Read Online Friends and Lovers Trilogy 03 - Seduced by Beth Ciotta - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beth Ciotta
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Unfortunately, she could neither remember the address, nor could she offer a clear description of that mystery house. After two hours of driving around the ritzy neighborhoods of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley, she worried that she’d imagined that too. She seemed to be missing four to five hours of her life. What memories she did have were enigmatic, like the dream sequence designed by Salvador Dalí in Hitchcock’s
Spellbound
. Only
her
distorted recollections more closely resembled the work of Picasso. It made no sense. The possibility that she’d experienced something horrific, as Joe had suggested, coiled her already taut nerves into a painful knot.
“There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it,” she grumbled in a husky imitation of the cinematic genius.
“Quoting Hitchcock?”
Impressed and surprised, Sofia slid him a glance. “You’re a fan?”
Joe smiled for the first time in hours. “The man was a genius.”
Well, damn
.
He instantly sobered, grasped the gear stick, and down shifted. “What?”
Realizing he must have sensed her awe, she focused on the rugged mountains, and curbed her tongue. She didn’t want to tell him that he’d just echoed her thoughts. Didn’t want to address the fact that they had something in common. She didn’t want to
like
Joe Bogart. Bad enough she lusted after the cynical bastard.
Twisted attraction
.
He swung the jeep into a driveway, thumbing a remote to open the garage door. The house, a small rancher in a classic southwestern design, looked pristine and welcoming against the daunting mountains he’d called the Superstitions.
Sofia folded her arms over her bra-less chest and burrowed deeper into the cloth, high-backed seat. Her body buzzed with sexual awareness and dread. “I’m not crazy about staying at your place.”
He killed the engine. “I’m not crazy about it either.”
Another thing in common, although—
ouch
. Had she also imagined the zing between them this morning during the naked wrestling match? Since leaving the Camelback Inn he’d been Mr. Cool. Mr. Professional. Throughout the morning, he’d maintained his distance, careful not to touch her in any way. She should be grateful. Touching led to kissing. Kissing Joe was a very bad idea. Just now she ached to be bad.
Not good
. “Why can’t I stay at a hotel?”
He snagged three shopping bags and shouldered open the driver’s door. “Because you’re family.” He hopped out of the jeep, adding, “Until I hear back from Creed, we’re connected at the hip.”
Earl Creed. The Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Phoenix Field Office. The man Joe had entrusted with the Beretta. According to Joe, Creed owed him a favor and had promised to initiate some tests on the QT. He hadn’t told his friend where he’d gotten the gun, and if Joe was to be believed, Creed hadn’t asked. Again, he’d said something about trust. Again, Sofia had balked. Every time she trusted a man, she got burned.
Her door swung open, and there stood Joe—six-foot-one, dark, dangerous and devastatingly handsome. He’d been opening doors and providing for her, in one way or another, all morning long. Considerate and polite. Kind yet professional. “Stop doing that.”
“Stop being a gentleman?”
“It’s annoying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They stared at each other five charged seconds before he stepped away and moved into the house via a side door. She followed. What else could she do? She had no money. No ID. No personal belongings, except for her cell phone and whatever Joe had just purchased at Wal-Mart, God help her. As her publicist would say, she needed to put a spin on this situation.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
Denial. Yeah, that would put her in the comfort zone. Only, there was no denying her scrapes and bruises. Or the missing hours. So, instead she opted for the drugged-at-a-celebrity-party scenario. Believing she’d ended up the butt of a
Spellbound
. Only
her
distorted recollections more closely resembled the work of Picasso. It made no sense. The possibility that she’d experienced something horrific, as Joe had suggested, coiled her already taut nerves into a painful knot.
“There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it,” she grumbled in a husky imitation of the cinematic genius.
“Quoting Hitchcock?”
Impressed and surprised, Sofia slid him a glance. “You’re a fan?”
Joe smiled for the first time in hours. “The man was a genius.”
Well, damn
.
He instantly sobered, grasped the gear stick, and down shifted. “What?”
Realizing he must have sensed her awe, she focused on the rugged mountains, and curbed her tongue. She didn’t want to tell him that he’d just echoed her thoughts. Didn’t want to address the fact that they had something in common. She didn’t want to
like
Joe Bogart. Bad enough she lusted after the cynical bastard.
Twisted attraction
.
He swung the jeep into a driveway, thumbing a remote to open the garage door. The house, a small rancher in a classic southwestern design, looked pristine and welcoming against the daunting mountains he’d called the Superstitions.
Sofia folded her arms over her bra-less chest and burrowed deeper into the cloth, high-backed seat. Her body buzzed with sexual awareness and dread. “I’m not crazy about staying at your place.”
He killed the engine. “I’m not crazy about it either.”
Another thing in common, although—
ouch
. Had she also imagined the zing between them this morning during the naked wrestling match? Since leaving the Camelback Inn he’d been Mr. Cool. Mr. Professional. Throughout the morning, he’d maintained his distance, careful not to touch her in any way. She should be grateful. Touching led to kissing. Kissing Joe was a very bad idea. Just now she ached to be bad.
Not good
. “Why can’t I stay at a hotel?”
He snagged three shopping bags and shouldered open the driver’s door. “Because you’re family.” He hopped out of the jeep, adding, “Until I hear back from Creed, we’re connected at the hip.”
Earl Creed. The Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Phoenix Field Office. The man Joe had entrusted with the Beretta. According to Joe, Creed owed him a favor and had promised to initiate some tests on the QT. He hadn’t told his friend where he’d gotten the gun, and if Joe was to be believed, Creed hadn’t asked. Again, he’d said something about trust. Again, Sofia had balked. Every time she trusted a man, she got burned.
Her door swung open, and there stood Joe—six-foot-one, dark, dangerous and devastatingly handsome. He’d been opening doors and providing for her, in one way or another, all morning long. Considerate and polite. Kind yet professional. “Stop doing that.”
“Stop being a gentleman?”
“It’s annoying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They stared at each other five charged seconds before he stepped away and moved into the house via a side door. She followed. What else could she do? She had no money. No ID. No personal belongings, except for her cell phone and whatever Joe had just purchased at Wal-Mart, God help her. As her publicist would say, she needed to put a spin on this situation.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
Denial. Yeah, that would put her in the comfort zone. Only, there was no denying her scrapes and bruises. Or the missing hours. So, instead she opted for the drugged-at-a-celebrity-party scenario. Believing she’d ended up the butt of a
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