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The second she rounded the corner of the new hallway, Isabelle smacked hard into someone who’d been traveling in the opposite direction. She shrieked in shock, thinking the serial killer had nabbed her, lost her balance, arms pinwheeling at her sides, and lurched sideways toward the unforgiving marble floor.
“Holy fuck, what is wrong with you?” said the man she’d slammed into, running as fast as possible to escape what she fearfully considered was certain and imminent death. Now she’d go out with a head wound when she hit the floor.
So it was a good thing the man she’d body checked had great reflexes. He kept her on her feet, tucking his arms around her waist and pulling her to his firm, muscular body, which was hidden from her gaze by an expensive suit jacket, starched shirt, and designer tie.
She inhaled to scream again, but instead her lungs filled with the scent of starched shirt, pricy cologne, and sinfully sexy man. The familiarity of his voice soaked into her soul, subduing her fear for a moment. But then she remembered the crazed serial killer about ready to strike her from behind.
The full weight of her hair whipped over one shoulder as she twisted to stare directly behind her. Isabelle waited breathlessly for an ax—connected directly to a bloodthirsty ax-wielding murderer—to appear ready to strike them both down.
However, nothing happened. No one came around the corner. Had she only imagined the imminent threat? Maybe. Was she a complete ninny? Definitely.
Doubting her sanity now, Isabelle turned back to the man still holding her in his strong capable arms. She lifted her head, resisting the urge to scream in surprise once more as she clearly identified who held her. She was cradled in the embrace of none other than Warrick Harper, the city’s yummy prosecutor.
But she didn’t think he liked her. Not at all. His current tone sounded fiercely displeased. The question he’d asked the moment she slammed into him had also sounded terse.
To be fair though, she’d shrieked like a banshee in heat and plowed into him, with no good answer for her actions. She didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with her either beyond her completely unreasonable fears.
She stared into his powerful laser-like blue eyes, wishing she had a better excuse. “I thought… I thought…” She stopped talking and swallowed hard, seemingly unable—or perhaps unwilling—to complete the foolish sentence. What was she going to say? I thought the boogie man was back there ready to strike me down with an ax? No. Bad idea.
“You thought what?” His gruff voice still sounded deep, dark, and sexy. He was so close. Their position so intimate. No wonder she couldn’t speak. Warrick’s very presence made her tongue-tied.
Isabelle inhaled deeply and said quietly, “I thought someone was following me.”
His eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat and said, “I see.” What did that mean?
His arms stayed locked around her torso. His hands remained splayed along either side of her spine. Their lower halves pressed tight together like lovers in post sexual pose. The heat from his body gave her strength, especially his rock-hard thighs. She gripped his shoulders, fearful that if she let go, they’d no longer be safe from whatever evil monster might be chasing her.
Just then, a man did come around the corner. He didn’t look like an ax murderer. In fact, he looked very much like a janitor. He was dressed in a light-gray uniform. Had this innocuous man been behind her all along? She didn’t get a bad vibe from him right now. Maybe someone else had been back there, too. Or she was a big scaredy cat with nerves of jelly. More likely.
The janitor also didn’t cough. Instead, he waved at them without lifting his gaze, keeping his head pointed forward and down as if he might witness them drop to the marble floor and start fucking wildly if he looked directly into their eyes. If only.
The potent awareness of Warrick’s firm, powerful thighs resting hard against her legs registered. The flash memory of a regular fantasy she had where Warrick Harper powered his mighty prosecutor’s cock into her wet, willing pussy consumed her all of a sudden.
This man had occupied her thoughts and daydreams since the very first time she’d seen him. It had been at the bank her first week in town, and she’d been mesmerized.
A friend of his from the bank addressed him as Mr. Prosecutor, which was the only reason she knew that was his job. Standing in line that day, Isabelle had memorized his features, taken note of his perfect body, and then dreamed about him regularly.
A few weeks later, the sheriff, Duke Stanton, had mentioned him as a possible love interest after she’d been drinking too much. He’d also mentioned that Warrick’s best friend was none other than Colton Landry, a yummy cowboy she also lusted after.
