Tempt Me. Caroline Cross
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air swept over her, but she didn’t falter. Planting herself at the top of the stairs, she scanned the clearing one more time, determined to put an end to her foolish fears. She scoured the snow for telltale footprints and searched the shadows at the base of the pines for anything out of place.
Nothing. Yet she still had the strangest feeling….
Determined to be thorough and be done with this once and for all, she turned and marched out onto the large, prow-shaped section of the deck that jutted from the cabin’s front. Again she looked and listened, but there wasn’t a thing to suggest another human presence. There was just a glint of sun on snow, the intermittent call of a hawk and the whisper of the wind sighing through the surrounding trees.
See? There’s nobody here but you.
Blowing out a breath, she forced her stiff shoulders to relax. Everything was fine. She and her memories were the only ones here. And once she had the rest of her things out of the truck and got started on the soup she planned to make for dinner, she’d feel even better. She turned and took a step toward the stairs.
Like a ghost come to life, a man materialized out of the shadows of the overhang.
Her heart slammed to a stop along with her feet as she stared at him, the blood suddenly roaring in her ears.
Like her, he was dressed for the weather in a parka, boots and jeans. But that was where all similarity ended. He was huge, six foot four at least, with powerful legs and shoulders like a linebacker’s. His hair was coal-black, cropped close to his head, and his hooded eyes were a pale, icy green.
His face was all angles, with a slash of high cheekbones, a straight blade of a nose, a stubborn chin and firm lips set in a straight, uncompromising line.
He looked dangerous as hell, and Genevieve hadn’t stayed free for three months without learning to trust her instincts.
Whirling, she ran for her life.
Two
Well, hell.
Feeling a distinct stab of annoyance, Taggart launched himself after little Ms. Bowen, who appeared to be operating under the delusion that now that he’d found her, he might actually let her get away.
He swallowed a snort. There was about as much chance of that as of him dancing in the Denver Ballet.
She might be fast, but he was faster. Not to mention bigger, stronger and trained—by the US Army Rangers—to take down considerably tougher, rougher members of society than Genevieve would ever be.
Although he had to admit, closing this case was going to make his week. Hell, who was he kidding? It was going to make his year.
Catching up to her with ease, he tackled her, hauling her close as they reached the edge of the deck, crashed into the railing, flipped over the top and plunged toward the snowbank below.
Instinctively—he wanted to take her into custody, not put her in the hospital, damn it—he twisted, taking the brunt of the impact as they slammed to the ground. He winced as his hip struck a rock and he heard a distinct crunch of plastic as his cell phone bit the dust. Then he winced again as the back of Bowen’s head slammed into his collarbone.
Baring his teeth at the pain, he loosened his grip a fraction, only to bite out a curse as his captive drove her heavily booted heels into his shins at the same time as she punched him hard in the stomach with one sharp little elbow.
That did it. Setting his jaw, he locked his legs around hers and tightened the grip he had on her midriff. “Knock it off.”
“Let go of me!” she countered. “Let go of me this instant or—” her voice wavered as he increased the pressure on her solar plexus, making it impossible for her to get a deep breath “—I swear…you’ll—you’ll be—sorry—”
She was threatening him? Unbelievable. The woman clearly had more nerve than sense. He tightened his hold even more. “Pay attention, lady. I’m in charge now. You do what I tell you. Understand?”
He waited a beat for her to answer.
When she didn’t, he increased the pressure until she couldn’t breathe at all, knowing from experience that the more he could dominate and demoralize her now, the less likely she’d be to give him trouble on their return trip to Colorado. “Understand?”
A whimper escaped her throat. “Yes,” she finally gasped. “Yes!”
“Good.” Satisfied, he loosened his hold, dumped her unceremoniously onto her side and climbed to his feet.
Knocking the snow from his pants, he considered her as she lay sprawled in the snow. With her shiny mop of hair, her eyes squeezed shut so that her inky lashes shadowed her smooth cheeks, her mouth trembling each time she took a greedy gulp of air, she looked small and defenseless, almost childlike.
Except that thanks to their recent tussle, the lush curve of her ass and the soft swell of her breasts were imprinted on his brain, leaving him in no doubt she was a thoroughly grown-up female.
And a treacherous one at that, he reminded himself, his shins throbbing annoyingly from where she’d kicked him.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She drew in one last shuddering breath, then opened her eyes. He watched her struggle to control her fear, and felt a grudging admiration as she willed herself to present a semblance of calm.
She pushed herself upright, watching him warily. “What do you want with me?” she demanded.
“I work for Steele Security. James Dunn’s parents hired us to find you.”
“Find me?” She widened her dark eyes in an excellent imitation of surprise. “But why would—”
“Forget it. I know who you are, Genevieve—so whatever you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying. Now, get up.”
She stayed where she was. Probing the back of her head, she winced and dropped her gaze. “I will. It’s just—I’m a little dizzy.”
He took a threatening step forward. “Now.”
She flinched and threw up her hands. “Okay, okay!” Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she gave a defeated sigh and reached up for assistance getting to her feet.
Normally he’d have taken a step back and left her to deal on her own. But not only were her lips trembling again, but her outstretched hand was suddenly shaking, too.
With a faint, exasperated sigh of his own, he reached down. Her delicate palm slid across his calloused, much larger one. Yet the instant he tightened his grip, damned if her other hand didn’t swing up and clamp around his wrist. With surprising strength for such a little bit of a thing, she threw her weight backward, yanking him forward at the same time she drew up her legs and lashed out.
She was quick, he’d give her that. Luckily, however, he was quicker. He threw himself sideways, and instead of her boot heels catching him in the groin as she’d obviously intended, they thudded heavily into his right thigh.
The blow caught him squarely in the femoris muscle and hurt like hell. Off balance, he stumbled, his leg twanging as if comprised of overstretched guitar strings.
It was all the advantage his adversary needed. Giving him one final kick, this time in the knee, she rolled away, sprang to her feet and bolted toward the trees.
“Son of a bitch.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper, having learned early on to regard intense emotion of any kind as the enemy.
Yet suddenly he was on the verge of being genuinely pissed.
He tore after her. Catching up with her handily, he snagged the neck of her parka in his fist, then set his feet and yanked, jerking her off her feet.
“Let go of me! I’m warning you—” Twisting, she struck out at him, and damned if one of her flailing hands didn’t connect