Out of Control

But when he’d started tearing at her sweater before they’d even gotten inside the restaurant, she’d fought her way out of the car without thinking about her phone or purse or the fact he might drive off and leave her.

Oh. My. God.

The blood rushed from her head down to her painted toenails. Those two boys in the saloon who’d seemed harmless enough to approach? That jerk in the car? Mr. Tall, Dark and Serious here? “You think I’m a hooker?”

“Well, that dress doesn’t exactly say all-American sweetheart now does it.” His sarcasm burned through her.

Alex glanced down at the twin curses bulging over the lowcut neckline, seeing for the first time just how close she was to popping out over the top of the tight rayon knit. She quickly hugged her arms around her chest as if she could hide her assets. But the cop’s gray eyes, dark as steel and just as hard, said it all.

“I look like a hooker.”

She was going to be sick.

Alex rubbed her hands along her skin from her elbows to her shoulders. Her father had assured her that her late mother had always put on makeup when she’d gone out. She’d always worn a dress and heels like a “fine lady.” Every fashion magazine Alex had picked up over the years talked about how a woman could never go wrong with a little black dress.

She’d managed to go wrong.

Despite the good intentions of the military father and workaholic brother who’d raised her, Alex had managed to go way wrong.

All she’d wanted was a date. One date with one decent guy who’d treat her like a lady and maybe teach her a thing or two about the intricacies of a physical relationship with a man. But Dawson hadn’t wanted to teach. He’d wanted to take.

And, by damn, Alexandra Morgan was done letting men take what she’d be willing to give the right one.

At five foot three, she didn’t have much to work with in the intimidation department, but she tipped her chin up, way up, to look this cop in the eye and set him straight. “Just so we’re clear on this. I am not a hooker.”

“Then I expect you’re either in trouble, or you’re well on your way to finding it. Either way, you need my help.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” More sarcasm? He raked his fingers over dark hair that had enough silver in it to give the short, crisp cut a smoky cast. “Come on.” Making some sort of decision, he cupped a hand beneath her elbow and turned her back in the direction she’d come from. “Let’s get you off the street before I have to arrest you for public indecency.”

“Are you kidding me?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “This is a perfectly good dress.” At least, it had looked fine on the girl in the catalog. Of course, that girl was probably taller, and no way did a fashion model have a pair of 38 EEs to work with. “It’s not my fault I lost the sweater that goes with it. You take a look for yourself, pal. Everything I own is covered.”

But even Alex could look down and see that wasn’t far from a lie. Oh, God. She was blushing hard enough that even her boobs were turning pink. Quickly, she tugged the square neckline up half an inch. But then she felt a distinct breeze down between her thighs.

What she wouldn’t give for one of her brother’s big T-shirts—or a hole to crawl into—right about now.

Alex didn’t know whether to give NPD here credit for patience or perseverence. She saw the officer’s gaze go there, then politely move back up to her face. He nodded toward a halfton black pickup parked in an alley at the end of the block. “I’ll give you a ride to headquarters where we can sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out. I’m going home.”

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “Unless you are arresting me, I am not going anywhere with you.”

His gray eyes grew even steelier. The cool leather of his jacket brushed against her cheek as he took a step closer and pointed over her shoulder at the cars passing by. “You won’t accept a ride from a police officer, yet you’ll get into the car of a complete stranger?”

“You’re a stranger to me,” she countered, feeling suddenly surrounded by his heat and strength, and fighting the urge to either turn tail and run or throw herself against that wall of black T-shirt and pray his offer to help was a legitimate one. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He was going for his badge again. “You see this? This means you do what I say.”

“I don’t have a particular fondness for cops.” And though this one with the jeans and the leather and the shoulders was a sight better looking than the good ol’ boy who ran her hometown, she wasn’t inclined to put her faith in any man right now.

“I wasn’t giving you a choice, Trouble.” He grabbed her arm firmly enough make her understand he wasn’t letting go. “You’re coming with me.”

“Hey!” The crowd parted in front of his long, determined stride as he escorted her back to his truck. Alex tapped along in double-time beside him, struggling against his grip every step of the way. “Did you just call me Trouble? This is police harassment. I’ve got a good lawyer.” A big brother who’d be indignant on her behalf, at any rate. “I’ll sue.”

“Sue away, sweetheart.”

He kept right on walking, ignoring her protests, ignoring curious stares and pointing and laughs that made part of her wilt inside. The one man who stepped forward to help quickly changed his mind and backed off when the cop thrust his badge in the guy’s face.

“You’re a big bully, you know that?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Is that any way to talk to a lady—”

The sidewalk ended. The cop turned. Alex tugged. His grip slipped. But escape was short-lived. Her heel caught in the seam of the curb, snapped and pitched her forward.

A rock-hard arm shot around her waist to catch her. “Easy.”

Alex shoved it away. Why the hell should anything go right? She stumbled sideways, plucked off the traitorous shoe and tossed it. “Get away from me.”

Two big hands closed over her shoulders now, saving her from falling. “Let me help.”

“I don’t want any help. I just want to go home.” She wanted to crawl under the covers and hide her head and heart in shame.

He pulled her back. “I’m not the bad guy.”

“Let…” Alex’s vision had reduced to a blur of black leather and neon lights. But she had the presence of mind to put that surviving shoe to some good use tonight. She stomped down hard on his instep. “…go!”

Cussing up a blue streak, he did just that. Alex lurched forward, nearly splatting on the concrete. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her eyes burned.

“That’s it.” Before she could right herself, a straight-jacket came down around her shoulders. Its warmth and softness were almost a shock to her system. But there was nothing soft about the wrap-around bands of masculine strength that pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her feet clear off the pavement.

Alex shrieked. Twisted in his grasp.

“Stop it!”

Tears clouded her vision, burned down her cheeks. “No!”

“Don’t fight me.”

She writhed and kicked. The second shoe flew into the shadows. “Please,” she sobbed. If anything, his hold on her tightened. He locked one arm beneath her breasts, the other farther down, around her hips. She was moving through the air. He was carrying her away as easily and ignominiously as a sack of potatoes. And then she was trapped, her whole body cinched up tight, unable to wiggle anything besides her bare feet, which dangled in the air beneath her.

The humiliation of her evening was complete. She was grappling in an alley with a full-grown man who was neither her brother nor her date…nor her enemy.

The fight drained out of Alex and she sagged inside the prison of the cop’s arms. She was breathing hard, her chest pushing against the jacket’s silky lining. The cocoon of fiery warmth surrounding her finally pierced the blind haze of fight-or-flight emotions that had turned her into a crazy woman for a few minutes. She could finally blink enough tears from her puffy eyes to see that she was facing the bed of a black pickup truck. She was pinned against the side, wrapped up in a leather jacket and sandwiched between cold steel and warm man.

As her breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, Alex became aware of a hushed, deep-pitched sound murmuring against her neck. “Shh. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just quit fightin’ me. Okay?”

Alex nodded slowly, hearing the cadence of that soothing voice more than the actual words. “I’m…sorry.”

She exhaled on a surrendering sigh and instinctively leaned her ear closer to the seductive sound. Smooth like whiskey, and just as intoxicating, the deep, soft tones warmed her from the inside out.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” The rough pad of a finger was surprisingly gentle against her skin as the man who held her wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Shh. Now, come on. Don’t do that. You don’t want to be cryin’.”

The tears of frustration and humiliation quickly dried up beneath his tender ministrations. For a few moments, there was simply fatigue—and gratitude that there was a man whose will and strength were stronger than her own—a good man whose will and strength hadn’t been used to hurt her. But as her sensibilities returned, Alex became aware of other things. Interesting things. Things that were as male and intriguing and unsettling as that voice.

The muscled forearm wedged beneath her breasts. The rasp of beard stubble that tickled her ear and neck. The buttery softness and furnace-like warmth of the jacket he’d wrapped around her body. Alex breathed in deeply. The jacket smelled like heaven.

She felt the belt buckle pressing into her rear, and the thigh that had been forced between her legs. In their struggle, her short dress had ridden up to an embarrassing level, leaving only her cotton panties between them. But shielded from curious eyes by the truck and the man’s big, muscular body, she didn’t feel exposed or embarrassed.

Instead, Alex felt…female. Vulnerable.

But not afraid.

The roughness of denim rubbed against her most sensitive skin. And a rippling response of pressure seemed to be gathering at the juncture between her thighs, building with each flex of hard muscles against her there.

“Let’s try this again.” He adjusted their positions, shifting her higher onto his hip. Alex closed her eyes, her thighs clenching at the friction of his leg sliding between hers. How could being trapped—helpless—like this feel so good? “I’m a detective with Nashville PD. It’s too chilly for this dress and too late for a woman to be walking the streets on her own. I’m here to help you. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Before I got to you…” He paused, went still around her—as if the next question was hard for him to get out. “Have you been assaulted?”

Grabbing hands. Buttons popping. Pushing her down in the seat. “I heard you did it for all the boys in Dahlia. Let’s see those tits.”

“Shh. Easy.”

Something in Alex had gone rigid, defensive. But his mesmerizing voice calmed her into breathing easy again.

Alex answered. “I was on a blind date. There was a little miscommunication. I thought he’d be interesting—he thought I’d put out.”

“I’m sorry.” He adjusted his stance, pulling the prop of his leg from between hers, relaxing the intimacy of his hold on her without releasing her entirely. “Did he force you?”

Alex squirmed in his grasp, wanting to turn around and ease away the concern—or was it fear? Anger?—that eroded the seductive timbre of his voice into a predatory growl. But she was at his mercy, and all she had to give him were words. “No. I wasn’t raped if that’s what you’re asking. But his plans for the evening didn’t match up with mine. When I got out of the car, he drove off with my purse and sweater and cell phone inside.”

He cursed. Apologized. “And you’ve been walking ever since?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long night.”

“And I thought I was having a bad one. Sounds like yours might have been worse.” He adjusted his arms around her, softening his hold. Though there was still little chance for Alex to escape, it felt more like an embrace rather than a takedown maneuver. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get it all right.”

Alex nodded. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get anything right.”

“Sometimes.”

This man made it so easy to sink into his strength. He was still pressed against her, his cheek to her ear, his chest to her back, his…Alex’s cheeks colored with warmth. There was something more than his belt buckle pressing into her bottom. But he wasn’t rubbing himself against her or demanding she do something about it. His restraint, despite the hell she’d given him, created a whole new world of confusion inside her.

But oddly enough, this felt right.

Even though she was the one being held captive, he was letting her be the one in control of the unexpected, yet obvious, attraction simmering between them. Control was a whole new experience for Alex. And she was beginning to think she wouldn’t mind if the handsome detective asked for something more than answers from her.

She tried to ignore the strange impulse and explain what had led her to this moment—pinned against a truck by what had to be the sexiest man who’d ever had a hard-on for her. “I swear I haven’t committed any crime. Although, if Dawson Barnes complains that he can’t father children for a couple of weeks, then I’ll argue it was self-defense. And I’m sorry that I kicked you and hit you. I didn’t mean to flake out like that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer. She might have really gotten herself into some trouble here. “Are you hurt?”

Laughter danced against her ear and vibrated from his body into hers. “By a little bundle of dynamite like you?”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Relax.” His lips brushed against her nape as he pushed her hair out of his face. “I’ll heal.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.” He exhaled slowly, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her neck. A riot of goose bumps rose on her skin, despite the heat from his jacket and body. “Now. If I set you down, nice and easy, will you tell me your name?”

No. No name. Alexandra Morgan was a failure when it came to men. And she was feeling something, wanting something so badly with this man that she didn’t want to blow it. Maybe anonymity would give her a safety net, confidence she normally lacked. And maybe a man with no preconceived notions of who she was, a man who saw her as a desirable woman and nothing more or less, could give Alex what she wanted—a chance to be a normal, sexual, cherished woman.

Even if it was only for one night. Or one hour.

Or one kiss.

“Just like you said, Detective,” she finally answered. “It’s Trouble.”

“I believe that. Okay, so no names. Are you flirting with me, Miss Trouble?”

“Would that be a crime?”

“Depends on if you’re playing me or if this is really going somewhere.”

Alex breathed out the last of her doubts. She might not know exactly what she was doing, but she understood exactly what she wanted. “I don’t like playing games.”

“Then this is definitely going somewhere.” He let go with one arm to feather his fingers into her hair and lift the curling strands to his nose. “You smell so good. Like gardenias carried on a distant breeze.”

Alex’s breath locked in her throat as the atmosphere around them grew heavy. This man could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy in that voice. A compliment like that was pure poetry.

“You…smell good, too,” she whispered. Ugh. Not so poetic. What was she supposed to say?

But the words didn’t matter. He angled his head and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss against the nape of her neck.

Her startled gasp tensed through her body. But when she exhaled, any surprise flowed away and settled with a purr of contentment in her throat. “That was…nice. Better than nice. I didn’t know there was a bundle of nerves back there.”

“You like that?” he whispered, warming the same spot with his tongue.

She trembled. Nodded.

“You want me to stop?”

They were strangers. She was needy. He was willing. And he was being so…patient. Such a gentleman. And yet, this gentleman’s erection was nestled in the seam of her bottom, telling her she wasn’t the only one interested in exploring whatever was happening between them. It was damn crazy to want a man so badly. A stranger, no less. But when had an opportunity like this ever landed in her lap? Or rather, when had she ever landed in Detective Opportunity’s lap?

“Don’t stop.”

He nibbled the sensitive spot on her neck gently, making her jerk in his arms. Then he worked his way down her spine to the collar of his jacket, discovering nerve after nerve that leaped to life beneath his warm, moist touch.

Alex squirmed between the man and truck, trying to free her hands to grab on to something to steady herself—to try to take part in the embrace. But all she managed to do was work her dress up even higher—exposing more bottom, more damp, slick heat that desperately wanted to feel the press of his leg again.

“Careful,” he warned. His arm constricted around her ribcage. His fingers clenched in her hair, pulling slightly at her scalp. But the pinpricks of pain quickly blended in with the pleasure of his moan vibrating against her skin, his teeth nipping at the taut muscle where her neck and shoulder joined. His thumb inched higher, testing the weight of one breast, hooking around the taut nipple that strained against the band of her dress. He flicked the tender nub once, twice, a third time, forcing Alex’s mouth open in a gasp of need and want that matched his own. “I’m not getting my signals mixed up, am I, Trouble? Tell me what you want. It’s yours. Or tell me to stop.”

She’d come to Nashville, expecting to learn a thing or two about this man-woman mystery that other women her age seemed to enjoy. She was looking for the good part of sexual experience that had been frightened out of her by a cruel act, denied her by a small town that would never let her forget her mistake. She’d thought she’d failed in her quest.

Maybe she’d just been looking for that experience with the wrong man.

“I want you to kiss me again. Really kiss me.”

Her request seemed to open up a throttle, turbocharging the leisurely, languid connection between them. Without ever letting her feet hit the ground, he turned her—using the truck and the friction of her curves bunching against his harder angles to keep her suspended in the air and aligned against him in a way that was sending every red blood cell in her body charging hard into the tips of her aching breasts and down to her full, weeping center. And then he kissed her. And kissed her. His kisses consumed her.

His jacket fell away from her shoulders as her fingers crept around his neck, then raked up the back of his head, tugging his short, silky hair into her greedy grasp. His tongue reached into her mouth, caught hers in a twist and pulled it between his lips for a light nip between his teeth.

Alex returned the bold move, his groan of approval matching the restless cries in her throat. There was nothing soft about this meeting of lips, nothing reticient about the deep, ragged breaths that moved their bodies against each other. He slid one hand down to her bottom, slipped his fingers beneath the elastic band of the cotton and squeezed, branding her, skin to skin. Alex hooked her heel behind his thigh, instinctively opening her body to the hard, thrusting need of his. The truck rocked as he pushed his body closer, drove his tongue deeper.

A wolfish whistle from the entrance to the alley was the first glitch in Alex’s mindless need to fulfill tonight’s quest. A familiar panic button tried to break through the haze of passion. She should reconsider this impulsive encounter.

But the dectective had other ideas.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” He kissed away her doubts, turned and carried her to the cab of his truck. With an unceremonious shifting of grips and digging into pockets, he unlocked the door, opened it and dumped her inside. “Move over,” he commanded. As soon as Alex scooted backward across the bench seat, he started the engine and took off. “We need some privacy.”

His growly pronouncement spoke not only of his need, but reassured a bone-deep fear inside Alex that this was a good choice. That he was a good choice. This man would save the night—he’d save her lovelife—for her.

Alex held on tight as they jerked around corners and sped on a straightaway. Then they squealed through a parking lot and swerved into an alley where the neon lights and music and crowds of Broadway couldn’t reach. About the time she’d worked her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and had pulled her dress down to a relatively modest level, he stomped on the brake, killed the engine and turned to her.

“You still game?” he asked. The glow from the dashboard shadowed the rugged lines of his face, but his eyes reflected a need, an intent, that rivaled her own.

Alex reached for him. “Yes.”

As he wrapped his arm behind her back and laid her down on the seat, the truck plunged into darkness.

Perfect.

For a brief moment, his shadow loomed over her. But Alex felt excitement, not fear. She felt his palms on her thighs, his thumbs sliding up beneath the elastic of her panties. The heady weight of his body pressed her down into the upholstery as he sought out her bruised, swollen mouth for a tender kiss. “I can’t believe I’m making out in my truck like some kind of randy teenager.” His beard stubble abraded the underside of her chin. His kiss followed. He blazed a trail down her neck, arousing, soothing. “God, I need this, sweetheart. I need this.”

And then, there really wasn’t much talking.

Driven by instincts, directed by his responsive moans, sometimes guided by the instruction of his hands and mouth, Alex became more powerful, more certain of herself, more demanding.

He pushed the jacket off her shoulders. The straps of the dress followed. The strapless bra offered no resistance. When he closed his mouth over the throbbing peak of her breast, she moaned. When he blew softly across the damp tip, she twisted. And when he pulled the straining nipple into his mouth and suckled her with the rasp of his tongue she bucked beneath him.

Her fingers flexed convulsively in his hair, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to share his attentions with the other breast. As frantic as they’d been outside his truck, he seemed to be taking his own sweet time transforming her into a heavy, quivering, raw nerve of pure desire. He brushed his rough jaw over the other nipple in a caress that made her cry out, yet savor the healing touch of his tongue against her all the more.

She wasn’t sure which happened first, the mindless panting or the fist of pressure building up between her thighs. She snatched at his T-shirt, tugged it from his belt as his kisses moved lower. She was desperate to touch the warm skin and the hard muscles underneath, but he moved beyond her reach. She was sitting half upright again, leaning up against the door. He shoved her dress up and kissed her belly, nuzzled her belly button, traced the sensible waistband of her panties with his chin, making muscles clench and stretch and contract. Before she could steady herself, his hand was inside her panties, cupping her bottom, lifting her to drag the underwear completely down her legs and toss them to the floorboards.

And then he was back, his kisses moving lower still. He brushed his lips through the thatch of golden curls and pressed a kiss to the swollen mound beneath. Alex dug her fingers into his shoulders and heard him laugh. The sound vibrated against her inner thigh.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He stroked his thumbs along the seams where her legs joined her hips, each stroke getting longer, opening her wider and taking him closer to her slick, pulsating center. “I’m just thinking about how good you smell. All over.”