Melinda Di Lorenzo - Worth The Risk

He kept his eyes on her, butted his cigarette against the dash, then tossed it out the barely cracked window. She swallowed nervously and took a step backward.

The sedan inched forward.

Uh-oh.

Another step, another few inches.

Whoever he was, he was going to round the curb and come at her.

You need to run!

The urgent internal suggestion was different than the one that made her choose to avoid Sam. This one was pure fear.

But when Meredith turned to go back up the street she’d just come from, she spotted a small group of men at the end of the road, and the paranoid part of her brain was sure that every one of them looked as dangerous as the driver in the car.

Meredith spun back again. The sedan had reached the curved part of the median now, and the driver’s head had turned sideways as he worked to keep her in view.

Run!

This time, the suggestion came as a scream. And Meredith had no choice but to obey.

She slammed down one foot in front of the other, but made it only a half a block before an old, rusted-out truck came flying down the wrong side of the road and screeched to a stop in front of her. The driver’s-side door squeaked open and a masculine hand dropped out at eye level.

Meredith knew without even looking who was attached to that hand.

“Get in!” Sam barked.

“Wh—”

“Now!”

Meredith took a breath, placed her hand in his and let herself be yanked straight into Sam’s lap.

* * *

Sam gritted his teeth.

He seemed to be doing that a lot since meeting Meredith Jamison.

Right that second, it seemed impossible to do anything else. He tried to unclench his jaw and failed.

When she’d stomped on his foot, he’d chased after her for all of ten feet before realizing he didn’t stand a chance of catching up. Not in a neighborhood she knew and he didn’t, and not with the ache in his toes.

He’d limped back to his Bronco, irritated as all hell, and tried to come up with a plan. He’d barely made it into the driver’s seat before the navy sedan whipped by. He didn’t question why he knew it, or even stop to ask himself how the man in the car was tracking her, but he was one-hundred-percent sure following that sedan would lead him to Meredith. His gut told him it was true, and his gut was rarely wrong. This time was no exception.

Minutes after his careful pursuit of the car started, he spotted Meredith. And as the ginger-haired driver started toward her, Sam’s gut hadn’t been content to just be right. It had pushed him to intervene. Quickly.

Now Meredith was lying flat across his lap, her rear end stuck under the steering wheel, her chest pressed against the outer edge of his thigh and her legs still dangling out the door as he attempted to make a getaway. As awkward as the position was, she still felt good pushed into him like that. Very good.

Sam put the truck into Reverse and pressed the gas pedal as hard as he dared and gritted his damned teeth. He spun the wheel—ignoring the little yelp from Meredith as it raked over her backside—and repositioned his vehicle so it faced in the right direction.

Then he heard the squeal of rubber on asphalt, and his teeth were forgotten as he glanced in the rearview mirror. The sedan picked up speed on the other side of the median, the driver struggling to beat him to the curve ahead.

Let him beat me. Then I can give him a little of what he deserves. See if his car can handle being slammed into by the Bronco.

The vicious thought struck Sam by surprise. Typically, he avoided confrontation. He’d fight if he was backed into a corner, but violence was a defensive, last-minute maneuver.

He just wanted the wannabe stalker to pay for... For what? Chasing down some girl he barely knew—less than barely knew—and scaring her? Because he thought she was pretty?

Yeah, maybe, Sam admitted.

Annoyed at himself, he slammed down on the brakes and came to a full stop.

“What are you doing?” Meredith’s voice was breathless and muffled by the truck seat.

More teeth-gritting. “You’re seriously questioning me now?”

“You stopped.”

“For a good reason.”

Sam put his hands on Meredith’s hips and pulled her up, then shoved her sideways, forcing her to the passenger seat. She flailed for a second before righting herself and shooting him a dirty look.

“You might want to put on your seat belt,” Sam offered before she could speak.

He yanked his door shut and did a cursory shoulder check. The sedan had rounded the median completely now. In the not-too-far distance a siren roared to life, and Sam knew someone had called the police.

Super.

He had no interest in explaining himself to the local PD.

With a silent growl and another glance in his rearview, he hit the gas. He spun the wheel and took the Bronco up and over the median. The abrupt move sent Meredith skidding across the seat and back into Sam’s lap.

Well, I did tell her to buckle up.

With another pull on the wheel, Sam turned the truck on a diagonal across the road.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

Meredith’s face filled with panic, and at last she clicked the seat belt into place. Just in time. Sam accelerated again. His Bronco flew along the pavement, careened over a lawn and turned. He revved the engine and kept going. Up one street, down another, looking in the rearview every few seconds. So far, the sedan hadn’t caught up. The sirens, though, were getting closer.

Maybe they’d scared off the redheaded driver.

Hopefully.

Sam took the Bronco up another street and scanned for a place to hide the vehicle. He spied a narrow alleyway behind them.

Good enough.

He shifted to Reverse, but Meredith’s soft hand landed on his wrist. The contact made his pulse jump even higher than the increasingly loud sirens. It also made him pause. Which, judging by her next statement, was her intention.

“Not that alley.”

“No time to be choosy, sweetheart.”

Meredith rolled her eyes and released his arm to point at a sign. “It’s a dead end. We’ll get stuck.”

“Fine. A little time to be choosy.” Sam put the truck back into Drive and sped past the next two buildings, then stopped in front of another alley. “This one meet your needs?”

“Our needs,” she amended. “Unless you suddenly stopped wanting to get away from that creep. And yes. It’ll work. Sweetheart.”

Sam fought an unexpected grin as he made the turn, pulled the truck out of street view and cut the engine. He closed his eyes for one second, but before he could take a single, calming breath, he heard the telltale squeak of one of his rusty doors.

Seriously?

His eyes flew open just as Meredith’s door slammed into the building beside them. She sent a guilty look his way, then slipped toward the narrow opening.

Sam smacked open his seat belt and reached out a hand, which found purchase in the waistband of Meredith’s jeans. She pulled forward, exposing skin and lace. Sam pulled and his knuckles brushed both. With the contact, a jolt of heat shot up his arm, and he let go, startled by the force of it.

Holy hell.

He barely managed to recover in time to see Meredith fall forward. Her legs slid to the ground with a thump, while her upper body stayed in the car. Sam continued to watch for a minute as she wiggled futilely.

At last she turned and glared at him. “Little assistance?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to pull you back in or push you out?”

“Are you giving me a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Then why bother to offer?”

“I didn’t.” He couldn’t cover a grin. “You asked for help, remember, sweetheart?”

“Can we call a truce?” she replied with an eye roll. “And can you stop calling me ‘sweetheart’?”