Read Online Woman On the Run by Lisa Marie Rice - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Marie Rice
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about Sam Cooper besides his thigh muscles.
Either the man had an enormous erection or he belonged in the Guinness Book of Records . Julia’s internal temperature spiked in a flash of incandescent heat sapping her muscles of strength.
Oh, God. What was happening to her? Her legs were trembling and she couldn’t take her eyes off Sam Cooper’s jeans, old and white along the front and in the groin area where it was stressed by contact with his thigh muscles and his…
Oh, this wouldn’t do .
On rubbery knees, Julia went into the kitchen to rub her wrists over ice cubes, since the water was turned off. She started cooling down. When she finally had herself under control, she went back to where Cooper was working.
He finally emerged from her wall. With an enormous whump! , her boiler came back on. As he had in the school after she’d brained him, Cooper stood in one smooth lithe powerful movement. He looked down at her. That dark, hard face was totally expressionless. He held his big hands up. They were covered in grease and she saw with dismay he’d nicked himself. Two of the knuckles were covered in blood.
“May I wash my hands?” His voice was deep and raspy, as if he didn’t speak often.
“Of course. Thank you so much.” The house was already beginning to heat up and Julia felt an enormous surge of gratitude towards him. Okay, so he didn’t talk much, and his thighs and what was between them messed with her head, but he’d repaired her plumbing and she was really grateful. “The bathroom is the second door to the right. The towels are clean.”
He nodded his head gravely and turned. With what she considered a heroic act of self-control, Julia did not check his buns out. The front of him was quite enough distraction. She headed back into the kitchen.
She’d make him a cup of tea—no, maybe cowboys preferred coffee. She was filling the filter when she heard a knock on the door.
The house was starting to resemble Grand Central Station. In the entire month she’d been here, no one had stopped by. Tonight was a circus. First the dog, then Cooper and now someone else.
Julia opened the door and her worst nightmare came out of the swirling darkness.
A pistol. Aimed straight at her head.
Chapter Three
Julia screamed and her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest. She scrabbled wildly for something to use as a weapon, though she knew it was too late. Crazily, she tried to brace herself for the shot.
“Trick or treat.” The childish treble came from somewhere around her knees and she froze. A witch, a blond Harry Potter with fake round plastic glasses and a cowboy stared at her, frightened by her screams. The little cowboy dropped his plastic gun and the witch started crying.
Not killers. School kids wanting a treat.
The front door closed. Dimly, as if coming from a hundred miles away, Julia heard a deep male voice and the excited squeals of children from the porch. Then, a moment later, the front door opened again, letting in an arctic swirl of wind.
She stumbled into the little living room, her fingers clenching hard on the back of the garish flower-covered sofa. She ignored the heavy pounding in her chest and tried to control the trembling in her arms. For a moment, colored lights danced before her eyes and the edges of vision started to fade like a yellowing photograph. A hot tear dropped onto her white knuckles.
Terror, loneliness, despair all jostled sharply, painfully inside Julia’s chest, as if there were knives in there fighting their way out, slicing her heart into shreds. She drew in a long sobbing breath as another tear squeezed out from behind her closed lids. Rough tremors shook her. In the instant before her knees gave way, she felt herself half-lifted and turned against a broad expanse of chest.
To Julia’s intense horror, short, stuttering sobs racked through her. She swayed and was held tightly. Strong arms held her close and she let herself go limp.
It felt like a
Either the man had an enormous erection or he belonged in the Guinness Book of Records . Julia’s internal temperature spiked in a flash of incandescent heat sapping her muscles of strength.
Oh, God. What was happening to her? Her legs were trembling and she couldn’t take her eyes off Sam Cooper’s jeans, old and white along the front and in the groin area where it was stressed by contact with his thigh muscles and his…
Oh, this wouldn’t do .
On rubbery knees, Julia went into the kitchen to rub her wrists over ice cubes, since the water was turned off. She started cooling down. When she finally had herself under control, she went back to where Cooper was working.
He finally emerged from her wall. With an enormous whump! , her boiler came back on. As he had in the school after she’d brained him, Cooper stood in one smooth lithe powerful movement. He looked down at her. That dark, hard face was totally expressionless. He held his big hands up. They were covered in grease and she saw with dismay he’d nicked himself. Two of the knuckles were covered in blood.
“May I wash my hands?” His voice was deep and raspy, as if he didn’t speak often.
“Of course. Thank you so much.” The house was already beginning to heat up and Julia felt an enormous surge of gratitude towards him. Okay, so he didn’t talk much, and his thighs and what was between them messed with her head, but he’d repaired her plumbing and she was really grateful. “The bathroom is the second door to the right. The towels are clean.”
He nodded his head gravely and turned. With what she considered a heroic act of self-control, Julia did not check his buns out. The front of him was quite enough distraction. She headed back into the kitchen.
She’d make him a cup of tea—no, maybe cowboys preferred coffee. She was filling the filter when she heard a knock on the door.
The house was starting to resemble Grand Central Station. In the entire month she’d been here, no one had stopped by. Tonight was a circus. First the dog, then Cooper and now someone else.
Julia opened the door and her worst nightmare came out of the swirling darkness.
A pistol. Aimed straight at her head.
Chapter Three
Julia screamed and her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest. She scrabbled wildly for something to use as a weapon, though she knew it was too late. Crazily, she tried to brace herself for the shot.
“Trick or treat.” The childish treble came from somewhere around her knees and she froze. A witch, a blond Harry Potter with fake round plastic glasses and a cowboy stared at her, frightened by her screams. The little cowboy dropped his plastic gun and the witch started crying.
Not killers. School kids wanting a treat.
The front door closed. Dimly, as if coming from a hundred miles away, Julia heard a deep male voice and the excited squeals of children from the porch. Then, a moment later, the front door opened again, letting in an arctic swirl of wind.
She stumbled into the little living room, her fingers clenching hard on the back of the garish flower-covered sofa. She ignored the heavy pounding in her chest and tried to control the trembling in her arms. For a moment, colored lights danced before her eyes and the edges of vision started to fade like a yellowing photograph. A hot tear dropped onto her white knuckles.
Terror, loneliness, despair all jostled sharply, painfully inside Julia’s chest, as if there were knives in there fighting their way out, slicing her heart into shreds. She drew in a long sobbing breath as another tear squeezed out from behind her closed lids. Rough tremors shook her. In the instant before her knees gave way, she felt herself half-lifted and turned against a broad expanse of chest.
To Julia’s intense horror, short, stuttering sobs racked through her. She swayed and was held tightly. Strong arms held her close and she let herself go limp.
It felt like a
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