Читать книгу A Wicked Seduction - Janelle Denison - Страница 10

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.

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?”

He chuckled, though she couldn’t imagine what he found so humorous. “No, Brett’s the CEO of my company, Colter Traffic Control.”

“Really?” she drawled, wondering what kind of story he was trying to concoct. “Interesting name for a company, unless it’s a front for the cars you’ve stolen.”

A heavy sigh unraveled out of him. “No matter what you might believe about me, no matter what those police reports say or how similar I look to that guy in that mug shot you showed me, I’m not a thief.” A sudden impish look passed across his features. “Well, not when it comes to cars, anyway. When I was seven I stole a pack of Juicy Fruit gum from the grocery store. When I got home and my mother found out what I’d done, she immediately took me back to face the store manager and return what I’d taken. After the lecture I got about shoplifting and being prosecuted to the full extent of the law, which terrified me at the time, I swore I’d never steal anything ever again. And I haven’t. Gum or otherwise.”

She smiled, and pushed her salad around on her plastic dish in search of more chicken. “Cute story, but you have to admit that ‘Colter Traffic Control’ sounds like a clever way of saying that your solution to controlling traffic is by taking high-dollar cars off the road so they can be taken to a chop shop or sold to a foreign market.”

“Interesting theory, Ms. P.I.,” he agreed, unwrapping his second burger to devour, “but totally off the mark, I’m afraid. ‘Traffic Control’ is the name of the company I inherited from my father when he died a few years ago.”

He seemed so serious, his story almost too well-thought-out for a first-time felon. She wondered how far he planned to take this charade, and was curious enough to play along to see what he revealed. “Since you claim the business is legit, what, exactly, does your company do?”

He held up a finger to ask for a minute as he chewed the big bite he’d just taken, and she figured he needed the extra time to invent something believable. Done with most of her salad, she pushed the plate aside and rested her arms on the table, waiting for his explanation.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he apologized when he could speak again, then swiped his napkin across that full, sensual mouth of his. “We rent, lease, and sell traffic control devices to general contractors for highway and freeway projects.”

She had to give him extra points for originality. “Devices such as?” she prompted, certain she’d eventually back him into a corner that would leave him stammering for answers.

“Highway medians and barriers, traffic lights, signals and divider cones, parking meters, and even those big lighted signs they use during freeway construction to reroute traffic,” he replied easily. Finished with his dinner, he sucked a smudge of sauce from his thumb, then opened the lid on his chocolate mousse cake. “Those are just a few of the more popular items we supply.”

Propping her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her laced fingers. “And supplying these traffic control items is such a stressful job that you needed a week-long vacation at a secluded cabin in the mountains?”

Dean pushed his plastic fork through his dessert, slipped a slice of the rich, chocolate concoction into his mouth, and met Jo’s gaze, which brimmed with undisguised skepticism. Considering she was used to dealing with hardened criminals on the lam, he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious and cautious—even if that lack of trust was at his expense. The damning evidence and reports she carried with her about “Dean Colter,” coupled with what she’d witnessed back at his house led her to believe he’d been on the verge of eluding authorities.

No matter how personal and private his reasons were for needing the time off, he opted to stick with the truth. Hopefully, when his real identity was revealed in a few days, she’d remember how honest he’d been with her from the moment she’d taken him into custody. Besides, he had no reason to lie.

“I haven’t had a real vacation in years and I needed time away from work and life in general to think about an important decision I need to make. So, yes, I suppose on some level stress does come into play.” He turned his attention back to his mousse cake for another bite, then continued. “When my father passed away from a heart attack three years ago, the responsibility of Colter Traffic Control became mine, whether I wanted it or not. And every bit of my time and energy since then has been spent making sure the business remained profitable and successful, to the point that I’ve sacrificed a personal life, among other things.”

“You don’t sound like you were too thrilled about taking on the reins of the family business,” she commented lightly.

Did she believe his story? He searched her carefully composed expression for some kind of sign, found none, and guessed that she was just catering to what she no doubt assumed was a big, elaborate tale. “I’m not sure how I felt at the time, honestly. After graduating college I went to work at CTC because that’s what my father wanted and it seemed like the right thing to do. But I can’t say that it would have been the choice I would have made if I hadn’t felt pressured into it.”