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Dean’s jaw clenched into something that resembled granite and Bridget could see the pulse raging in the side of his throat. It was just below a tiny, errant curl of blond hair…one small reminder of the friendly, laid-back guy she’d fallen so hard for.

She didn’t want those reminders or that guy who’d hurt her so badly. She wanted the one she could have for the next thirty-six hours, then walk away from and completely forget. So she tore her attention from the curl and onto the jutting jaw, the blazing blue eyes, the slashing line of his full lips.

Better. Much better.

“I think you’d better stop talking now.” He shifted closer, until his foot brushed the bottom hem of her gown.

“Or what?” she asked with a sweet smile. “Going to get out the chains and whips to go along with the cuffs and rope?”

Towering over her, he opened his mouth as if to retort, but quickly snapped it shut. His eyes flashed, his breath audible between his lips. Awareness and heat erupted off him.

He was angry. He was worried. And he was interested. No matter what his silence said, his body language made it clear.

Yes, this was definitely better. This angry, wildly sexy man would take what he wanted and not plan to give anything more than a few hours pleasure. Which was all she’d expect.

Now she could forget all about the nice, smiling guy she’d fallen for. And focus on the sexy, dangerous man she was going to be getting to know much better before the night was out.

* * *

He might have made a very serious mistake.

Dean hadn’t planned on physically hauling Bridget out of danger tonight, he’d acted on instinct. He’d seen red when she’d come sauntering back into the club, heading down a dark, silent hallway where anything could have happened. And when the surveillance team had radioed that her room at the hotel had been broken into and the suspect’s car was in the vicinity, he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what he was doing.

He’d taken her and run

Still high on adrenaline, as well as fury that she might have walked into her hotel room and into the arms of a killer, he’d headed out of Chicago, aiming for anywhere that took her out of the line of fire. Eventually, he realized that anywhere was a small, old fishing cabin a buddy of his owned. It was off the main road and had little in the way of amenities. Though he remembered there being adequate plumbing, he wasn’t even sure it had heat. But it had a woodstove and firewood. And they had the food he’d just picked up at the convenience store. Most importantly, nobody could connect either of them with the cabin so there was no way anybody could track them—her—down.

They could rough it until Monday. At that time he’d deliver Bridget to the courthouse, then go back to the office to lay his head on the chopping block.

Sounded like a plan. A bad one, maybe, but better than leaving Bridget in the city and giving some armed scumbag an extra thirty-six hours to get to her. So he’d stick with it.

But he’d known by the glint in Bridget’s eyes when she’d exited the ladies’ room that she was going to do something to screw with that plan. And to screw with his head.

When she climbed into the front seat of his SUV and took off her coat, he knew he was in trouble. She claimed it was too warm—as if their breath wasn’t fogging up the interior, which had grown frigid in the brief time they’d been in the store. Dean, however, knew what she was really doing.

The woman was tormenting him. Laying herself out like a rich, delectable dessert in front of a diabetic, just daring him to take a bite. And she’d be just as dangerous to him as a deadly overdose of something sweet.

He couldn’t be sure about her motives. She was almost certainly trying to drive him crazy with lust as she crossed her legs, the red fabric of her dress parting at the slit to reveal her long, slim thighs. She didn’t relent, leaning over to adjust the radio, coming close enough for him to feel her body’s warmth and see the soft