When artist Ashley Price finds Detective Jack Sullivan buried alive on her farm and rescues him, she doesn't expect gratitude. But she also doesn't expect him to accuse her of being in league with the serial killer who put him in the grave. Focused on raising her young daughter, Ashley wants nothing to do with Jack.
Hell-bent on an old vendetta, Jack is prepared to ignore the sizzling attraction between them. He's not going to fall in love with a suspect! Except, the more time he spends with her, the more he falls under her spell. But can he trust her, or is he walking into another deadly trap?
"A delightfully chilling suspense tale." (Night Owl Reviews)
Jack didn't understand her, and he didn't like what he couldn't understand. She couldn't be pinned down, could not be classified. Probably the very reason why she was getting under his skin every possible way.
He'd even dreamed about her. Naked dreams. Just the thought gave a tug at his groin. Hell, the only thing he knew about her for sure was that his body, very inconveniently, lusted after hers.
He walked out to the road and drove up to her house, even if he hadn't intended to visit Ashley tonight. The last time had been plenty enough, watching her paint, watching her fight against her jumble of emotions that had threatened to pull him in.
Her downstairs lights were on but not the upstairs. He leaned the new shovel he'd bought next to her old broken one, then ran up the steps and rang the doorbell.
A few seconds passed before the key turned in the lock and the door cracked open a few inches.
"Unless you have an arrest warrant, go away." The dark circles around her eyes said she hadn't seen much sleep last night. She wore black slacks made of some soft material that clung to her long legs, and a long-sleeved fitted cotton shirt that showed off her curves.
Predictably, his body responded. The irony that he kept coming back to her like a lover in the night didn't escape him. He watched her for a long minute before words he hadn't meant to say came out of his mouth. "Let's say I believe you."
She still hesitated a long second before she finally stepped back to let him in.
She looked all alone and vulnerable and completely lost. And completely hot, regardless. She had barely a touch of makeup on, the simple black slacks and cotton shirt she wore hardly seductive. Her body didn't need enhancementâ€”all curves and mile-long legs. She was a knockout, pretty much. The sight of her certainly knocked him back a pace every time he looked at her. But something deeper than her physical attributes drew him now, and he got his first inkling that he might be in trouble.
He needed to say good night here and go about his business.
Her gaze came up, her eyes wide-that impossible shade of green that haunted his dreams. She blinked hard, fighting to be strong. But underneath it all, she was broken still on so many levels.
He didn't think at all before he stepped all the way up to her. His arms went around her, and he pulled her closer, tucked her against him. Every inch where they touched, his body came alive.
For a split second, as she leaned into the offered comfort, instant lust cut through him, the urge to have her mixing with the urge to protect her. But, before he could have done something stupid, she pulled away.
They stared at each other for a moment.
She's going to be a complication, he thought, not for the first time.
"I shouldn't have- This isn't why I came. I came-" He had no idea how to finish that sentence, so it was a good thing she cut him off.
"To soften me up and see if I spill something?"
"Spine-chilling suspense that will leave you on the edge of your seat." (The Romance Reviews)
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