Take Me for a Ride

Table of Contents

 

“A sexy, riveting read!”

—New York Times
bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Flirty, fun, and fabulously original.”

—
USA Today
bestselling author Julie Kenner

“Sexy, witty, fast-paced, and full of delicious plot twists.”

—
USA Today
bestselling author Cherry Adair

“Sexy, charming, witty, and irresistible.”

—National bestselling author Roxanne St. Claire

“If you’re looking for a fun, entertaining read that will keep you on the edge of your seat, then look no further than
Take Me If You Can
. It will make you laugh, make you cry, and keep you glued to the very end.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“A swift, smart, and sassy suspense with lots of romantic tension . . . reminiscent of smart, sexy movies like
The Thomas Crown Affair
. . . . A delight.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Sexy-hot delicious and laugh-out-loud delightful! Karen Kendall is my new favorite author!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Nicole Jordan

“Kendall’s lively tale about breaking up, making up, and shaking it up is funny and poignant. Fans of Lori Wilde, Susan Donovan, and Connie Lane will appreciate Kendall’s humorous take on tying the knot.”

—
Booklist

“Kendall again presents a story that mixes humor with a more serious plot. The journey of the two main characters toward an awareness of what really matters, and secondary characters who make their own discoveries, give this lighthearted romance substance.”

—
Romantic Times

“This funny, sexy romance will keep you reading.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Be prepared to laugh, cry, and feel some emotions for the characters and their plights . . . an unforgettable read.”

—Romance Reviews Today

 

“Lighthearted comedy . . . the snappy talk keeps the plot in constant motion. . . . Something fun . . . to read on the beach.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A sharp, sexy, and fun read with engaging characters who steal into your heart right away. Karen Kendall’s newest romance contains all the ingredients required to make it a supersassy romp, and practically thrums with vibrant, snappy dialogue. Utterly delightful and very highly recommended!”

—The Best Reviews

“
First Date
is a magnificent, captivating read that will keep you totally entertained from the first page until the last.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

 

“Hilarious and downright sexy! Karen Kendall will delight you!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Carly Phillips

“Kendall’s sparkling third installment in [the] Bridesmaid Chronicles series offers both zany romance and serious probing of her protagonists’ emotional depths. This witty, well-crafted entry bodes well for the final volume.”

—
Publishers Weekly

Also by Karen Kendall

SIGNET ECLIPSE
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, November

Copyright © Karen Moser, 2009

eISBN : 978-1-101-14926-3

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This one is dedicated to
the Penguin sales team. Without
you, I wouldn’t be in print!
Thank you.

A big thanks to my husband, friends, family, and critique partners for always catching the sky when it fell! I love you all.

And to Joanne, John, and Sue at Murder on the Beach bookstore.

 

Some people steal money. Others steal cars, liquor, or big-ticket items like jewelry. Art recovery agent Eric McDougal stole women.

He did it with wit, style, passion—and guile . . . since they never knew they were missing in action until he returned them to reality.

McDougal took his women for a ride, and a good time was had by all. Afterward, he set them down gently on their own two feet; then he gave ’em a sweet smile, a wink from his Newman blue eyes, and a swat on the backside. How they handled things from there was not his problem. Well, not usually.

This evening, as he trained his gaze on the pretty target two blocks ahead, McDougal contemplated the horrifying memory of what a tasty, busty little psychopath had done to his Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14. He’d almost bitten through his own tongue when he saw it. Even now, three days later and a thousand miles from Miami, he winced.

Pink. She’d painted the Ninja
pink
. His jaw worked.

Why? He’d taken her to nice places. He’d never made any promises. He’d given her—if he did say so himself—the mother of all orgasms. And just because he hadn’t called afterward . . .

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t much of a gentleman. He’d never advertised himself as one. But . . .

It was cold. Beyond cold. Vicious brutality without conscience was what it was. Carnage.

He was tempted to press charges. But then he pictured the cop’s face as he filled out the report, and he deep-sixed that bright idea.

Natalie Rosen, his mark this evening, had nothing to do with the destruction of his bike. An art restorer and probable thief, she lurched left on the crowded Manhattan sidewalk between Ninety-second and First. The door of Reif’s opened and she vanished inside.

Reif’s? She didn’t look the type for a seedy old neighborhood bar run by three generations of Irish. Reif’s was a blue-collar place in a now-affluent neighborhood. North of Ninety-sixth got dicey as it eased into Spanish Harlem, but south of Ninety-sixth had become gentrified. Still, there were a few old holdouts like Reif’s, where electricians and plumbers mingled with white-collar yuppies and argued politics in a haze of dust mingled with decades of lingering stale cigarette smoke. The Yankees, the Mets, the mayor, the weather . . . those were typical topics.

Reif’s was situated on the ground floor of a six-story apartment building. It smelled beer sodden and mildewy, but it was also homey and offered a sort of tobacco-stained comfort that suited McDougal . . . but not a girl like Natalie Rosen.

Natalie had dark, glossy, straight hair and dark, serious eyes that looked a little at odds with her snub, lightly freckled nose. She was cute in a repressed, academic sort of way. Not tweedy or preppy—more earnest and artsy. The chick wore a lot of black, but there was a difference between severe New York black and sultry Miami black.

New York black covered, while Miami black revealed. New York black involved tights, turtlenecks, scarves, and coats. Miami black involved thongs, skirt lengths just shy of illegal, spike heels, and fishnets—particularly on some of those little Brazilian hotties, with their bras clearly showing under skimpy tops. Oh, yeah. McDougal was a big fan of Miami black.

Focus
. He frowned. What in the hell was a girl with an art degree from Carnegie Mellon doing in a beer-soaked joint like Reif’s? Surely not unloading a $2 million necklace that had once belonged to Catherine the Great.

It was his job to find out, but he needed to hang back for a few. Let her get settled. Have a drink or two. He pegged her for the type that would walk into a dusty place like Reif’s and order, say, white wine. A little naive. A little out of touch with reality.

 

Twenty minutes later, McDougal shoved his hands into his pockets, crossed the street, and entered Reif’s. He glimpsed her immediately: Natalie perched on one of the old, backless wooden barstools, staring sightlessly into the dregs of a short glass of what looked like whiskey on the rocks.