Into Temptation

by Pam Godwin

  “A shy woman doesn’t show up at a known criminal’s house by herself. But you’re not alone, are you? Whoever you’re working with sent Paul to check on you, and when he doesn’t return, they’ll send someone else.”

  “Jesus, you’re all over the place with your theories. Which is it? Am I being tracked by an enemy, a lover, or some cohort who is helping me plot your demise?”

  “You tell me.”

  “None of the above. I’m so damn shy and guarded it took me ten years to work up the nerve to talk to you. Luring you here to meet you in person is so far out of my comfort zone. I told no one about you or where I was going. I just…I thought you were in danger with the cartel, and I panicked when you said goodbye in your last email. I don’t have friends like you do. I’m not good at letting people in.”

  “You don’t have friends because you’re a lying, deceitful—”

  “I’m afraid of being hurt again.” The confession blurted on a rush of anger.

  He stared at her like she was the village idiot. Maybe she was. She’d made a terrible mistake coming here. Too late to take it back. But she was educated. Trained to listen to criminals and understand their motivations, views, thoughts, and actions.

  If he didn’t view her as a person, he would continue to hurt her. She needed to remind him she was human.

  “I pretend I don’t need anyone.” She swallowed, her vision blurring with tears. “I keep everyone at a distance. But deep down, I still dream of finding a life partner, someone who loves me enough to be loyal. Faithful.”

  “Is that why you’re fucking Evan? You want him to love you?”

  “No.” She wiped at her wet cheeks and looked away. “He’s charming and nice and…”

  Too perfect. Too doting. Too much like Mason. That scared the crap out of her.

  “Women love him,” she said. “I’m not his only lover. I mean, we don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re just neighbors.”

  “With benefits.” His judgmental tone added insult to his narrowed glare.

  “You’re not in a position to look at me like that. You fuck whomever you want and make those women hurt. Your words. Don’t you dare shame me for having a sex life.”

  With a grunt, he turned his attention back to the chili and ate another spoonful.

  There was only one bite left.

  She balled her hands so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “You’re not going to let me eat?”

  “Give me the names of your sexual partners, and I’ll feed you.”

  “I don’t know their names.”

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking? How did you meet them?”

  Her hunger outweighed her pride, making it easy to answer. “Dating sites and hookup apps. Their usernames were probably not their real names, and I don’t remember any of them anyway.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  He already knew her identity. There was nothing in that duffel bag worth hiding.

  “Buried in the ruins of the Milton house,” she said. “Southwest corner.”

  He shoved the bowl toward her.

  She fell upon it like a rabid dog, sucking the last bite off the spoon until it gleamed. Heavenly flavors exploded on her tongue as she dropped the utensil and dragged her fingers along the bottom of the empty bowl, frantically scraping out every drop.

  “Where are you?” He stood with his phone to his ear. “Okay. Swing by Caroline’s house on your way back.”

  As he recapped the conversation about her duffel bag, she cleaned every speck of chili from the bowl with her fingers and tongue. It didn’t come close to putting a dent in her hunger.

  He ended the call and turned toward her. “Are the dating apps still on your phone?”

  “Yes, but I swear, Tommy, I never told anyone about you. Don’t hurt those guys. They were just one-night stands.”

  “Let’s go.” He gripped her arm and wrenched her from the chair.

  “Go where?” She tried and failed to escape his grip as he dragged her toward the bedroom. “Wait! I’m still hungry.”

  “Not hungry enough.”

  “What do you mean?” She dug in her feet and stumbled with the force of his forward motion. “I answered your questions.”

  As he hauled her away from the kitchen, it became horribly apparent that one bite of chili was all he would give her.

  Eating was imperative. But more than that, she felt the overpowering instinct to run.

  She went wild, thrashing, punching, biting, kicking, and somehow, she broke free. Her thoughts spun into chaotic indecision, but her body took the reins, bolting through the house and toward the front door.

  Blood pounded in her ears, her pulse spastic and breaths bursting.

  Running into the desert would be suicide. She needed her keys and scoured every surface as she flew past the front room. Nothing. But she didn’t slow.

  Outside, she slammed into a wall of hot air, the sky pitch black and her truck nowhere in sight.

  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

  She darted around the side of the house, searching for anything that might help her escape this miserable wasteland. Where was her fucking truck?

  If she sprinted in the direction of the Milton house, could she find her way in the dark? Did she have the strength to travel two miles on foot? Then what? She’d dig up her phone, but it didn’t have a signal. And she needed the map in her truck to find the closest town.

  Fuck!

  “You’ll die out there.” His chilling voice fell against her back, terrifyingly close.

  She spun, backing away from his towering silhouette. “Where’s my truck?”

  Only a few feet separated them, and he stayed with her, prowling forward as she reeled backward.

  Twilight threw the hollows of his cheekbones into shadow and accentuated the handsome planes of his face. He was a vigilante criminal, a lawless punisher, with righteous murder pumping through his veins.

  His dangerous lifestyle was echoed in the strength of his hands, the cruelty from his lips, and the sheer power of his body as he trapped her like the sun in the barren desert. Inescapable heat, nowhere to run, and she was starving, the looming threat of another day here as brutal and unforgiving as the man himself.

  “Let me go, Tommy.” Her heart hammered, and she retreated another step, trembling. “I know you think I’m a loose end, and you’re meticulously good at your job, always finishing every task set upon you, even the ones that are bothersome and undesirable. But I’m not a job. You’re starving an innocent woman and holding her captive. That violates everything you and your friends are doing. If there’s someone truly after me, you should be protecting me not hurting me.”

  He stepped forward, slow and menacing.

  Revenge was his life, in his blood, and he intended to punish her in payment for a wrong that had been done. He was beyond listening.

  She turned and ran.

  Rocky sand bit into Rylee’s bare feet as she sprinted through the dark. In normal circumstances, she would’ve been terrified of stepping on a scorpion. But there was a deadlier threat on her heels, breathing down her neck, closing in—

  His fist caught her throat, his other twisting in her hair. The punishing grip wrenched her off her feet, dragging her knees and scraping her hands along the ground as he hauled her back into the house by her hair.

  No amount of fighting or screaming slowed him down. By the time he wrestled her into the bedroom, she was out of strength, out of breath, and he hadn’t broken a sweat.

  He tossed her onto the bed like a rag doll and followed her down, straddling her legs and pinning her arms above her head.

  “You fucking psycho!” She wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “This is wrong. This isn’t you. Please, Tommy. Stop this madness!”

  The sound of metal clanked above her. She twisted her neck and glimpsed handcuffs in his grasp.

  “No!” She renewed her fight, but it was a wasted effort. “Get away from me!”


  Within seconds, he shackled her arms to the wrought iron headboard. His thigh pushed between hers. His hand covered her mouth. Then he gave her his weight. All of it.

  Fucking God, he was muscle-heavy. Hard. Dense. Utterly immovable. His heat, his strength, every inch of him pressed her into the mattress, making her whimper against his palm. And his eyes. Damn those eyes. They were so shockingly, brilliantly gold. Gorgeous. Mesmerizing. Vicious.

  He radiated rebellious, bad-boy intimidation coupled with a virility so potent it made every warmblooded woman’s head turn and mouth water.

  This was the closest she’d ever physically been to him, and while she loathed him for hurting her, it wasn’t enough to dampen her reaction to his masculinity.

  A sharp, carnal tug pulled inside her, dirty and wanton. There was a wicked wildness about him that called to her filthiest desires. After accusing him of hate-fucking women, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining him doing that to her. Didn’t mean she wanted it. No way in hell. But the naked possibility of such a thought messed with her head.

  His hand moved from her mouth to wedge beneath her nape, tightening at the base of her skull and yanking her toward his sinful lips. Not to kiss her. He just held her mouth against his, breathing, seducing, making her squirm between want and repulsion.

  He’d written in detail about his captivity in Van’s attic. Eight weeks of brutal sexual instruction. Van had whipped him and taken his virginity. Liv had taught him how to kiss and suck a cock, but she never fucked him. He didn’t have intercourse with a woman for the first time until years later.

  The intimate position made it impossible not to think about everything he’d endured. Everything he’d learned. He was trained in sexual pleasure and knew how to use it to lure and torture. He was tormenting her with it now, arousing her, confusing her. Just to be a dick.

  “I know what you’re doing.” She jerked her face away.

  He gripped her jaw and yanked it back.

  She drank in the youthful texture of his skin, his symmetrical, rough-hewn features, the flavor of his breath, the faintness of beer, spicy meat, and all man. The delectable, warm scent of him enveloped her like a fantasy.

  While she reeled from his overbearing proximity, she wasn’t the only one affected. Electricity writhed between them, twisting the dynamic of their tumultuous relationship and weaving layers of toxic complexity.

  They had no business staring at each other like this. There was too much animosity and resentment in the air. But neither of them looked away, their breaths melding into shimmers of hot, poisonous attraction. It punched through her, almost causing the last of her senses to desert her. Christ, she was shaking.

  He responded to it by sliding his touch along her jaw, studying her with his fingertips, feathering them along her cheekbones, her nose, her lips. Then his touch grew heavier, harder, pressing against her skin until his entire hand was squeezing her face.

  Anger. His reaction to her was pissing him off. Or maybe this was what he’d meant in his emails. When he was intimate with women, he always hurt them.

  “Tommy.” She shook her head, gasping and trying to break his cruel grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  He was all biceps, abs, and rock-hard thighs, bearing down on her like a brick wall. He must have felt her shifting beneath him because he removed his hand from her face. Then he stared at her mouth, watching her gulp for air under his heavy body.

  Lifting slightly, he transferred some of his weight onto his elbow and leg. It was such a small thing, a tiny glimpse of thoughtfulness.

  He wanted to make her pay, but that wasn’t how his mother raised him to treat a woman. Nor was it the first time he’d shown a trace of compassion.

  “I know you put sunscreen on me before leaving me in the desert.” She peered into his eyes from inches away. “Why?”

  “Your skin is flawless. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His gaze traveled along her throat, the neckline of the shirt, and returned to her eyes. “It would be a shame to ruin something so beautiful.”

  That was the nicest thing he’d said to her, but she needed a lot more than a compliment from him.

  “Keep starving me, and there won’t be any flesh left on my bones.”

  “Starvation is a very slow, agonizing death.”

  “Three weeks.”

  “This will end before then.”

  “How will it end? I know you’ve killed horrible men, but do you have it in you to kill me?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  She drew in his threat on a sharp inhale. “This is why I filed a protective order against my ex-husband.”

  He glanced at her arms. “Because he handcuffed you?”

  “No. He forced his way into my house. Then he forced himself on me.”

  The heat, the intimacy, and the weight of his body vanished, leaving nothing but cold vulnerability in its wake.

  She should’ve been relieved to gain the space. But she was still restrained to the bed and knew that when he left the room, she would be stuck here with nothing to distract her from the hunger pangs.

  “He raped you?” He stood beside the bed, his expression unreadable.

  “No. He got aggressive and handsy and wouldn’t leave. It scared me enough to call the cops and file a restraining order.”

  “This happened last year. Yet you divorced him a decade ago.”

  “He never wanted the divorce and has been trying to get me back ever since. He’s a relentless pest, but that’s all he is. He shows up at my house, at my work, calls and texts and sends gifts. But it’s all harmless. He’s not a threat.”

  “Until he forced himself on you. Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not. It’s just…I know him. He wouldn’t hire someone to watch me.”

  “What about Evan Phillips?”

  “No way. He doesn’t have the money to throw around on shit like that. Besides, we’re together all the time. He lives right next door. There’s no reason for him to hire someone to watch me.”

  “You’d be surprised what a desperate man would do. He has hundreds of photos of you on his personal computer.”

  “What?” A chill zinged along her scalp. She didn’t know what bothered her more—his announcement or the fact that he had access to Evan’s computer. “Hundreds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, okay. I mean, I know he takes pictures of me with his phone sometimes. I didn’t know he saved them. But he’s with a lot of women and probably has photos of them, too.”

  “Nope. Just you.”

  That’s fucked up.

  But was it really? Evan repeatedly pressed her to take their relationship further. Maybe he liked her more than she thought?

  “Just because he has photos of me,” she said. “That doesn’t mean he hired Paul to watch me.”

  He stared at her for an eternity, his face unfairly gorgeous. And blank. She would give anything to read his mind.

  Growing antsy, she twisted her wrists in the handcuffs and pulled. He’d secured them correctly, ensuring she couldn’t escape and while keeping them loose enough not to cause discomfort. She could flip over but would have to sleep with her hands above her head.

  Turning away, he grabbed a bottled water from the stash on the small desk and sat beside her hip.

  “This is your childhood room,” she said. “You were in here when you started emailing Caroline.”

  His jaw hardened as he lifted her head and helped her drink.

  She knew he’d burned all the furniture and everything else that had once been in this house.

  “I cried for you that day.” She drank another long gulp, draining the rest of the water. “The day you burnt your belongings. I know it was hard for you. But it was also cathartic.”

  His neck stiffened, and he tossed the empty bottle in the direction of the desk.

  “I want to know…” He leaned over her, his eyes ablaze with accusation. “How far did you let your ex-husband go before y
ou told him no.”

  “What?”

  “You loved him enough to nearly kill yourself when he cheated.” He lowered his head, hovering his lips a hairbreadth away from hers. “When he put his mouth on you, did you open for him? Did you draw him in?”

  Her mouth opened now on a shocked gasp. “No, I—”

  His tongue swept in, lashing and licking at the stunned flesh of hers. She didn’t kiss him back, for this wasn’t a kiss at all. It was anger and violence. He grabbed her face and mauled her with his mouth, biting, sucking, and decimating her defenses.

  Before she thought to bite him back, it ended. He stared down at her, his breaths fast and hot against her face, his lips swollen and glistening.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, furious.

  “To test your reaction.”

  She ground her teeth. “What did you learn?”

  He touched a finger to her mouth and trailed it down her chin, her neck, her breastbone. His eyes followed the movement, his intention clear a half-second before he pinched her nipple through the shirt.

  “Stop!” She wasn’t wearing a bra and had no protection against the assault. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Is that what you told him?” He squeezed harder, shooting pain through her breast and stinging her eyes with tears.

  “Yes!”

  “You told him yes?”

  “No!” She kicked her legs, aiming a knee toward his back. But she couldn’t reach him. She didn’t have the strength. “I told him no. A million times no.”

  “But he couldn’t keep his hands off your hot little responsive body.” He cupped her breast in a ruthless vise, adding ungodly pressure as his thumb rolled over the pebbled peak. “Your nipples were hard before I even touched them. My God, you’re hungry.”

  “You sound like a rapist.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Are you wet?”

  “Are you hard?”

  He twisted, slid a leg over the top of hers and pressed the hardest, largest erection she’d ever felt against her hip.

  Her pulse quickened. Her body shuddered, and her mouth went desert-dry.

  That couldn’t be real. No goddamn way.

  His cock jerked against her, and swear to God, it felt like a baseball bat was stretching the threads of his jeans from groin to knee.