A Wicked Seduction

“How do you know?” he challenged.

She perched her jean-clad bottom on the edge of her desk. “Because it states that he’s a first-time offender with no priors. How dangerous can he be?”

Cole elevated a dark brow in response. “Did you happen to notice that his bail was set at a hundred thousand dollars?”

She glanced back to confirm Cole’s claim, and her jaw nearly dropped in shock. She’d definitely missed that tidbit. “Why? He was only charged with GTA. That’s a felony, yes, but a minor crime in general.”

“He was arrested with half a dozen high-end vehicles that were headed for a chop shop and theft ring that the local police have been trying to bust for the past three months. The guy knows the contact’s name, and he was willing to testify against him. The bail was set at such a high amount to keep him honest, but being a first-timer, he was very predictable and hightailed it back to his home address in Washington.”

“He’s easy money then,” she said, very aware that her cut would be a cool ten grand, which would go a long way in filling her professional reservoir.

Cole sighed, the sound rife with resignation. “It’s a good fifteen-hour drive to Seattle from Oakland.”

As if that minor inconvenience would deflate her determination! She figured out the time line in her mind. “If I leave within the hour and spend the night at a motel on the way, I’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.” She flashed Cole a quick grin that reflected the tide of exhilaration blossoming within her and warded off any further argument from him. “I’ll be back before the weekend is over.”

She’d return with her guy in tow, and an easy ten grand in her pocket.

2

“WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING at home?” Brett Rivers, the CEO of Colter Traffic Control asked his boss, the disapproval in his tone clearly drifting through the phone line. “You should have been long gone by now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean tucked the cordless phone more comfortably against his ear as he walked out of his master bath with everything he needed for his spontaneous getaway. Brett was his right-hand man, a good friend, and someone Dean trusted implicitly to hold down the fort in his absence. “I keep telling myself the same thing,” he said, shoving his shaving kit into his duffle bag on top of the casual clothing he’d packed. “And I promise I’m almost out the door.”

After three years of working day in and day out to the point of mental exhaustion and burnout, Dean was anxious to taste a bit of freedom and indulge in a week of pure relaxation and solitude—with a cold beer in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. While basking in the sun and waiting for the trout to bite, he had some serious thinking to do about his future and the direction of his father’s company. To make the important decisions awaiting him, he needed a mind free and clear of any distractions or influences.

Dean gave his bedroom one last quick glance, found nothing he couldn’t live without, and addressed Brett’s question while zipping up his piece of luggage. “I know I told you I’d be leaving early this morning, but I had a few things to wrap up at the office and it took longer than I expected.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he groaned, realizing that he sounded just like his father, who’d passed away three years ago from a stroke. How many times had Dean been on the receiving end of that same excuse while growing up? And how many times had he resented that flippant explanation and sworn he’d never be like his father, who’d been obsessed with work to the point of excluding everything else in his life?

Too many times to count, yet here Dean was, careening down that same path to emotional and physical destruction. Sure, he had some work-related success to show for his efforts. He also had a broken engagement.

On a personal level his life was sorely lacking, and that knowledge was beginning to bother him. Especially since he’d lived such a carefree, easygoing life before taking on the family business. Hard to believe how much of a rebel he’d been back then. Now, when he came home in the evening after a twelve-hour day, or a week-long business trip, he was too aware that there was nothing or no one waiting for him. Hell, he didn’t even have the time to care for a pet, let alone give attention and affection to a woman. And the truth of the matter was, what woman would endure his rigorous schedule for the long run?

Certainly not Lora, the woman he’d been engaged to before taking over the reins of Colter Traffic Control for his father—before the demands of his job had taken over his life. Since then, he’d discovered that developing something deeper than an amicable acquaintance was difficult. He didn’t have the time to get to know a woman well enough to establish something more than a brief fling. Nurturing a meaningful relationship took time and energy, and after handling each day’s busy, exhausting workload he depleted both.

And now, a life-altering opportunity loomed in front of him, beckoning him, tempting him to seriously consider the offer that could change the course of his future and give him his old life back. Yet years of obligations and responsibilities told him to stay firmly grounded. The decision had him torn in two.

Grabbing his duffle bag, Dean headed downstairs to the kitchen, shoving those thoughts out of his mind. He’d have plenty of free, quiet time at the lakeside cabin he’d rented to mull over those issues and make decisions.

“So, what’s with the phone call?” Brett prompted. “It’s Saturday, my day off, and I’ve got a gorgeous redhead in a short, tight dress awaiting my attention.”

Dean grinned. At least his friend had his priorities straight. “I wanted to check in with you one last time before I hit the road, and wanted to let you know I put a few contracts on your desk for you to handle while I’m gone.”

“Consider it done.”

Dean dropped his canvas bag on the kitchen table, then loaded a small cooler with a few sodas and snacks for the drive. “Also, Clairmont Construction increased their order of arrowboards, traffic beacons and portable light towers for that repair work they’ve got going on the freeway. The unexpected rain has put them behind, and they’re working double shifts to bring the project in on time.”

“Dean, I’ve got it handled,” Brett drawled good-naturedly. “Get the hell out of Dodge, already. By the way, are you taking any company with you?”

“Nope.” He snapped the lid to the cooler shut and set the insulated container next to his bag. “It’ll be just me and Mother Nature.”

“Man, you have no sense of fun at all, do you?” Brett said, sounding disappointed at Dean’s lack of creativity in the opposite sex department. “Give me the address of the cabin and I’ll send someone to keep you occupied during the day, warm at night, and help celebrate your birthday. Trust me, you’ll come back to Seattle a new man.”

He’d been so caught up in work and his last business trip to San Francisco that he’d forgotten all about his birthday. Not that he normally did much more than join his friends for a drink, or have dinner with his mother. And the sad thing was, three years ago he would have jumped at the opportunity to celebrate his birthday exactly as Brett was suggesting, but now his mind was consumed with business matters.

He didn’t doubt the sincerity of Brett’s generous offer and was quick to set his friend straight. “Thanks, but I’d just as soon find my own woman.”

After a few more minutes of ribbing from his friend to get a real life, Dean hung up the phone, shaking his head. He spent the next half hour loading his car with the cooler, camping gear, and fishing supplies he’d recently purchased through the Internet. After one final walk through the house to make sure everything was secured, he grabbed his duffle and keys from the table and headed out to the garage where his cherry-red, vintage ’65 Mustang convertible awaited him.

Along with a woman holding a shotgun.

Startled to find he had company, he came to an abrupt halt. On the heels of realizing he wasn’t alone came a twinge of apprehension as he warily eyed that lethal-looking weapon she cradled in one arm. Thankfully, it was pointed at the ground and not at him. She stood just where the rolling garage door opened, feet planted apart in a military type stance, and an air of boldness and presumptuousness radiating off her.

Despite the gun, she didn’t look like a rough and tumble G.I. Jane. She wore her rich brown hair in a sleek ponytail, which served to emphasize a pretty face that seemed only to need the most basic of cosmetics to enhance her beguiling features. She was average in height, slender in stature, and undeniably feminine, but there was no mistaking she was physically fit.

He shifted on his feet and returned his gaze to her face. Her lashes blinked lazily over eyes a velvet shade of blue, and a slow, confident smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

Despite the circumstances, a warm frisson of awareness trickled through him. Damn if he didn’t find all that brazen confidence sexy. And exciting. The gleam in her eye was predatory with a definite challenge, and his body responded in an instinctive way that reminded him just how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed. More months than he cared to recall.

Cautiously, he stepped closer to the passenger side of the car and tossed his bag in the back seat. “Can I help you?”

She moved forward slowly, her stroll deceptively casual, that intimidating shotgun gripped loosely in her hand. Her hips, encased in button-fly jeans, swayed gently with each step. The blouse overlaying a white cotton tank top fluttered open, and he experienced a jolt of surprise to catch a glimpse of silver handcuffs clipped to the waistband of her jeans.

She stopped near the trunk of the Mustang, keeping distance between them, and tipped her head inquiringly. “Are you Dean Colter?” she asked, her voice low, throaty and assuming.

She knew his name. The knowledge registered, momentarily diverting his thoughts from those handcuffs and what she intended to do with them. “Yeah, I’m Dean Colter,” he verified, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage. “And you are?”

“Jo Sommers,” she supplied easily. “Your personal escort.”

He frowned at her. His personal escort? Then his confusion ebbed as his earlier conversation with Brett tumbled through his mind. Obviously, his friend had meant what he’d said about sending him a woman for his birthday, but how had Brett arranged for her arrival so quickly?

The answer didn’t really matter, not when Dean was coming to understand, and appreciate, that this woman’s attire and realistic props were all part of some kind of law enforcement costume. One she’d most likely remove, piece by piece, until that luscious body was completely exposed for his eyes only. She’d said herself that she was his personal escort—a new, politically correct title for a stripper, he was guessing—sent for his pleasure and entertainment.

And he planned to cooperate.

He had no place more important to be at the moment, and his vacation could wait a few more minutes in view of the fun this gorgeous woman promised. He’d made a vow to lighten up and take life less seriously, to recapture some of the fun and spontaneity he’d enjoyed before his father’s death. What could be more frivolous than playing along with her skit and enjoying the show?

She peered through the rear window to the back seat, taking in the items he’d packed for his trip, then slanted him a challenging look. “Going somewhere?”

He’d go wherever she led him. Giving her his most charming, persuasive smile, he tossed out a dare of his own. “Well, now, that all depends on what you have in mind, sweetheart.”

A slow, reciprocating smile curved her mouth. “I think you know exactly what I have in mind. Don’t make any sudden moves, do exactly as I say, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Her voice was smooth, but her words were firm and commanding. Too curious to see what she intended, he held up his hands in supplication. “You’ve got my full cooperation.”

“That’s good to hear, because your cooperation will make what I’ve got to do much easier for the both of us.” The barrel of her toy shotgun gestured him toward the back of the vehicle, closer to where she stood. “Put your hands on the trunk of the car, keep them there, and spread your legs.”

His brows shot upward in surprise, but he did as she ordered. He’d expected a striptease, nothing more, but who was he to put a crimp into her presentation? Pocketing his keys, he assumed the position.