and the corner of the wall, she made her decision based on Dean’s consistent, non-violent behavior since she’d picked him up.