picked up its tempo. Her own body throbbed in cadence with the erotic visions that had flitted through her head, and the interior of the vehicle grew warm, despite the air-conditioning blowing cool air across her skin. She was shocked at her provocative thoughts and the path they’d traveled…and who she’d allowed to be the male lead in her sexual fantasy.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she inhaled a slow breath. Get a grip, Joelle. The man is a felon, no matter how gorgeous, sexy, and charming he might be, no matter how convincing and genuine he seems. No matter that she’d been way too long without a man to ease the kind of sensual cravings that had recently taken up residence within her.
He wasn’t a man to trust, or even lust after—not when he was on his way to jail and a future destined to be spent behind bars. Chanting that reminder silently in her head, she rolled her window down, placed his enormous, supersize order and opted for a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea for herself.
Less than ten minutes later, without any mishaps at the restaurant’s pickup window and her mind firmly back on business, she pulled the Suburban into the motor lodge parking area. After circling the lot once, she chose an isolated spot far enough away from the registration office and anyone exiting the two-story, U-shaped structure.
Turning off the engine, she withdrew the keys, unlatched her seat belt, and grabbed her wallet from the console. She cast a quick glance Dean’s way, making sure he was still trussed up and immobile. “I’ll be right back,” she told him, satisfied that he was still firmly restrained. “I’m going to get us a room for the night and we’ll eat once we’re settled inside.”
He flashed another one of his easygoing grins. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”
She opened her door and slid out of her seat, biting back a smile at his obliging attitude, as if it were his choice to sit tight while she was gone, and that he’d enjoy every minute of the wait. Amused with his pleasant disposition despite his predicament, she locked him into the truck and engaged the alarm.
She walked briskly across the half-full parking lot and into the small, glass-enclosed office that enabled her to keep an eye on the Suburban and Dean while she registered and paid for their one-night stay. Per her request to the night clerk, she was able to secure a room with two double beds on the first level, located around the backside of the lodge where they’d be afforded a semblance of privacy.
The transaction went smoothly, and without any trouble from Dean in the car. She drove the vehicle around the building, parked in the designated slot in front of their motel room door, and within minutes she had everything unloaded—including Dean, their duffle bags, and their food. After securing all the locks on the metal door and switching on the cool air to clear out the stuffiness, she turned her full attention to her silent, patient prisoner standing in the middle of the room.
Alone in such a confined space and surrounded by an intimate setting that included two beds, the size of him registered in a purely feminine way. When she’d first cornered him in his garage, she’d been running on pure adrenaline, ready for action and focused on apprehending him. Now, she was keenly aware of how potently male he was with those big, wide shoulders and toned arms that would have no problem wrapping around a woman her size. Then there were his lean hips encased in soft denim to consider, and strong thighs that framed impressive male anatomy. His stance was completely relaxed, his gaze warm and sensual. He gave no indication that he was wired and ready to spring to action at the first opportune moment, an attitude she’d come to expect from most of her captives.
He was tall, too—a good six inches bigger than her own five-foot-five stature that qualified her as petite, a word she’d hated from the moment she’d learned what it meant to the male gender—small, delicate, and a featherweight, a nickname Noah always loved to torment her with. The continual comparison of how small she was had been partly responsible for her determination as a teenager to break free from her brothers’ overprotectiveness. That same fierce perseverance had followed her into her adult years as she’d struggled to prove herself as a capable law enforcement officer to her family and colleagues.
Unfortunately, while she’d proven her physical strength, agility, and endurance, she’d failed miserably at the emotional and mental fortitude she’d needed to do her job—a personal failure that had ended up costing her Brian’s life.
Those thick, black lashes framing slumberous eyes blinked lazily at her. “Food’s getting cold, sweetheart,” Dean said, his tone a low, rich murmur in the quiet room. “And I’m getting hungrier by the second. Are you going to take off the cuffs, or do I get to enjoy the pleasure of you hand-feeding me?”
He sounded like he wouldn’t have minded the latter. Refusing to allow her misbehaving thoughts to travel in that direction, she glanced around the room once more and considered her options—and performing the intimate task of feeding Dean Colter by hand was not one of them. Finding the small, rectangular table between the second bed and the corner of the wall, she made her decision based on Dean’s consistent, non-violent behavior since she’d picked him up.
“One of the cuffs stays on at all times,” she said, unwilling to compromise on that issue. “I’ll secure the other handcuff around the metal pole beneath the table which will free up your other hand so you can feed yourself. It’s more slack than I normally offer my prisoners, so don’t make me regret my generosity.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.
She followed that up with a steely warning. “One false move and not only will you be flat on your ass from my beanbag shotgun, but you’ll remain shackled and permanently disabled for the duration of the trip—hands and feet. Do you understand?”
He nodded amicably, agreeing to her terms. “Sure do.”
With that assurance, she splayed a hand against his back and guided him forward, then eased him into the chair on the far side of the table. Quickly and efficiently she unfastened the metal bracelet on his right hand, then reached beneath the Formica surface and secured his left wrist to the thick metal pole. As an added precaution, she wedged him into the corner with the table by pushing it up against both sides of the walls.
Stepping back, she shrugged out of the blouse she wore over her tank top, exposing the revolver holstered to her left side that he hadn’t known she carried—if the sudden raising of his brows were any indication. Tossing the gauzy garment onto the nearby bed, she unsnapped the leather strap to free the weapon as an added intimidation tactic, though her stomach rolled at the thought of having to withdraw or use the gun. Especially on Dean, whom she truly liked, despite his criminal status.
His gaze traveled from the gun to her face, his initial surprise replaced by something far more playful. “And here I thought I was the only one with a concealed weapon,” he teased, a slow smile easing across his lips. “Is that thing loaded?”
His sexy innuendo was reminiscent of the provocative banter that had passed between them when she’d patted him down in his garage—before he’d realized that her cop act was for real. “I do believe that’s my line,” she shot right back.
“Touché,” he acknowledged, then groaned in relief as he rolled his stiff shoulders and shook out his cramped arms. “My hands were starting to tingle and fall asleep. Thank you for releasing me,” he said gratefully, then flashed her a sinful smile. “Though I have to admit that I was really looking forward to being hand-fed. You’re taking all the fun out of this captive fantasy for me, Jo.”
She rolled her eyes at his outrageous, flirtatious comment, then retrieved their bags of food and drinks from the dresser and slipped into her own seat across from him. “What can I say? Fulfilling fantasies
