Out of Control. Julie Miller
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He pulled her back. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“Let…” Alex’s vision had reduced to a blur of black leather and neon lights. But she had the presence of mind to put that surviving shoe to some good use tonight. She stomped down hard on his instep. “…go!”
Cussing up a blue streak, he did just that. Alex lurched forward, nearly splatting on the concrete. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her eyes burned.
“That’s it.” Before she could right herself, a straight-jacket came down around her shoulders. Its warmth and softness were almost a shock to her system. But there was nothing soft about the wrap-around bands of masculine strength that pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her feet clear off the pavement.
Alex shrieked. Twisted in his grasp.
“Stop it!”
Tears clouded her vision, burned down her cheeks. “No!”
“Don’t fight me.”
She writhed and kicked. The second shoe flew into the shadows. “Please,” she sobbed. If anything, his hold on her tightened. He locked one arm beneath her breasts, the other farther down, around her hips. She was moving through the air. He was carrying her away as easily and ignominiously as a sack of potatoes. And then she was trapped, her whole body cinched up tight, unable to wiggle anything besides her bare feet, which dangled in the air beneath her.
The humiliation of her evening was complete. She was grappling in an alley with a full-grown man who was neither her brother nor her date…nor her enemy.
The fight drained out of Alex and she sagged inside the prison of the cop’s arms. She was breathing hard, her chest pushing against the jacket’s silky lining. The cocoon of fiery warmth surrounding her finally pierced the blind haze of fight-or-flight emotions that had turned her into a crazy woman for a few minutes. She could finally blink enough tears from her puffy eyes to see that she was facing the bed of a black pickup truck. She was pinned against the side, wrapped up in a leather jacket and sandwiched between cold steel and warm man.
As her breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, Alex became aware of a hushed, deep-pitched sound murmuring against her neck. “Shh. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just quit fightin’ me. Okay?”
Alex nodded slowly, hearing the cadence of that soothing voice more than the actual words. “I’m…sorry.”
She exhaled on a surrendering sigh and instinctively leaned her ear closer to the seductive sound. Smooth like whiskey, and just as intoxicating, the deep, soft tones warmed her from the inside out.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” The rough pad of a finger was surprisingly gentle against her skin as the man who held her wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Shh. Now, come on. Don’t do that. You don’t want to be cryin’.”
The tears of frustration and humiliation quickly dried up beneath his tender ministrations. For a few moments, there was simply fatigue—and gratitude that there was a man whose will and strength were stronger than her own—a good man whose will and strength hadn’t been used to hurt her. But as her sensibilities returned, Alex became aware of other things. Interesting things. Things that were as male and intriguing and unsettling as that voice.
The muscled forearm wedged beneath her breasts. The rasp of beard stubble that tickled her ear and neck. The buttery softness and furnace-like warmth of the jacket he’d wrapped around her body. Alex breathed in deeply. The jacket smelled like heaven.
She felt the belt buckle pressing into her rear, and the thigh that had been forced between her legs. In their struggle, her short dress had ridden up to an embarrassing level, leaving only her cotton panties between them. But shielded from curious eyes by the truck and the man’s big, muscular body, she didn’t feel exposed or embarrassed.
Instead, Alex felt…female. Vulnerable.
But not afraid.
The roughness of denim rubbed against her most sensitive skin. And a rippling response of pressure seemed to be gathering at the juncture between her thighs, building with each flex of hard muscles against her there.
“Let’s try this again.” He adjusted their positions, shifting her higher onto his hip. Alex closed her eyes, her thighs clenching at the friction of his leg sliding between hers. How could being trapped—helpless—like this feel so good? “I’m a detective with Nashville PD. It’s too chilly for this dress and too late for a woman to be walking the streets on her own. I’m here to help you. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Before I got to you…” He paused, went still around her—as if the next question was hard for him to get out. “Have you been assaulted?”
Grabbing hands. Buttons popping. Pushing her down in the seat. “I heard you did it for all the boys in Dahlia. Let’s see those tits.”
“Shh. Easy.”
Something in Alex had gone rigid, defensive. But his mesmerizing voice calmed her into breathing easy again.
Alex answered. “I was on a blind date. There was a little miscommunication. I thought he’d be interesting—he thought I’d put out.”
“I’m sorry.” He adjusted his stance, pulling the prop of his leg from between hers, relaxing the intimacy of his hold on her without releasing her entirely. “Did he force you?”
Alex squirmed in his grasp, wanting to turn around and ease away the concern—or was it fear? Anger?—that eroded the seductive timbre of his voice into a predatory growl. But she was at his mercy, and all she had to give him were words. “No. I wasn’t raped if that’s what you’re asking. But his plans for the evening didn’t match up with mine. When I got out of the car, he drove off with my purse and sweater and cell phone inside.”
He cursed. Apologized. “And you’ve been walking ever since?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long night.”
“And I thought I was having a bad one. Sounds like yours might have been worse.” He adjusted his arms around her, softening his hold. Though there was still little chance for Alex to escape, it felt more like an embrace rather than a takedown maneuver. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get it all right.”
Alex nodded. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get anything right.”
“Sometimes.”
This man made it so easy to sink into his strength. He was still pressed against her, his cheek to her ear, his chest to her back, his…Alex’s cheeks colored with warmth. There was something more than his belt buckle pressing into her bottom. But he wasn’t rubbing himself against her or demanding she do something about it. His restraint, despite the hell she’d given him, created a whole new world of confusion inside her.
But oddly enough, this felt right.
Even though she was the one being held captive, he was letting her be the one in control of the unexpected, yet obvious, attraction simmering between them. Control was a whole new experience for Alex. And she was beginning to think she wouldn’t mind if the handsome detective asked for something more than answers from her.
She tried to ignore the strange impulse and explain what had led her to this moment—pinned against a truck by what had to be the sexiest man who’d ever had a hard-on for her. “I swear I haven’t committed any crime. Although, if Dawson Barnes complains that he can’t father children for a couple of weeks, then I’ll argue it was self-defense. And I’m sorry that I kicked you and hit you. I didn’t mean to flake out like that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer. She might have really gotten herself into some trouble here. “Are you hurt?”
Laughter danced against her ear and vibrated from his body into hers. “By a little bundle of dynamite like you?”
“Is that