Saved by a Dangerous Man

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Saved by a Dangerous Man

 
SAVED BY A DANGEROUS MAN

All Romance eBooks Edition

Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:

SAVED BY A DANGEROUS MAN
© 2014 by Cleo Peitsche. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only.

This book contains mature content and is solely for adults.
 

Cover Photo ©2014 by Pouch Pictures

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I look forward to sharing more of my stories with you.

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xoxo,

Cleo

Other Titles By Cleo

After Forever/Bisexual Billionaire Trilogy (Threesome Romance)

Careless

Hopeless

Fearless

Office Toy Series (BDSM Gang Bang Romance)

Office Toy

Client Satisfaction

Company Vacation

Flex Time

Soft Skills

Executive Package

By a Dangerous Man (BDSM Erotic Romantic Suspense)

Trapped by a Dangerous Man

Wanted by a Dangerous Man

Saved by a Dangerous Man

Take Me Hard Series (BDSM Romance)

Ride Me Hard

Love Me Hard

Use Me Hard

Take Me Hard Compilation #1

Push Me Hard

Fantasy Playland Series (BDSM)

Sleeping Lady

Sleeping chez Sade

Wide Awake

Wide Open

His Kiss

Fantasy Playland Box Set

Mistress Moi Series (Femdom)

My Three Slaves

Cuckold Chuck

Faye-Faye and the Sadist

Bad Boyfriend Series (Femdom Romance)

Bad Boyfriend

Anthologies

Underground Erotica

It seemed to me that nothing in the history of the universe was ever so bright as driving into the morning sun. Especially with a reflective blanket of snow stretched in every direction.

I eased my car into a parking space and stepped out, squinting against the glare. The one-story brick building that housed Stroop Finders was dark, quiet. I carefully picked my way over the packed snow and ice, then waited in the entryway a moment while my stinging eyes adjusted.

My fingers danced over the security keypad. I could have done it blind, but my father had the system set so that one mistake would trigger a phone call to him, and two mistakes would unleash the combined might of three counties of law enforcement. Dad didn’t take chances; Stroop Finders had pissed off too many criminals and would-be fugitives.
 

Once inside, I headed to my desk—and a fresh stack of waiting folders. Dad had uncharacteristically given everyone a few days off, but apparently he was still assigning cases. And as usual, the bulk landed in my lap.

 
Just one look at the pile, and the enthusiasm that had propelled me into the office vanished.

My chair whined as I slumped into the seat and struggled out of my coat. I hadn’t slept well the night before, and today was going to be a slog. In a few hours, I would be heading to Florida for an unromantic getaway with the man who wanted to arrest my boyfriend.
 

I draped my coat on the back of the chair and rooted around in my desk drawers, looking for something to eat. All the way at the back of the bottom drawer, I unearthed a stale chocolate bar that I vaguely remembered buying. I also discovered a rubber band ball that I thought my twin brother had swiped a year earlier.

The chocolate ended up in the wastebasket after two bites. I wiped my fingers clean, rinsed my mouth with rusty-tasting water from the bathroom sink, then wrangled my dark curls into a quick ponytail.
 

I turned to the folders.
 

All new cases, but nothing particularly juicy. When I returned from Florida, I would have a week of freezing my buns off, waiting for low-level criminals to venture out of their mamas’ houses.

Now I was even more dispirited. Shouldn’t have come to the office… but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I’d tried sweating out my frustrations at the gym. When that failed, the alternatives were alcohol or work, and 11 a.m. was too early to drink, even on a day off.

In the twenty-four hours since Corbin had discovered that an FBI leak threatened everything he’d worked for, my life had flipped upside down. Again.

Corbin Lagos. The source of all my woes. He was smart and kind and funny—I would have thought so even if he weren’t 6’3” of gorgeous male. His scent wasn’t just alluring; it was intoxicating. The stroke of his hands along my body inflamed the sparks between us into an inferno. His kisses left more than my mouth wet and begging for more. He was sexy as sin, twice as wicked, and inexplicably, he wanted me.

Some might count that as frightening. Because speaking bluntly, Corbin was also a murderer. It was a fact. To whatever extent I glossed over that point, I couldn’t ignore it completely.
 

Especially after the chilling story he’d told me the morning before.

But I didn’t want to think about that. And I didn’t want to continue my fruitless internet searches on his dead wife, also named Audrey. A coincidence that made me uneasy. Every detail I learned about Corbin only raised a dozen more questions, and it was slowly driving me insane. I needed to be distracted, which was why I was at the office instead of packing.

I shoved aside the new cases… didn’t have the concentration to focus on them.

Hoboken Syre. I could close out his file. Rob hated paperwork, and I needed something to keep me busy. Easy decision.

Syre’s folder sat on a corner of Rob’s desk. I retrieved it and began filling in the information, making sure to write neatly so that Dad wouldn’t toss the file back on my desk, the first page garnished with a yellow sticky and the word SLOPPY.

When I reached the box where I needed to describe the capture, I paused and tapped the pen on my lips. Hoboken Syre had been a special case. Rob tracked down the tip that led us to Syre, but the credit for actually capturing the scumbag went to Corbin.

I couldn’t include that detail in the notes.

As if our relationship didn’t already set a new standard for surreal, Corbin held the top slot on the Most Wanted list. He was worth two million dollars. Yet he had exposed himself to bounty hunters to help me. It was… crazy. Appreciated, but crazy.

I couldn’t get a read on him. Or I could, but I couldn’t reconcile everything I knew. He’d saved my life. He’d proven himself to me, and I trusted him. Corbin would never hurt me (though what transpired between us in the bedroom was a different matter entirely).
 

But then there was what he’d told me the morning before. The details hadn’t been graphic, but it had kept me awake well past my bedtime. When I finally drifted off, I dreamed that I was twenty years younger, that I was asleep, and that a noise woke me. I’d carefully climbed out of my bed, gripping my favorite rag doll in one hand. My bare feet slapped on the cold floor and the hallway stretched forever. A moment passed, and I was suddenly walking down the stairs, my small hand clutching up at the banister as I descended into inky darkness.

And then I saw my parents’ bodies. Even now, hours after waking, the memory—my mother’s bloody arm flung wide on the carpet, my father’s sightless eyes and slack mouth—made the skin on the back of my neck crawl.

The dream had been so
vivid.
The large man who loomed over their bodies cocked his head. Four-year-old me had gone stiff with terror. The man turned slowly, his shoulders hunched, but his strength and power were undeniable. I whimpered. He looked at me, those electric blue-green eyes intense despite the murky shadows. He took a step toward me, holding out his hand. “Come here,” he’d said in his growling deep voice. “I won’t hurt you.”
 

Though he sounded sincere, I knew he was going to kill me. Because I was a witness.
 

But instead of running, I continued down the steps, unable to resist his order. His lips tightened as I slowly approached him. Regret and determination in his eyes, he compelled me closer, and I knew that at least he would end my life quickly and mercifully.

The moment he touched my shoulder, I’d jerked awake. My thoughts were jumbled, confused. I’d gasped my brother’s name, wanted to reenter the dream so that I could keep the murderer from hurting him.

As reality settled in, I realized that I’d thought of him as a murderer, not as Corbin.

Sleeping after that was impossible, so I got up and started browsing the internet for information on Corbin’s dead wife. Digging up answers was a skill I’d carefully honed, but I couldn’t find a single word about the woman. Corbin was thirty, and she’d been dead for five years. That, plus her first name, should have given me
something
. Round and round I went.

Aw, crap. I was doing it again… obsessing.
 

I sighed and wrote in the report that Hoboken Syre had given himself up. It was partially true, anyway.

There was a noise outside, then beeping as someone started to punch in the code for the already disabled alarm system.

Rob walked in. His red hair was mussed, and glasses enlarged the black eye some jealous boyfriend had given him a week earlier.

“What are you doing here?” we asked simultaneously. Hard to say who was more shocked. Rob wasn’t known for his work ethic on a good day. And he thought I was off with “Cory,” Corbin’s hat-rocking, glasses-wearing, alter ego.

“Figured I’d get a jump on the week,” Rob said.

I narrowed my eyes. “Woke up in a strange bed and took off?”

He smiled.

“You’re such a dog.” I held out Syre’s folder. “Did everything but the surrender.” I hadn’t gone to the station to deliver Syre to the authorities, so I couldn’t fill that bit out.

“Be glad you missed it. Syre started ranting about how he was tricked. The man has an interesting sense of fairness.” Rob raised an eyebrow as he accepted the folder. His brown eyes sparked. “So tell me about Cory.”

I shrugged because my mouth had gone dry. “Nice guy,” I managed finally.

“Seems like it. Though Syre didn’t think so.” He grinned, and I knew he hadn’t read anything deeper into it.

Rob sat, and I started looking through the new files.

My mind drifted, though. There wasn’t anyone I could tell about Corbin. Rob, though… I trusted him. And I wanted to talk about it to someone. Needed to. Even if it had all been rainbows and sunshine, it was too big to keep inside. My feelings for Corbin… I’d never experienced anything like it. It was consuming me.

And the baggage that came with him? Well, that was overwhelming. My nightmare was evidence enough.

I toyed with the small rubber band ball, then aimed at the back of Rob’s head.

He leaned over for a bottle of correction fluid, and the ball sailed past him and bounced off his computer monitor. He jolted, lunged, caught the ball. “Hey now,” he said. The correction fluid spun off the desk and slid across the carpet.

I expected Rob to throw the ball back at me, but instead he opened his drawer and dropped it inside. “Thanks,” he said. “I accept your offering.”

We both froze, then lurched for the bottle with a clanging of shoved chairs. Rob was faster and closer, and he came up triumphant, his hip bumping Katrina’s desk and jangling the pendulums in her Newton’s Cradle toy
.
He adjusted his glasses, shook his head in mock disapproval and turned back to his work.

“You didn’t mention Cory,” he said a few minutes later. “Not that I blame you. Dad would have a fit if he thought we had to split this.”

“We don’t,” I promised. “Cory doesn’t care.”
 

Should I tell Rob?
It was the million dollar—no,
two
-million dollar question. We weren’t identical twins, but we shared a bond that most people didn’t understand.
 

But without knowing Corbin, Rob would assume I’d lost my mind; if the situation were reversed, that certainly would have been my conclusion. And I couldn’t tell Rob everything—it wasn’t my place to divulge Corbin’s top-secret status. Not when I wasn’t even supposed to know about it myself.

I couldn’t. “Don’t mention Cory to anyone,” I said, feeling deflated. All those studies about how people with friends live longer? I suddenly
got
it. Keeping secrets hurt.

“You’re a bad girl, Audrey,” he said.

“Why?”

Rob turned and grinned. Something about the careless way he sat, the joyful look on his face, took me back to when we were kids. “Married man…”