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The Missing Maitland
Stella Bagwell
He'd been in dangerous situations before…But Luke Maitland had never put another person at risk–until Blossom Woodward, the controversial TV reporter, happened into the line of fire meant for him. He had saved her life; then he'd had to take her with him into hiding.She called it kidnapping. She didn't trust the man who said his name was Larkin–and insisted that he was protecting her–one bit. Sure, he was kind and brave and…well…gorgeous and sexy, but he was lying through his teeth! She certainly couldn't be falling in love with him, a man whose real name she didn't even know–could she?



“You’re a virgin?” Luke interrupted, his expression one of total disbelief.
She made a palms-up gesture. “Well, yes. Why should that be so shocking?”
He stared at her. She’d never made love to a man, yet she clearly wanted to give herself to him. He felt wildly flattered, but more than that, he was shaken. Being a virgin at her age meant she was saving herself for marriage, or at the very least for the man she loved. The notion that she was setting her sights on him was a problem. One he had to deal with before they both did something they would regret.
“What you are isn’t the problem,” he said firmly. “It’s what I’m going to do with you now that worries me.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide, and then suddenly she smiled. “Oh,” she breathed with blissful anticipation. “Are you going to make love to me?”

The Missing Maitland
Stella Bagwell


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Shirley,
A devoted fan

STELLA BAGWELL
sold her first book to Silhouette in 1985. More than forty novels later, she says she isn’t completely content unless she’s writing. Recently she and her husband of thirty years moved from the hills of Oklahoma to Seadrift, Texas. Stella says the water, the tropical climate and the seabirds make it a lovely place to let her imagination soar, and put the stories in her head down on paper.
She and her husband have one son, Jason, who lives and teaches high school math in nearby Port Lavaca.

THE MAITLANDS:
MEGAN MAITLAND:
Matriarch of the Maitland family. Her life had been filled with sorrow, excitement and joy. Once she was reunited with her long-lost son, she’d thought all would be well. But now strange things were happening at her clinic, and she wasn’t sure who was behind the mystery. Was her dream of a maternity clinic going to fail?
JANELLE MAITLAND:
The oldest of black sheep Robert Maitland’s children. Ambitious and grasping, she’d stolen and blackmailed and lied to gain the Maitland money. She’d been captured and sent to jail, but has broken out. Could she be behind the incidents? And was she representative of all the prodigal Maitlands?
RAFE MAITLAND:
The youngest of Robert’s children. Hardworking rancher. He’d always lived life alone, but in the past few months he’d acquired a daughter—and a wife! Now he would do anything to protect his family….
LAURA MAITLAND:
Robert’s third child. Vulnerable new mother. She’d swallowed her pride to ask for help with her child. She’d vowed never to depend on another man again, but Mick Hannon was very hard to resist….
LUKE MAITLAND:
Robert’s second child. Luke was a loner with secrets in his past and his present. Although he was working as the gardener at the clinic, it was clear that his real occupation was much more dangerous. But even investigative reporter Blossom Woodward couldn’t find out anything about his past. Or his future…

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten

Chapter One
“Who the hell are you, mister?”
The man behind the steering wheel shifted his gaze from the truck’s rearview mirror to the woman in the passenger seat. He could say one thing for her, if she was feeling any fear, she was darn good at hiding it. Or maybe the young blonde sitting across from him didn’t have enough sense to realize that only a few minutes ago on the grounds of the Maitland Maternity clinic, she’d come very close to losing her life.
“I’m a groundskeeper for the clinic,” he answered automatically.
Which was true enough, he thought. For the past two weeks, he’d been working as a yardman for the clinic. He just hadn’t bothered to let anyone know he’d been doing more than mowing grass and snipping shrubs.
Sarcasm twisted the woman’s glossed lips. “I didn’t realize Austin was getting so violent that groundskeepers had taken to carrying concealed weapons.”
He focused on the merging traffic in front of them before glancing once again in the rearview mirror. So far the gunmen were nowhere in sight. He believed he’d given them the slip about five blocks back, but in this evening rush hour traffic, he couldn’t be sure. And he wasn’t about to let down his guard. Especially now that he had someone else’s life to consider rather than just his own.
“You better be glad I had a gun on me, lady. Otherwise you and I might be dead right now.”
Just as she shivered in her seat, he darted another glance her way. Blossom Woodward. She was the single reason, his only motivation, for coming to Austin. To track down the woman whose fresh face appeared every day on Tattle Today TV. She’d been sticking that pretty nose of hers into his past and now her digging had thrown both of them into mortal danger.
In his line of work, he’d learned many times over that people could never be judged by their outward appearance. Yet now, as he looked at her sitting only inches away, it was difficult, even disillusioning, for him to imagine that such a delicious-looking set of lips could spew such vicious gossip.
Across the seat from him, Blossom swallowed convulsively but still managed to keep her chin thrust resistantly upward. “I’m not so sure those shots were fired at us. Or even if they were gunshots. You were so busy throwing me down to the ground, I doubt you know yourself!”
He jammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into the back of a double-parked delivery van, then, cursing under his breath, he gunned the truck into the left line of traffic. An insulted driver behind them leaned on his horn. Up ahead, the four-lane street was boggled with evening commuters. She got the impression that he expected those to part and allow them passage, like the Red Sea parting for Moses.
“Don’t kid yourself, lady. Those were bullets flying around your pretty head, not exploding firecrackers.”
The defiant toss of her head sent a long mane of honey-blond hair rippling against her back. He’d known she was a beautiful woman. He’d watched her on television and had spotted her several times going to and from the clinic. But this was the first time he’d seen her up close. Everything about her, from her creamy skin and blue eyes to her silky blond hair, sparkled and glowed with the beauty of youth.
“Just in case you hadn’t noticed, mister, there were other people on the clinic grounds,” she shot back at him. “Any one of them could have been the target. We might have found out what was going on if you hadn’t thrown me in this truck and hightailed us out of there like scalded cats!”
He didn’t bother to reply. The woman didn’t have a clue as to what was going on and that was just the way he wanted to keep it. The less this sexy news reporter knew, the better off both of them would be.
A few yards in front of them, a traffic light glared a warning amber. He stomped on the gas pedal, sending the pickup truck flying through the busy intersection.
Gripping the edge of the seat, Blossom jerked her attention from him to the vehicles and pedestrians flashing beyond the passenger window. So far she’d not noticed where they were headed. She’d been too busy trying to gather her scattered senses together. But now she could see they were entering the outskirts of the city.
“Where are we going, anyway?” she demanded. “This isn’t the route to the police department!”
“Forget the police, honey. They couldn’t help us right now.”
Her head whipped back to him. Wide-eyed and angry, she ordered, “Stop this truck! Stop it right now!”
Without bothering to look at her, he shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t take that chance.”
Blossom reached for the door handle, but her reaction was too late. He’d already pushed the electronic childproof locking system. She couldn’t open the door unless he allowed her to!
“I’m going to file charges against you for this!” She pushed the words through gritted teeth. “This is—kidnapping!”
Grass stains marked her beige skirt. Oozy scrapes marred both her palms. Her shoulder ached from being slammed to the hard ground, and she’d lost an expensive tape recorder and shoulder bag to boot. If this man had been trying to save her life, she’d hate to think what sort of shape she’d be in if he’d been trying to harm her.
“Go ahead and file your charges. When the police hear I saved your life, they’ll probably arrest me, anyway, for aiding and abetting a criminal.”
“I’m not a criminal!”
Sarcasm turned up the corners of his mouth. “You might not be a criminal, Ms. Woodward, but your tongue surely is.”
For a moment Blossom forgot that she’d just been shot at and was now being carted away by a complete stranger with a gun.
“You know who I am?” Her voice was just as incredulous as the look on her face.
He grimaced. “Doesn’t everybody in this part of Texas?”
She twisted around in the seat so that her knees were angled toward his and she was facing him head-on. “What does that mean?”
He hadn’t meant to sound so insulting, but whether she knew it or not, this woman had already dealt him some misery. And no doubt her snooping had brought uninvited grief to other people’s lives.
“It means if you can’t find trouble to report on that so-called news show of yours, you stir it up yourself. Well this time, Ms. Woodward, you just might have gotten more than you bargained for.”
His voice was too quiet, too smooth for Blossom’s liking. Yet she told herself now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve or her control. Even if those fired shots hadn’t been meant for either of them, the man had saved her from getting hit by a stray bullet, she reminded herself. And so far, he’d not done one thing to harm her. But she didn’t like being at the mercy of any man. Even a good one.
“Your thinking must be as twisted as a corkscrew if you think I had anything to do with that scene back there at the clinic! Do you honestly believe I, or anyone with Tattle Today TV, would stage such a thing?”
“I don’t believe you really want me to answer that,” he drawled.
Annoyance turned to simmering anger, but she did her best not to lash out at him. Her reporter’s instinct told her she’d make far more progress with this man if she remained cool, calm and controlled.
“A few moments ago you were stressing to me how real those bullets were,” she said pointedly. “Apparently you don’t believe anything about the incident was staged. I think you’re just trying to goad me.”
He’d expected her to be determined, but not sharp. So that meant he’d already underestimated her. The idea grated on him. People were his profession. Knowing what was going on inside their heads was key to his survival. One thing was definitely obvious: he was going to have to stay on his toes with this woman.
“Maybe I was. Why don’t you take the next few minutes and try to figure it out,” he suggested.
Blossom had to bite her tongue to keep from flinging a retort at him. But she managed to remain quiet, and immediately her senses began to soak in the information around her like a dry sponge.
Somewhere in their flight from the clinic, he’d exited off the main thoroughfare and was now barreling at a high rate of speed down a service road that she’d never used before. The business district of town had rapidly disappeared behind them. Now only an occasional convenience store with gas pumps dotted the sides of the highway.
From what she could tell, they were traveling west toward the hot, hazy sun. Although it was November, most of Texas hadn’t cooled from the long blistering summer. She’d worn short sleeves today and the air-conditioner blowing from the dashboard was none too cool on her bare arms.
As for the man behind the steering wheel, just the sight of him was enough to raise a woman’s temperature, Blossom thought. Generally, she was good about guessing a person’s age, and this man looked as though he was closer to thirty than twenty-five. Crow-black hair waved loosely to the back of his collar. Equally black brows and lashes framed eyes that were a shade somewhere between dark blue and storm gray. Except for sideburns that grew to the midpoint of his ear, he was clean-shaven.
For some reason, the arrogant jut of his chin made her suspect that it had probably taken far many more whacks from a fist than it had kisses. But she could be wrong. He’d probably had more than his fair share of both. He was the sort of man a woman would look at twice, and that always garnered double trouble.
“Like what you see?”
His provocative question jerked Blossom out of her reverie and she realized she’d been staring at him for far too long. With a blush burning her face, she jerked her gaze deliberately toward the windshield.
“I was trying to figure out what sort of man you are,” she said defensively.
No one could do that, he thought. Not even himself. He wasn’t like other people. Other men. His life had never been close to normal. He didn’t ever expect it to be.
“Don’t bother,” he said curtly. “You’d be wearing yourself out for nothing.”
His odd retort drew her eyes back to his profile. “You’re holding me hostage in this truck! It would be helpful to know whether you’re some sort of gallant knight or a serial killer.”
Spotting a parked car up ahead that was partially concealed on the side of the road, he eased off the accelerator. It wouldn’t do for him to get caught by the Texas Highway Patrol. Too many questions would have to be answered and too many outside sources would learn of his whereabouts. He had to lie low. At least until he knew for sure whether those bullets had been for him or someone else on the Maitland grounds.
“I’m neither.”
His brief answer infuriated her. She was a woman of words and she wanted to hear several from him. Mainly who he was and what he was doing carrying a gun.
“Are you…some sort of security officer?”
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want anything on his face to give her any more suspicions than she already had. “What gave you that idea?”
She made an impatient noise somewhere between a snort and a groan. “It’s no secret the Maitlands have been having problems. I wouldn’t put it past them to have undercover security guards posted around the clinic.”
“To keep nosy reporters out of their hair?”
She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Reporters are the least of the Maitlands’ problems. But somehow I figure you already know that.”
He’d not known anything about the Maitlands until he’d hit town a little more than two weeks ago. What he’d discovered had been very unexpected, to say the least.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Maitland Maternity seems to be experiencing a rash of mishaps. But—I don’t know anything about them. I just mow the lawn and water the shrubs.”
For the first time since he’d sped away from the clinic grounds, he settled his shoulders back against the seat and told his body to relax.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her retort didn’t surprise him. Part of the woman’s job was being skeptical, and he could already see that she was someone who viewed all angles of a situation. Not just the obvious. For that alone he had to admire her.
With a lazy shrug of one shoulder, he said, “Well, that’s your prerogative. I’m just telling you that I didn’t hire on with the Maitlands as a security officer. And you can do what you like with that information.”
There were two things Blossom would like to do with his information. Prove it wrong, then throw it back at him. But that would have to wait. The first and most important thing she had to do was get away from the man.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” she reminded him.
“Does my name really matter? You don’t know me. It couldn’t mean anything to you.”
“I have to call you something,” she reasoned.
One corner of his perfectly chiseled lips lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sure you can think of plenty of things. Women have a knack for giving me labels.”
Her nostrils flared as she drew in another long breath. “No doubt. But I think I’d rather stick to a birth name.”
He didn’t say anything for long moments, and although her eyes remained on him, she was acutely aware of the fact that they were getting farther and farther away from the city of Austin.
“You can call me Larkin,” he said finally.
In spite of herself and the precarious situation she was in, Blossom couldn’t stop her gaze from traveling up and down the long length of him.
He was wearing a dark gray khaki uniform shirt with a pair of blue jeans and dark brown work boots. The Maitland Maternity logo, a simple oval with the initials MM, was sewn to a spot over his left breast. There was no name tag below it, and no name or job title was embroidered into the heavy material.
Yet none of those things were the real focus of Blossom’s attention. It was the massive width of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his neck and arms, the leanness of his waist and the big brown hands on the steering wheel that all combined to mesmerize her. No one had to tell her he was a strong man. She’d felt his strength firsthand when he’d manhandled her into the truck.
“Is that all?” she prodded.
“That’s all I’m telling you.”
Her back teeth ground together at the idea that he thought he had the upper hand with her. Raking back a wave of hair that had slipped toward her right eye, she looked out the window and tried to catch sight of a highway sign.
“I get it,” she muttered. “You imagine yourself as one of those stars who like to believe they’re so grand they only need a single name.”
If she’d been anyone else and the circumstances had been different he might have actually enjoyed sparring with her. But, as it was, he had too much on his mind, mainly what he was going to do with her now that they’d managed to escape the spray of bullets back at the clinic.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her cross her legs, then fold her arms against her breasts. He had to admit it was nice to see a woman in a skirt with silky stockings on her legs and high heels on her feet. He’d always been a sucker for high heels, and the pair on Blossom Woodward’s dainty feet were the exact color as her classically tailored skirt and blouse.
She was petite and slender, but far from fragile. Her body was taut and curved in all the right places, and he wondered if she found time in her busy TV schedule to work out at a gym or if she was just naturally fit.
“Believe me, Ms. Woodward, there’s nothing grand or starlike about me.”
Maybe he wasn’t a star. But he was far from ordinary. And how she’d ended up here with him like this was incredible. One minute she’d been on the sidewalk outside the clinic and the next moment loud pops were exploding all around her. Before she’d known what was happening he’d suddenly appeared beside her and whipped a pistol from a holster inside his shirt.
She wasn’t sure how many rounds of bullets he’d fired at the vehicle skidding wildly through the parking lot. Thinking back on it, he’d probably emptied the whole magazine before he’d shoved her into the truck and yelled at her to stay down.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re out of the city,” she told him. “No one is behind us. You can stop at the next gas station and let me out.”
“I’ll stop when we get to where we’re going.”
Panic sliced through Blossom, but she did her best not to let it take control. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to find out what this man was going to do with her and why. If his intention had simply been to take her out of harm’s way at the clinic, his job should have been over thirty minutes ago.
“If you’re thinking the television station will pay a ransom for me, forget it.”
Before he could stop himself, he threw back his head and laughed.
“Now, who’s thinking they’re grand?” he asked between chuckles. “If I’d planned to kidnap someone for money, I would have picked a much bigger fish than you, Ms. Woodward. Any one of the Maitlands would be worth millions. What do you think you’re worth?”
Blossom grimaced, mainly because he was making sense and she wasn’t. Added to that, she couldn’t think of one person who valued her life that much. She was a loner, a woman who cherished her independence. She didn’t allow people to get very close to her.
“Not much,” she answered. “Tattle Today has a cheap producer. And there are plenty of people standing in line to take my place.”
Her answer was not what he’d been expecting. From what he’d learned about her and the show, she was a rising star and had already earned the nickname of Blossom the Barracuda. She was known for digging up people who preferred to remain anonymous and shoveling out stories that shocked and scandalized. Exploiting other people’s problems was quickly making her famous.
“Your attempt at modesty is hardly convincing,” he said with easy insolence. “There’s not a line of people to take your place. Thankfully not everyone is capable of doing what you do.”
Blossom was used to people insulting her work. Mostly because her stories hit too close to home and no one liked to be reminded of their faults or weaknesses. Whether public or private, more often than not, she ignored the insults. She’d learned early on that she would have to have a tough hide to survive in her job and in life. Yet there was something about the barbed sarcasm in this man’s voice that stung her more than usual. Maybe it was because she was already cross with him. Or maybe it was because she’d sensed, sometime during this crazy flight, that he was a keenly intelligent man and she wanted his respect. She wanted him to understand that she wasn’t a barracuda. She was a woman who wanted to be the best at her job.
“Is that why I’m here in this truck with you? Because you don’t like what I do and you plan to whip me into some sort of submission? Force me to denounce Tattle Today TV?”
He shook his head with wry disbelief. “My, my, you do have quite an imagination, Ms. Woodward.”
Her hands balled into tight fists as she twisted around in the seat to face him once again. “You’re being deliberately evasive! I want you to tell me what’s going on! Now!”
He looked over at her, his black brows cocked with mocking inquisition. “Is that how you get your stories? You demand that people spill their guts to you?”
Realizing that her temper was getting the better of her, that he was getting the better of her, she forced her fingers to uncurl and her lungs to draw in a deep, calming breath.
“I’ve never encountered anyone I couldn’t get information from,” she said in a cloyingly sweet voice, then added, “one way or the other.”
“Hmm. Then I guess this is a first for you.”
She glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me to call you Mr. Wonderful? That would have been more honest than the name you gave me.”
He smiled, and even though the expression was meant to be sardonic, the flash of white teeth and an engaging set of dimples transformed his hard features. Like prey charmed by a snake, Blossom was momentarily transfixed by the sight of him.
“You know, you’ve called me everything from grand to kidnapper,” he said. “You’re going to keep on until you actually have me believing I’m more than a groundskeeper.”
“You’re insane! That much is becoming obvious,” she said, pushing the words between gritted teeth.
He was half inclined to agree with her. He must have been insane to think the best thing to do would be to take her. But the whole event back at the clinic had occurred in a few short moments. He’d only had time to react to the danger, not to decide the best way to handle Ms. Blossom Woodward. Besides, he’d been waiting for a chance to confront this woman. He just hadn’t expected it to happen this way.
“Look, lady—”
“You know my name,” she snapped. “Use it!”
Docile could never be used to describe this woman, he thought. Her blue eyes were spitting fire. Heat stained her cheeks crimson and her rounded breasts were heaving as if she’d just run a mile, or just made wild love to her mate.
The last notion turned his thoughts in a different direction, and for the first time since he’d learned that a Blossom Woodward existed, he wondered who the woman behind the blond beauty on the television screen really was.
“All right, Blossom. Why don’t you settle down and have the good sense to thank your lucky stars I was around when those goons came by with their assault rifles.”
Her brows arched skeptically. “Because I have no idea who you are. You might be one of them!”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why I shot back at them.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,” she countered. “You could have been in cahoots with the people in that van, but at the last minute decided to take the big slice of pie for yourself.”
“Do you see me eating pie?” he asked as his gaze focused on the left-hand mirror outside his window. A vehicle was rapidly approaching their rear. The shape didn’t resemble the gunmen’s van, but in the past few minutes the sun had slid behind a hill and dusk was making it difficult to discern distant objects with much accuracy. He reminded himself how fatal it might be to let himself be distracted by Blossom Woodward.
“You know what I mean,” she continued. “Those gunmen wanted someone on the Maitland grounds. And I don’t think it was me,” she said matter-of-factly.
He didn’t answer until the vehicle had safely passed them and was traveling on down the highway. Even then his voice was preoccupied, something that she noticed and took as another insult.
“You’re thinking too much, Blossom. You’re wearing me and yourself out.”
Frustration had her twisting around in the seat, away from him. The movement caused the heel of her shoe to come into contact with something on the floorboard. Looking down, she noticed it was caught on the strap of her leather shoulder bag.
Apparently she hadn’t lost the bag back at the clinic parking lot as she’d first assumed. It must have slid off her arm and onto the floorboard when Larkin, or whoever he was, pushed her into the truck.
Thank goodness for small things, she thought. At least she’d have her identification with her if she was found dead or unconscious. On the other hand, if she was clever enough to escape, she’d have her checkbook and the small amount of cash she’d gotten from an ATM this morning. And last but not least, she’d have a comb and lipstick just in case she ever got back in front of a camera.
Forgetting her captor for the moment, she bent down and pulled the bag onto her lap. It was then she remembered the cellular phone inside. Why it had taken her so long to think of something so important, she didn’t know, but her heart was suddenly pounding with excitement. If she could dial 911 without him knowing, she might possibly alert the operator that she needed help.
But where were they, she wondered frantically. If her sense of direction was still reliable, since leaving Austin they had continued to travel west and north. In fact, from what she could see of the passing landscape it appeared that they were headed toward Pedernales Falls.
The notion sent a chill slithering down her spine. The state park surrounding the falls contained more than five thousand acres of wilderness. Parts of it were rough mountain area. If he got her onto one of the primitive hiking trails or down in the gorge where the river had cut steep banks from the limestone, she might not have a chance to call for help. No one might ever see the two of them.
She darted a surreptitious glance his way. At the moment he appeared to be absorbed with the task of driving. If she could get the phone turned on and key the numbers without him seeing, then the dispatcher on the other end would hopefully pick up their conversation and sense trouble. Though she hadn’t seen a highway sign yet, she believed they were on Highway 290. Surely she could repeat that much before he caught on to what she was doing.
Slowly, she pushed her hand beneath the leather flap on the bag. Her fingers immediately came in contact with more leather. Her checkbook. Inching deeper, she felt the bristles of a hairbrush, a wad of crumpled tissues, a tube of lipstick.
Triumph surged through her. There it was! Then just as quickly, she mouthed a silent curse. She’d been so happy to get rid of her old, heavier phone, for the lightweight flip-top version she was clutching inside the bag. But now she desperately wished she still had the old one. It would have been much easier to handle without drawing attention to her movements.
Oh, well, she couldn’t be stopped by trivial hurdles now, she mentally scolded herself. She had to try. She couldn’t let this maniac or whatever he was take her into a secluded wilderness.
Slowly, carefully, she used the tips of her fingers to tug the phone just to the edge of the flap covering the opening of the purse. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like a thick blob. Twice during her effort, she cast furtive glances at the man who’d called himself Larkin. Both times he was looking straight ahead, seemingly preoccupied with thoughts of his own.
Now was the moment, she silently coached herself. Flip the phone open and push the last digit on the third line, the first digit twice.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The unexpected sound of his gruff voice caused Blossom’s whole body to jerk, sending the bag in her lap sliding to the floorboard. Immediately his eyes zeroed in on the phone in her hand and he mouthed a searing curse word.
“I’m calling the police,” she shouted defiantly. “You’re not going to take me anywhere!”
His hand lunged for the phone and ripped it from her grip.
Seeing the device as her last link to safety, Blossom cried out in horror, then, throwing herself at him, she began to pummel his arm and shoulder with her fists.
“Give me that phone—you crazy man!”
The truck swerved wildly from one side of the highway to the other as he tried to ward off her attack. In the back of her mind, Blossom realized she was probably going to make him wreck the vehicle, but at this point she didn’t care. Dying in a car accident would be preferable to being murdered, tortured or both.
“Stop it, damn it! Before you kill us both!” he yelled.
“Give me the phone!”
With one hand he managed to shove her across the seat toward the passenger door. Before she could make another lunge at him, he jammed the brakes on and brought the truck to a jarring halt on the side of the road.
Without the restraint of the seat belt to hold her down, Blossom went flying toward the windshield and only managed to stop her head from whamming into the glass at the very last second.
By the time she’d collected herself, Larkin had rolled down the window and was about to make a fast ball out of the telephone.
“No! You can’t!”
Shrieking now, she threw her whole body at him. But her efforts were too little, too late. The telephone went flying out into the hot night.
Yet even in defeat, Blossom continued to strike her fists against him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Not by a long shot.
It wasn’t until he had her confined in the tight circle of his arms that he realized she wasn’t just fighting him over a cellular phone. She was frightened and fighting for her life.
“Blossom! Stop it!” he ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She went instantly still, her body stiff and rigid in his arms, her breasts heaving against his chest.
“Then—why don’t you—let me go?” she asked as she gulped in deep breaths of air.
In the blink of an eye, his rigid features softened. “Because it’s too dangerous. I—have to take care of you now.”
Confusion crumpled her features and then her body sagged against his. The contact was as startling as it was comforting. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his dark face hovering over hers, the hard expanse of his chest against her breasts, the utterly male scent of his skin and hair enveloping her in an erotic fog. His hands were hot on the flesh of her back, yet she welcomed the heat, the sizzling excitement his touch was bringing her.
A fleeting recollection of something she’d read dashed through her mind. Something about fighting being closely akin to having sex. Well, at this very moment she believed the notion to be true. Her eyes were riveted to the curve of his lips while a strange need gripped her lower belly.
“I—don’t—understand,” she whispered.
“It isn’t necessary for you to understand, Blossom. Just trust me.”
With each spoken word, his lips drew closer until finally Blossom realized that as far as she was concerned, common sense, fear or trust were no longer issues. She had to kiss this man or die from the wanting.

Chapter Two
He didn’t know how it had happened. One moment he’d been wrestling with her in an attempt to stop her flying fists. The next thing he knew her soft, warm lips were on his.
Ribbons of heat radiated through both his shoulders, and slowly it dawned on him that the source was her fingers pressing gently into his flesh. Yet those two spots of warmth couldn’t begin to compare to the twin furnaces of her breasts thrust tightly against his chest. They were burning right through to his lungs, robbing him of his breath and his senses.
The small part of his brain that was still working told him that this was how a man slipped and forgot the dangers stalking him. It shouted that if he wanted to get killed he should just keep on letting Blossom Woodward dally with his senses.
The idea sent cold reality surging through him like an icy wave, and with it he found the strength to tear his mouth away from hers.
“What in hell is going on here?” He barked the question in a hoarse voice.
Blossom stared at him, her expression a mixture of dreamy bemusement and self-deprecation.
“What’s the matter with you?” she snapped. Then, pushing out of his arms, she jumped back to her side of the seat and began to tug down the straight skirt that had ridden up along her thighs. “Haven’t you ever had a woman kiss you before?”
“Not like that!”
Blossom’s face flamed with embarrassed heat, but she still managed to meet his gaze directly. “I hope that’s a compliment.”
He groaned loudly, then said several curse words she couldn’t have brought herself to say even if she’d been in a dark closet with no one around for three miles.
“It means you’re crazy and so am I!” he yelled. “It means you could have just gotten us killed!”
Jerking his head to the right, he squinted through the back windshield of the truck at the darkness beyond. He could see no lights anywhere, but that was hardly enough to make him happy. Anyone wanting to slip up on them could have turned out their headlights and walked right up to the truck door, stuck a gun to their heads and blown them away without either of them knowing what happened.
Angry at himself more than her, he jerked the gear-shift into low and gunned the vehicle back onto the highway.
Across from him, Blossom decided it was time she put on her seat belt. Escaping was not foremost in her thinking now. In fact, it wasn’t in her thoughts at all. She was too preoccupied with her own rash behavior and with trying to understand what had prompted her to initiate the kiss that had just taken place between them.
Blossom silently groaned as the whole incident replayed in her mind. She had to admit she’d been giving Larkin more than just a kiss. She’d been making love to the man! As for him, she didn’t know what had been going on in his mind. But hers was still generating X-rated images.
Had she totally lost her senses? she wondered helplessly. She had no idea who this man was or what he was up to. She did know that he was arrogant and insolent and he was holding her against her will.
Yet she couldn’t stop the erotic thought that he’d also been holding her against his body as well, and she’d relished every second of the captivity. My word, she wasn’t just losing her mind, she was turning into her mother!
Refusing to let that horrible notion remain in her head, she gave him a sidelong glance full of accusation and, God help her, appreciation.
“I fully intend to make you reimburse me for the cellular phone. You shouldn’t have thrown it out the window!”
He flipped on the turn signal and directed the truck onto a dirt road. Dust boiled in their wake as he once again stomped on the accelerator.
“If I’d wanted to alert the police, I would have done so back in Austin,” he explained with an exaggerated patience that grated on Blossom. “But you’re smart enough to know that.”
Darkness had completely fallen over the landscape, but in the arc of the headlights, she could see that the road they were traveling was carrying them deep into the woods, probably somewhere in the Pedernales park, she figured. She tried not to picture where they might be going or what tomorrow would bring. If she did, she would surely become hysterical, and that was a luxury she couldn’t afford at the moment.
Peering at his profile, illuminated by the muted lights from the dash panel, Blossom asked, “Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“A criminal?”
“No.”
She took a deep breath and raked her disheveled hair back from her face with both hands. “A few moments ago, you implied that someone could or might be following us. Do you honestly think those goons with assault rifles wanted to kill you or me? Or both of us?”
His jaws tightened. “When you can feel the wind off a bullet, that pretty much implies it was meant for you.”
Blossom wasn’t convinced. “Look, I know I’m not the darling of Austin’s reporters. I realize people frown on what I do and how I do it. But that doesn’t mean they want to shoot me down. And as for you—well, to hear you tell it, you’re just a simple gardener. I doubt anyone would risk spending the rest of his life in prison just for the kick of taking out a groundskeeper.”
“So you’ve got it all figured out. Guess you can put your speculations to rest now.”
He was so smooth, so sarcastic, that she wanted to bash him over the head with something. Mainly her fist. But her knuckles were already sore from her earlier assault on him. Besides, she didn’t want to risk ending up in his arms again. The temptation—or she should probably view it as the danger—was simply too great.
“I don’t have anything put to rest,” she retorted. “The last thing I remember before you grabbed me was that Megan Maitland, her friend Clyde Mitchum, and her grandson Chase had just walked out of the clinic. In case you don’t know, Megan is more than just the CEO and co-founder of the Maitland Maternity clinic, she’s incredibly wealthy and a very prominent and notable citizen of Austin. She dotes on her grandson, Chase. Which would place a high ransom on the kid’s head. And let’s not discount Clyde, either. From what I can gather, he and Megan knew each other in the past. He’s come back to Austin to close the distance between them and so far Megan hasn’t exactly pushed him away. In my opinion, those three are much more likely to draw attention from maniacs with guns than you and me.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
Flustered and weary, she stared at him. “Can you be certain those three weren’t the target?”
No, he thought with a silent curse. He couldn’t be sure of anything right now. But as soon as he got Blossom and himself out of imminent danger, he was going to find out.
“I’m not certain of anything, Ms. Woodward.”
Once again she crossed her legs and folded her arms against her breasts. The toe of her high heel swished up and down with agitation. “So we’re back to Ms. Woodward now instead of Blossom. What’s the matter? Afraid if you get too personal I’ll try to kiss you again?”
He’d never encountered such impertinence or bravado from a woman. Especially one as young as Blossom Woodward. If the situation hadn’t been so risky, he’d have the pleasure of taking her down a notch or two. But for now, he had to make sure she didn’t get to him—in any way.
“You can try, but that’s as far as you’ll get.”
Stung by his retort, Blossom clamped her mouth shut and stared out the passenger window.
She’d die before she touched the man again, she silently swore. He could choke her with his own hands or toss her back to those idiot gunmen. Either way, he would never be the recipient of her kisses again!

Nearly twenty minutes later, the pickup came to a halt in a small clearing. Blossom whipped off her seat belt and peered through the windshield. They were parked on a rough incline with the nose of the truck a great deal higher than the rear. In front of them was some sort of structure shrouded by huge shade trees.
“What is this place?” she asked. The words were the first she’d spoken since her silent vow to hate the man forever.
“A cabin that belongs to a friend of mine. Where we can stay. Hopefully, where we won’t be used for target practice.”
He opened the door and slid to the ground. When he came around and opened the passenger door, Blossom remained rooted to the seat.
“What’s the matter?” he drawled. “Your legs won’t work?”
Blossom wasn’t sure if anything about her worked anymore. Especially the common sense she’d always prided herself in having. But the last impression she wanted this man to have of her was that she was a weak, helpless female.
“My legs are fine. But I’m not at all certain I want to go into that—house—with you,” she told him frankly.
He shrugged, then lifted the baseball cap from his head and ran a hand over his thick hair. “Suit yourself. As for me, I’d rather eat and lie down on a regular bed than stay out here in the dark.”
Not waiting for her reply, he turned and left her on the truck seat. Blossom watched his dark figure walk onto the shallow porch of the cabin, then disappear through a door. Moments later the dim glow of a light appeared in a single window on the front of the structure.
Apparently the man actually intended to spend the night here, she concluded. And since they were so far back in the boondocks that a bloodhound couldn’t find them, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about her taking flight.
Damn the man, if he hadn’t thrown her cell phone away, she could have used it now. But that was mostly her own fault. She should have sat tight and waited for a better opportunity to attempt to dial 911. Instead, she’d panicked and tried to carry out the plan right in front of him. Stupid, Blossom. Real stupid!
With a weary sigh, she flopped over sideways on the seat and closed her eyes. She could sleep here in the truck seat if she had to, she thought. In a couple of hours, the night air would begin to cool. With the windows rolled down she wouldn’t melt in her own sweat. But right behind that encouraging thought came the realization that the mosquitoes would make a feast of her. Just the thought had her rubbing her legs and arms in anticipation of the itchy pain.
Pushing herself upright, she gnawed fretfully at her bottom lip while staring at the cabin. Was there water and a bathroom inside? she wondered. Food and a place to lie down? If there was and he was enjoying those luxuries without her, she’d make him suffer.
Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the truck. Carefully choosing her steps over the rough ground, she stopped now and then to glance around her. There were no lights connected with other human inhabitants, no sounds except for a choir of frogs and katydids and the occasional call of a whippoorwill. She’d never been in such an isolated place in her life.
When Blossom finally gathered the nerve to open the door and step inside the cabin, Larkin was standing with his back to her at a crude counter made of wooden crates. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence with words or even throw a glance her way, and Blossom realized that he’d been expecting her, as though he’d known what she would do long before she knew herself. The idea was unsettling. Even more so than being stranded here alone with the man.
“There’s a bathroom on the back porch to the right,” he said. “It’s supplied with gravity-flow water. I’m sure you’ll want to use it before we eat.”
Relieved by this bit of good news, Blossom scurried across the room and out a narrow screen door. As he’d stated, there was a tiny bathroom built on one end of the porch, complete with sink, shower closet, towels, washcloths and bar soap with the tangy scent of pine.
After using the basic facilities, she washed her face and hands, then brushed her hair and secured it into a ponytail with a rubber band she found in the bottom of her purse. Blossom didn’t bother fishing out her compact. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she looked awful, but in this bizarre situation, comfort was more important than her appearance.
Back inside the cabin, she found Larkin scraping the contents of a large can into a black iron skillet. She watched as he placed it on a narrow cookstove with four gas burners, then touched a lighted match to the burner beneath the skillet.
“What is that?” she asked, inclining her head toward the heating food. “It looks like someone has already eaten it.”
“Hash. It might not be gourmet food, but it will keep you from going hungry.”
He stirred the blob with a wooden spoon, and as Blossom continued to watch him, she got the impression that he knew his way around a kitchen, even one as rustic as this.
The idea quickly spawned more questions in her mind, and she realized for the first time since the two of them had spun away from the clinic that she’d been so busy worrying about him having harmful intentions toward her that she hadn’t stopped to consider his personal identity.
“You seem pretty good at handling that spoon. Do you know how to cook things from scratch instead of emptying a can?”
“When it’s necessary.”
“Is that often?”
He turned away from the stove and began to fill a graniteware coffeepot with water. “Whenever I want to eat something other than fast or frozen food.”
“So—you don’t have a wife who cooks for you.”
“No wife. And even if I did have one, that doesn’t necessarily mean she’d want to cook for me.” He glanced at her as he spooned coffee grounds straight into the water. “Are you good in the kitchen?”
She had the naughty urge to tell him she was good anywhere. But she quickly bit back the words, shocked at her own brazen thoughts. Those bullets whizzing past her head must have done something to her. She wasn’t behaving like herself tonight. Especially when she looked at Larkin.
“Not really. I manage to do canned soup or sandwiches.”
His lips twisted into a mocking line. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’re not the domestic sort.”
His barb shouldn’t bother her. After all, she’d never cared about winning a Martha Stewart contest. She had other things on her mind, like getting the scoop on an adulterous city official before some other television station or newspaper caught wind of it. But for some ridiculous reason, Larkin’s remark had left her feeling properly insulted.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t the domestic sort,” she corrected him. “I just don’t know much about cooking. There was never anyone around to teach me.”
She was twenty-one, he knew that much. He’d also managed to garner other information about her. Such as the fact that she had no siblings. He’d learned she did have parents, but neither lived in Austin. Yet those were only outward facts about the woman. He knew nothing of who she was on the inside. Or why she’d been searching for a man called Luke Maitland.
“What about your mother?” He plopped the lid down on the coffeepot, then turned and placed it on the burner alongside the heating hash. “Or did your family have a hired cook?”
In spite of herself, Blossom let out a caustic laugh. “Hardly. We weren’t poor, but hired help of that sort was beyond our means. Although Mother would have loved it. She hated everything about domesticity.”
He turned and, for the first time since she’d entered the cabin, allowed himself a leisurely look at her. She’d swept her long hair up into a ponytail on the crown of her head. The exposure of her dainty ears and long, lovely neck made her look absurdly young. Even vulnerable. An adjective he’d never expected to associate with Blossom Woodward.
“In other words, you didn’t drag up a chair to the kitchen counter to stand in and watch while she baked cookies.”
To his surprise she didn’t come back at him with a flip retort. In fact, he was sure he saw a dark flash of regret in her eyes just before she glanced away from him.
“Not all little girls are lucky enough to have a mother like that,” she said, then after a moment she slanted a pointed glance back at him. “What about you?”
Nothing registered on his face as he shifted back to the hash. Picking up the wooden spoon, he pushed it slowly through the warming food. “My mother is dead now. But…while she was around, she tried.”
It hadn’t been Veronica’s fault that she’d had little more than roach traps to live in or barely enough money to put food on the table for four hungry kids, he thought. In her own way, she’d tried to make as much of a home as she could for them. Her untimely death and the brutal circumstances surrounding it had left a hole in him that he figured would never heal.
A few steps away, Blossom studied the distant, preoccupied expression on his face. At this moment he was far away from her, and she could only surmise that thoughts of his mother had tugged him to some other place in his past.
Larkin was a young man. Even if the woman had given birth to him in the latter part of her childbearing years and she’d died only recently, she couldn’t have been old. The notion filled Blossom with curiosity. Yet she didn’t ask him to elaborate about his mother. From his earlier comments, she’d gathered that he thought of her as a prying reporter. He wouldn’t believe that her questions could ever be strictly from a human interest.
“My mother is in Florida now,” she said as she made a quick survey of the cabin’s interior. “With her fourth husband. She’s been married to him for a year now. Much longer than I ever expected.”
The small room contained a living, dining and cooking area. Along the front wall was a plaid couch, the green and orange colors faded and worn from years of use. To the right of the couch, in the far corner, was a small square table constructed of mismatched pine boards. Huge trunks of hardwood trees about a foot in diameter and twice that much in height passed for chairs. The area where she and Larkin stood was the cooking area, complete with a single iron sink covered with chipped and stained porcelain, a relic of a cookstove. Wooden crates covered with dusty white curtains served as cabinets.
Next to the table, across the back wall of the room, was a small doorway. Another dingy curtain partially covered the open space. From where she was standing, it was impossible to see what was beyond the curtain. She could only surmise that it was a bedroom.
“Are you saying your mother and marriage don’t mix?” he asked.
She grimaced. “My mother likes men too much to stay married to one for very long. Her motto is too many men, not enough time.”
He wrapped a dish towel around the skillet handle and picked it up from the burner. “This stuff is ready,” he said. “Get some plates out of the cabinet while I carry it over to the table.”
He hadn’t asked her; he’d told her. But Blossom wasn’t going to point that out to the man. She was hungry, and so far he’d done all the meal preparation. Besides, she was the type of person who could bend. Up to a certain point.
After a quick search of the cabinet shelves, Blossom found a stack of chipped and mismatched plates, cups and bowls. To one side of the dishes, stored in a plastic jug, was a handful of silverware. She dug out two forks and spoons and, after wiping everything off with a damp dishcloth, carried the dining equipment to the table.
Larkin dished the food equally onto their plates, and by the light of a coal oil lamp they began to eat the simple meal. Even if the globe had been washed of dust and soot, the primitive lighting would have still been dim. Across the table, she was barely able to discern the lines of his face.
“I’ve had candlelit dinners brighter than this,” she said in an attempt to make light of their intimate predicament.
“I’m sure.”
With each bite, she could feel herself growing more weary. Her shoulders and eyes were both beginning to droop, making her reach for the camp coffee he’d brewed.
“What does that mean?” she asked, while pouring the dark liquid into one of the cracked cups.
“Nothing. Just that I’m sure you’ve had lots of…dining out.”
He made the word dining sound like a sexual romp, and she couldn’t make up her mind whether to be insulted or flattered. Blossom realized she wasn’t necessarily a raving beauty. Yet she was aware that the combination of her blue eyes, blond hair and lush curves were an attractive package to men. Even so, she’d never been overwhelmed with offers for dates.
It’s that air of independence you have, Blossom. Men like to think they’re needed and they don’t feel that way with you.
Dena Woodward had often spoken those words of warning to Blossom. Even so, it wasn’t in her to pretend to be something she wasn’t. And anyway, she’d be crazy to take her mother’s advice. Dena might know how to attract men, but keeping them around as a family member was another story altogether.
“In spite of what you’re thinking, I’m not much of a socializer,” Blossom told him. “For the most part men keep their distance and I keep mine.”
Larkin shook his head with faint amusement. “You’d try to make a person believe water isn’t wet.”
She shoveled a forkful of hash into her mouth and chewed. After she washed it down with a swallow of coffee, she said, “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you before today. Yet you behave as if you know me better than your own grandmother. Have you been…stalking me?”
It was true that he’d come to Austin because of her, Larkin silently admitted. And it was also true that he’d been wanting to learn some things about her. Mainly why she was searching for Luke Maitland. But he’d certainly not been stalking her. For any reason. In fact, it was still hard for him to believe that fate had virtually dropped the woman into his lap.
“First of all, I never knew my grandmothers. Secondly, as I’ve tried to tell you before, Blossom, I’m not a deranged person. If I’ve been implying that I know you personally, it’s only because I’ve seen you at work on television and made my own deductions about you.”
He could be telling the truth, but she couldn’t be sure. For the past two months she’d had the eerie feeling that she was being followed and watched. The notion could have been all in her mind. But what if Larkin had been stalking her all this time, just waiting for a chance to abduct her. The idea sent a river of goose bumps over her heated flesh.
“Then that puts me at a disadvantage,” she said, “because I haven’t been privy to any information about you.”
He shrugged as though she shouldn’t view that as a problem. “There’s nothing interesting or necessary for you to know about me.”
“Are you from Texas?” she asked. “You don’t sound like it.”
After he’d turned eighteen he’d never lived in one place long enough to acquire a local accent. His job had turned him into a tumbleweed that carried nothing but dirt behind it. For ten years he’d not had a family or home and he could only think of a handful of people he could call true friends.
“No. I’m not a Texan. Just a transplant.”
The hash on her plate was gone so she put down her fork and looked at him through the meager light. Lines of fatigue were beginning to etch his face, but Blossom instinctively felt there was more to his weariness than just the stressful day they’d had. She couldn’t imagine why the idea touched a soft spot inside her. Besides keeping her here against her will, he’d been nothing but a jerk.
“You don’t want to tell me about yourself, do you?”
“No.”
“Why?” she persisted.
Without glancing her way, he poured himself some of the coffee. “Because the less you know about me, the better.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. Normally when she was interviewing someone it was very easy to keep her thoughts focused on the questions she needed to ask. But with Larkin, one look at him made her intentions fall to the wayside. No matter how hard she tried, Blossom couldn’t forget how it had felt to be in his arms, to taste his lips. She’d never experienced such an electric state of euphoria and it frightened her to think how much she wanted to feel it again.
“When are you going to let me go? Take me back to Austin?” she dared to ask.
His brows lifted as he looked across the table at her. “That all depends.”
“On what? Those people who shot at us?”
His smile had nothing to do with being amused. “So you’re finally accepting that we were the targets and not Megan Maitland.”
“Not really.” The cabin was hot and his close proximity was making it even hotter. She could feel sweat trickling down her temples and between her breasts. Her skirt and blouse would be ruined before the night was over. She hoped that was the only thing. “However, since you seem so adamant about us being the bull’s-eye, I’m beginning to think you have enemies. I think that you recognized those men with the assault rifles and that you know why they came gunning for you.”
His jaw like concrete, he rose from his seat and picked up their empty plates and silverware. As he carried the dirty dishes over to the sink, he said, “Like I told you before, Blossom, you’re thinking too much. There’s a bed in the next room. Go lie down and let me do the worrying.”
Blossom didn’t stop to consider her reaction. Like a shot, she was across the floor, clamping both hands around his arm. “Don’t treat me like a child or an idiot! This is my life! And though you might play these sorts of games with other people, I don’t!”
He glanced at her fingers digging into his flesh, before slowly and calmly lifting his gaze to her face. “Believe me, Blossom, this isn’t a game.”
“Then I demand to know what’s going on. And why I’m a part of it!”
A blaze suddenly sparked in his eyes, warning Blossom he was on the edge of an explosion.
“You demand,” he repeated with a snarl. “Look, little lady, if it wasn’t for that big nose and even bigger mouth of yours, you wouldn’t be in this predicament now. You’ve dished out a heap of misery to people and didn’t blink an eye while doing it. Well, sister, if you haven’t learned it by now, what goes around comes around. You’re reaping your rewards!”
Fury hit her like the full force of a hurricane, and before she realized what she was doing, her hand reared back to slap him. But she never managed to fulfill the urge. Instantly, his fingers were gripping her wrist, forcing her hand back to her side.
“You won’t be slapping me, Blossom. Not tonight. Or any other night. And furthermore, if you don’t quit trying to hit me, you’re going to get your backside tanned with the palm of my hand!”
“Why you…insolent beast! You have no right to do—”
Without warning his hands were on her shoulders, propelling her rapidly backward through the doorway with its dusty curtain and farther still until the back of her legs collided with the side of a bed.
“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” he growled back at her. “You think no one has a right to their privacy. If your digging and your questions expose someone to danger, you just mark it off as a part of the job. To hell with their life as long as you get your story. Isn’t that the way you work, Ms. Woodward?”
Pain and humiliation burned through Blossom, and to her utter horror, tears began to sting her eyes. Damn it, she never cried. Crying was a sign of weakness. Besides, it didn’t help anything. She wasn’t about to let this man break her down to a sniveling female.
Furious with her own reaction to this man, she said, “I’ll bet you wouldn’t be talking to me like this if I were male.”
He barked out a caustic laugh. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be talking at all. I’d have already knocked your lights out.”
And he wouldn’t have had any trouble doing it, she thought with an inward shiver. The man was tough, strong, and he possessed a keen mind to boot. The combination of those three attributes made him a dangerous man. And yet she sensed he would never hurt her physically, or any woman, for that matter.
“I’ll bet,” she quipped.
His nostrils flared and then slowly his blue eyes began to glide over her face. One by one he inspected each feature, until finally his gaze settled on her lips. Hot lightning instantly arced between them. Blossom felt stunned, mesmerized by the desire to lean into him and feel the scorch of his touch.
Suddenly aware that the atmosphere between them had taken a drastic change, he removed his hands from her shoulders in the way a man might drop a snake, only after realizing he’d been bitten.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a bed behind you,” he said sharply. “Get in it and go to sleep.”
She opened her mouth, planning to tell him to quit ordering her around, but he didn’t give her the chance to utter the words. Turning on his heel, he left her in the little darkened room as though he’d washed his hands of her for tonight. She wondered furiously how many more times the man intended to insult her.
“Aren’t you going to tie me up?” she called out to him. “Or guard the door to make sure I don’t slip off in the night?”
From somewhere in the other room, his low voice came back at her. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked, each word coated with sweetness.
She heard the springs in the couch creak from his weight, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded as though he was bent over. “Because you have no idea in hell where you are or how to get out of this place. Added to that, you’re too soft to try an escape on foot and I have the keys to the truck.”
Turning slightly, she carefully felt over the top of the mattress. The way her luck was running there’d be a rat’s nest or rattlesnake coiled up beneath the covers. But she couldn’t worry about either. She had two choices: climb onto the bed or sleep on the floor.
“How do you know I can’t hot-wire a vehicle?” she persisted.
She heard a thunk and realized he’d been unlacing and removing his boots. Apparently he planned on getting comfortable.
Unconsciously, her hand went to the buttons on her blouse. It would be heaven to undress, she thought. But to lie in here naked with him only a few steps away in the next room would be indecent and all too risky.
His voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. “Because if you really did have that talent, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to mention it. And don’t bother to get up in the night and start poking around for the keys,” he added. “I have them on me. And I think you know better than to risk getting that close to me again.”
Oh, yes, Blossom knew better. But at this very moment, getting close to the man was all she could think about. The physical attraction she felt for him was insane and certainly unexplainable. Yet she wanted to make love to him. Even more than she wanted to go home.

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