Hard to Resist. Samantha Hunter
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nearly had a coronary when he’d walked up behind her in the studio. The man moved like a big cat. She hadn’t heard a step on the hard acrylic floors, but how long had he been there? How much had he heard of Jackie’s conversation with her? She shrugged. She’d said nothing that she felt ashamed of…well, there was the thrusting thing…but Jackie had come up with that one.
Lt. Jarod Wyatt was astounding in real life. The picture had muted the overall effect of absolutely radiant masculinity. She’d completely forgotten everything else—who she was, where she was—when he’d reached up, tipped the brim of his hat and smiled at her…
Oh, my.
She wasn’t prone to fluttering around men, but Jarod Wyatt was fully deserving of it. He was stunning in person.
He also touched something deeper, a chord of comfort and familiarity. It seemed odd, having just met him, but he reminded her of the men she’d grown up with in Nevada. Big, capable men who put a premium on being gentlemanly, and who could be gentle. Like her dad, her uncles and cousins. Lacey had known plenty of good men, and only one bad, so she counted herself fortunate.
There was a sense of polish about Jarod Wyatt, too, though. He’d gone to college, for one thing. She knew from his profile that he had a master’s in criminology, and he had some background in forensics. It was probably why they’d pulled him in on 9/11, beyond the sheer need for manpower. He wasn’t just any cowboy cop.
It was why she’d asked him to dinner. That, and because she wanted to look at him more, to study him the way an artist would study any subject. He would be pure joy to photograph. Her mind was already placing him in poses, in settings.
A few of which were X-rated and included her bedroom.
She smiled, reaching for a towel and wiping down briskly. God, it was good to feel this way, if only for a moment. To look forward to a man’s company again, even though it was only business over pizza. Maybe this was a good sign.
Grabbing black, formfitting pants, she tugged on a pair of heels and a hot-pink T-shirt with a colorful, fringed vest, assessing herself in the mirror.
If she were honest, she knew it was an outfit meant to draw a man’s eye. A particular man’s eye in this case. She nibbled her lip, suddenly apprehensive. So he was a good-looking guy—she should still be careful. Was it smart to have agreed to meet him, a stranger, for dinner? What did she really know about him, after all?
She shook off the doubts and their chilling effect. It was just business, some pizza and conversation. She’d wear this same outfit if anyone had suggested meeting her for dinner that evening. A lot of her clothes were colorful and funky and often drew attention. She wasn’t going to second-guess it. This was who she was.
The phone rang, and she contemplated not bothering with it. She had to meet Jarod, and contrary to popular wisdom about keeping men waiting, Lacey was never late. She was obsessively punctual, in fact.
Making sure she had her wallet, she dug around to transfer her stuff to a smaller purse as she answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Lacey?”
“Yes?”
“This is Gena, from Legal Aid in L.A.?”
She froze in place. Legal Aid had handled her case back in Los Angeles, since she couldn’t afford a high-priced lawyer. Her family would have paid, but she didn’t want them to know what happened. She told them she’d changed her name for business reasons, to maintain privacy from her work. She hated lying to them, but it was better than having them worry about her.
“Hi, Gena, what’s up?” She tried to sound casual, cheerful, but it felt as if her stomach was in her throat.
“Listen, there’s no need to worry, I want to emphasize that first. You should know that Scott Myers was released from his sentence to finish his probation on house arrest. He’s out of prison, but he’s still in California, and he won’t be able to leave a predetermined schedule of home and work for fourteen more months.”
“No,” was all Lacey could breathe before Gena continued.
“Please, don’t worry. He’s wearing a personal monitoring device. He won’t be able to find you, and probably won’t bother, given his profile, the steps you’ve taken and your history. Still, if he attempts to contact you in any way, your restraining order is still in force, even under your new name, so let us know, okay? I don’t want to upset you, but we like to make sure you know what’s going on.”
Lacey’s breathing seemed cut off and she swallowed, her previous cheer evaporating as she found the air to mumble an answer before she hung up.
Scott was free.
He shouldn’t have been released for another eighteen months, she recalled. The night he left Lacey unconscious on her kitchen floor he’d gone to a local bar and started a fight there, causing several thousand dollars of damage and other injuries. Luckily, the combined charges had sent him away for a while.
Lacey breathed deeply, calming herself. She had to listen to Gena, who wouldn’t bullshit her. Scott wouldn’t come after her. Still, when he’d left her lying there, broken and bruised, he’d made it clear he thought she was dead. His only comment upon finding out she wasn’t was relief that he wouldn’t be charged with murder.
She was far away now, new city, new name. The calendar project didn’t really put her in the public eye—she was behind the scenes. Bliss wouldn’t give out her personal details. She was safe, she reassured herself, standing frozen with the phone in her hand for several minutes.
Eyeing the door, the dark city streets that she usually loved so much suddenly seemed ominous. Anxiety gripped her at the thought of going out. With a stranger, no less.
What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she learned anything from her previous mistakes?
She had no idea who Jarod Wyatt was, and just because he had an impressive official record, that didn’t mean squat. Plenty of cops, firemen, doctors—all kinds of men—were closet crazies. More dangerous because of their outward appearance, because they had power and liked to use it. That’s how it had been with Scott. Witty, handsome, successful…with all of that violence hiding under the surface.
She put her purse down, started to take her vest off, but stopped, pausing in the center of her living room.
This was important, her heart told her. She had a big choice to make.
Was she going to hide in her apartment and her studio for the rest of her life?
No. She didn’t want to be that person.
The fear was just an emotional response, a good response, so the counselor at the hospital had reassured her. It would keep her alert and keep her safe, but she couldn’t let it run her life. Good fear, bad fear. She had to remember the difference.
Jarod Wyatt was a man she’d be working with closely, and she couldn’t let her personal demons get in the way of her success on this job. His record was impeccable, and she’d been alone with him earlier and hadn’t felt the least bit afraid. She’d been excited about seeing him tonight—maybe a little too excited—so now she knew to throttle that back so she didn’t give the wrong impression. But she would still go.
She’d meet him in a populated, well-lit place for some pizza, talk work and welcome him to the city. Enjoy having his company for a few hours. She’d be friendly, professional and keep clear boundaries. Then she’d come home and put this all out of her mind.
She needed to keep things in perspective—it wasn’t as if Jarod had asked her out, and he hadn’t indicated anything other than casual friendliness. He was just a guy, another model.
No big deal.
JAROD STEPPED OUT of the elevator of the very nicely appointed hotel and smiled at a group of older women who watched him walk by. He smiled at them and touched his fingers to the brim of his