Danger and Desire: Ten Full-Length Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels

by Pamela Clare

  He spotted a baseball cap on the dashboard and slid it over his head. He covered the girl with a windbreaker that was bunched up and tucked beside the seat. Gate security waved as he passed them. “Have a nice night,” he called through the closed window. He took a right onto the street and checked the rearview mirror. It didn’t seem as if security knew of the incident. Maybe the blazing sirens had been from a car on the residential street along the studio.

  Suckers.

  Tanner kept an eye out as he drove through Burbank and made his way into Hollywood and his fleabag hotel. Ten minutes later, in the middle of Sunset Boulevard traffic, he released a sigh and finally looked down at the female lying in the passenger seat.

  If her shaggy, short dark hair was any indication, she’d had a hell of a day. But then again, he’d capped it by shooting her. He winced. Damn, he’d screwed this up. To top it off, she looked like a damn innocent kid. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. Her pale skin gleamed in the moonlight. She had a cute little pert nose that matched the rest of her. Cute. Pixie. Just like her haircut…and her shape. Everything about her screamed cute, innocent and shouldn’t have been shot.

  Swallowing back the panic, Tanner focused on the road. He had to make this right. He of all people knew what it was like to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and he’d be damned if he didn’t do all he could for this girl.

  Pulling over, he stopped the car. What had he been thinking to take her? Sure, she’d seen him before, but now…now she’d know where he lived. Fuck. He wasn’t good at this on-the-fly shit. It had taken a lot of planning to be at the stage, lure Juneau and hatch an escape route and now he’d gone totally off-roading.

  He should dump her. She hadn’t come to and maybe she hadn’t really seen him. It had been dim on that stage…

  One more look at her shoulder had him moving again. No, he couldn’t shoot her then abandon her. That was low, even for him. Despite not hearing his mother’s or sister’s voices in seven years, they still rang very clearly in his head. “You did what to that poor girl? Then you left her?” Their disappointment would be clear not only in their voices, but in their eyes. Tanner ruthlessly shoved back the picture. More and more he’d been thinking about his family, and it only made him feel worse. He’d hurt them enough already, no reason to compound the pain.

  Another few minutes and he’d be home…well, not home, but someplace to crash and hide for the night. A place where he could think about the next step and take care of his…hostage. Crap, now he had a hostage. She wasn’t just a girl or woman or lady. She was a hostage.

  Nice going, Tanner. Way to fuck up your life even more.

  Chapter Two

  Jessie St. John didn’t open her eyes. She wanted to, but something was very wrong and she needed to piece together what had happened first. Street noise drifted to her ears; cars, trucks and occasional pedestrians talking loudly. Where was she? Time to backtrack. Where had she been before this? Talking to her boss, Maurice, where he’d blown her off. She’d been his assistant for three years and he still treated her like dirt. He took credit for her good ideas and blamed her for his bad ones. Things had certainly gone bad tonight. She concentrated, tried to focus on the last thing she remembered. Wow, she had a headache. Her shoulder hurt too. That was because…she’d been shot?

  Oh, God, she’d been shot! Everything came back with a flood of memory, but Jess kept her eyes shut. Where was she? Then she remembered… He’d taken her. The shooter had picked her up as if she’d been a rag doll—which she’d turned into when her legs had given out—and carried her out the door like a caveman. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. God, please don’t let him be watching her. She strained to hear anything, but unlike outside, the silent room gave no sign of life. She was on something soft. Probably a bed. Maybe a sofa. The air smelled stale. Definitely not a hospital. No, he wouldn’t have snatched her just to deposit her in a hospital. He could’ve left her behind if he wanted her to get medical attention. He took her because she’d seen him. Oh, boy, had she seen him.

  Tall, about six feet four inches of long, lean man. More muscle than she’d seen since glimpsing the cover-boy model calendar her brother had bought her last year, and short dark hair so thick she doubted he’d ever lose any of it. His face had mesmerized her. Scared her. Hard, dark eyes glittered as he’d moved toward her. Lines lightly creased his eyes and mouth and a prominent nose, that might have been big on another man, fit his face fine.

  She’d tried to speak, tried to run. The gun in his hand had terrified her, made her realize that she had indeed been shot. God, that stuff only happened in the movies. But he’d scooped her up and wimp that she was, Jess had simply lost consciousness. She’d been known to pass out when something scared her. Her body would shut down as it had tonight. What a wuss. Her little brothers still teased her about it mercilessly.

  Thinking about her brothers brought the urgency back. She had to get out of here.

  Jess’s shoulder throbbed as she listened harder for noises, but the street sounds still dominated the room. She must be above it somehow, on a second or third floor. Deciding she couldn’t play possum the rest of her life, Jess opened her eyes to a dimly lit room. A naked bulb cast the only light. A battered television rested on a scarred dresser against the wall and mini fridge sat under a counter with a sink. She turned her head a fraction to the side.

  He was there.

  Staring at her as if he’d been waiting for her. She hadn’t heard him make a sound. Hadn’t been aware of him in the slightest. It seemed ridiculous, because now she was totally aware of him. Of the space he occupied and the way he watched her. Why would he be looking at her as if he was afraid of her?

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up.” His low voice held a hint of humor. Could he possibly think this was funny? When she didn’t respond he continued, gestured to her shoulder. “It’s not bad. More of a scratch. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have hauled you out of there the way I did, but you were bleeding a lot and…” He trailed off, clamped his mouth shut.

  That was almost reassuring. Maybe he’d let her leave. Jess lifted the collar of her shirt and glanced at the bandage. But this wasn’t her shirt. He’d replaced her T-shirt with a much bigger one. It was brand new and all black. One of his? Oh, God, he’d seen her practically topless. Heat warmed her cheeks as she rose up on her elbows and scooted back against the wall, trying for any amount of distance. She ignored the burn in her shoulder. “Not a problem,” she croaked. She forced herself to look on the bright side…at least she was wearing clothes.

  He was young-ish, which had nothing to do with whether or not he was a psycho. If she stayed calm and made no sudden movements, maybe she could just walk out of here. She eased her legs from beneath a polyester bedspread, but he halted her progress with an outstretched arm.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Okay, shoot. Maybe not so easy to just walk away. “It’s just a scratch, so I thought I’d…you know…go home.” Yeah, right. She wouldn’t dream of running straight to the police or even think about giving them a perfect description of this guy. She’d go right home. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

  The thought of home jolted her back to her situation and her heart pounded harder. As long as her family wasn’t there, she didn’t have a home. Sure, she had an apartment, but the home she grew up in, the home where her parents and brothers lived had been her safe haven. But not anymore.

  His cold smile pulled her out of her thoughts. “I can’t let you go. Not yet anyway. How old are you?”

  What? What did it matter how old she was? She’d already proved she was a total wimp by passing out, so maybe it was time she showed a little backbone. “It’s none of your business how old I am. How old are you?” she snapped back, unable to hide the growing frustration and anger building under her skin.

  “Twenty-seven,” he answered. He looked older… Like ten years older. “I know.” He n
odded as if she’d said it aloud and she was sure she hadn’t. “Prison will do that.”

  Great. Prison. The man was an ex-con. Or worse, maybe an escaped convict. But she’d had her ear to the news nonstop in the last twelve hours and hadn’t heard anything about anyone escaping from prison. Still, a fresh flurry of panic bubbled in her gut. What was she supposed to say now?

  Forty-eight hours ago, she’d been juggling her job and the production coordinator’s job, wrapping the last film, returning equipment rentals and dousing fires from accounting. She’d been waiting for a chance to be part of the production team and hadn’t complained about the workload. But now her life had spun so far out of her control she didn’t know what to do first.

  Information. She needed information to figure out how dangerous this man was. “How long were you in prison?” Stupid question. What if he hadn’t had a woman in so long that he now wanted to take what was in front of him? When would she learn she needed to think before speaking?

  “Seven long-ass years,” he told her. He wasn’t looking at her like she might be breakfast, lunch or dinner, so Jess took a little solace in that.

  She could ask him what he was in for, but fear kept that question buried. Murder? Rape? She swallowed and went in a different direction. “When did you get out?” Fair question seeing as how he’d broken the law with a bang, no pun intended.

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he said, voice low and eyes narrowed. “Maybe you answer some of mine and I’ll answer more of yours. How old are you?”

  “Fine.” What did it matter? “Twenty-six.” As of yesterday. Happy birthday to me. This was not the kind of surprise she’d been hoping for. In fact the last twenty-eight hours had turned her life upside down. She didn’t have time to be sitting here with this guy, playing whatever game he had planned. She forced back a shudder.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and dragged a hand through his hair, mumbling and swearing something incoherent under his breath.

  Jess surveyed the rest of the room. Along with the one double bed she occupied and the scratched dresser and old television, there was also a chipped desk in the corner. The dirty beige carpet desperately needed a cleaning, the walls needed painting and the air needed freshener. It was your basic fleabag motel.

  He still had his head down. Maybe she should bolt now. While he wasn’t paying attention and his guard was down. Jess looked at the door across the small room, gauged her chances of making it outside. No way. He was too big. He’d catch her in a second. She could scream. He didn’t have the gun in his hand and as she looked around she didn’t see it anywhere. Maybe that’s what she needed to do. Just scream loud and long. Jess took a breath, ready to howl for all she was worth when he looked up. He pounced on her so fast she didn’t know what happened. One minute, she was about to scream her head off and the next he had his hand over her mouth and his body covering hers.

  He stared at her, nose to nose as he pinned her shoulders and head against the wall and her lower body on the bed with his…very muscular self. “I don’t recommend that course of action,” he said in a deadly quiet tone. “I didn’t mean to shoot you. I wasn’t aiming for you, but don’t be mistaken… Just because you weren’t my target doesn’t mean I won’t keep you quiet until this is over. I need to figure out what I’m going to do, but if you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’m going to do something you’ll be extremely uncomfortable with. Do you understand me?”

  Jess stared into his hard, dark eyes and swallowed. Fresh panic set in and her pulse hammered. The edges blurred and a wave of dizziness made her stomach turn, but she willed herself to stay conscious. She concentrated on the bite of his fingers against her cheek and took a deep breath through her nose. The faint scent of soap lingered under a hint of masculine sweat. Blinking, she cleared her vision. She couldn’t afford to be gagged or tied. Her best bet was to make him think she’d be compliant. The more he trusted her, the better chance she’d have to escape. Jess nodded. At this point she’d have done just about anything to get him off her. He was strong and heavy. Not an ounce of fat on him.

  “I’m going to get up now,” he told her. He leaned close to her ear, his body rubbing up against hers as he shifted. “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” The threat was as clear as the thick ridge in his jeans and Jess shuddered when chills raced across her body.

  She nodded again as tears filled her eyes. Dammit. No way would she cry. The past twenty-four hours she’d been nothing but helpless. She’d lost control of everything and now it had gotten worse. Think. Think. What could she do to change the situation?

  Slowly he eased his hand from her mouth and Jess took a steadying breath. “I won’t scream,” she said softly. “Just get off me and I won’t scream.”

  He gradually moved away and paced the small room. To say he was on edge was an understatement. Jess heaved a sigh. Her heart still beat a frantic rhythm, but at least she had some space. Now to figure out what he wanted and why. If shooting her had been an accident and Maurice had been the only other person on the stage then at least she knew who this man’s target was. “Why were you shooting at Maurice?” she asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “I’d say it’s plenty of my business since your bullet hit me.”

  He turned on her, his face hard, tight. It was the face of a desperate man. Someone at the end of his rope. The look was enough to make her gasp, but she quickly got control of her nerves.

  “Look, here’s the thing,” she said, glancing at her watch, playing it calm—and Maurice thought she couldn’t act. Ha. Her clock was ticking and precious time drifted away as every minute passed. “I have something really important to do and I can’t spend time locked up here.” She stood up slowly, gauging his reactions, but he didn’t move. Maybe because she didn’t pose much of a threat looking like a ten-year-old wearing her father’s top. His T-shirt dropped down to her thighs. Of course he was blocking the door, so he wouldn’t move. “You have your agenda and I have mine. I know Maurice. I know he’s done some bad things and I don’t condone them. He’s not the first Hollywood producer to run off with people’s money and he won’t be the last.” Jess rambled on. She had no idea what she said as she tried to convince this guy that keeping her wouldn’t do him any good.

  “C’mon,” she implored, gesturing to her shoulder. “I’ve had worse cuts from falling down. I promise not to go to the cops.” And she meant it. She only wanted out of here. When he gave her no response, and seemed inclined to go her way, she tried again. “Why did you shoot at Maurice?” She tried for a smile, tried to buddy up. “If there was a Putz of the Year Award, Maurice would be in the running. I mean, sometimes I want to shoot him.”

  He narrowed his eyes and his face twisted in a grimace. “He took my life.” His words came slowly, distinctly, and each syllable filled with malice. “He took my freedom. He took everything that meant anything to me and he needs to pay.”

  Jess lost the smile. This guy had serious retribution in mind. Maurice, you idiot. What the hell did you do to this guy?

  She’d only worked for him a few years. His last assistant had left after Maurice’s son died four years ago and he’d hired and fired three other people until she’d come along. She’d heard rumors of his business dealings and had fielded more than one or two angry investors, but it sounded as if he’d hit the mother lode of trouble with the man in front of her.

  Tanner ran a hand down his face. The motel room was closing in on him, just the way his cell used to. Bringing this girl back here had been a colossal mistake. He saw that now. Anyone would think with a prison record and seven years served that he’d be better at this unlawful behavior, but here he was, fucking up royally.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he started pacing again. Funny how even with extra room, he took the same amount of steps as he had in his cell. Four steps in one direction. Four steps back.

  She hesitated and swallowed. “Jess. Jessie,” she amende
d as she looked at her watch. “Look, I swear to you that I won’t go to the police, but I have to get out of here. I have to find Maurice.”

  Tanner needed to find him too. “Why do you need him? What’s so important?” He remembered how frantic she’d acted earlier. Maybe Maurice had fucked with her life as badly as he’d fucked with Tanner’s.

  “I can only answer that with a response you might remember.” She put a hand on her hip. “None of your business.”

  Considering what he’d put her through, Tanner almost smiled at her ballsy response. Especially—and also—considering that he had a gun and was twice her size. For a girl who’d passed out cold, she’d recovered her fighting spirit. Running his hand over his hair, he glared at her. “Do you know where he might’ve gone? Where I can find him?”

  Her pretty brown eyes narrowed. “Why? So you can find him and really kill him?” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No. No way. I need him alive,” she said, suddenly animated and tapping her chest. “I’m not handing him over to you. I don’t care what you do to me.” Those narrowed eyes widened as he advanced on her and that bravery wilted as she took a step back. But the bed halted her progress and he faced her toe to toe and head to chest. Her head to his chest. Standing this close, he smelled her. A combination of flowers and female perspiration. She wasn’t pretty in the classic sense of the word, but she stood out nevertheless. Her pale skin gleamed in the low light, and her short dark hair spiked in every direction. It was her big brown eyes, the color of whiskey that gave away everything about her. Her fear. Anxiety.

  Bastard that he was, he played on it. Because that’s what he’d learned to do in prison. Take a stand and fight, intimidate, do what had to be done to stay on top.