Tempt Me. Caroline Cross

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СКАЧАТЬ you. Not until I was sure you were okay.”

      Yeah, right. Pollyanna reputation or not, she wasn’t stupid and nobody was that good-hearted. More likely she was tired of being hunted and, having finally come face-to-face with what she was up against—that would be him—had realized the futility of continuing to run.

      Then again, she’d saved him a boatload of aggravation by hanging around. If she wanted to pretend she was Doris Do-right, what the hell did he care? He inclined his chin a fraction, ignoring the ensuing howl of protest from his aching head. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” Even as she took a step back, putting a little more distance between them, an uncertain smile kissed the corners of her full mouth.

      He scowled as part of him that was unapologetically male whispered pretty. Reminding himself sharply that she was his assignment, not his date, for God’s sake—and he never mixed his personal and professional lives—he stared expressionlessly at her. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said flatly as he carefully pushed himself upright. “You’re still my prisoner and I’m—what the hell?”

      Something heavy was dragging at his arm. He sensed Bowen moving even farther away as he glanced down, confounded to see that a handcuff was locked around his left wrist. What’s more, the adjoining stainless-steel bracelet had been threaded through the end links of a heavy chain that had been passed around the end support of the massive built-in bed frame.

      He was trapped like a wolf in a snare.

      Ignoring the pounding in his head, he didn’t think but acted, launching himself at his one chance at freedom.

      He was within inches of grabbing her when it dawned on him that instead of bolting the way she ought to be, his nemesis was holding her ground, and a warning shrieked through his brain.

      Too late. Unable to check himself, he reached the end of his tether and was damn near jerked off his feet.

      The handcuff cut into his wrist. His arm felt as if it was being ripped from his shoulder. Then his momentum snapped him around and his head exploded in agony.

      Gritting his teeth against the howl crowding his throat, he staggered back the way he’d come, braced himself against the bed frame and sank down onto the quilt-covered mattress.

      So much for his luck having changed, he thought savagely. With a snap of her fingers, Lady Fortune had snatched away success and turned him from victor to casualty, from hunter to captive.

      It was a road he’d traveled before, he reminded himself. Under far worse circumstances, with far graver consequences.

      But he wasn’t going to think about that. It was over. In the past. Beyond his reach to change. He needed to focus on the here and now. On Genevieve.

      Locking firmly onto that single thought, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to hold perfectly still as he waited for the worst of the pain to pass.

      Enduring, after all, was what he did best.

      “Here.” Genevieve set the pill bottle and the glass of water on the nightstand, all the while keeping a wary eye on the big man hunched on the bed. “This should help.”

      Mindful of the terrifying show of speed and strength he’d put on just minutes earlier, she quickly stepped back out of reach. And waited.

      Nothing. He continued to sit perfectly still, head slumped, eyes shut, broad shoulders rigid.

      “It’s ibuprofen. My first aid book says that’s okay for someone in your condition.”

      Still no reaction. With an inner shrug, she decided that if he wanted to imitate a boulder there was nothing she could do about it. She’d give it one more try; then she was done.

      “If you think a cold compress would help, let me know. The fridge hasn’t been on long enough to make ice, but there’s plenty of snow outside.” Silence. “Hokay then, J. T.” With a shrug, she started to turn away. “I’ll just give you some space—”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      Turning back, she found his gaze fixed on her, his eyes hooded and impossible to read. “What?” Her response was automatic even though she knew perfectly well what he was referring to.

      “J. T.,” he gritted out. “Don’t call me that. I don’t like it.”

      For a second she was speechless. Of all the things she might’ve expected him to object to, her flippant abbreviation of Just Taggart wasn’t even on the list. Still, given that she had the upper hand, she supposed she could afford to be gracious. “All right. Plain old Taggart it is then.” She felt a fleeting flash of amusement as she considered what he’d say if she called him by that acronym.

      Moving carefully, and looking as if he hadn’t smiled about anything in years, he reached for the pill bottle and thumbed off the cap. To her dismay, he proceeded to toss back considerably more than the recommended dosage. Setting down the water glass, he eased back farther on the bed, then sliced her a sharp look. “What?”

      “I—nothing.” She wiped the concerned look off her face, telling herself not to be foolish. He was a grown-up, and bigger than average, and if he wanted to suck down the entire bottle of pain reliever, it was none of her business. While she obviously hadn’t been ruthless enough after the accident to shove him out of the truck and abandon him to his fate, she was neither stupid nor naive enough to think anything had changed.

      He was her enemy.

      A crucial little fact she couldn’t afford to forget, she reminded herself, turning away. Sure, she was lonely. Sure she was dying to talk openly to somebody. And yes, the sight of anyone injured or hurting tended to trigger what Seth had always claimed was her overdeveloped nurturing streak.

      But she’d be grade-A certifiable, lock-me-in-the-asylum-and-throw-away-the-key crazy to let down her guard even an inch where the man on the bed was concerned.

      And it wasn’t only the risk he posed to her freedom, his obvious mental toughness, killer physique or ability to handle himself that she found so threatening, she mused as she walked over to the kitchen and began methodically putting away the groceries.

      No, there was something else, some intangible quality he possessed that made her feel off balance and not quite herself. Something that tugged at her senses and alarmed her recently awakened sense of self-preservation all at the same time.

      Uh-huh. That’s called the thrill of danger, the call of the wild, Genevieve. Women have been drawn to dangerous men like moths to the flame since the beginning of time.

      Add to that the fact that he wasn’t exactly ugly and it was perfectly reasonable that he inspired such conflicting feelings in her. Not that he was pretty-boy handsome. Far from it. Along with that dark hair and those pale eyes, he had the strongly sculpted, slightly ascetic face of a medieval warrior.

      But she wasn’t attracted to him, for heaven’s sake. She absolutely was not. Even if she’d met him under different circumstances—say, when he wasn’t doing his damnedest to hijack her life—he was so far from her type it wasn’t even funny. He was too big, too tightly wound, too…male.

      Plus he had an air of watchfulness, of being apart, that troubled her. Most people had a need СКАЧАТЬ