Jane Sullivan - Tall, Dark And Texan

Wolfe was stark naked

Wendy froze, stunned at the sight. Back away. Leave his room. But she couldn’t. Not when her eyes were glued to the most beautiful male body she’d ever seen.

Suddenly he began to move. Wendy thought about running, but then Wolfe saw her, and she knew it was too late. As he turned and sat up on the edge of the bed, for a split second she was sure she was going to get a glimpse of the part of his body that would make the rest of him pale in comparison.

“What are you doing in here?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her eyes roved over his body as if they had a mind of their own, finally landing below his waist.

“Hey!” he said. “You want to look somewhere else? Pervert.”

Pervert? He was calling her a pervert?

“Exhibitionist,” she muttered.

“I live here! If you don’t like it, you know where the door is!”

“Actually,” she said, “I like it just fine.”

Dear Reader,

Picture yourself the victim of a turn of events that leaves you stranded at midnight in the middle of a sleet storm on the mean streets of an unfamiliar city. You have no coat, no money and you know no one within five hundred miles.

Now imagine you hear the roar of an engine, and the biggest, baddest man you’ve ever seen rides up on a motorcycle. He offers to take you someplace warm and safe. What do you do? Keep walking and freeze to death, or hop on and hope for the best? That’s the situation Wendy Jamison finds herself in, and the decision she makes changes her life!

Wendy Jamison and Michael Wolfe are as different as any two people can be, but it doesn’t take long before she sees beyond his big, bad image and brings out the kind and compassionate man he really is. And little does she know that when he offers to let her stay with him for one night, there are going to be many more hot nights to come!

Visit me on the Web at www.janesullivan.com, or write to me at jane@janesullivan.com. I’d love to hear from you!

Best wishes,

Jane Sullivan

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

854—ONE HOT TEXAN

898—RISKY BUSINESS

HARLEQUIN DUETS

33—STRAY HEARTS

48—THE MATCHMAKER’S MISTAKE

Tall, Dark and Texan

Jane Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all my wonderful friends at Dallas Area Romance Authors.

You amuse me, amaze me and inspire me.

Thanks for all the good times.

I’m looking forward to many more!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

WENDY JAMISON CREPT her 1992 Buick along the dark, deserted street, the February sleet storm pummeling her car and freezing wind whistling through the torn weather stripping around the passenger window. She hadn’t planned on taking a midnight tour of the seedy part of downtown Dallas, but she’d lost track of the turns she’d made since exiting the freeway in search of a gas station and now she was hopelessly lost.

On either side of her, warehouses loomed several stories into the night sky, the majority of them boarded up. Most of the storefronts looked abandoned, topped by apartments that showed only an occasional dim light in a window. The sleet had stuck trash to the sidewalk in big, soggy piles that would probably still be there after the spring thaw. If it had been a hot summer night, the place would undoubtedly be crawling with the shadier side of society, but now, when she desperately needed to ask somebody how to get back to the freeway, there wasn’t a pimp, a crack whore or a drug dealer in sight.

The problem was the trailer she was pulling. Filled with everything she owned, it had played hell with her mileage, running the little arrow on her gas gauge right into the red before she realized it. When that same little arrow had stopped floating and she still hadn’t found an open station, she’d gotten a little uptight.

Now, ten minutes later, she was wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, trying to get a grip, telling herself that this was just one of those worst-case-scenario situations, which there had to be a solution to. Wendy knew how to stay alive during an avalanche, how to escape a sinking car and how to survive if her parachute failed to open in the event that she lost her mind and went skydiving. Unfortunately, she’d never read about how to get out of a sleazy, unfamiliar, convoluted downtown neighborhood during a winter storm in a car that was choking along on its last gas fumes.

Find a way. You’ll never get to L.A. if you can’t get through Dallas first.

She pulled up to the next intersection, which looked every bit as squalid as the last one. Putting her car in Park, she fumbled through the stuff on her passenger seat, looking for the Texas map she’d picked up at the border. She doubted it would include a map specific enough to get her back to the freeway, but right now it was her only shot.

Then she noticed movement outside her driver’s window. Whipping around, she was shocked to see a man standing beside her car. A big, ugly, hairy man.

A big, ugly, hairy man holding a baseball bat.

In the next instant, her car window exploded. She shied away, throwing up her arms against the sudden blast of broken glass. In the time it took her to realize that he’d whacked the baseball bat right through her window, he’d reached in, pulled up the door lock and yanked her door open. The moment he grabbed her arm, though, self-preservation kicked in. She remembered the mantra she’d learned during the two-hour crash course on self-defense she’d taken at a New York YMCA: Get mad, get loud, get violent.

Letting out a nerve-shattering scream, she swung her foot out of the car and gave her attacker a boot right in the knee. He drew back, retaliating with an arm-wrenching yank that pulled her halfway out of the car. When she reached for the steering wheel and held on tightly, he leaned into the car to pry her fingers loose.

Everything’s a weapon, her German Amazon-woman instructor had said. Use whatever you’ve got.

With a fury that would have made Greta proud, Wendy bit her attacker’s hand. He recoiled, howling with pain, but before she could turn and get in another well-placed kick, he gave her arm a brutal jerk that dislodged her grip from the steering wheel. The next thing she knew, she was facedown on the slush-covered pavement.

She pushed herself back up and flipped over, rocking to a squatting position, but he’d already slid into the front seat. Her car wasn’t much, and neither were her possessions, but the five thousand dollars in her glove compartment was something she had no intention of giving up.

With a desperate lunge, she grabbed the foot he hadn’t yet tucked inside the car. The second she clamped down on it, he shook it wildly, but she clung to it like a bulldog.

“Damn it, lady!” he shouted. “Will you cut that out?”