Janelle Denison - A Wicked Seduction

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.

“One of the cuffs stays on at all times,” she said, unwilling to compromise on that issue. “I’ll secure the other handcuff around the metal pole beneath the table which will free up your other hand so you can feed yourself. It’s more slack than I normally offer my prisoners, so don’t make me regret my generosity.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

She followed that up with a steely warning. “One false move and not only will you be flat on your ass from my beanbag shotgun, but you’ll remain shackled and permanently disabled for the duration of the trip—hands and feet. Do you understand?”

He nodded amicably, agreeing to her terms. “Sure do.”

With that assurance, she splayed a hand against his back and guided him forward, then eased him into the chair on the far side of the table. Quickly and efficiently she unfastened the metal bracelet on his right hand, then reached beneath the Formica surface and secured his left wrist to the thick metal pole. As an added precaution, she wedged him into the corner with the table by pushing it up against both sides of the walls.

Stepping back, she shrugged out of the blouse she wore over her tank top, exposing the revolver holstered to her left side that he hadn’t known she carried—if the sudden raising of his brows were any indication. Tossing the gauzy garment onto the nearby bed, she unsnapped the leather strap to free the weapon as an added intimidation tactic, though her stomach rolled at the thought of having to withdraw or use the gun. Especially on Dean, whom she truly liked, despite his criminal status.

His gaze traveled from the gun to her face, his initial surprise replaced by something far more playful. “And here I thought I was the only one with a concealed weapon,” he teased, a slow smile easing across his lips. “Is that thing loaded?”

His sexy innuendo was reminiscent of the provocative banter that had passed between them when she’d patted him down in his garage—before he’d realized that her cop act was for real. “I do believe that’s my line,” she shot right back.

“Touché,” he acknowledged, then groaned in relief as he rolled his stiff shoulders and shook out his cramped arms. “My hands were starting to tingle and fall asleep. Thank you for releasing me,” he said gratefully, then flashed her a sinful smile. “Though I have to admit that I was really looking forward to being hand-fed. You’re taking all the fun out of this captive fantasy for me, Jo.”

She rolled her eyes at his outrageous, flirtatious comment, then retrieved their bags of food and drinks from the dresser and slipped into her own seat across from him. “What can I say? Fulfilling fantasies isn’t in my job description, and fun isn’t a top priority for me when I’m on assignment.”

“Too bad, on both accounts.” Feigned disappointment touched his voice as he reached into a bag with his free hand for one of his double western bacon cheeseburgers and supersize fries. “So, you’re an all work and no play kind of girl?”

She poured the container of Caesar dressing over her salad. “Yeah, something like that. Too much work and not enough time for play.”

Which was her own fault, she knew. For the past few years she’d deliberately made work her sanctuary, a convenient way to dull the pain of the past that seemed to be her constant companion. Her cases kept her mind focused and her emotions sane…yet those same assignments were also responsible for keeping her secluded in an office during the day and crawling into a cold, lonely bed at night. Single and very much alone, if she didn’t count the awful nightmares that sometimes woke her in the darkest recesses of the night and haunted her until the break of dawn.

He considered her remark for a moment as he took a big bite out of his burger and chewed. “Seems you and I have something in common.”

She stabbed a forkful of lettuce and cast him a dubious glance. A cop turned P.I. and a felon couldn’t be more opposite in her opinion, no matter how attractive, sexy, and tempting said felon was. “Now that’s hard to imagine.”

“No, really, we do,” he insisted. Tearing open a small pouch of ketchup with the edge of his straight white teeth, he squirted the sauce onto the wax paper liner so he could dip his fries. “Too much work and not enough time for play is exactly the reason why I was taking off for a week in the mountains. And I have to tell you, Brett is going to get one hell of a good laugh when I tell him how I spent my vacation and how I mistook you as my birthday surprise.”

She squeezed lemon into her iced tea and stirred the amber liquid with her straw. “Again, I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“I’m not disappointed, Jo,” he said softly, then shook his head. “Let me rephrase that. Yeah, I’m disappointed that I didn’t get the show I was expecting, but my birthday isn’t for another six days, and I’m still hopeful.” He winked at her.

Heat suffused her skin at the thought of being this man’s private stripper and slowly, gradually peeling away layers of clothing while he watched with those intense green eyes of his. “Only in your dreams, Colter.”

The metal cuff around his left wrist clanged beneath the table as he leaned forward in his seat. “I’d be happy to share the details of tonight’s dreams with you tomorrow morning if you’d like.”

Judging by the wicked gleam in his gaze, there was no mistaking what visions would be dancing in his mind once his head hit the pillow—the very same provocative pImages** she’d just visualized herself. “You can spare me the details, thank you very much.” Plucking a piece of grilled chicken from her salad, she bit into the tender meat and rerouted the direction of their conversation. “So, who is Brett?”

“He’s one of my best friends, and he also works for me.” Swiping three french fries into the pool of ketchup, he popped the trio into his mouth, then took a hefty drink of his soda.

She stared at him for a long moment as she mentally analyzed his statement and came to the most logical conclusion. “So, the two of you are partners in crime and steal cars together?”