Naked Pursuit

by Jill Monroe

  Owen’s shoulders began to shake with laughter. “Why are you driving that?”

  “I’m in med school. I’m not turning down free transportation. It was my mom’s car before she got something cool.”

  Damn but his smile was charming, almost charming enough to make her forget how embarrassing her car could be. “I think I need to see you drive it to really get the full picture.”

  Yeah, almost enough. Stella shrugged. “Believe me, I’ve heard every joke possible since I inherited the thing. Of course it’s all funny until someone wants to move.”

  “And when you need to take your fellow students to the intramural field.”

  “We wiped the plate with the law students,” she joined in, because she could take a joke. Nope, not prickly at all.

  “Maybe you could take me for ice cream later.”

  “Only if you’re good.”

  “Oh, I aim to please.”

  And with that sexy promise, every nerve tingled and fired up to full attention. No, no, no. Lead this conversation into some other direction. Hadn’t she already gone through the “he’s not your type” conversation with herself?

  “You a big camper?” she asked as they pulled onto the highway, remembering the boots. Excellent. Nothing sexy or enticing about camping. Bugs in her mouth, sleeping on the ground, and don’t get her started on venturing off into the woods with a roll of toilet paper. In fact, she couldn’t think of anything worse than camping.

  A wide smile crossed his handsome face. “I go camping every chance I get. Living in Colorado makes it easy. Always another river to raft or bluff to hike. Sometimes I look out over the mountains, up at the blue skies that stretch out as far as I can see, and I can’t believe I get to live in so much beauty.”

  “Hmm.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What?”

  “Why, Owen, maybe it’s the writing thing, but I do believe you have a bit of poetry in your soul.”

  He shuddered beside her. “Don’t tell my sisters.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three.”

  All that sisterly insight probably just made the man all the more lethal to womankind. “Not to worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I’ve never had a secret from them. They can ferret out anything.”

  She pointed to the forming red ring around her wrist from the handcuffs. “Well, you never had me on your team before.” And she’d just ignore the wave of warmth that crested inside her after that cheesy sentiment she’d just blurted out.

  Actually, she’d never been part of a team, either.

  “You mentioned you were in town for a family thing. Did your family move here from Colorado?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m Texas born and bred. I’m only visiting for my grandmother’s birthday.”

  “So how’d you end up in Colorado?”

  His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and the muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched.

  “Sorry, that was too personal...” Her words trailed off to silence. So his family was a nightmare or something bad had happened. Or both. And Owen clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

  “You camp?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

  Not if she could help it. “When the mood strikes.”

  “The trails around Saddlehorn are amazing, and...”

  Owen shared some of his experiences hiking in the canyon country area with so much enthusiasm, Stella was almost ready to ditch her Wi-Fi and running water. Almost. After fifteen minutes he started down the ramp off the interstate.

  “I’ve done nothing but talk,” he said as he turned left and then right into suburbia.

  “You’re easy to listen to,” she reassured him, surprised how much she enjoyed not having to talk. Or voice an opinion. Or give a diagnosis. The past few months of rounds had been nothing but that, waiting for the resident to pounce on any mistakes. Or dissecting her fellow students’ analyses for errors.

  Being with Owen was surprisingly easy. Relaxing. And, well...really nice. When she discounted the memory loss, handcuffs and acute embarrassment of wearing those cuffs in public.

  He pulled up to the curb and parked his truck in front of a beautiful Tudor Revival home in the historic East Dallas area. Delightfully steep-roofed and half-timbered, the place invited lazy days of reading and discovering secrets. Homes like this always had secrets.

  “No one should see us if we go through the side,” Owen said, angling his head to draw her attention to an iron gate.

  Something squeezed together in her stomach.

  Owen didn’t want anyone to see them together. Had all that warmth-inducing team-talk rattled him? Or maybe her questions about his personal life had prompted him to put distance between them.

  What was so wrong with her that he didn’t want a repeat of last night? One that they’d both remember?

  She stamped that confidence-destructive question right out of her mind. Ugh, and contradictory much? There was nothing wrong with her. Just like there was nothing wrong with him. They just weren’t right for one another.

  He stepped out of the truck and held the door open until her feet hit the concrete. He closed the door quietly, and the two of them darted across the yard to the side of the house. Her heart raced and she was panting again. Okay, clearly she wasn’t cut out for a life of crime. She could barely sneak into his grandparents’ house without her flight instinct taking up firm residence.

  The side gate had a touchpad lock, and after Owen pressed in a four-digit code, the latch released. Of course the iron creaked and groaned on its hinges when he pushed the door open, no matter how slowly he tried to do it.

  “Open it quick. Like you’re ripping off a bandage,” she suggested.

  After another ear-splitting screech, Owen did just that, and they slinked inside. Stella gasped as she rounded the corner of the house. The entrance hid a beautiful New Orleans–style tiled courtyard with checkerboard grass and flagstone pavers. She grabbed Owen’s arm. “Wow.”

  Stella didn’t know where to look first. The nineteenth-century-inspired limestone fountain with its vineyard grapes carved into the stone caught her attention first. The gorgeous bricked outdoor fireplace surrounded by curved rocking chairs also drew her attention. Several unique sitting areas were tucked throughout the yard. She’d been right. This house would have been her childhood dream. The place would be a joy in any season. Stella imagined her girlhood self exploring all the nooks and crannies or reading and dreaming of faraway lands in one of these sitting areas.

  Her steps slowed. She wanted to take it all in, and lifted her hand so the water from the fountain could trickle over her fingers. “This is gorgeous.”

  Owen halted. His brow furrowed and he viewed the yard with one long panoramic glance. “If you like this kind of thing.” Then he shrugged, pivoted and returned to marching her across the paving stones. Yeah, I know you’re in a hurry.

  Stella almost sputtered. “You prefer the untamed wilderness?” she asked his back. But of course he did. This man was the very picture of uncultivated. Which for some reason made her mouth dry. Kissing him had to have been like that. Fierce and passionate with no plotted course.

  Whereas she was all about the cold facts.

  But opposites attract, taunted some irritating and long-forgotten piece of dating advice. No, opposites didn’t attract. They met and exploded, then burned out, leaving a whole lot of destruction in their wake. She’s witnessed that phenomenon herself no less than six times since entering med school. Colleagues who fell hard for someone and either flunked out or pulled out of school. That wouldn’t be her.

  What Owen had referred to as a shed was more like a workshop. It was beautifully timbered to match the house. Someone had put a lot of thought and care into the construction. A bank of hinged windows and two wide double doors welcomed Stella. As she stepped across the threshold and onto the wooden floor, it felt as if she’d crossed into another person’s past. She ca
ught the scent of wood shavings and stain, and took a deep breath.

  Owen flipped a switch, and shop lights hummed on overhead, revealing a large wooden table, worn and aged. Generations of projects must have been created on the weathered surface, and she couldn’t help running the palm of her free hand across its rough plane. Wood was stacked against the wall and above her head and scrapped in a barrel to the side. Shelves storing every kind of power tool imaginable lined one wall, while another wall had pegs for hand tools used to carve, cut and join.

  “Bingo. I see some bolt cutters,” she said, pointing to the tool suspended by a peg. “Your grandpa must have been very organized.”

  Owen nodded. “Everything had its place.” He reached for the plastic-coated handle of the bolt cutters and placed them on the table. “I won’t be able to use them with just the one hand, but these we can use to cut through the wrist cuff once we’re apart. Can you spot a hacksaw?”

  Stella scanned the rows of tools.

  “There it is,” Owen said, and grabbed the tension saw and a couple of pairs of safety glasses.

  “Glad you play it safe,” she said and helped him with the strap behind his head.

  “Oh, I always play it safe,” he told her. His knuckles brushed her cheek and then smoothed away her hair as he helped her with the glasses. His voice was a seductive purr, and predictably, her body responded with the tiniest of shivers. Okay, it wasn’t tiny. The sensation rocked her entire body.

  Was this some new tactic of his? Was he now drawing a sexual response from her for distraction? Or could the man just not help using his sex appeal? Or maybe she just couldn’t help responding to even the smallest of his gestures. Or maybe it was all three.

  Stella held her breath and mentally counted to five. “I think the glasses are secure,” she managed.

  A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and his hands fell away. “Gramps had a couple of sawhorses around here somewhere.”

  Had he just winked at her? No, had to be a trick of the safety glasses.

  They found a sawhorse hanging from the wall on hooks. With a flip, he positioned one in front of them. He slapped his wrist on one side of the wooden horse and with a nod indicated she should do the same.

  “I’m not sure how long this will take, but keep the chain taut.” He rubbed the soft skin beneath the wrist cuff. “If it becomes uncomfortable, let me know and we can take a break. You’re skin is so soft and delicate.”

  And his caress felt so tempting. No wonder she hadn’t been able to fight this last night. Besides being mouthwateringly sexy, Owen smelled amazing. And he had a sense of humor and a bedside manner that, well, made her want to get bedside with him.

  He tugged the chain between them. “You ready?” he asked as he picked up the saw.

  She nodded and he began.

  A dark slithering mass caught at the edge of her peripheral vision. She turned her head and squinted her eyes, but...nothing. With a shake of her head, Stella resumed her focus on Owen’s slow but steady progress with the hacksaw. His head was bent in concentration, and a beam of fall sunshine shafted through the windows and brought out the honey strands in his brown hair.

  Honey strands? Really? Had she just gone there?

  Owen was the perfect specimen to end the man-fast, but that’s all it could ever be. Owen was simply not her type. This man was not for her after today.

  Or tonight...

  The flutter of movement along the wall grabbed her attention again. “Your family doesn’t have a barn cat, does it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, my grandmother is allergic. Wait, I think. I. Got. It.”

  The chain linking them together broke apart. Their gazes met and they shared, really shared a smile. A smile she felt all the way to her currently curling toes.

  His eyes narrowed and the green in Owen’s hazel eyes darkened. She felt herself sway toward him.

  A sliding and coiling thing slithered behind Owen. A chill ran down her back. She shouldered him out of the way and grabbed the nearest sharp object. A shovel. With a whack, she killed the snake that was about to strike Owen’s calf.

  “You’re freaking fierce, lady,” he told her, eyeing the cold-blooded would-be killer snake.

  The shovel dropped from her fingers and clanged to the wooden floor. Adrenaline rushed and pumped through her body, and her arms began to shake. Stella braced her hands on her thighs, readying herself for the eventual crash of shock.

  Talking had always seemed to help in the past. “I hate to kill any living creature, but I hate treating someone for a poisonous snakebite even more. That was a copperhead.”

  Owen hunkered down to examine the distinctive bands on the creature. “You’re right. That means there might be more. No one’s been out here in a while.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure the other snakes are taken someplace where they can live long and happy snake lives.”

  Relief chased away the last wave of adrenaline. “Told you your penis got off easy this morning,” she teased.

  His answer was a slow, rich chuckle, the kind that wrecked a woman’s defenses and good intentions. Her defenses and good intentions. Stella brushed her sweaty palms down her leggings and straightened, needing not to feel so vulnerable.

  “Thanks,” he said. Just one word, but filled with some unidentifiable emotion. Owen’s fingers curved around her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She shrugged.

  “Hey, I’m a firefighter. I know what it’s like to deal with the aftermath of adrenaline.”

  She glanced up and searched his eyes. Concern dwelled in those hazel depths. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  There was no playful banter now. No suspicious self-preservation. She owed him more. She owed herself more. “I can separate myself from the emotion. I’m especially good at that, actually. It’s just dealing with that crazy rush of adrenaline.”

  “I know exactly how to handle it.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “You channel it somewhere else.” His eyes lowered to her mouth.

  Stella’s breath hitched. He was gazing down at her like he wanted to devour her. She ached for the feel of his mouth, and her fingers drifted to her lips. His warm hand covered hers, drawing her fingers away. Then his mouth dropped to hers.

  It was gentle. Exploratory. Like a first kiss. Which it was, really. No matter what had happened between them last night, this, this tug of awareness and want and need, this was new to her. And even though this man wasn’t her type and wouldn’t be in her life long, she could no longer fight the attraction that burned between them. She took her hand from his and molded it to his head, drawing him closer. Urging him to kiss her harder.

  With a groan he gripped her hips and drew her flush against his body. She flattened herself along the strength of his chest and thrilled at the feel of the growing length of his cock.

  Stella opened her mouth, and the sexy velvet of his tongue sought hers. She breathed in his outdoorsy, woodsy scent, felt her fill of the tight muscles roping his back and arms, and reveled in the sound of his labored breathing. Exactly.

  She’d made his breath ragged. This sexy man wanted her. She hooked her leg around his hip and moaned as the hard ridge of him swelled between her legs.

  Then a voice said, “I think Dad stored some coolers in the shed. Ahh—Owen? Is that you?”

  6

  LARISSA KEYED INTO the offices of PharmaTest and disabled the alarm, then sagged into the chair of her office. “Don’t be too relieved. There are still two more people out there completely unaccounted for.”

  Talking out loud to herself was probably not a good sign, either. Still, she powered up the computer with a smile. Twelve and Ninety-Two were fine. They’d checked into a hotel last night, and although she’d missed them this morning, the pair had probably been at breakfast or something. After all, Ninety-Two’s purse had still been there when the housekeeper opened the door to the suite.

/>   When those four patients woke up this morning, other than the memory loss and anxiety reduction, any other effects of the drug would have worn off.

  Her head fell back and Larissa blew out a heavy breath. Perhaps she’d blown everything out of proportion last night. And again this morning. Sure, the subjects had acted a little giddy as they’d signed their release forms and left the PharmaTest offices last night, but why had she been so worried they’d do something crazy? HB121 relieved pain. The drug aided in trauma. Some people even said it helped them think better and work out their problems.

  So she’d found the first two patients. Sort of. Now on to Thirty-Five and Seventy-Eight. First item on the agenda: run a search on the internet for any people acting strange or unusual in the area. She scrolled through the search hits, but nothing stuck out other than the typical overnight Dallas shenanigans. Another average Thursday night.

  Next Larissa moused over the local news sites, but there were only stories about a faulty tornado siren and upcoming high school and college football games.

  That left the patient intake files. Larissa ran her fingers along the folders until she located the four in question. First up—subject thirty-five. Hayden Taylor. She’d listed herself as a student and given a local address. Volunteer seventy-eight, the man she’d left with, Larissa remembered was a documentary filmmaker from California.

  Subject twelve was a firefighter from Colorado. The last volunteer, ninety-two, and the one who’d called the offices last night, lived right here in Dallas. The four of them had left PharmaTest together, which might mean some of them had left their cars in the lot. Grabbing her keys, Larissa trekked out to the parking lot.

  A well-loved red minivan and a beat-up yellow sedan were the only other cars outside, and Texas license plates were affixed to both of them. Larissa trudged back into PharmaTest. She would leave notes on the windshields. Bingo!

  Larissa dashed to the computer and printed off two notes with her contact information and a request to telephone or email her. Then she slid them under the windshield wipers. A huge gust of wind barreled down on her as she raced back to office, and she had to fight to keep her skirt from flying up over her head. And despite that potential embarrassment, she blinked back happy and relieved tears.