Secret Defender. Debbi Rawlins

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      “No.”

      “I didn’t think so,” she muttered. “How about where we’re going?”

      “You’ll see soon enough.”

      Personal. She needed to get personal so he’d see her as a person. “How old are you?”

      In the rearview mirror, she saw his dark brows draw together. “Why?”

      She shrugged. “I was just curious. I’ll be twenty-five next month. It’s kind of a milestone, don’t you think?”

      He shook his head and stared at the road.

      Let him think she was a nut. At least he’d be thinking of her as a person. “My godfather is planning this big party he doesn’t think I know about. I hate those things. I’m seriously thinking about escaping to San Francisco or New York for the weekend. Knowing that crowd, they won’t even miss me.”

      He darted a glance at her and then returned his attention to the road as he veered off an exit ramp. Unfamiliar with the area, she squinted to see where they were going, but it was too late. She’d missed the name of the exit.

      Dammit. She should be paying attention. If she had the opportunity to use a phone, she’d have to be able to give information. She looked out helplessly as the landscape became more and more dense with trees. Not a single car had passed since they left the freeway.

      “Are you from Dallas?” she asked, annoyed that her teeth chattered. “You have a little bit of an accent.”

      The warning look he gave her with those steely blue eyes made her pause. Okay, maybe that was too personal. Obviously, he wouldn’t give her that kind of information about himself. “How much ransom are you going to ask for?”

      The car jerked when he pulled it over to the shoulder. Unprepared, she fell roughly against the door. There’d be one heck of a bruise on her arm.

      He got out before she righted herself, opened the door and leaned in, bringing his face close to hers. He gripped her upper arm and yanked her even closer. “Do I have to gag you?”

      She had to tilt her head back to avoid smashing her nose into his chin. His breath, warm and sweet-smelling, trespassed on her skin. She swallowed and shook her head.

      His eyes bore into hers. “I didn’t hear you.”

      She swallowed again. “No.”

      His grip on her arm loosened and he rubbed his thumb idly just beneath her sleeve hem. Irritation simmered in his eyes, and then he abruptly let her go. “Keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

      She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

      He drew back, and then hesitated. He leaned in again and she jumped. “Look,” he said, keeping a little more distance this time, his husky voice soft, soothing. “You’re not going to get hurt. Just keep quiet.”

      She nodded again, hating the fear that clawed at her, robbing her of speech and rational thought. Never would she have guessed she’d react this way. All the times Willard had warned her of something like this happening, she’d balked, telling herself exactly how she’d handle the situation. Reality was nothing like her best intentions.

      Relief eased her when he finally turned to get back behind the wheel, except he reached in for something and returned.

      She tried not to cower and sat perfectly still.

      “Here.” He held out a bottle of Evian.

      She stared at it a moment before lifting her bound hands to take it. “Thank you.”

      It was obvious she wouldn’t be able to unscrew the cap, but she wouldn’t ask him to do it. She just wanted him to get back in the front seat, away from her.

      He grunted something that sounded like a curse and grabbed the water. After he freed the cap, he passed the bottle back to her. “We’ll be at the cabin soon.”

      Cabin? She stared off into the woods, all hope of attracting someone’s attention fading as quickly as the late afternoon sun.

      He got back in and started to drive, his attention to the speed limit somewhat lax. Half the water she tried to drink missed her mouth and ended up down the front of her favorite peach silk blouse. No doubt it was ruined. But of course, that was the least of her worries.

      She tried to pay attention to her surroundings, but it didn’t help. Nothing but woods stretched in every direction. She didn’t have a clue where they were. She glanced at her watch. They were already almost an hour outside of Dallas.

      Twenty minutes later, he pulled off onto a dirt road with enough dips and ruts to make her stomach roll. She swallowed hard against the nausea, and then took another sip of water. When a cabin appeared in a small clearing, she didn’t know if she were more relieved or nervous.

      He stopped the car a few feet from the tiny front porch, got out and opened her door. “I wouldn’t bother screaming. There’s no one around for miles.”

      She hesitated, sweeping a gaze around the shabby condition of the property. Half the first step up to the porch had rotted away, and a couple of floorboards were missing near the faded orange lawn chair sitting by the door.

      “Sorry the accommodations don’t suit you.” He held out his hand to help her out. “But you’ll be comfortable enough inside.”

      His mocking tone made her straighten, and she scooted across the seat to get out…without his help. Except her skirt slid up her thigh, giving him quite an eyeful.

      He wasn’t shy about taking it, either. His gaze wrapped around her legs before she was able to tug the hem back down. When he realized that she didn’t want his help, he stepped aside and folded his arms across his chest.

      Muscle corded and stretched up his exposed forearms to where he’d turned back his shirtsleeves. Right below his elbow, a long scar marred his tanned skin. It was straight and precise, as if it were made by a knife, but jagged enough that no doctor would have made the incision.

      At the thought, she fought back a shudder. Her circle of friends did not include anyone like him. He was a physical man. She could see that just by the way he stood there, his arms folded across his broad chest, his legs parted as he rested confidently on the heels of his tan cowboy boots. Problems were likely solved with his hands and not intellectually. She’d do well to remember that.

      No designer label tagged his faded jeans, either. They were worn, soft looking, until they fitted him like a kid glove. Worn enough that she could see how the muscle bulged above his knee and traveled up his thigh. Her gaze snagged on his fly, and she quickly looked away, keeping her eyes averted as she set her feet on the ground.

      She made sure her footing was solid before she stood. Only then did she look up at him. He was staring at her chest. She had modest-sized breasts at best; nothing a man generally gave a second look at. She glanced down to see what had grabbed his attention.

      The front of her blouse was soaked, the now transparent silk clinging to her pink lace bra. In the center of each breast, her nipples were dark and budding—and clearly visible.

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