In The Arms Of Danger

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  “For heaven’s sake, Lacey.” He jumped up, thrusting agitated fingers through his hair. “You’re making me crazy. Do you know that? Why would you have a— no.” He held up a hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sure there’s a method to your madness only you understand.”

  Lacey winced, and then glared at him, resentment seething. Had she really thought he was the hottest thing in moccasins? Had she really wanted to see him in a loincloth, wearing nothing but a loincloth? Well, yes. Sort of. Vaguely. Crap. She couldn’t even lie to herself. He definitely burned the senses. Sexy? Oh, hell yeah. The man oozed sex appeal, even when he snarled at her like a wounded beast. He was a living, breathing advertisement for testosterone.

  Don’t go there. Don’t do it. You don’t have time or the inclination to deal with—what? Being female enough to appreciate a good-looking male? Being curious about how his mouth would feel against her skin? Having a strange desire to see him naked and fully aroused? Yes, Virginia, you are nuts.

  Lacey stifled a moan. She was in enough trouble without adding to her problems. She needed his help. That was all she wanted from him. Wasn’t it? Help. It was all that mattered, all that was important. His help. His trust. There was the crux of the matter. Trust.

  She didn’t have any, not where he was concerned. She didn’t dare. He wore a badge. A fact that automatically made him suspect. He’d attacked her in the alley as if he’d been waiting for her. Another fact that made her wary. Why had he been there if not waiting on her? She didn’t believe for one minute his tale of youthful vandals.

  Suppose he’d just been waiting like a big, black spider?

  What if he had a partner in crime? A deputy. A man who’d radioed ahead, warned him to be on the look out for her. Filled with unease, Lacey watched warily as Danger roamed about the little room, sleek and silent as an exotic panther on the prowl.

  Lord, but he is one fine, put together man.

  At last he lowered himself onto the chair and arched a questioning brow at her. “I take it you left the bike behind also,” he stated cynically.

  Warmth burned across her cheekbones. “Well, yeah. It was out of gas.”

  At his narrowed eyes she snapped defensively. “Yes. I left the bike. I didn’t exactly plan all this, sugar. Besides, the damn thing had a flat.”

  He closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and slowly shook his head. “Darlin,’ how in the hell did you manage to escape? You have to be the most disorganized, ditzy female, I’ve ever met.”

  Ditzy? Was that really a word? “I’m not sure I have escaped,” she replied softly.

  His nostrils flared.

  Lacey swallowed. How could she be attracted to a man she didn’t trust? But she was. Indeed, she was. And somehow the idea of wanting him was more frightening than suspecting him of murder. She almost snorted. Ridiculous. Her emotions were as unpredictable and wild as a ride on a roller coaster. The whole thing was ridiculous.

  She took a nervous sip of the witch’s brew, and cursed her body for its wayward urges. He wasn’t her type.

  He could be, a devilish voice whispered silently. Oh, yes. He could be.

  Heat licked a fiery path across her stomach.

  He could be my type, very easily.

  What? Did she have a death wish or something?

  She wasn’t that stupid.

  She wasn’t going there.

  Period.

  So why did dismay leave the oddest little ache somewhere in the region of her

  In The Arms Of Danger

  heart?

  In The Arms Of Danger

  Chapter Four

  There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence.

  Will Rogers

  Rimrock Sheriff’s Dept. Sat.3:00 a.m.

  Danger studied Lacey with an icy reserve that belied the warmth flooding his groin. He didn’t like the feelings she so easily aroused in him. Dammit. He refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. He would not be led like a stud, gelded by his own libido.

  Watching Race Blackstone die a little every day taught him a lesson in childhood he carried with him to adulthood. He was his own man. He would remain his own man.

  And no woman was ever going to bring him to his knees. Especially not some little snip of a magnolia blossom who was part wasp and part lunatic, even if she did have the most fascinating eyes he’d ever seen, the sweetest accent he’d ever heard, and a sinfully luscious mouth.

  Not to mention the firmest breasts ever to fill the palm of his hand. He shifted, uncomfortable with where his thoughts were headed. He couldn’t forget the memory of the way her breast had filled his hand, when he’d frisked her. Perfect. An exact fit, as if it had been carved to fit his palm in a clear-cut measurement.

  Think of something else .

  But up until now, his life had been nothing, but one long thread of misery. Until the day his mother died—he hadn’t lived. Even now, when it came to trusting a woman with his heart, he felt emotionally dead.

  No, he couldn’t allow this woman inside or permit his emotions to rule him. But there were times when he needed an outlet. He turned his need for love and warmth to the caring of wounded animals. Even then, he attempted to keep a wall around his heart.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Every injured animal, wild or domesticated he came across, he nurtured. His reward was their devotion. In spite of everything, he loved them as much as they loved him.

  Probably every shrink from Montana to California would have some snide comments about his turbulent childhood, the lingering pain, and his inability to commit, and it was true, but he knew how to protect his heart. If it worked, why change it?

  His fingers tightened painfully around the blue mug as hurtful memories wormed their way inside his head. Danger halted his drifting thoughts. Ancient history.

  But he never forgot the lessons learned as a child.

  It was his personal rule to leave all Anglo women alone. Lacey Weston was no exception. Yet he couldn’t seem to control the compulsive desire he felt for this woman. It angered him, frustrated him to no end. It also confounded him.

  He could honestly say this was the first time he’d ever felt this magnetic pull toward an Anglo woman. He didn’t like it. Hell, if he were honest, it was the first time he’d ever felt this drawn to any woman.

  This woman, with her tiger-eyes blazing, and a voice dripping with a drawl thicker than molasses, could melt a man clear to his soul. She made him ache for things that could never be his.

  With soul-deep resolution, he silently vowed not to let her draw him into her sticky web of deceit. She was hiding something from him. He knew he couldn’t trust her.

  So what was he going to do with her?

  Danger shifted his gaze away from Lacey’s flushed face to the traces of blood and dirt clotted in the silken strands of her amber-gold hair. Damn, he was to blame for the ugly scrape marring her cheek. Though he resented like hell this attraction burning in his gut, it hadn’t been his intention to cause her injury or pain.

  Contrary to what she believed, he wasn’t a savage. But he hadn’t been willing to take the risk of getting hurt or shot by being careless either.

  Realization that it was a woman he struggled with in the dark alley came with the scorching weight of her breast filling his palm, and the firm bottom pressed intimately against his crotch. He clenched his fingers. He could still feel the rounded firmness of her breast in his hand. Shit. He was back to thinking about it—and remembering the feminine curve of her ass rubbing against his cock.

  His fingers curled into tight fists as he tried to ignore the itch to rip away her red silk bra, to have those delectable ripe curves fill his palm.

  She was so obviously female.

  He would never understand how he’d first mistaken her for a boy.

  Even now, he wanted to lose himself in the sh
immering threads of her thick hair. He wanted to see the silken strands spread across his pillow. Hell, he wanted to feel it wrapped around his body.

  Disgusted with his overactive libido, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a first-aid kit. “See what you can do with this.”

  He slammed the kit on top of the desk in front of her.

  Lacey dragged it closer and popped open the lid, prowled through the limited supplies, then removed iodine and cotton balls. “Do you have a mirror?”

  “What for?”

  “So I can see what I’m doing,” she replied timidly.

  “You’re a lot of things, sweetheart, but timid isn’t one of them. You know it. I know it, so cut the act.”

  She tightened her lips and looked up at him.

  At the moment, she did look beat and too weary to battle with him anymore. He had a feeling she’d bite off her tongue, before she gave him the satisfaction of learning just how exhausted and overwhelmed she felt.

  Danger shuffled through the contents of the first-aid kit and flipped the lid off a bottle. He palmed a couple of aspirins and shoved them into her hand, then pointed his coffee cup at her.

  “Take them,” he said in a gruff tone. “What you could use is about twentyfour hours of sleep.”

  “Sure.” Lacey tossed back the aspirins and took a hit of his cold coffee. “I can’t see that happening in the near future.”

  He suddenly felt like the biggest brute walking, when he noticed the sheen of tears in her eyes. To cover the dismay he felt, he let his exasperation ring in his voice. “Give me that.”

  Seizing the iodine, he twisted the flexible neck on the lamp and aimed the light toward her so he could get a better look. “It’s superficial.”

  Gently, he wiped the abrasion on her cheek free of dried blood before applying the iodine. She reminded him of one of the little birds he cared for, small and fragile as spun glass. Tough as she acted, it still wouldn’t take much to crush her.

  “Maybe it’s superficial to you, sugar, but it hurts like hell.”

  Danger paused, drew a deep breath, and then continued dabbing at the scrape on her cheek. “It won’t leave a scar. There,” he said, tossing the stained cotton ball in a wastebasket. “All done.”

  A sharp hiss escaped her as the iodine soaked into the raw lesion on her face and elbow. “Ouch! Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

  Color leeched from her face. Sudden tears filled her eyes. She curled her fingers tightly around the chair arms and rocked back and forth. “Holy hell, that burns.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Danger hissed softly.

  Bracing his hands on the chair next to her fingers, he leaned down and blew gently on the wound on her cheek.

  Lacey’s eyes roamed over him, lingering on the mass of gypsy dark hair that fell long and straight past his shoulders. His pursed mouth blew soothingly against her burning cheek. His eyes, sooty gray and surrounded with thick, black lashes, softened with sympathy.

  She couldn’t suppress the shiver that shook her body. Lord, he’s gorgeous. The mere sight of him rattled her so much she couldn’t think straight. Her thighs heated and grew moist, and she wanted to squirm every time he came near her. She couldn’t remember ever being this hot for a man or having the inclination to simply strip him and jump his bones.

  A corner of his mouth turned down as their eyes met. “Why are you so frightened of me? I might look like a savage, but I assure you, you’re safe with me.”

  He slammed the lid on the first-aid kit and shoved it across the desk with barely contained violence.

  Lacey grinned. “Sugar, what makes you think I wanna be safe—with you?”

  The thought of being unsafe with him, greatly appealed to her rampant hormones. Vaguely, she wondered why they’d become so damned lively where this man was concerned. Shivers of excitement scaled down her spine in anticipation. Breathless, barely described how she felt. And, oh God, she just had to stop playing with fire before she got severely burned. This was not a man who played games. His face darkened and set with. . . what? Temper? Desire? Shock at her saucy reply? She had no idea. She only knew she’d left herself wide open for six foot plus of trouble.

  “What did you say?” he choked.

  He’d gone dead still. His lips plastered into a tight grimace as if he’d suddenly been stricken with pain. He dragged in a ragged breath, his wide chest expanding, then caving in like a deflated balloon.

  “Damn, woman.” He sucked back another breath and slowly released it. “All right. I’ll rephrase that. You’re as safe as you wanna be with me.”

  In The Arms Of Danger

  Chapter Five

  Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.

  Carrie: ‘Sex and the City’

  Rimrock Sheriff’s Dept. Sat.3:10 a.m.

  Danger swallowed hard and fought against the urge to drag her into his arms. Never before in his adult life had he been so frustrated—sexually, emotionally, or spiritually.

  Nor had he ever felt so alive.

  His senses jangled like the bare ends of electrical wires. Amazed at the demands of his body, he wondered how a man could hold any kind of defenses against a woman as beautiful, challenging, or as daring as Lacey Weston. She needed taming, all right. Or maybe she simply needed someone who was as wild and untamed as she was.

  The heat he saw shimmering in the liquid depths of her eyes was his undoing. There was little doubt—she wanted him as much as he wanted her. His sex twitched and swelled against the button-fly of his jeans.

  He gritted his teeth. Hell, he felt as horny as a service stud behind a mare in season. The small amount of breathing space between them was wrought with tension and as powerful as a black hole in the universe. Sexual awareness fogged his mind, heated his blood and sent it chugging to his balls.

  He hoped to hell she didn’t decide to do one of her inspections of his crotch. There wasn’t a smidgen of doubt as to what her words did to him. His hard on rivaled a horny mustang’s, and he was standing far too close to her. If he moved a scant inch closer to her—Jesus Christ, he needed to get laid in the worst way. But not with this woman!

  ***

  Lacey swallowed nervously. Why had she said that?

  She shouldn’t have said that. Damn it, she wasn’t a tease. She’d always gone after what she wanted, but here, now, with this man, there was no doubt whatsoever that he could, and would, give her more than she could ever anticipate.

  She’d practically asked him to fuck her. Or at least she’d left him in no doubt she was willing and that simply wasn’t true. Ah, well yeah, she’d be willing if she didn’t suspect him of murder but that sort of put a kibosh on a romantic interlude. She wasn’t one to just flop down and spread her thighs either.

  She slid her gaze lazily over his face. Color stained the hard ridges of his cheekbones. His eyes shimmered like polished silver, hot, slumberous. Promising. Her soul had never felt this scorched.

  He stared at her, his breath escaping in little hitches. His chest barely rose with each ragged breath. Mercy. He’d grown so still. Tense seconds passed. The silence lengthened, powerful in its very quietness.

  At last, he drew back, as though determined to put distance between them, but not before he drawled thickly, “Anytime, sweetheart, just say the word. I’m at your service, ma’am, but be damn sure you know what you’re asking for and getting into.”

  Oh, God. Lacey stood up, her lips trembling. Why couldn’t she learn to keep her smart mouth shut? “I—”

  A resonated blast came from somewhere down the street and abruptly shattered the quiet. Gunshot.

  Lacey reacted instinctively. She whirled, determined to escape what she imagined to be the killer closing in on her. In her haste, she stumbled and fell against Danger. She tightened her grip on his waist, unaware of the silent struggle taking place inside the somber man who was doing his best to get her out of his arms. “Please. Please, don�
�t let him hurt me,” she breathed. “You have to help me.”

  He closed his arms around her shoulders in steadying reflex. “Hey. It’s a car backfiring. Nothing more.”

  Danger gasped as Lacey’s slender arms captured his waist and tightened. She buried her face against his chest, her warm breath whispering through the cotton of his khaki shirt. The moistness of those shuddering breaths dampened his flesh through the material.

  Dammit, he was getting hard again. His skin felt hot. Itchy.

  He needed distance between them. Now!