So after donning a condom, he tipped her onto her back, ignoring her murmur of protest, and used the rope from last night to secure her wrists over her head.

She blinked sleepily at him, rousing sluggishly. Heavy sleeper, wasn’t she? In his business, her habit would get her dead. The thought of anyone hurting her sent an iron jolt of protectiveness through him. He hauled in a breath and kissed her lightly.

Her lips softened immediately, giving him what he wanted.

“Morning, baby.” Hooking his leg over her left ankle, using his other foot to push her right leg out, he opened her to his hand. “Very nice. You’re already getting wet.”

She flushed a deep pink, her legs trying to close, the rope sawing on the headboard at her thwarted effort to—to cover herself. When taken by surprise, she was a modest little thing. Be fun to keep working on her reaction until it went away.

No. One more fuck and I’m done.

He propped himself up on his elbow, deliberately taking a look. Moving her folds to one side. Lifting her clit hood. Chuckling as she flared redder.

And got wetter. The girl roused to his hand as quickly as any woman he’d taken, despite her embarrassment.

Her pussy was fucking beautiful. Puffy outer labia, slick inner. Clit starting to protrude. Using his legs to keep her open, he played for a while, enjoying her responsiveness. She was silky hot inside. Tight. Her cunt muscles tried to suck in his finger. Be fun to do some dildo play with her—how wide of one could she take before begging for mercy?

Her nipples weren’t a hot spot for her, but her little knot of nerves was pleasingly sensitive. A brush would make her tremble. A light pinch made her flinch, and a protracted one sent blood rushing to her cheeks and her legs trying to close. Oh yeah. What he could do with that bundle of nerves for fun.

Hell, why not? “Look at me, little girl.”

Her gaze came to him, biggest fucking brown eyes he’d ever seen. She knew she was defenseless; she wanted to be that way.

He liked her that way. His cock turned rock hard in agreement.

As he trapped her gaze, he captured her clit between thumb and fingers, squeezed, and held. Hearing her heels scraping on the sheet, feeling the trembling of her body, he drank in the gift of her surrender.

Seconds passed. Eyes holding hers, he released her.

As the blood surged back into her mistreated flesh, as she sucked in air, he topped her and sheathed his cock in to the hilt.

Damned if she didn’t fucking come…and keep coming as he hammered into her.


LINDSEY FELT USED. Abused. Taken. And she’d climaxed so hard her heart had left bruises on the inside of her ribs.

On top of her, deVries was thrusting, hitting deep, connected to her on the most intimate of levels. With his arms braced on each side of her shoulders, he lifted his hips to watch his shaft slide in and out of her. His smoke-green eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Put your legs around my waist.”

She brought her knees up, letting him drive deeper.

With the next stroke, he ground his pelvis against her poor mistreated clit, deliberately making her hurt.

And somehow the pain danced along her nerve endings, sparking off desire again. Her vagina tightened around him.

His rare grin flashed at her. “Damn, girl, you’re a treat.”

If he thought she’d get off a second time, he was sadly mistaken. She wasn’t even close.

“Got toys in your nightstand?”

“Wh-what?” He did not ask that. No way.

“Damn straight, you do.” He reached a long arm out, yanked open the drawer, and stilled as his fingers undoubtedly found her stash. “Like a variety, do you?” Rocking his hips against her in gentle thrusts, he fumbled in her drawer, picking up one vibrator after another, finally settling on the one with the forked design.

Holy shit, of all the ones to pick. She thought of it as a sadistic mini-tuning fork. Even worse, it had the most intense vibrations, and she was already sore. “No, not that. It’s too much.”

His head dipped, and he kissed her, long and slow, before whispering against her lips, “I know.”

In a smooth movement, he released her wrists from the ropes, withdrew, and stood at the foot of the bed, leaving her quivering. A hard yank downward positioned her with her butt on the mattress edge.

As her right leg dangled off the bed, he cradled her left knee in his elbow, and he thrust back inside her. The position let him go deep, penetrating her so fully she wiggled in halfhearted protest. Making him smile.

He reached to one side, and she heard a low hum. A second later, he laid the vibrator on her mound, thankfully high, and secured it there with his palm.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but the distant vibrations kept ramping up her arousal until she was angling her hips to press his hand firmly onto the device.

“Want more?”

“God.” She couldn’t possibly come again, and yet the erotic sensation shivered over her skin, settling like a heavy weight in her pelvis.

“Thought so,” he murmured. After moving the vibe down until the ends barely bracketed her clit, he drove into her hard. Mercilessly. Over and over.

The vibrator buzzed on her even as his cock pounded from inside. She tightened, tightened.

“Lindsey,” he growled.

She raised heavy lids, seeing his intent face.

“Come for me now.” He moved the toy so the brutal vibrations hit her clit fully on both sides. His hips rotated, mercilessly grinding into new places inside her.

Her breathing stopped as every…single…nerve in her whole body fired simultaneously. A massive outburst of sensation broke over her, twirling her in pleasure, tumbling her away.

She gasped right before another hit. And another. One tornado after another.

Little by little, the convulsions eased. When she managed to pry her eyelids open, he was staring at her, his gaze intimate. Perceptive.

“Nice.” As she shuddered under him, he set the vibrator aside, put an elbow under her other knee so her legs were lifted into the air. He drew out and plunged deep, pumping fast and long, followed by shorter shocking stabs. When he sheathed himself completely, he was so huge and hard, she could feel every pulse of his shaft as he released inside her.

Risking a reprimand, she ran her hands over his shoulders, the velvet skin stretched tight over bunched muscles, a tactile symphony of sex.

With a measured breath, he eased his cock in and out, like a sweet farewell. His lips curved as her vagina clenched around him in tiny after-tremors before he pulled out. “You’re a treat, all right,” he rasped.

She wouldn’t be calling him a treat—he was more like the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

After giving her a brief hard kiss, he headed for the bathroom, and she managed to turn her head to watch. The man was simply gorgeous. He always wore a shirt at the club; naked, his shoulders seemed even broader. The line down his spine to his ass was bounded by muscle, and his butt was world-class. He was even tanned, despite the overcast San Francisco skies.

With a frown, she realized white lines of scars marred his smooth skin. She’d felt the tiny ridges while they were making love. And he had a long, stitched-up gash. Jeez, she didn’t even know what he did in real life. Maybe a cop? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

Hearing the shower come on, she considered joining him for one more wonderful chance to watch water flow down the valleys created by his bunching muscles. To run her fingers over his tight, tanned skin. She giggled as she rolled out of bed. She sure couldn’t see him in a tanning salon. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of self-consciousness or conceit.

Not like me. She donned the cheap terrycloth robe with the fraying hem. A secondhand purchase. Not pretty. Not sexy. But hey, it was what she had.

Her mouth turned down. Before she’d married Miguel, she’d felt pretty. Before she’d married Victor, she’d felt sexy. Neither feeling had lasted very far into either marriage. Experience had taught her a guy would say anything and act any way to get what he wanted. Intellectually she knew she was pretty enough; unfortunately, her subconscious still heeded Victor’s and Miguel’s opinions.

At least deVries had honestly found her sexy to desire. Had liked her enough to want to be with her. Totally awesome. He likes me.

She tied the robe closed. Didn’t it just figure that now she had someone over who might appreciate hot lingerie, she couldn’t afford any? Her life sure had changed in the blink of an eye—from a Texas ranch, to college, to Victor’s fancy San Antonio house, to being on the run and broke.

She bit her lip. She couldn’t live like this the rest of her life. Not only for herself, but for everyone else being hurt. Victor’s brother, Travis, wouldn’t have shut down the smuggling operation. Guns, drugs, slavery. Travis had to be stopped. Somehow.

The last time she’d talked to a cop, she’d almost died.

Her cheerful mood was broken as a chill swept over her. She’d slept like an exhausted puppy with deVries in her bed. Not worrying about whether Travis Parnell might have found her and sent someone to silence her.

She glanced back at the shower and headed for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she set the small café table in front of the bay window. Pretty convenient she’d baked quiche the day before—it made a great ready-made breakfast. He’d probably think her an idiot to feed him, but Mama had exacting notions about hospitality.

Of course, her mama would consider deVries more of a devil than a guest, and she’d be right. Be that as it may, if Lindsey fed the man, maybe he’d mellow and actually talk to her. Breakfast with the Enforcer. God.

On the way back to the kitchen, her gaze fell on the antique rolltop desk. And the newspaper clippings showing Craig’s body, his police uniform stained with blood. More articles were there about the hunt for Lindsey Rayburn Parnell who had apparently shot her husband, Victor, then murdered a cop to escape. Lies, damn them.

Footsteps reminded her of her guest. Breath catching, she shoved the rolltop down to cover everything even as deVries walked out of the bedroom. Her voice shook as she said, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” His gaze ran from the desk up to her face.

“I have some breakfast for you.” She hurried over to the kitchen island, picked up the plates, and carried them to the table. Be cool. Be cool. After a calming breath, she turned and gave him a bright smile. “I hope you like quiche.”

He hesitated, obviously surprised. “Long as eggs are cooked, I’m good.” He joined her, nodding when she lifted the coffeepot. “Thanks.”

While he ate, she burbled about the weather, the club, anything she could think of. She’d never had trouble talking with people. Psychology and social work degrees had perfected her ability to plow through the most awkward of moments.

If only he would stop looking around the room. The worry she might have left something else out made her squirm. Even worse, every time his eyes met hers, her brain emptied of thoughts like water swirling down the drain.

As he took his last bite and leaned back with coffee in hand, she finally asked, “So, what do you do for a living?” Aw heck, she sounded dumb. Nonetheless, she was dying to know where those scars came from. “Are you a cop?” Her fingers tensed on her cup.

His eyes were more green than gray in the morning light, and she could have sworn amusement lurked in the depths. “I work for Simon.”

Right. Rona’s husband owned a security and investigations firm. “Is it that dangerous?” Oh shit, she’d blurted her question out.

“What?” He paused with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Her gaze dropped to where his leathers covered the stitches on his hip.

“Happened during my time off. A buddy tripped—the clumsy bastard—and I ended up with this.”

Jeez, was his buddy playing with a knife or something? “Oh. That’s a crappy thing to happen on a holiday.”

“Guess so.” Although his eyes had somehow darkened, his lips twitched.

She eyed him suspiciously. Sometimes she got the definite impression he thought she was funny, even that he was teasing her—but surely not. Honestly, as a social worker, she had awesome instincts about people. Normally. However, the Enforcer somehow managed to wipe her mind as if she were a computer and someone hit Delete File.