Her heart rate slowed as she mulled over his comment, knowing instinctively that what he said was true—no real convict would have wasted such a prime opportunity to flee. Knowing, too, that his behavior since she’d captured him and the evidence she’d discovered in his wallet all lent undeniable credibility to his innocence. Now she was forced to trust him, his story, and her own intuition.
Believing him came much easier this morning than it had last night, not that she was going to admit that out loud and give him any more leverage than he’d already managed to gain.
Calmer now, she wanted, needed, an explanation. “Could you tell me how I ended up cuffed to your bed?” she asked, then followed that up with a polite, “please?”
He grinned at her courteous request. “You had a bad dream last night that had you pretty upset. I called your name to wake you up and you sat up in bed, but you were actually still asleep. You thought I was Brian, and you crawled right across my bed and curled up next to me.”
Disbelief rushed over her, flushing her cheeks with a stinging heat. Her mouth opened to deny his story, then snapped shut again when she realized there was no possible way Dean could have known about Brian…unless she had mentioned his name at some point. And how much had she revealed about her partner and how responsible she’d been for his death?
Appalled that she’d been so bold and brazen as to cuddle up to Dean, especially in her sleep when a person was at their most vulnerable, she flopped back down on the bed and slung her free arm over her eyes and let a low, embarrassed groan escape her.
Bits and pieces of the same old recurring dream filtered through her mind, the same one that terrified and haunted her when she least expected her personal demon to rear its ugly head. Sometimes she recalled the dream the following morning. Other times she woke up in a cold sweat or physically shaking from the vivid images. Often she remembered nothing.
She never knew she talked in her sleep, or worse, walked in her sleep…but she had, right into another man’s arms. A man she’d picked up on a criminal charge. A scary, staggering thought, considering all the scenarios that could have happened with someone less sincere and honorable than the true Dean Colter was turning out to be.
She moved her arm up to her forehead to look at him. “Go on,” she urged. “How did you manage the Houdini trick with the cuffs?”
“Your keys were on the waistband of your shorts, within reaching distance of my free hand,” he explained with a nonchalant shrug. “And considering the prime opportunity that presented itself, I couldn’t resist switching our roles.”
She lifted a brow. “Turnabout is fair play for you, huh?” she asked with a reluctant smile at his audacity, even as she recognized that this scenario could have ended up with a much different conclusion in the hands of a true criminal. But there was nothing malicious in Dean’s plan, just a playful role reversal he seemed to be enjoying.
And, surprisingly, now that any immediate threat had been eliminated, she found she was enjoying it too.
He blinked lazily. “In our case, turnabout is most definitely fair play, especially when it comes to indulging in fantasies.”
An unexpected thrill coursed through her, eliciting a sensual heat that spread to feminine nerve endings. “And what fantasy is that?” she dared to ask.
He splayed his long fingers on the mattress in front of him and grinned roguishly. “Me captor, you prisoner, with a little bondage thrown in for good measure.”
The pulse in her throat fluttered. “There’s just one thing you’re missing, Master.”
Amusement flickered across his expression. “And what’s that?”
“A submissive female,” she replied impudently.
He chuckled, the deep, rich sound making her toes curl and her body warm with awareness. “Oh, I’m not worried about your surrender,” he said too confidently. “While I’ve never done this kind of thing before, I’m a strong believer in the power of persuasion. Especially when it’s between two people who are highly attracted to each other.”
He’d brought the forbidden out into the open, and she swallowed hard, unable to deny his claim. She’d been battling her attraction to him since yesterday afternoon, had even made him a part of her own personal fantasy last night in the shower. The dynamics of their relationship had shifted this morning to one full of sensual possibilities, and she wondered how far he planned to take things. And just how far she’d allow herself to follow.
Growing suddenly serious, he rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed across from hers and braced his arms on either side of his thighs. The tight muscles across his abdomen rippled, drawing her traitorous gaze to the fascinating sight and the thatch of hair that swirled around his navel then disappeared into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“You know,” he said, his tone low and gruff, “I hate to be the one to point this out, but you really put yourself in an incredibly dangerous position last night.”
She reluctantly lifted her gaze upward, startled to see the concern and caring in the dark depth of his eyes. “No lecture, please. I’m already feeling foolish enough about all this without being reprimanded by my own prisoner, and that’s who you are, despite who’s currently wearing the handcuffs.” And if her brothers ever found out about what had happened, she’d be restricted to a desk for the rest of her P.I. days, which wasn’t an option for her.
He dragged a hand through his thick, tousled hair. “I just think you need to be more careful in the future, or else you might end up in the wrong guy’s bed.” A teasing note threaded his voice, and he gave her one of his flirtatious winks, lightening the moment. “This time, you got lucky.”
And ended up in the right guy’s bed. His bed. And now she was currently secured to said bed and feeling at a distinct disadvantage, regardless of the sexual by-play they’d indulged in minutes ago.
She rattled the metal shackles to bring his attention back to her current position and smiled sweetly for effect. “You can release me any time.”
He stroked his dark, stubbled chin with his fingers, considering the situation. Considering her. “Not just yet,” he decided.
She frowned, annoyance mingling with a restless feeling of arousal. “I think you made your point by cuffing me to the bedpost.”
He cocked his head. “Did I?” he asked, the simple question holding a wealth of doubts.
“Didn’t you?” she shot back just as quickly, ignoring the skip of her pulse, and the tingling sensation skittering down her spine.
He thought for another long, drawn-out moment. “I’m not sure I made my point yet.” In one fluid motion he stood and grabbed her set of keys, then moved across her bed like a big, lithe panther stalking his prey—all powerful, potent magnetism and intoxicating masculinity.
Shameless desire took up residence in her, and intensified when he leaned over her to work the lock on the cuffs. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, and his flat belly was inches away from her face. The musky, all-male scent of him teased her senses, awakening a reckless hunger to do things to him that shocked even herself…like flick her tongue across his warm, hair-roughened flesh to see what he tasted like, or sink her teeth into the soft skin just below his ribs to test how sensitive he might be, or press her lips to the kidney-shaped birthmark on the left side of his navel…
Her breathing deepened, and she squeezed her eyes shut, which did little to block those erotic images she’d conjured, or lessen the temptation he presented when he surrounded her so completely.
“Mind giving me a little help with these cuffs?” he asked from above her.
Grateful for the distraction, she reached up to assist him, but couldn’t glance up without risking the possibility of licking, biting or kissing his belly, so she kept her eyes closed. Blindly, she searched for the keys, only to have Dean gently grasp her wrist and snap the other cuff around her free hand, effectively and efficiently restraining her arms above her head.
Her eyes opened wide in astonishment. Sh
e jerked on her restraints, but the effort was futile. The sturdy bedpost wasn’t going to budge, break, or pull apart, as she already knew. Dean grinned down at her, but she wasn’t amused that he’d managed to dupe her once again. This time while she was wide awake.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He settled himself along her left side, singeing her with the scorching heat of his body crowding against her. He pressed his fingers against her lips to hush her, and his striking green eyes met and held hers. “I’m buying a little extra time to find out if I made my point or not,” he told her, and slowly let his fingers drift from her mouth, along her jaw, and down the column of her throat. “Do you believe the story I told you last night, about the possibility of someone assuming my identity?”
“You’re going to interrogate me?” she asked incredulously.
“For starters,” he drawled, and let her overactive imagination come to its own conclusions as to what would come after he had the information and answers sought. “Do you believe it’s possible that someone assumed my identity?”
She couldn’t lie, not when she’d seen so much evidence to back up his claim. “Yes, I do.”
Stark relief eased across his chiseled features. “Do you trust me?”
She rolled her eyes and pulled on her bound arms, doing her best to ignore that her T-shirt had ridden up a few inches and exposed too much bare skin. “Gee, considering my current predicament, I guess I’m going to have to.”
“Uh-uh. Not a good enough answer.” He shook his head and twirled a section of her hair around his long finger and gave it a playful tug. “I don’t want there to be any doubts in your mind about me, Jo. None whatsoever.” A slight, concerned frown formed between his brows. “Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you in any way?”
She didn’t fear him, but rather her own sexual response to him. Never had she been so attuned to a man as she was to Dean. Never could she remember wanting a man as much as she was beginning to crave him.
“No,” she whispered, wondering what that admission would eventually cost her. Nothing she didn’t already want to give him, she was certain.
“Good. Because you’re perfectly safe with me, in every way,” he promised.
She believed him. More than was prudent. More than was wise. In ways she’d never trusted another man, because Dean was straightforward and honest in his actions. He didn’t coddle and treat her like a helpless female in need of a man’s protection. And despite his dominant position at the moment, despite the provocative game he was playing, she felt safe with him. Was confident that if she called his intentions to a halt this very second, he’d back off and release her.
It was her own willingness that made her his captive, and her own enthusiasm that made her too eager to experience the kind of pleasure she’d denied herself for so long. Too long.
“So,” he murmured, tickling the side of her neck with long sweeps of her hair against her skin, causing gooseflesh to rise and her breasts to tingle. “If you’re not afraid of me, you must trust me more than you realize or want to admit out loud.”
The man was way too smart. Way too intuitive. Verbalizing that trust would break down any last barriers between them and leave her open to all kinds of tantalizing scenarios. She wasn’t ready to give him that power over her. Yet. “You’re very analytical.”
“Just trying to read all the signs accurately, especially when you’re being vague with your answers and skirting the issue.”
The silence grew as he waited patiently for her answer. Finally, she released a sigh and gave it to him, not out of obligation, but he deserved to know what she thought of him. “I trust you.”
An indulgent smile curved his full lips. “Now why do I get the impression that trust is a very hesitant one?”
It wasn’t. Not really. But playing hard to get, just a little bit, was better than relinquishing everything up front. “Vivid imagination?” she suggested with a bit of sass.
His irises darkened with smoky desire, and when he shifted one of his rock-hard thighs over hers, she felt the rigid length of his erection pressing against her hip. A throbbing, luxurious ache settled in her stomach, and lower, and she swallowed back the groan rising in her throat.
“Oh, I most definitely have a vivid imagination, Ms. Sommers,” he said, having proven as much with his body’s lustful response to her. “Especially when it comes to you and me. And us. Together.”
She touched her tongue to her upper lip, feeling her entire body hum with anticipation. “Us?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding slowly, and let his gaze lower to her mouth. “Tell me, Jo, do you trust me enough to let me kiss you while you’re completely at my mercy like this?”
The wanting and excitement increased, coiling tighter within her. She laughed, the sound more nervous than the frivolous note she’d been striving for. Yeah, she was uncertain…of where a kiss with him could lead…of where she yearned for it to lead. “What makes you think I want you to kiss me?”
He propped his palm against his temple. His face was inches from hers, nearly within kissing distance. “Oh, just an educated guess.”
The sensual secrets glimmering in his eyes, mixed in with the presumptuousness infusing his voice made her too curious. “Based on?”
“The way your breath catches when I touch you.”
He followed up that matter-of-fact statement by splaying his large hand on the strip of flesh between the hem of her T-shirt and the elastic waistband of her shorts, and she inhaled quickly at the incendiary heat that rippled through her.
“Yeah, just like that,” he said, dark satisfaction etching his bold, masculine features, along with a good dose of gratification at the impulsive, brazen way she strained toward him.
“And then there’s the way your skin quivers with the lightest caress of my fingers,” he went on, toying and swirling his pinkie around her sensitive navel until she gasped and squirmed and trembled.
“But the most telling fact that you want me as much as I want you is the way your nipples are growing tight and hard right this second, and the way you’re trying to shift closer, for a more intimate contact, a more explicit touch.” The tips of his fingers skimmed upward, disappearing beneath her shirt to brush along the full undersides of her breasts, a teasing stroke that left her wanting so much more. “Every one of your responses is a dead giveaway.”
He was right. Her responses were uninhibited and wanton, and she couldn’t help herself. Arguing his claim was impossible and ridiculous, so she didn’t even try, especially when the evidence he’d compiled against her was irrefutable.
His gaze burned into hers, and it was obvious he was holding his own desires for her in check. “You never answered my question, Jo, and a simple yes or no reply will suffice. Do you trust me to kiss you while you’re handcuffed to the bed, without having any control over what happens?”
A frightening thought, if the circumstances were different, with a man she didn’t trust. He might be the one holding the reins of this seduction, but she also recognized that he was giving her the ultimate power right now—to say no, or take a huge leap of faith. With him.
The forbidden beckoned. So did the fantasy of playing hostage to a man who’d master her with his lips, his mouth, his hands. The thought thrilled her, enticed her, aroused her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
7
AS SOON AS DEAN GAINED the permission he sought, he tangled his fingers through the silky warmth of her hair at the nape of her neck and tipped her chin up with his thumb beneath her jaw. Lowering his head, he ended the wait, wanting more than his next breath to kiss Jo, to finally taste the desire she exuded. To see if all the sexual tension between them was merely a prelude to a deeper kind of ecstasy.
His mouth settled on hers, sliding slowly, insistently, hotly over hers. Her lips were plush and warm and pliant. Generous. Opening for him and allowing him inside with a soft moan of surrender. With a surge of heat coursing through his ve
ins he exerted a deeper pressure and found her tongue with his. He teased her mercilessly, flirted playfully, and swept the velvet depths of her mouth with seductive forays that coaxed her to be just as bold and daring in return.
She matched his kiss with equal fervor, impetuously chasing his mouth with her own and giving as good as he gave, which heightened his own excitement and inflamed him beyond rational thought or reason. She wasn’t shy about indulging in the erotic pleasures of two people who were highly attracted to each other. Wasn’t modest about enjoying what felt good. Wasn’t at all hesitant in communicating with her lips and tongue and the sinuous movements of her body what she liked and what she wanted more of.
And what she craved was more of him.
She couldn’t use her hands, couldn’t utter a word with her busy, seeking mouth, but she spoke volumes with expressive feminine signals as old as time—a silent, ancient language spoken by a woman to a man, and one he instinctively recognized. The twisting to get closer. The subtle rocking of her hips. The restless shifting of her slender thighs against the one he’d wedged between her legs.
She wanted to be touched, caressed, stroked. Physically and intimately. Wasting no time in fulfilling her need, he glided the hand resting on her waist up her back and smoothed his palm along her spine. She groaned into his mouth and arched and shivered beneath him. Yielding to her body’s silent invocation, he flattened his broad hand on the small of her back and pulled her more fully against him, as close as her manacled arms would allow. He nearly came apart when her stiff nipples thrust enticingly against his chest and she entwined her legs tighter around his and squeezed.
His breath hitched as a fierce rush of carnal lust and excruciating need flooded his limbs—the need to do things to and with Jo to extinguish the heat simmering in his gut. He was granite-hard and thicker than he could ever remember being, and more alive than he’d felt in years. All because of this vibrant, sensual woman who’d taken him completely by surprise…in so many ways.
A Wicked Seduction Page 8