Paula Graves: Blue Ridge Ricochet

“You’re not like any man I’ve ever tried to seduce, Dallas Cole.”

“Is that good or bad?”

She cocked her head, a smile flirting with her kiss-stung lips. “Both.”

“In case it’s not clear, I do want you.”

She stepped closer until she pressed against him. “I know.”

She was damn near impossible to resist, but he made himself ease her away. “We have to trust each other.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“And sex complicates things.”

“It does.”

“It would be easy to let myself get caught up in you, as a way of forgetting…”

“Comfort sex.”

“Yes.” He stole a look at her. “I don’t want there to be any doubts between us. I don’t want you to ever feel used.”

“A little late for that,” she said in a wry tone, and he realized she was revealing more about her past than perhaps she meant to.

Blue Ridge Ricochet

Paula Graves

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAULA GRAVES, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website www.paulagraves.com.

For my readers. Thank you for all your support.

I couldn’t live this dream without you.

Contents

Cover

Introduction “You’re not like any man I’ve ever tried to seduce, Dallas Cole.” “Is that good or bad?” She cocked her head, a smile flirting with her kiss-stung lips. “Both.” “In case it’s not clear, I do want you.” She stepped closer until she pressed against him. “I know.” She was damn near impossible to resist, but he made himself ease her away. “We have to trust each other.” “Yes,” she agreed. “And sex complicates things.” “It does.” “It would be easy to let myself get caught up in you, as a way of forgetting…” “Comfort sex.” “Yes.” He stole a look at her. “I don’t want there to be any doubts between us. I don’t want you to ever feel used.” “A little late for that,” she said in a wry tone, and he realized she was revealing more about her past than perhaps she meant to.

Title Page Blue Ridge Ricochet Paula Graves www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author PAULA GRAVES , an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website www.paulagraves.com .

Dedication For my readers. Thank you for all your support. I couldn’t live this dream without you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Sleet rattled against the windshield, a staccato counterpoint to the rhythmic swish-swish of the windshield wipers. Outside, night had fallen in inky finality, as if it planned to stay awhile, the Jeep’s headlights the only illumination as far as the eye could see.

Nicolette Jamison forced herself out of a weary slouch behind the steering wheel and concentrated on the curving mountain road revealed in her headlights, well aware of the treachery that lay ahead for a careless driver. The switchbacks and drop-offs in the Blue Ridge Mountains could be deadly if you weren’t paying attention. Not to mention the occasional reckless deer or coyote—

“Son of a—!”

The man loomed in the Jeep’s headlights as suddenly as if the swirling mist had conjured him up, a tall, lean phantom of a man who turned slowly to face the headlights as she hit the brakes and prayed she wouldn’t go into a skid this dangerously close to a steep drop-off.

The Jeep’s wheels grabbed the blacktop and hung on, the vehicle shimmying to a stop just a yard away from the apparition gazing back at her through the windshield. For a second, she had a strange sense of recognition, as if she knew him, though she was pretty sure she didn’t.

Then his eyes fluttered closed and he dropped out of sight.

Nicki’s heart stuttered like a snare drum against her rib cage as she stared at the misty void where, seconds earlier, she’d seen the staring man.

Ghost, her inner twelve-year-old intoned, sending her heart rate soaring steeply for a few seconds before her grown-up side took charge. She checked the rearview mirror for coming traffic, saw only the faint red glow of her own taillights, and put the car in Reverse, backing up carefully until she could see what the front of the Jeep had concealed—a man lying in a crumpled heap in the center of the narrow two-lane road.

She pulled the Jeep to the shoulder on the mountain side of the road and parked, engaging her hazard lights and trying to calm her rattled nerves. The man could be hurt.

Or it could be a trick. Maybe she should call the sheriff’s department and let them handle things.

Except...

Buck up, Nicki. This is the life you chose.

Her weapons of choice these days were pepper spray and sheer nerve, and so far, she’d survived on their one-two punch. But something about the man lying crumpled on the road in front of her made her nerve waver. There was still something eerily familiar about him, a memory tugging at the back of her mind, trying to make itself known.

Holding the pepper-spray canister out in front of her, she approached the man, easing into a crouch just beyond reach. She shifted position so that the glow from the Jeep’s headlights fell across the man’s face.

He was younger than she’d thought, in his midthirties at most. His pallor, combined with the sunken cheeks and shadowed eyes that came with illness, had made him look older. He was still breathing, she saw with relief.

“Mister?”

He stirred at the sound of her voice, his eyelids flickering open to half-mast, then drifting shut again. He muttered something that sounded like a string of numbers, but she couldn’t quite make them out.

Gingerly, she reached out to check his pulse. Fast but steady and stronger than she’d anticipated. “Where are you hurt?”

He murmured numbers again. She made out a two and a four before he stopped.

She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans and tried to dial 911, then realized she didn’t have any reception. “Damn it.” She pocketed the phone and stared at him for a second, considering her options. Leaving him here in the road wasn’t an option. And without cell phone reception, calling for help wasn’t an option, either. The temperature was right at the freezing mark, and his skin was cold to the touch, which suggested he might already be suffering from exposure.

He was breathing. He was at least semiconscious. His heart rate was a little fast but steady as a rock, so he didn’t seem likely to go into cardiac arrest anytime soon. And he’d definitely been mobile before he collapsed in front of her vehicle, so he didn’t seem to have any spinal issues.

She had to get him warm, and the Jeep was the best bet. The old Wrangler had seen better days, but its heater still worked.

But how was she supposed to haul this man into her Jeep?

“Mister, think you can stay with me long enough for me to get you to my car?”