Out of Control

At five foot three, she didn’t have much to work with in the intimidation department, but she tipped her chin up, way up, to look this cop in the eye and set him straight. “Just so we’re clear on this. I am not a hooker.”

“Then I expect you’re either in trouble, or you’re well on your way to finding it. Either way, you need my help.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” More sarcasm? He raked his fingers over dark hair that had enough silver in it to give the short, crisp cut a smoky cast. “Come on.” Making some sort of decision, he cupped a hand beneath her elbow and turned her back in the direction she’d come from. “Let’s get you off the street before I have to arrest you for public indecency.”

“Are you kidding me?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “This is a perfectly good dress.” At least, it had looked fine on the girl in the catalog. Of course, that girl was probably taller, and no way did a fashion model have a pair of 38 EEs to work with. “It’s not my fault I lost the sweater that goes with it. You take a look for yourself, pal. Everything I own is covered.”

But even Alex could look down and see that wasn’t far from a lie. Oh, God. She was blushing hard enough that even her boobs were turning pink. Quickly, she tugged the square neckline up half an inch. But then she felt a distinct breeze down between her thighs.

What she wouldn’t give for one of her brother’s big T-shirts—or a hole to crawl into—right about now.

Alex didn’t know whether to give NPD here credit for patience or perseverence. She saw the officer’s gaze go there, then politely move back up to her face. He nodded toward a halfton black pickup parked in an alley at the end of the block. “I’ll give you a ride to headquarters where we can sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out. I’m going home.”

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “Unless you are arresting me, I am not going anywhere with you.”

His gray eyes grew even steelier. The cool leather of his jacket brushed against her cheek as he took a step closer and pointed over her shoulder at the cars passing by. “You won’t accept a ride from a police officer, yet you’ll get into the car of a complete stranger?”

“You’re a stranger to me,” she countered, feeling suddenly surrounded by his heat and strength, and fighting the urge to either turn tail and run or throw herself against that wall of black T-shirt and pray his offer to help was a legitimate one. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He was going for his badge again. “You see this? This means you do what I say.”

“I don’t have a particular fondness for cops.” And though this one with the jeans and the leather and the shoulders was a sight better looking than the good ol’ boy who ran her hometown, she wasn’t inclined to put her faith in any man right now.

“I wasn’t giving you a choice, Trouble.” He grabbed her arm firmly enough make her understand he wasn’t letting go. “You’re coming with me.”

“Hey!” The crowd parted in front of his long, determined stride as he escorted her back to his truck. Alex tapped along in double-time beside him, struggling against his grip every step of the way. “Did you just call me Trouble? This is police harassment. I’ve got a good lawyer.” A big brother who’d be indignant on her behalf, at any rate. “I’ll sue.”

“Sue away, sweetheart.”

He kept right on walking, ignoring her protests, ignoring curious stares and pointing and laughs that made part of her wilt inside. The one man who stepped forward to help quickly changed his mind and backed off when the cop thrust his badge in the guy’s face.

“You’re a big bully, you know that?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Is that any way to talk to a lady—”

The sidewalk ended. The cop turned. Alex tugged. His grip slipped. But escape was short-lived. Her heel caught in the seam of the curb, snapped and pitched her forward.

A rock-hard arm shot around her waist to catch her. “Easy.”

Alex shoved it away. Why the hell should anything go right? She stumbled sideways, plucked off the traitorous shoe and tossed it. “Get away from me.”

Two big hands closed over her shoulders now, saving her from falling. “Let me help.”

“I don’t want any help. I just want to go home.” She wanted to crawl under the covers and hide her head and heart in shame.

He pulled her back. “I’m not the bad guy.”

“Let…” Alex’s vision had reduced to a blur of black leather and neon lights. But she had the presence of mind to put that surviving shoe to some good use tonight. She stomped down hard on his instep. “…go!”

Cussing up a blue streak, he did just that. Alex lurched forward, nearly splatting on the concrete. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her eyes burned.

“That’s it.” Before she could right herself, a straight-jacket came down around her shoulders. Its warmth and softness were almost a shock to her system. But there was nothing soft about the wrap-around bands of masculine strength that pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her feet clear off the pavement.

Alex shrieked. Twisted in his grasp.

“Stop it!”

Tears clouded her vision, burned down her cheeks. “No!”

“Don’t fight me.”

She writhed and kicked. The second shoe flew into the shadows. “Please,” she sobbed. If anything, his hold on her tightened. He locked one arm beneath her breasts, the other farther down, around her hips. She was moving through the air. He was carrying her away as easily and ignominiously as a sack of potatoes. And then she was trapped, her whole body cinched up tight, unable to wiggle anything besides her bare feet, which dangled in the air beneath her.

The humiliation of her evening was complete. She was grappling in an alley with a full-grown man who was neither her brother nor her date…nor her enemy.

The fight drained out of Alex and she sagged inside the prison of the cop’s arms. She was breathing hard, her chest pushing against the jacket’s silky lining. The cocoon of fiery warmth surrounding her finally pierced the blind haze of fight-or-flight emotions that had turned her into a crazy woman for a few minutes. She could finally blink enough tears from her puffy eyes to see that she was facing the bed of a black pickup truck. She was pinned against the side, wrapped up in a leather jacket and sandwiched between cold steel and warm man.

As her breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, Alex became aware of a hushed, deep-pitched sound murmuring against her neck. “Shh. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just quit fightin’ me. Okay?”

Alex nodded slowly, hearing the cadence of that soothing voice more than the actual words. “I’m…sorry.”

She exhaled on a surrendering sigh and instinctively leaned her ear closer to the seductive sound. Smooth like whiskey, and just as intoxicating, the deep, soft tones warmed her from the inside out.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” The rough pad of a finger was surprisingly gentle against her skin as the man who held her wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Shh. Now, come on. Don’t do that. You don’t want to be cryin’.”

The tears of frustration and humiliation quickly dried up beneath his tender ministrations. For a few moments, there was simply fatigue—and gratitude that there was a man whose will and strength were stronger than her own—a good man whose will and strength hadn’t been used to hurt her. But as her sensibilities returned, Alex became aware of other things. Interesting things. Things that were as male and intriguing and unsettling as that voice.

The muscled forearm wedged beneath her breasts. The rasp of beard stubble that tickled her ear and neck. The buttery softness and furnace-like warmth of the jacket he’d wrapped around her body. Alex breathed in deeply. The jacket smelled like heaven.

She felt the belt buckle pressing into her rear, and the thigh that had been forced between her legs. In their struggle, her short dress had ridden up to an embarrassing level, leaving only her cotton panties between them. But shielded from curious eyes by the truck and the man’s big, muscular body, she didn’t feel exposed or embarrassed.

Instead, Alex felt…female. Vulnerable.

But not afraid.

The roughness of denim rubbed against her most sensitive skin. And a rippling response of pressure seemed to be gathering at the juncture between her thighs, building with each flex of hard muscles against her there.

“Let’s try this again.” He adjusted their positions, shifting her higher onto his hip. Alex closed her eyes, her thighs clenching at the friction of his leg sliding between hers. How could being trapped—helpless—like this feel so good? “I’m a detective with Nashville PD. It’s too chilly for this dress and too late for a woman to be walking the streets on her own. I’m here to help you. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”