Janelle Denison - A Wicked Seduction

She released a pfft sound of derision and rolled her eyes at what she obviously thought was an antiquated viewpoint.

“How about a boyfriend?”

She shot him a pointed look and visibly bristled. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you kept your added commentary about that to yourself,” she warned.

His mouth twitched, then spilled over with the amusement he could no longer contain. Obviously, there was something about mixing a significant other with her occupation that was a source of contention for her, and he was curious to know why. He wanted to know everything he could discover about Jo Sommers—her job, why she did what she did, and the sensuality he detected simmering just beneath her tough facade.

Yeah, especially that.

Physically, he might be restrained. Mentally and verbally he was not.

The wicked possibilities were alluring and endless. He’d wanted his old life back, and here was his chance to embrace a little bit of fun.

A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR later, Jo pulled off the interstate and into the drive-through of a fast-food restaurant in Kelso, Washington, located next to the roadside motor lodge she planned to stay at for the night. The town was small and quiet, which suited her just fine since she wasn’t looking for excitement or entertainment. All she wanted was food in her stomach, a long, hot shower to ease the tense muscles across her shoulders, a good night’s rest, and total cooperation from her fugitive.

Since leaving Seattle and promising to be on his best behavior, Dean had held true to his word and been an exemplary prisoner. Then again, there wasn’t much trouble he could get into being handcuffed and strapped securely into his seat.

There were no more protests of not being the man she sought, no more complaints about being restrained, and no more frustration underscoring his tone. Just light, comfortable conversation—mostly about her and questions about her time as a cop, the stories of which he’d found fascinating and amusing—mixed in with an occasional flirtatious comment that filled her with too much awareness. Much to her surprise, she’d actually enjoyed their easy exchange, and the time and miles had passed quickly.

She brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the large, lighted outdoor menu, keeping her window rolled up while they perused the available entrees. Deciding on what she wanted to eat, she turned and glanced at Dean, who was still looking over the selection. “What would you like?”

His deep green eyes found hers, and an irresistible grin creased the corners of his mouth. “Well, since the meals are on you, I’ll have two of the double western bacon cheeseburgers, a supersize order of fries, and a supersize Coke.”

Her brows rose in disbelief at the amount of food he was ordering. “Is that all?” she drawled, wondering where in the heck he planned to put the small feast. His lean belly didn’t look big enough to hold two burgers at one time, let alone everything else he planned to consume.

His broad shoulders rolled in an attempt at a shrug, and his biceps flexed with the awkward movement. He winced, a clear indication that his muscles had grown stiff and sore during the drive. Still, not one derogatory word or a plea to release his cuffs slipped past his lips. “Hey, I warned you that I was starved.”

So he had, and she’d obviously underestimated the voracious appetite he’d claimed to have. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want some dessert to go with your supersize dinner?” she asked, a light, teasing note threading her voice.

He glanced at the menu again. “Now that you mention it, I’ll take a slice of that chocolate mousse cake they’re advertising.”

She’d been joking. He was completely serious, and all she could think was that he must burn a whole lot of energy if he ate like that on a regular basis. As her gaze drifted over that toned, virile body she’d patted down earlier, various ways of burning calories came to mind. The unbidden pImages** that formed had little to do with conventional exercise, and more to do with the workout provided by hot, hard, sweaty sex…two slick bodies straining, hips pumping, thighs clenching, pulses racing uncontrollably…

Oh, yeah, her pulse had most definitely picked up its tempo. Her own body throbbed in cadence with the erotic visions that had flitted through her head, and the interior of the vehicle grew warm, despite the air-conditioning blowing cool air across her skin. She was shocked at her provocative thoughts and the path they’d traveled…and who she’d allowed to be the male lead in her sexual fantasy.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she inhaled a slow breath. Get a grip, Joelle. The man is a felon, no matter how gorgeous, sexy, and charming he might be, no matter how convincing and genuine he seems. No matter that she’d been way too long without a man to ease the kind of sensual cravings that had recently taken up residence within her.

He wasn’t a man to trust, or even lust after—not when he was on his way to jail and a future destined to be spent behind bars. Chanting that reminder silently in her head, she rolled her window down, placed his enormous, supersize order and opted for a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea for herself.

Less than ten minutes later, without any mishaps at the restaurant’s pickup window and her mind firmly back on business, she pulled the Suburban into the motor lodge parking area. After circling the lot once, she chose an isolated spot far enough away from the registration office and anyone exiting the two-story, U-shaped structure.

Turning off the engine, she withdrew the keys, unlatched her seat belt, and grabbed her wallet from the console. She cast a quick glance Dean’s way, making sure he was still trussed up and immobile. “I’ll be right back,” she told him, satisfied that he was still firmly restrained. “I’m going to get us a room for the night and we’ll eat once we’re settled inside.”

He flashed another one of his easygoing grins. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”

She opened her door and slid out of her seat, biting back a smile at his obliging attitude, as if it were his choice to sit tight while she was gone, and that he’d enjoy every minute of the wait. Amused with his pleasant disposition despite his predicament, she locked him into the truck and engaged the alarm.

She walked briskly across the half-full parking lot and into the small, glass-enclosed office that enabled her to keep an eye on the Suburban and Dean while she registered and paid for their one-night stay. Per her request to the night clerk, she was able to secure a room with two double beds on the first level, located around the backside of the lodge where they’d be afforded a semblance of privacy.

The transaction went smoothly, and without any trouble from Dean in the car. She drove the vehicle around the building, parked in the designated slot in front of their motel room door, and within minutes she had everything unloaded—including Dean, their duffle bags, and their food. After securing all the locks on the metal door and switching on the cool air to clear out the stuffiness, she turned her full attention to her silent, patient prisoner standing in the middle of the room.

Alone in such a confined space and surrounded by an intimate setting that included two beds, the size of him registered in a purely feminine way. When she’d first cornered him in his garage, she’d been running on pure adrenaline, ready for action and focused on apprehending him. Now, she was keenly aware of how potently male he was with those big, wide shoulders and toned arms that would have no problem wrapping around a woman her size. Then there were his lean hips encased in soft denim to consider, and strong thighs that framed impressive male anatomy. His stance was completely relaxed, his gaze warm and sensual. He gave no indication that he was wired and ready to spring to action at the first opportune moment, an attitude she’d come to expect from most of her captives.