His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons)

by Barbara Dunlop

  “They’re not specifically incriminating—”

  “I know they’re not.”

  “But they are suggestive of more than a business relationship.”

  “If suggestive is all you’ve got, then let me go.”

  “It’s all we’ve got so far.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve only been chasing this lead for five hours.”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  He was, and he doubted brides were inclined to eat heartily before their weddings.

  “No,” she said.

  “You really need to stop lying.”

  “You’re criticizing my behavior?”

  “You’re not going to help anything by starving.”

  He rose, taking the few steps to the small kitchen and popping open a high cupboard.

  “You’re not going to make me like you,” she said from behind him.

  “Why would I want to make you like me?”

  He wanted to convince her not to marry Vern. No, scratch that. He couldn’t care less if she married Vern. No, scratch that, too. Vern didn’t deserve her. If Jackson was sure of one thing in all this, it was that Vern didn’t deserve a woman like Crista.

  “To make me more docile and easy to manipulate.”

  Jackson located a stray bag of tortilla chips. “Docile? You? Are you kidding me?”

  Her tone turned defensive. “I’m really quite easy to get along with. I mean, under normal circumstances.”

  He also found a jar of salsa. It wasn’t much, but it would keep them from starving. If they were lucky, they’d find a few cans of beer in the mini fridge.

  He turned back.

  She froze, her expression a study in guilt, his phone pressed to her ear.

  He swore, dropping the food, taking two swift steps to grab it from her. How could he have made such an idiotic mistake?

  “Nine-one-one operator,” came a female voice through the phone. “What is your emergency?”

  He hit the end button. “What did you do?”

  “Tried to get help.” Her words were bold, but she shrank back against the sofa.

  Jackson hit the speed dial for Mac.

  “Yeah?” Mac answered immediately.

  “I have to move. This phone is compromised. Tuck’s dock, zero eight hundred.”

  “Roger that,” said Mac.

  Jackson pushed open a window and tossed the phone overboard.

  “That was stupid,” he said to Crista.

  “I was trying to escape. How was that stupid?”

  “You were reckless. I was stupid.”

  He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “Hey,” she cried.

  “Listen, I’m still not going to hurt you, but you had no way of knowing that for sure. I could have been a vengeful jerk.” He tugged her to the bridge, holding fast to her upper arm while he started the engine and engaged the anchor winch.

  Her tone turned mulish. “I had to try.”

  “I shouldn’t have given you the chance.”

  “You let your guard down.”

  “I did. And that was stupid.”

  Not to mention completely unprofessional. He wasn’t sure what had distracted him. Their kiss? Her legs? The sight of her in his jersey?

  He’d have to worry about it later. Right now, he couldn’t take a chance on an overzealous 911 operator tracing their location. Anchor up, he opened the throttle, and they surged forward.

  She swayed, but he held her steady.

  “You were trying to be nice,” she said.

  He struggled not to laugh at that. “You’re trying to make me feel better about being stupid?”

  “I’m saying… I’m not unappreciative of you offering me something to eat.”

  “Well, I’m definitely unappreciative of you compromising our location.”

  He set a course north along the coastline. His friend Tuck Tucker owned a beach house north of the city. Tuck wouldn’t mind Jackson using his dock. He might mind the kidnapping part, but Jackson didn’t plan to mention that. And if Mac and the others didn’t come through with proof positive by morning, Tuck’s reaction would be the least of Jackson’s worries.

  “Where are we going?” Crista asked.

  Jackson did chuckle at that. “Yeah, sure. I’m going to tell you.”

  “It’s not like we still have a phone.” As she spoke, her gaze flicked to the radio.

  “I’ll be disconnecting the battery to that long before I take my eyes off you,” he told her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You just looked at the radio. You might as well be wearing a neon sign that says it’s your next move.”

  She drew an exasperated sigh and shifted her feet.

  “You probably don’t want to consider a life of crime,” he said.

  She lifted her chin and gave her damp hair a little toss. “I’m surprised you did.”

  “It’s been a surprising day.”

  “Not exactly what I expected, either.”

  He’d have to hand her the win on that one.

  He switched screens on the GPS, orienting himself to the shoreline.

  “I’m hoping you’ll thank me later,” he said.

  “Hoping? You don’t seem as confident as before.”

  “The stakes just keep getting higher and higher. Now we’re headed for the state line.”

  Her attention swung from the windshield to him. “You’re taking me to Wisconsin?”

  “What’s wrong with Wisconsin?”

  “It’s a long way from Chicago. Why are you taking me there? What’s happening?” She struggled to get away from him.

  He regretted frightening her again. They weren’t really going all the way to Wisconsin.

  “I didn’t plan to grab you today,” he told her. “I was only there to get a look at Gerhard.”

  “Why?”

  “To take his measure.”

  “I mean why do you care about us at all?”

  “It’s a job.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters to you is that your fiancé is already having an affair. You can’t marry a man like that.” Jackson wasn’t ready to tell her more. Mention of her father would likely alienate her further. He didn’t yet have proof of Trent’s accusations. And if she was having trouble accepting that Vern would cheat, she’d never believe he was conning her.

  “He’s not like that. I don’t know where you even came up with that idea.”

  She’d stopped struggling against his grip, and that was good. Her fear seemed to have been replaced by anger. Jackson’s guilt eased off.

  “Wedding guests,” he said, opening the throttle to increase their speed. It was a clear, relatively calm night, thank goodness. They needed to put distance between them and the position where Crista had made the call.

  “My wedding guests?”

  “Technically, I would say they were Vern’s wedding guests. They seemed to know him, and they were joking about his relationship with Gracie. I realized I couldn’t in good conscience let you marry him, so I took the opportunity and grabbed you.”

  She was silent for a moment. “So this isn’t so much crime as altruism.”

  “Yes. The easiest thing for me would have been to walk away.”

  “You can still walk away.”

  “We’re on a boat.”

  “Swim away, then. Or drop me off onshore and drive away—motor away? Float away? What do you call it?”

  “Navigate away. And no, I’m not dropping you off onshore.” He made a show of looking her up and down, enjoying the view far too much. “You’
re not dressed, for one thing.”

  “I’ll put my wedding dress back on. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s better than staying here.”

  “I’d get thrown in jail,” he said.

  “Darn right. But that’s going to happen anyway.”

  “Not for a few hours.” And hopefully not ever, although Jackson’s worry factor was steadily rising.

  “How long until we get there?” she asked.

  “Get where?”

  “To the secret location, wherever it is you’re taking me. How long until we stop navigating?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m hungry.”

  “Oh, now you’re hungry. Well, you’re going to have to wait.”

  “I can eat while you navigate.”

  “I’m not letting go of you.”

  “I’m not going to jump.”

  “That’s what I thought last time.”

  “We’re way too far from shore.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve got another brilliant plan in mind already. Sabotage the engine, harpoon me from behind.”

  “You have harpoons on board?”

  “Give me strength,” he muttered.

  She leaned close to him. “Am I annoying you? Frustrating you?”

  “Yes on both counts.”

  Her argumentative nature was annoying, but his frustration came from a whole other place. She was stimulating and exciting. She was a beautiful, feisty, apparently complex and intelligent woman, and he was battling hard against his sexual attraction to her. He didn’t want to be rushing from a crime scene with her as his captive, contemplating the best way to stay out of jail. He wanted to be on a date with her, somewhere great in the city, contemplating how best to get her into his bed.

  “There’s a simple solution,” she told him.

  It took a second for him to get his brain back on track. “Let you go?” he guessed.

  “Bingo.”

  “Not until we meet up with Mac tomorrow.”

  “You’ll let me go then?”

  He knew he was being cornered, but there really was no choice. He could only hope Mac could come up with definitive proof by morning.

  “Yes,” said Jackson.

  Crista’s mouth curved into a dazzling smile. They hit a swell, and she pressed against him. Her curves were soft, and her scent was fresh. For a moment the risk of jail seemed almost worth it.

  * * *

  When Crista awoke, she was disoriented. It took a few seconds to realize the warm body beside her wasn’t Vern. She was in bed with someone bigger, harder, with a deeper breathing pattern and an earthier scent. And the bed was moving beneath them.

  Then reality came back in a rush. Long after midnight, she’d given in and laid down on the bed in the bow of Jackson’s boat. He was still up, and she’d hugged one edge of the massive, triangular shape in case he decided to join her. At some point he obviously had, and in her sleep she must have moved to the middle.

  Now she was cradled by his strong arm, hers thrown across his chest. And her leg…uh-oh. Her leg was draped across his thighs. The jersey had ridden up to her waist. Luckily, he was wearing sweatpants. Otherwise, there’d be nothing between them but the lacy silk of her white panties.

  She knew she should move. She had to move. And she needed to do it before he woke up and caught her in such a revealing position. Now that she thought about it, she should have recoiled from him the second she was conscious.

  Staying put like this was bad. The fact that she liked it was even worse. She was an engaged woman. She was all but married. She had absolutely no business enjoying the intimate embrace of another man, no matter how fit his body, no matter how handsome his face and no matter how sexy his warm palm felt against her hip.

  It was all she could do not to groan out loud.

  Jackson moved and she drew a sharp breath.

  “Hey, there,” he whispered lazily in her ear, obviously only half-awake himself, obviously believing she was someone else.

  Then he kissed her hairline.

  “I—” she began. But he kissed her mouth. And his arms closed around her.

  Before she could gather her wits enough to struggle, the kiss deepened. A fog of desire invaded her brain, blocking out the real world.

  He was one fantastic kisser.

  His hand slipped down to cradle her rear. Pulling her to him, his thigh wedged between her legs. Arousal fanned through her, hot, heavy and demanding.

  She had to make this stop. She so had to shut this down.

  “Jackson,” she gasped. “I’m not your date. Wake up. It’s me. It’s Crista.”

  “I know.” He drew back, gazing at her with dark eyes. “I know who you are.”

  “But—”

  “And you know I’m not Gerhard.”

  She wanted to deny it. She desperately wanted to lie and say that, of course, she’d thought he was her fiancé. What kind of a woman would behave like this with another man? But she couldn’t bring herself to lie, not with his sharp stare only inches away, and their hearts beating together.

  “I was confused,” she replied instead.

  He answered with a knowing smile. “Confused about what?”

  “Who you were.”

  He shook his head. “Crista, Crista. There’s no real harm in not being truthful with me. But I hope you’re being honest with yourself.”

  “I am being honest with myself.”

  “You claim you love Gerhard, yet you’re in bed with a stranger.”

  “I’m not in bed with you.” She immediately realized how ridiculous the protest sounded. “I mean, not like that. We didn’t… We aren’t…”

  He glanced down between them, noting without words that they were in each other’s arms.

  She quickly pulled back, wriggling to get away from him.

  A pained expression came over his face. “Uh, Crista, don’t—”

  “What?” Had she hurt him?

  “The way you’re moving.”

  And then she realized what he meant. They might be mostly dressed, but she could feel every nuance of his body. Raw arousal coursed through her all over again. She felt her face heat in embarrassment.

  “However you have to move. Whatever you have to do. Just do it,” she demanded hoarsely.

  He cupped a palm under her knee, lifting her leg from his body and lowering it to the mattress. But his hand lingered on her thigh.

  She closed her eyes, steeling herself. What was the matter with her? “Please,” she whispered.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.” His husky voice amped up her arousal.

  “We can’t.” But she wanted to. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so intensely.

  “We won’t,” he said and gathered her into his arms all over again.

  She didn’t protest. Instead, she reveled in the security of his strength. Yesterday had been a nightmare of fear, disappointment and confusion. It had all been Jackson’s fault. But for some reason that didn’t seem to matter. He was still a comfort.

  “Mac will be here in a few minutes,” said Jackson.

  “Is he going to swim?” she asked.

  “I docked the boat last night after you fell asleep.”

  “You mean I could have escaped?”

  “You’d have had to get out of my bed without waking me. But, yeah, you could have escaped.”

  Crista heaved a sigh. “This isn’t normal. My reaction to these circumstances,” she said.

  “It doesn’t feel normal to me, either.” He scooted to the end of the bed and stood.

  “Jackson?” A man’s voice came from beyond the small hatch door.

  She jerked back, quickly adjusting her j
ersey over her thighs.

  “We’ll be right out,” Jackson called. To Crista he said, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  He was right about one thing—she should stop lying to herself. She might love Vern, but she’d just kissed the heck out of another man. Maybe fear and stress had combined to mess with her hormones, but what she’d done was absolutely, fundamentally wrong.

  Jackson slipped a T-shirt over his head. “Forget about it.”

  “Are you really going to let me go?” She forced herself to think ahead.

  If she could make a phone call, Vern would pick her up. She didn’t have her purse, no cash or credit cards or her phone. She’d have to change back into her ruined wedding dress before he got here. Man, was he going to be ticked off about that.

  “After you look at what Mac found, yes, I’ll let you go.”

  “Good.” She struggled to summon her pride as she rose from the bed.

  She followed Jackson up a couple of steps and ducked through the hatch to the main cabin. There she found Mac, a tall, bulky man with broad shoulders, who had a heavy brow and a military hairstyle. Jackson looked almost urbane by comparison. The contrast to Vern would be startling.

  “Mac,” said Jackson with a nod. “This is Crista Corday.”

  “Miss Corday,” said Mac. His voice was as rugged as his appearance.

  “I think we can skip the formality of Miss Corday, since you participated in my kidnapping.”

  “Mac had nothing to do with it,” said Jackson.

  “He does now,” said Crista. She was telling Vern and the police everything. Jackson and his gang of men should not be allowed to roam free.

  “I’ve got the photos,” said Mac, stepping forward.

  He held out his phone so she could see the screen. The first one was taken on a busy street. It was Vern, all right. Despite herself, she leaned in for a closer look.

  He walking side by side with a woman, presumably Gracie. They seemed to be exiting a restaurant. The woman was tall, with a bouncy mane of wavy blond hair. Her makeup was dark—thick, sparkly liner and a coating of mascara emphasizing her bright blue eyes. Her lips were full, her bust fuller, and her waist was tiny beneath a white tank top. The next photo showed that she wore blue leather pants and black, spike–heeled ankle boots.

  “They’re just walking,” said Crista.