Hard to Hold. Karen Foley
His kiss was intoxicating …
For a moment, nothing else mattered except the wild, sweet longing that surged through Maddie’s veins.
“Madeleine,” Colton rasped, “I don’t think …”
“Shh.” She bent down to brush a searing kiss over his lips, and then lingered for several long, tantalizing seconds. She couldn’t help herself. The taste of him, the feel of him, was irresistible. Then, before he could guess her intent, she pushed his hand over his head and quickly snapped on the other handcuff.
“What the …?” He twisted his head and stared in bemusement at his shackled wrists.
He fixed her with a hard glare, his dark eyes beginning to focus with awareness of what she was doing. “Don’t do this, Madeleine.” His voice sounded rough, still groggy with sleep. “Uncuff me right this damned minute.”
Maddie bit her lip. Colton gave a roar and bucked his hips in an attempt to unseat her. With a cry of alarm, Maddie found herself pitched onto the floor.
“It’s no use, Colton,” she gasped, and opened her hand to reveal the set of keys. “I already have them.” Maddie pushed herself to her feet, intent only on grabbing her shoes and getting out of there.
“Madeleine,” he said, his eyes burning into hers, “you can’t run forever, and there’s no place for you to hide.
“I’ll get free, and God help you, I will find you …”
Hard to Hold
Karen Foley
KAREN FOLEY is an incurable romantic. When she’s not working for the Department of Defense, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, an overgrown puppy and two very spoiled cats. Karen enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.
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Contents
1
UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, Colton Black wouldn’t have given the girl a second glance. Tomboys weren’t his type, and with her oversize T-shirt, baseball cap and backpack, there wasn’t much of her to see anyway. Only the long, honeyed swish of a ponytail poking through the back of the cap, and a sweetly curved ass beneath a pair of faded blue jeans gave any hint of femininity. But it was neither of these that had captured Colton’s attention.
Nope, it was definitely the gun.
Colton had barely glanced up from his breakfast when the big Greyhound bus pulled into the gravel parking lot of the diner located on a remote stretch of Interstate 80 in Lovelock, Nevada. Several travelers disembarked, either to refresh themselves before climbing back onto the bus, or to wait for a connecting one. There was a frazzled mother dragging a small, wailing boy in her wake, an elderly couple and the young woman in the baseball cap.
As they entered the diner, Colton had returned his attention to his newspaper and finished eating. Afterward, he wasn’t certain what had made him look up again. The girl had paused near the cash register, presumably to check out the array of gum and mints on display there, but the uncanny sixth sense that had saved his hide on numerous occasions was kicking into full gear, demanding his attention.
As he watched, the girl’s hand fluttered to the waistband of her jeans beneath the T-shirt. Colton’s eyes narrowed as she touched something hidden there. She hesitated, then dropped her arm back to her side, but not before he saw the dull, metallic glint of the weapon concealed beneath the shirt.
She turned toward the cashier, hesitated again, then seemed to change her mind. She moved slightly away, pretending to look at a rack of magazines. As Colton watched, she drew in a deep breath, as if bracing herself, before she turned resolutely back to the cashier. Colton was halfway to his feet when she made a jerky movement and spun abruptly on her heel. She ducked her head and strode past his booth to the rear of the diner, muttering something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Colton reached into his wallet and tossed several bills onto the table. Cautiously, he made his way toward the back of the small restaurant, where the girl had disappeared. There was a tiny alcove with a public telephone, next to a door that led to the diner’s single unisex bathroom, currently occupied by the mother and her small son; Colton could hear the boy still crying plaintively from behind the closed door.
He leaned negligently against the wall as if waiting his turn for the restroom, but he needn’t have bothered with the pretense. The girl was completely oblivious to his presence. She stood with her back to him, caught up in rehearsing what sounded suspiciously like a scene from the movie Thelma and Louise.
As Colton watched, she rolled her shoulders, assumed a cocky stance and then started again from the top in a low, husky voice. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see who’ll win the prize for keepin’ their cool. Simon says everybody lie down on the floor. If nobody loses their head, then nobody loses their head.” In the next instant, she gave an audible groan and her shoulders sagged. “I can’t do this.”