giving her another chance. Unceremoniously, he grabbed his hat, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.
For someone who was up to criminal activities and packed a vicious punch for her size, her epithets and name-calling fit a five-year-old’s vocabulary. Heck, some five-year-olds could do better.
Ignoring her harmless blows on his back and her sputtering fury, Jason carried her to his pickup, unlocked the door and dumped her inside. Like a cat springing back into battle, she came up fighting, but he was ready this time.
Tossing his hat into the back with one hand, he clamped her wrists in a tight grip with his other hand, pinning her against the locked door and the seat with his body. In spite of her struggles, he became aware of several things at once: an enticing perfume, a body whose topside was even more curvaceous and soft than her backside, a wiry strength he wouldn’t have believed possible and short, guttural moans of battle that made him think of something far removed from their struggle. Against all wisdom, he was curious and wanted to see what she looked like.
“You just slashed a club member’s tire, and I can call the sheriff and have you hauled to jail.”
“Go ahead and call, you warp-noggined manhandler,” she snapped. “They can’t put me in jail for slashing a tire. I’ll call my lawyer.”
“Why do I doubt you even have a lawyer? Warp-noggined?”
This was the Valkyrie who Dorian said had been stalking him. Jason had suspected Dorian had been stretching the truth a bit, but after the past few minutes, he decided the man had been correct. Everything about her seemed amateurish, and he didn’t think there was a lawyer, a plan or much sense. From the few minutes of dealing with her, he figured he had a crazy person on his hands, or perhaps a woman emotionally unhinged by a man who had done her wrong. Was this some ex-lover of Dorian’s, and he didn’t want to admit it?
“Settle down, wildcat. Fighting won’t do you any good. You’re not catching me by surprise ever again.”
In the darkness he could see her jaw lift in a stubborn gesture. “That’s what you think. Let me go. I can charge you with assault—”
“Hardly,” he stated dryly. “I just caught you in a criminal act.” She wiggled, struggling to break free, but it was having a far different effect on him. Jason had been a longer time than usual between women. She was soft, curvaceous and she was squirming and gyrating against him. His body was pressed over hers, pinning her down, but she was doing things that were setting him on fire in spite of his annoyance.
“Wildcat, do you know what you’re doing?” he rasped.
She stilled instantly, and he knew she had become aware of his natural male response to a warm, sweet-smelling female rubbing sensuously against him.
When he reached down with his free hand and unbuckled his belt, her struggles became wild. Swiftly, he yanked his belt free, bound her wrists together and secured her to the door handle. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re just not going anywhere. You’ve caused enough trouble around here. Now, you make a choice. I take you home with me— I lock you in a room by yourself for tonight. I have no evil intentions, I promise. Tomorrow you go on your way and get out of Royal. Or I can take you to the sheriff. You decide.”
Why he was taking her home with him, he wasn’t altogether certain about, except he had been assigned to keep her out of the way of the rest of the club members, and it was the best way to keep an eye on her.
She struggled, and Jason tightened his grip. “Look, you’re just going to get yourself in deep trouble. There are laws against stalking someone—”
“Stalking! I’m not stalking that rotten lowlife varmint. He’s mean and vindictive and dishonest.”
Jason was intrigued. “I’ve given you a choice. Make your decision. Or it’ll be the sheriff because I’d be glad to dump you into someone else’s lap.”
They were both breathing hard—his ragged breath was not from exertion. Erotic thoughts were tempting him and she was the cause. She might be five feet of trouble, but she was definitely all woman and a very sweet-smelling one at that. Jason fished a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the black stuff off her forehead.
“How do I know you won’t hurt me?” she asked so softly that he had to lean closer. And got another deep whiff of her perfume. A little pesky wildcat shouldn’t wear seductive perfume.
“You have my word on it,” he said, and she gave a bitter laugh. “The sheriff or my house,” he repeated.
“Your house,” she whispered, her breath sweet, lightly brushing his skin.
Keeping up his guard, he moved away and fished for his keys, starting the pickup. Now she was hunched into a ball in the corner between the door and the back of the seat. As he drove out of the lot, he glanced at her again. She looked pitiful all huddled over, but his bruised midriff warned him not to be taken in by appearances. This was not a cringing, frightened little waif. The wildcat had a punch that had knocked him flat.
Jason worked out over an hour every day. He shouldn’t have been felled by a blow from a female of her size, and he vowed he would increase his workouts tomorrow.
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flask of whiskey, opening it and offering it to her. “Need a drink?”
“Now you want to get me drunk so you can have your way with me,” she snarled.
“Great grief,” he grumbled, wanting a stiff drink himself, but resisting, since he was driving.
“Where did you get your vocabulary—out of some 1920s dime novel? Outside of melodramas, I didn’t know anyone used that phrase have your way with me.”
“You’re too young yourself to know anything about 1920s dime novels, and I certainly don’t. And you know full well what I meant.”
“I gave you my word. You’re not my type anyway.”
“I can imagine your type.”
He glanced at her again, his curiosity growing. Silence stretched between them as he drove down Main Street, Royal, Texas, the place where he had grown up and lived a good part of his life. “So, what type do you imagine I’d like?” he asked finally.
“Someone beautiful, sexy, sophisticated and easy. Real easy.”
Amused, he looked at her, still unable to see anything except a huddle of black.
“You don’t think I have any charm to win over someone who isn’t easy?”
“You tackled me twice,” she said in the same haughty, aloof tone that he could recall early grade-school teachers lecturing him with. “That isn’t a winning approach.”
“I wasn’t trying a winning approach. I never intended seduction. I was trying to stop a criminal act. That’s not a fair judgment of me,” he remarked, amused by her in spite of his annoyance at being saddled with responsibility for keeping her away from the others.
He drove past Pine Valley, the exclusive, private-gated, residential community that held mansions, including one belonging to his family where his brother was currently residing. Jason could take her there, but he preferred her out on the Windover Ranch—far
