Page 2 of His Favorite Mistake

I climbed out and stalked toward the irresponsible driver. The man from the other car swiftly got back into his vehicle and fled the scene.

Yep. So much for her good Samaritan. I might no longer be a cop, but I clearly hadn’t lost my cop face.

Small favors.

As I approached, it was clear she wasn’t slumped over as I’d first guessed. No, she was kicking the tire with the pointy-toed boots that ended approximately a millimeter below indecency. Her clingy dress ended just above that creamy glimpse of her thigh.

From the quick lurch of my cock, evidently some parts of me didn’t give a shit if she was a little rulebreaker or not.

Worse, that was making me even harder.

“Did you boost this car?” I demanded without saying hello.

She stopped kicking long enough to give me a look of pure malevolence out of eyes that could’ve been blue or green. They were light in contrast to all the dark hair whipping around her shoulders like a cape. “Boost? Did we wake up inGone in Sixty Seconds?”

“If we did, I want my money back, because you’re sure as hell no Angelina Jolie.”

So that was a bit of a half-truth. No, this woman did not look like Angelina, especially in that particular movie since Angie had been sporting blond braids. But it wasn’t because this one wasn’t just as beautiful. Between the wild dark hair, that curvy body wrapped in stretchy material, and the boots—Dear God, the boots—she could’ve given a few Hollywood starlets a run for their money.

“Yeah, well, break my heart. This car ruined my night. Popping a tire when I wasn’t going more than—”

“Eighty-five?” I asked blandly, crossing my arms.

She flushed brightly enough I could her cheeks blazing in the moonlight. “Barely over eighty,” she whispered, ducking her head.

Hmm. A bad girl but not comfortable with it. Bad girl in training? Or maybe bad girl on the run from something even worse?

Don’t know. Don’t care. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

In spite of the hard knock of common sense in my gut, I moved closer. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? No. Not a drop.”

Her vehemence seemed sincere. Or maybe I was just a sucker. “Are you hurt?”

I didn’t think so, judging from the way she was still occasionally halfheartedly kicking the tire. But then she turned her face away and let out a sniffle and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly was going on here.

If she’d been out for a simple Friday night joyride, it hadn’t taken much to steal her joy. Then again, maybe the car really was stolen.

Fuck, I needed my phone to call this in.

“You flashed your lights at me.” She lifted her chin before I could move. “You wanted me to pull over.”

No, it was better altogether if I denied my intention to make her do just that. I wasn’t allowed to try to corral speeders while in a civilian vehicle or otherwise.

“You’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not. You slinked up behind me in traffic and screwed up my rhythm and tried to run me off the road.”

“Hardly.”

“Let me guess.” She charged over to me. “You’re one of Taylor’s goons. Gotta keep the talent in line, right? So, take me back.” She shifted her head and I caught the gleam of tears.

Blue. They were definitely blue.

“I don’t know who Taylor is, and I’m definitely not one of his goons.”

From the set of her jaw, she didn’t believe me. “Don’t bother lying. You’ve got that tough guy bodyguard look about you. Bet you even have cuffs to make it easier for you to haul me back—”

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