Tempt Me. Caroline Cross
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tired of being used as a punching bag.
“That’s it!” Ducking his head, he caught her by the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder.
This can’t be happening, Genevieve thought, kicking and squirming as her captor strode effortlessly through the snow. It wasn’t right. This big, scary-looking stranger with his hard body and shuttered eyes couldn’t just appear in her life, overpower her and drag her back to Silver.
Somebody obviously forgot to tell him that, though, because that seems to be exactly what he’s doing. And you can pummel and threaten him all you want, but he’s still going to be able to overpower you.
It was clearly time to change tactics. She was no match for him physically, which meant if she was going to have a chance at escape, she was going to have to out-wit him—easier said than done when she was hanging upside down, the blood rushing to her head, her stomach jouncing painfully against his hard shoulder with every step.
She thought hard for a moment, then blew out a breath, forced herself to quit struggling and went limp.
Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. Finally, however, she felt the faintest hesitation in her adversary’s long, effortless stride. “You all right, Bowen?” he asked.
“No.” Sounding weak and pathetic didn’t require any effort. “If you don’t put me down, I’m going to lose my breakfast.”
Darned if he didn’t shrug, lifting and lowering her with a hitch of his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. “Tough.”
“But—”
“No.” He paused for a beat. “And if you get sick on me, you’re gonna regret it.”
His low voice held just enough menace that she believed him totally. Even so, he couldn’t really expect her to control something like that—could he?
Deciding she’d prefer not to find out, she swallowed. Hard. “What—what’s your name?”
He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “Taggart.”
“Is that your first name or your last?”
“Just Taggart’s all you need to know.”
Nobody was ever going to accuse him of being a chatterbox. She gulped as he hefted her a little higher. “Okay, Just—” She started to call him Just Taggart, then thought better of it. Antagonizing him more than she already had couldn’t be wise. “Listen, please? I’m not rich, but whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it if you’ll let me go.”
“No.”
“Then how about if you just put off taking me back for say…a week?” Surely she could find a way to escape in that space of time. “We can stay here. You’ll still be doing your job, but I’ll pay you, too, and I’ve got lots of supplies and—”
“No.”
“Then what about a day? Just one day. Surely twenty-four hours can’t matter—”
“Not gonna happen, Genevieve.” Without warning, he dumped her on her feet next to the truck. Towering over her, he gave her a quick once over, his ice-green eyes impossible to read. Then he caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Now shut up, keep your hands where I can see them and spread your legs.” Planting a palm between her shoulder blades, he gave her a nudge.
She had barely enough time to throw up her hands and brace herself against the fender before his big, hard hands were on her. They skimmed impersonally down her arms and skated over her back, breasts and sides, then slipped downward to explore her legs and thighs.
Humiliation painted her cheeks with fire as he patted her hips, then gave a huff of satisfaction as he encountered the car keys she’d zipped into her coat pocket. Before she could voice a protest, he took possession of them, then resumed his exploration. By the time he finished, she was shaking all over from the indignity of his touch.
“Okay,” he murmured, reaching around her to open the truck door. “Get in.”
“But my things—”
“Are in back where you left them.”
“But I can’t just leave!” She twisted around to face him. “What about the cabin? The fire’s going and I’ve got groceries sitting out and—”
“I’ll arrange for somebody to come and close things up.”
“Okay, but—but we really shouldn’t take the truck. The heater’s shot and the brakes aren’t reliable and the lights don’t always work and it’ll be dark soon—”
“No sweat. My rig is parked on the next track south.”
“But—”
“Enough.” The look he sent her was frigid enough to flash-freeze boiling water. “You can babble until hell freezes over, but I still plan to be back in Colorado—with you in custody—this time tomorrow. Got it?”
She thought about Seth, about his threat to confess rather than allow her to forfeit her own freedom and felt a spurt of desperation. Surely there had to be some way to reach this man, some way to change his mind. “I know you have a job to do, but you have to understand. I can’t go back. Not yet.”
“Oh, yeah. You can. You are.”
“Please! Just listen. My brother’s innocent. But if you take me back, he’ll feel obligated to try and protect me and—”
“Get in the truck, Bowen.” He took a step closer, the toe of one big boot bumping her smaller one.
It took every ounce of her courage, but she stood her ground. “Damn it, Taggart, if you’ll just listen—”
“No.” With a speed that was surprising for a man his size, he caught her under the arms and boosted her onto the seat. Then he gripped her right arm with one hand, reached under his coat with the other and the next thing she knew, he was slapping a handcuff around her wrist.
“Don’t!” She tried to twist away but it was too late as he snapped the other bracelet around the door handle. “Surely that’s not—”
“I don’t like surprises when I’m driving.”
Frightened, furious, she watched helplessly as he slammed the door and headed around to the driver’s side of the truck.
Think, she ordered herself as he slid the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate his mile-long legs and climbed inside.
Taking a firm grip on her emotions, Genevieve turned to face him. “I don’t have much money, most of it went to pay for Seth’s attorney, but you can have my house. I’ll sign it over. My business, too. I’ll—I’ll give you anything you want. Just name it.”
For a moment it was as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he abruptly twisted on the seat and leaned over so that only inches separated them. His cool compelling gaze slid from her hair to her eyes to her mouth, then flicked back up. “Anything?” His eyes gleamed dangerously.
He was so close she could see each individual inky whisker shadowing his cheeks, as well as a faint, razor-thin scar that cut through one corner of his hard, unsmiling mouth.
Her stomach dropped and what was left of the moisture in her mouth dried up. She told herself not to be a fool, to say, “Yes, of course, whatever it takes,” but when she parted her lips, the words wouldn’t come out. “I—I—”
His head dipped even closer. Swallowing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart slamming into her throat as his hair—cool and unexpectedly soft—tickled against her cheek.
Then he abruptly straightened and she felt the pressure as he dragged her seat belt across her waist. Her eyes flew open as he jammed the end into the clasp with a distinctive click.
He sent her