Bounty Hunter’s Woman

by Linda Turner

  “You helped us, too,” Donovan said. “We both needed jobs, and you gave us a chance. We owe you.”

  “And I’ll pay you on Friday,” he assured him with a wink, “after you work all week.”

  “Then I guess we’ll see you in the morning,” Donovan said. “What time do we need to report to work?”

  “Five in the morning.” At their groan, he said, “Quit your whining. You’re a hell of a lot younger than I am and you don’t see me crying. And we open at six. You can’t show up ten minutes before the first customer walks in the door and expect anything but chaos.”

  Suitably chastised, Donovan and Priscilla nodded. “We’ll be there,” they said in unison.

  “Then get your butts out of here,” he barked. “You’ve been off the clock for twenty minutes.”

  “What?!”

  Laughing, Donovan grabbed a sputtering Priscilla and pulled her out the back door.

  They only had to go across the street to get a motel room, but even though they’d had a long, busy day, Priscilla was high on success. “I can’t believe that was so much fun!” she said as Donovan unlocked the door to their room. “I was so afraid I was going to bungle everything, but it was fun. You seemed to do okay in the kitchen. You must have been a line cook before. Everyone said the food was great. Even Harry seemed impressed.”

  “Harry was desperate,” he retorted wryly as he followed her inside and locked the door behind him. “All I had to do to impress him was know how to turn on a burner. Are you tired?”

  She shrugged. “Not particularly. I guess I’m too excited. I feel like I’ve run a marathon or something. How many chicken-fried steaks did you make today?”

  He groaned at the thought. “I didn’t count, but it felt like a hundred and five.”

  Too restless to sit still, she pulled off her shoes then jumped up to prowl around the room. “Did you notice my American accent?” she asked as he set the two small suitcases they’d bought at the second-hand shop on the chest and began to unpack his things. “I was afraid I’d get flustered and drop it, but I didn’t. I just pretended I was playing a part in a play. It was great! No one even suspected I was British.”

  “You did very well,” he told her. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just kidding,” he said. “You’re a natural. You’d make a great private investigator, you know. You think fast on your feet.”

  Pleased, she smiled. “Thank you. I try.”

  “You did more than try. You threw yourself into your part like you’d been playing it all your life. Are you sure you want to be a designer? You’d have a hell of a lot more fun chasing bad guys.”

  Her green eyes lit up at the compliment. “Designing has its fair share of espionage,” she pointed out. “Trust me, it’s not dull.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. And you are the artsy-fartsy type. It sticks out all over you.”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Artsy-fartsy? And just what do you mean by that?”

  “Now don’t get all bent out of shape,” he said quickly. “That was a compliment.”

  “Really? How do you figure that?”

  “Look at you. You’ve been kidnapped twice, first by the jackasses that broke into your apartment, then by me. You’ve been dragged halfway around the world. You don’t even have your own clothes or makeup with you so you’re stuck wearing whatever you’ve been able to pick up along the way and throw together.” He gazed at her with admiration. “Most women would not only have a fit at living that way but they’d look like they’d been Dumpster diving. But not you. You’re wearing clothes from a thrift store, for God’s sake, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you spent at least a couple hundred dollars on that outfit. It looks like it was made for you, and all you did was add some scarves and funky shoes and clunky jewelry. If that’s not artsy-fartsy, I don’t know what is.”

  Touched, she smiled. “I just have an eye for putting things together.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You’ve got talent, and that talent’s going to make you a heck of a lot of money one of these days.”

  Delighted with the prediction, she beamed. “You can say you knew me when I waited tables and wore dollar jewelry.”

  “And when you were so tired from working all day that you were loopy,” he teased. “Five o’clock comes awfully early. Don’t you think you should go to bed?”

  Cocking her head, she studied him coyly. “Is this another trick to sleep with me? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that there’s only one bed in this room…or I’ve forgotten what happened in your apartment, Donovan. I may be loopy, but there’s nothing wrong with my memory.”

  She was feeling full of herself and had no idea how incredibly sexy and cute she was. And if he wasn’t half dead on his feet, he would have already reached for her. “Sweetheart, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re perfectly safe. I’m a walking zombie. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll sleep on top of the covers and you can sleep between the sheets.” And just to prove it, he stretched out on top of the bedspread and grinned at her tiredly. “How’s that?”

  Her heart pounding, she should have said no. Things had gotten entirely too heated the last time the two of them had shared a bed, and it was all his fault. He was too attractive, too sexy, too…everything! Every time he touched her, kissed her, even teased her, she found it more and more difficult to resist the need he stirred in her, and it had to stop. Now!

  But he was exhausted—he could barely keep his eyes open—and now that the adrenaline that had kept her running all day had started to fade, she realized just how tired she was. Dropping down to the side of the bed, she winced as she slipped off her tight shoes. This was crazy, she told herself. What was she thinking? They were both adults, for heaven’s sake, not randy teenagers who couldn’t control themselves! And they had to be at work at five in the morning. If they both didn’t go to sleep immediately, they were crazy.

  “Feet hurt?” Donovan asked with a frown when she rubbed her foot. “We’re probably both going to need better shoes.”

  “I never even noticed how much they were burning,” she said, massaging her instep. “I think I’m getting a blister.”

  “Here…let me see,” he said, and sat up to reach for her foot.

  At his first touch, Priscilla swallowed a quick, nearly soundless gasp. She’d never known her feet were so sensitive. She should have found some excuse to pull back, but she couldn’t seem to think, couldn’t seem to do anything except imagine his hands moving from her feet to her ankles, up her calves to—

  Lost in the magic of his touch, she sighed in pleasure, only to try to jerk free when he trailed a teasing finger down the sole of her foot. “Donovan—”

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Yes?”

  He ran his finger down her instep again, making her laugh. “Don’t!” she protested when he tickled her again.

  “Don’t what?” he asked innocently, chuckling as he struggled to keep her from kicking him. “I’m just giving you a foot massage!”

  Squirming, unable to stop laughing, she finally jerked her foot out of his grasp, only to realize her mistake almost immediately. Lightning quick, his hands moved to her ribs and set her laughing all over again.

  “Stop!” she said, grabbing his hands as laughter bubbled up inside her. “You’re killing me!”

  “Say uncle, and I’ll think about it.”

  “Uncle,” she gasped. “UNCLE!”

  Chuckling, he rolled with her on the bed, and when they came to a stop, he was half covering her as his eyes smiled down into hers. “Wimp,” he teased. “You didn’t hold out thirty seconds.”

  “I did, too! You couldn’t do half that good.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Snatching up the challenge, she immediately attacked his ribs, tickling him furiously. When he just grinned and lifted a brow at her, she scowled. “That’s inhuman.”

  That was the wrong thing
to say. Lying with her on the bed, the soft curve of her breasts flush against his chest, he was human, all right, and aching for her. His gaze dropped to the sweet, enticing curve of her mouth, and as he watched, her lips parted just a fraction. Swallowing a groan, he told himself this was madness—he had to let her go. But it was already too late for that. He couldn’t.

  And she felt the kick of the attraction between them as surely as he did—he saw the heat in her eyes, felt her sudden stillness as awareness reached out of the darkness to steal the air right out of both their lungs. “This isn’t smart,” she said huskily.

  “Maybe not,” he said, “but it feels right. If you want me to let you go, though, I will. Just say the word, but be damn quick about it. You’ve got two seconds.”

  Her eyes dark and sultry, she just looked at him.

  Donovan liked to think that he was a man in charge of his emotions, but from the second he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wanting her. “One,” he growled. “Two—”

  The word was still on his lips when he kissed her, and just that quickly, need clawed at him like a hungry beast. He wanted to touch her, kiss her…everywhere. His mouth hot and hungry on hers, he blindly reached for buttons and snaps, moaning as her naked breasts spilled into his hands. Soft. No woman had a right to be so soft, or so responsive. His thumb barely grazed her nipple, and she arched under him with a sigh of pleasure that was nearly his undoing.

  “Donovan.”

  That was all she said, just his name, but she called to him in a way that somehow touched his soul. The need to rush faded, then disappeared completely. Transfixed, he found himself lingering, seducing, learning with his mouth and tongue and hands every secret she had.

  Her senses attuned to each kiss, each whisper-soft stroke of his fingers, Priscilla reached for him. How could he know so much about her body? How could he know that when he kissed her on just the right spot on the side of her neck that her bones seemed to melt? Or that her left breast was so much more sensitive than her right? Or that she loved it when he stroked her like he couldn’t stop touching her? How could he know those things?

  She wanted to ask, but he trailed his hands over her again, stealing her breath, heating her blood, and her mind blurred. There was just Donovan—his lean, hard body, his hungry kisses, the sure, slow glide of his hands—and the fire he lit low in her belly.

  Later, she couldn’t say when or how his clothes disappeared. Suddenly, they were skin to skin, and the fire that blazed between them grew into an inferno. A sob of need rising in her throat, Priscilla thought she couldn’t bear the pleasure another second when he surged into her. Then he moved. With a startled cry that was his name, she shattered.

  Dawn was still a promise in the dark when Donovan woke to find Priscilla snuggled close against his back, snoring softly. Listening to her, he grinned and promised himself he was going to tease her about that later. For now, though, all he wanted to do was turn over and kiss her awake. If he did, however, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop with just a kiss. Not after the lovemaking they’d shared.

  Sensual images came at him from a thousand different directions—Priscilla kissing him, moving over him, under him, coming apart in his arms. Did she know what she did to him? How she drove him crazy and made it impossible for him to think of anything but the softness of her skin, her breasts, the musky, intoxicating scent of her?

  If he had any sense, he’d get out of bed and never sleep with her again. He was slipping. He could feel the cracks in his armor and it scared the hell out of him. He could see the lingering shadows of her dreams in her eyes every time he looked at her…touched her…kissed her…made love to her. And he wanted to trust her so badly he ached with the need. But he couldn’t.

  So what the devil was he doing lying in bed next to her, torturing himself with the idea of making love to her again?

  Before he could even begin to come up with an answer, the alarm went off, shattering his musings. Next to him, Priscilla groaned and covered her head with her pillow. “Tell me it’s not time to get up.”

  “Sorry, Charlie,” he retorted. “We’ve got thirty minutes to get ready before we have to report to work. Do you want the shower first or last?”

  Her face still covered with her pillow, she didn’t move so much as a muscle. “First, I guess,” she said in a muffled voice. “How much time did you say I had?”

  “We have thirty minutes,” he retorted. “You have fifteen.”

  “But you’re going to give me five of yours, aren’t you?”

  When she moved the pillow away from her face just enough to grin up at him, she had no idea just how tempting she was. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” He chuckled. “Your extra five minutes are ticking. Move it or lose it.”

  Too late, he realized he probably shouldn’t have given her that particular ultimatum when she was lying naked in his bed. Laughing, she threw the covers off and ran for the bathroom. Donovan took two steps after her before he realized what he was doing and abruptly stopped. He was, he thought with a muttered curse, losing his mind. If he joined her in the shower, not only would they be late to work but they might not make it at all.

  Frustrated, wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life, he told himself he had to stop this. He had to stop aching for her, reaching for her, thinking about her and how she could drive him crazy with just a touch, a kiss. But, damn, she didn’t make it easy for him. He could hear her singing in the shower. Singing, for heaven’s sake! And she was god-awful! he thought with a laugh. What was he going to do with her?

  He wouldn’t even let himself go there.

  Harry Thomas was waiting for them when they arrived at the diner, and even though he was as gruff as ever and didn’t appear to be particularly glad to see them, Priscilla saw the relief that flashed in his eyes before he quickly blinked it away. He hadn’t expected them to show up, she realized. Instantly sympathetic, she didn’t have to ask what he would have done if they hadn’t. He’d have handled things just as he had yesterday and lost half his customers.

  “What is Harry going to do when we leave?” she asked Donovan quietly as they both started preparations for not only breakfast but lunch as well. Chicken and dumplings had to be made for the lunch special, as well as the soup of the day. Using the recipe that Harry had given them, Priscilla began cleaning and chopping the vegetables while Donovan put chickens on to boil. “We need to let him know that we’re not staying very long so he’ll have time to hire someone before we move on. We can’t just leave him high and dry.”

  “We can’t tell anyone our plans,” he said in a hushed voice that wouldn’t carry to the older man, who was at the far end of the kitchen cracking eggs for omelets and breakfast burritos. “It’s just too dangerous.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Priscilla. You have to trust me.”

  She did—more than ever after last night—but she couldn’t just walk out on a man who had stepped forward and given them a job when they needed one. “I don’t have to tell him when—”

  “I don’t even know when,” he admitted. “And now that I know you’re going to tell the world, I’m not going to tell you when I do know.”

  Undeterred, she said, “I’m not going to tell the world, silly. Just give Harry a hint.”

  Amused, he lifted a brow. “Really? And how do you plan to do that? Announce it during the morning rush so everyone can tell you goodbye? Or just give Harry our itinerary when we give our notice? Of course, you could send him postcards from our travels. He can post them on the diner bulletin board, and everyone can know where we’ve gone.”

  Letting him have his little joke, she merely smiled. “Just wait. My turn’s coming.”

  “What are you two jawing about?” Harry grumbled. “Someone needs to start the coffee, then get the sausage and bacon going. We open in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m on it,” Priscilla volunteered. “I was just telling…” Sh
e hesitated, trying to remember the names Donovan had used when he’d introduced her and himself to the older man yesterday. John? Joe? Joshua? “Justin!” she said quickly, suddenly remembering. “I was telling Justin that we were lucky we could go anywhere and get a job. It gives us a real sense of freedom, you know?”

  His gaze narrowed slightly, but all he said was, “People move around a lot in this business. It’s the nature of the beast.”

  “It must be difficult, keeping help,” Priscilla said quietly. “People probably quit all the time without bothering to give notice.”

  He shrugged. “Someone else always comes along.” Glancing past her to the diner’s entrance, he could clearly see cars pulling into the parking lot. “Enough jawing,” he barked. “The first customers are here. Time to open the doors.”

  They worked right through breakfast, lunch and dinner and were only able to snatch a few stolen moments for a break. For the second day in a row, Priscilla worked harder than she ever had in her life, but as she and Donovan headed for their room after they’d helped Harry close up at the end of the day, she felt the satisfaction of a job well done. It had been a good day.

  “You’re looking pretty damn pleased with yourself,” Donovan told her as she practically danced into their room. “You made a bundle in tips, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to check yet.”

  “I could help you with that—”

  “Oh, no!” She laughed, skipping away when he tried to grab her purse. “Count your own money.”

  “I don’t get tips,” he reminded her.

  “That’s not my fault. You could have waited tables.”

  “And you would have cooked? If I remember correctly, you’re the same woman who said, ‘I don’t even know what chicken-fried steak is,’” he quoted, mimicking her exactly. “How many orders for chicken fried steak do you think you’ve taken over the last two days? There had to be at least a couple hundred, maybe more. The way I figure it, I should get half your tips for every one of those steaks. Fifty percent of fifteen percent of two hundred steaks would be—”