A Wicked Seduction (9 page)

Nearly three hundred miles out of Kelso, Washington, and halfway to their destination, Dean came to the conclusion that while Jo had no qualms about indulging in light, easy conversation to get better acquainted with him, she was incredibly adept at avoiding sharing any kind of deep, intimate information about herself. Especially when it came to imparting the details of her dream last night.

Whatever the source of that nightmare, just mentioning the sleep-induced terror she'd experienced made her grow tense and clam up. When he'd been straightforward enough to push the issue and asked who Brian was, all she'd revealed, albeit reluctantly and with a hint of pain and guilt in her voice, was that he'd been her partner, and had been shot and killed while they'd attempted to take a suspected child kidnapper into custody.

That had been the end of
that
particular story, even though Dean suspected a whole lot more had transpired during the incident. But like a well-trained cop turned P.I., she'd easily and skillfully turned the conversation and questions back to him. She'd extracted more information about his boring, mundane life in Seattle than any normal person would be interested in hearing, but the light verbal exchange took her mind off her nightmare and made her relax and smile again, so he hadn't minded being the source of her distraction.

But long hours and even longer miles still stretched ahead of them, and he was all talked out about himself and still too curious about this slender but tough-as-nails woman who made a living capturing criminals bold enough to jump bail.

He glanced her way, silently taking in the graceful lines of her profile set against the darkness of the oncoming storm gathering outside the windows, at the long, dark lashes that framed expressive eyes, and her small, perfectly sculpted nose that blended into high, delicate cheekbones. And then there were her shapely
lips, so soft and warm and seductive, which could be so hot and erotic and addictive. The shape of her face ended with a small chin that had revealed shades of stubbornness, as well as the kind of vulnerability he'd witnessed last night when she'd cuddled up to him after her bad dream.

She'd changed into a pair of jeans and a button-down blouse, and had opted to leave her holster off and her weapons stowed beneath her seat for now. She wore minimal makeup, her hair was gathered back into a ponytail, and he decided he preferred the strands loose around her shoulders. All in all, she was truly lovely, a female paradox so opposite to the hard-edged, jaded image of a bounty hunter most people conjured in their minds.

As if sensing his gaze on her, she turned her head and smiled. “Are you doing okay?”

After nearly five hours on the road with only one bathroom stop and one measly breakfast sandwich to hold him over until his next meal, his stomach was beginning to growl for food. “I am starting to get a little hungry for lunch,” he admitted.

“You're like a bottomless pit,” she teased, reaching for the trip ticket tucked in her visor. She spared a quick look at the map outlining the route home and the stops in between. “Can you hang in there for another hour and a half when we stop to fill up with gas in Medford? I'd really like to make it that far and take care of everything in one stop.”

The woman was a relentless driver, pushing for maximum miles in one stretch. Then again, her pen
chant for speed was to his benefit; the sooner they arrived in San Francisco, the quicker his identity would become his again.

“The longer you make me wait, the more it's gonna cost you,” he said, reminding her of his ravenous appetite last night.

Her laughter filled the interior of the vehicle. “I can afford it.” She put the map away and hooked her thumb toward the back of the vehicle. “In the meantime, there are some snacks in a plastic bag behind your seat to hold you over, along with those bottled waters we put on ice before leaving the motel.”

Reaching behind his seat, he managed to retrieve the bag she'd mentioned and a bottled water, which he tucked into the drink holder in the center console. Then he rummaged through the contents of the sack and inventoried the variety of junk food.

“Chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate,” he said, finding a common theme among the munchies she'd brought along on her trip. “Geez, Jo, your snack habits are atrocious.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're beginning to sound like my brother, Cole. I've been listening to him nag at me about my preference of snacks since I was a teenager.”

He pulled out three kinds of cookies: chocolate chip, chocolate-striped shortbread, and chocolate-covered graham crackers. “Obviously, he had every right to nag,” he said wryly.

She took her gaze off the road for a moment to crinkle her adorable nose at him. “Judging by what
you ate last night, you're certainly not a health food nut yourself.”

“No, but my meals consist of more than just chocolate.”

“And chocolate is a daily part of my diet,” she stated with mock seriousness, “so hand over the chocolate shortbread and no one will get hurt.”

He chuckled, enjoying the playful banter between them. “Those are the ones I wanted, so we're gonna have to share.”

Beads of rain splattered the windshield, and she switched on the wipers to clear the front window. “You're lucky I like you, or else you know there would be no contest over who'd get those cookies.”

Remembering the efficient way she'd wrestled him to the bed earlier that morning, he didn't doubt her claim. “Now that could be fun, especially in such a small space.” He looked around the close quarters of the front seat of the truck and waggled his brows at her.

A becoming flush swept over her cheeks. “Hmm, and very cramped.”

“Cramped isn't necessarily a bad thing. Makes for a tighter fit.” Tight, hot, and no doubt very, very exciting. Keeping the bag of shortbread cookies, he tossed the rest of the snacks behind the seat. “Ever done it in a car before?”

She shook her head incredulously. “I thought we were talking about
cookies.
”

“We were, along with you wrestling me for them, which made me think of all the interesting kinds of
positions two people could get into in a car, which made me think of having sex in a car.” Specifically, with her.

She arched a brow his way. “Have
you?
”

“I asked you first,” he drawled, not allowing her to turn the question back to him until he had her answer first.

Her fingers curled around the steering wheel, and she stared straight ahead as the wipers swished back and forth. “No, I've never gone all the way in a car before. Just necking and petting.” Finally, she slanted a curious look his way. “Have you?”

“I've made it as far as third base in the back seat of a car with my senior prom date, but never all the way,” he admitted with a grin. “But there's a first time for everything, even making love in a car, don't you think?”

She inhaled deeply. Her chest rose and her taut nipples grazed the material of her blouse, confirming that the thought thrilled her as much as it did him. “I'm thinking we shouldn't venture down that particular path,” she said in a practical tone.

Lifting his hand, he stroked his fingers down the side of her neck, loving the feel of her soft skin and the way his touch made her shiver. “Don't discount anything between us, Jo,” he murmured huskily, meaningfully.

“I'm not discounting anything at all.” Her reply was candid and portentous, matching the sexy, brazen smile quirking the corner of her mouth. “I just meant
that this probably isn't the best conversation to have right now, considering the long drive ahead of us.”

He winked at her. “We could consider it verbal foreplay.”

She shifted restlessly in her seat, seemingly already hot and bothered by their discussion. “How about we save that arousing subject matter for another time, when I don't have to concentrate on driving in the rain?” she suggested prudently. “Now hand over a cookie and a change of subject, please.”

Satisfied that she was fully, sensually aware of him, despite her request to temporarily end their sexy debate, he granted her wish. “Change of subject coming up, along with junk food.” He ripped open the bag of shortbread treats, and the scent of rich milk chocolate permeated the air. “How long have you been a bounty hunter?” he asked conversationally.

“The politically correct term is bail recovery agent,” she said, the amusement in her voice telling him that his choice of topic was one she was comfortable talking about. “I've been around the business since I was seventeen, but I've only been an actual certified agent for the past two years. I went for training and my license after I quit the police force and went to work for my brother, Cole, at his investigative firm.”

Pulling a cookie from the bag, he bit it in half and lifted the other section to Jo's mouth. When she gave him a perplexed look, he smiled and said, “You drive, and I'll keep the supply of chocolate coming.”

She opened her mouth and accepted his offering
and he deliberately let his fingers linger on her bottom lip. “Thank you,” she murmured, and chewed the confection.

“You're welcome.” He licked the taste of chocolate and the sweetness of Jo from his thumb. “I have to say, seventeen seems kind of young to be exposed to such a rough business, considering you're dealing with dangerous criminals.” He couldn't imagine allowing a daughter or sister of his to take an active interest in the search and seizure of delinquents. “Or is that what your dad does for a living?”

She accepted another half-eaten cookie, and shook her head. “No, my father is dead. He was a police officer, too, and was shot and killed in the line of duty when I was sixteen. For the most part Cole raised me after that, though my other brother, Noah, helped out, too, until he joined the Marines six months after my dad passed away.”

He contemplated her answer, and realized one crucial element was missing. “Where was your mother during all this?”

Her lips flattened into a grim line. “That's a story all in itself.”

He heard the tinge of bitterness in her voice, and discovered the need to understand its source. “I'm all ears.”

She tipped her head in his direction, her gaze flickering with doubt. “You sure you want to hear all the sordid details of my unorthodox family life?”

“I wouldn't ask if I wasn't interested.” And he didn't think her life could be any more dysfunctional
than his own had been. “Besides, you're the one who didn't want to talk about sex,” he reminded her, flashing an irresistible grin. “And we've got a good hour and a half to fill.”

“All right,” she conceded, “and when I see you nodding off I'll know you've heard enough of my boring tale.”

“I can't imagine anything about you boring me, sweetheart, but give it your best shot.” He filled her mouth with the other half of the cookie he'd nibbled on.

She chewed and swallowed, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “My mother and father divorced when I was five, which wasn't so surprising considering they were always arguing about something. From what Cole has told me, my mom was having an affair with a guy she worked with, and when Peter Shaw was offered an intercompany transfer to Prescott, Arizona, Melinda decided to end her current marriage to my dad to go with him.”

“And you and your brothers stayed with your father?” he guessed.

“No. It wasn't enough that my mother was leaving my father for another man, she wanted to make him suffer even more than that and used me as a way to hurt my father because she knew I was daddy's little girl. I adored my father. He was always larger than life to me.” She brushed errant cookie crumbs from her jean-clad thigh. “Anyway, my mother fought and won full custody of me, left my older brothers with my dad, and off we went to Arizona, where I was
ignored for the most part because my mother was so caught up in her new marriage.”

Compassion welled up in him. “That must have been pretty difficult for all of you, being separated like that.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it was. I can remember feeling so lost and confused and homesick for my dad and brothers, but I was only allowed to see them during summer vacation. That pattern went on for three years, until my mother was killed in a car accident.”

“I take it your dad was finally granted custody?”

“Not at first, and not easily.” Lightning flashed outside the vehicle, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder as the storm unleashed its fury and the black clouds overhead finally let loose a downpour of rain.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Peter held on to me for six months, fighting for custody of me in some warped way to hang on to my mother's memory,” she went on, slowing her speed and switching the wipers to high to keep up with the steady downpour. “But he ultimately lost any rights, thank goodness. I was eight at the time, and when I returned to Oakland to live permanently with my dad, both of my brothers became very protective of me. Especially Cole, who was the one who took on a good part of the responsibility of raising me since our father worked varying shifts for the police department.”

He pilfered another cookie to share. “I'm not surprised that he was protective of you, considering you
were the baby of the family, the only girl, and you all had been separated for three years.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, that he dared to side with her overbearing sibling. “I couldn't even go to the bathroom without letting Cole know where I was off to,” she said, an exaggeration, Dean was certain. “Trust me, the coddling and the constant sentinel was overkill.”

Only to a very independent, stubborn young girl who'd grown into an equally obstinate woman, he thought with a mild degree of amusement he knew better than to express.

Twisting the top off the water bottle, he took a long drink. Once his thirst was quenched he said, “Back to my original question. How did you learn the tricks of the bounty hunter trade, especially at the tender young age of seventeen?”