there?
It was dark. He had tackled her. Justification? Maybe.
"Actually, I'm the one who should be screaming," he told her casually.
He'd been looking forward to this, another encounter with the mystery woman.
She struggled, shoving at his chest—a familiar scenario. He released her arms. She straightened her upper body so that she was riding him tight and hard.
He grasped her thighs and lifted his hips into her. It was crazy, but he didn't care that she'd broken into his house. He wanted her.
She stopped struggling. "D-don't."
She sounded scared. "D-don't do that."
"What? This?"
He thrust again. The chase had him all fired up. She had him all fired up.
"Y-yes." Breathless. "I mean, no."
Once again, he detected that note of confusion, as if she wasn't quite sure how she felt about the whole situation. He could relate.
"Don't do that."
Last time, she hadn't taken the money. Maybe that's what was bugging her. "Don't worry, I'll pay you." He worked his hand between their hot bodies. He unbuttoned her pants, then reached for the zipper.
Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob made his hand go still. "This should be just another day at the office for you. The daily grind."
She sniffled. "I-I'm not a hooker. At least not anymore. I-I quit. That's what I did."
Why did he get the feeling she was making this up as she went along? "Can you do that? Just quit?"
"If you aren't any good."
"Hey. You were good. Believe me."
"I was?"
She actually sounded like she wasn't sure.
What kind of idiot did she take him for? Now that she'd cooled him down with her sniffles and innocent act, he was beginning to feel pissed. He was beginning to figure it all out. She'd posed as a hooker to get into his house. Now she was pretending to be some innocent virgin so he'd let her go.
She'd taken advantage of him, that's what she'd done. She'd used sex to invade his space, his privacy. In the four years since Beck had been shot, no one had invaded his privacy to such an extent.
"What were you after?" He asked the question even though he knew the answer. The song. Rick's song. That's what she wanted. That's what everybody wanted.
She didn't answer.
He shoved her away, jumped to his feet, then pulled her up after him.
She swayed. Another act. The woman deserved an award.
"Come on. Back to my place. We've got to talk."
Before she could make a run for it, he grabbed her arm and pulled, urging her to follow.
She took a staggering step and bumped into him. He marched ahead through the darkness, keeping a firm grip on her arm.
It was black as sin under the heavy cover of trees. Not a star or a sliver of moon to help light the way. He was familiar with the path they were on, but not enough to keep the occasional branch from smacking him in the face.
Behind him, he felt her falter.
No mercy. He increased his pace.
She didn't.
No mercy.
He couldn't be that tough, no matter what kind of scam she was pulling. He slowed. "Come on," he said gruffly, instantly regretting the fact that he was letting her get to him.
"Can't."
"What do you mean, can't?" He tugged. "Come on."
"Can't. Won't."
"You want me to give up. To let go so you can take off. Forget it. I'm not falling for it."
Instead, she fell. Literally. Actually, she kind of folded. That was the only way he could describe it. The woman deserved an Oscar. An Emmy. A Golden Globe. He could never keep those things straight. "You deserve something, I'm just not sure what."
She was lying at his feet. "A beating?" she mumbled into the ground. "Rape? How about rape?"
"What are you talking about?" Maybe she'd been sent to blackmail him. Some people thought he was rolling in the bucks. Sure, he was pulling in royalties, but most of it went to Rick's mother.
"I'd never hurt a woman," he reluctantly admitted, irritated that she'd gotten such an admission out of him in the first place. How could you be tough, how could you scare a woman enough to make her talk, if you admitted you
It was dark. He had tackled her. Justification? Maybe.
"Actually, I'm the one who should be screaming," he told her casually.
He'd been looking forward to this, another encounter with the mystery woman.
She struggled, shoving at his chest—a familiar scenario. He released her arms. She straightened her upper body so that she was riding him tight and hard.
He grasped her thighs and lifted his hips into her. It was crazy, but he didn't care that she'd broken into his house. He wanted her.
She stopped struggling. "D-don't."
She sounded scared. "D-don't do that."
"What? This?"
He thrust again. The chase had him all fired up. She had him all fired up.
"Y-yes." Breathless. "I mean, no."
Once again, he detected that note of confusion, as if she wasn't quite sure how she felt about the whole situation. He could relate.
"Don't do that."
Last time, she hadn't taken the money. Maybe that's what was bugging her. "Don't worry, I'll pay you." He worked his hand between their hot bodies. He unbuttoned her pants, then reached for the zipper.
Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob made his hand go still. "This should be just another day at the office for you. The daily grind."
She sniffled. "I-I'm not a hooker. At least not anymore. I-I quit. That's what I did."
Why did he get the feeling she was making this up as she went along? "Can you do that? Just quit?"
"If you aren't any good."
"Hey. You were good. Believe me."
"I was?"
She actually sounded like she wasn't sure.
What kind of idiot did she take him for? Now that she'd cooled him down with her sniffles and innocent act, he was beginning to feel pissed. He was beginning to figure it all out. She'd posed as a hooker to get into his house. Now she was pretending to be some innocent virgin so he'd let her go.
She'd taken advantage of him, that's what she'd done. She'd used sex to invade his space, his privacy. In the four years since Beck had been shot, no one had invaded his privacy to such an extent.
"What were you after?" He asked the question even though he knew the answer. The song. Rick's song. That's what she wanted. That's what everybody wanted.
She didn't answer.
He shoved her away, jumped to his feet, then pulled her up after him.
She swayed. Another act. The woman deserved an award.
"Come on. Back to my place. We've got to talk."
Before she could make a run for it, he grabbed her arm and pulled, urging her to follow.
She took a staggering step and bumped into him. He marched ahead through the darkness, keeping a firm grip on her arm.
It was black as sin under the heavy cover of trees. Not a star or a sliver of moon to help light the way. He was familiar with the path they were on, but not enough to keep the occasional branch from smacking him in the face.
Behind him, he felt her falter.
No mercy. He increased his pace.
She didn't.
No mercy.
He couldn't be that tough, no matter what kind of scam she was pulling. He slowed. "Come on," he said gruffly, instantly regretting the fact that he was letting her get to him.
"Can't."
"What do you mean, can't?" He tugged. "Come on."
"Can't. Won't."
"You want me to give up. To let go so you can take off. Forget it. I'm not falling for it."
Instead, she fell. Literally. Actually, she kind of folded. That was the only way he could describe it. The woman deserved an Oscar. An Emmy. A Golden Globe. He could never keep those things straight. "You deserve something, I'm just not sure what."
She was lying at his feet. "A beating?" she mumbled into the ground. "Rape? How about rape?"
"What are you talking about?" Maybe she'd been sent to blackmail him. Some people thought he was rolling in the bucks. Sure, he was pulling in royalties, but most of it went to Rick's mother.
"I'd never hurt a woman," he reluctantly admitted, irritated that she'd gotten such an admission out of him in the first place. How could you be tough, how could you scare a woman enough to make her talk, if you admitted you
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