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Chapter 1
Samantha Logan parked her car in front of her family’s dilapidated summer cabin. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the key from the ignition.
Well, she’d done it this time! The morning newspapers would expose the entire disaster, complete with the glaring caption: “Runaway Bride.”
Thank goodness she had found out what a lying, cheating skunk Grayson St. James had been before marrying him. No one would think of looking for her here at this old family cabin. It hadn’t been used since her high school graduation party. It looked kind of sad and abandoned now. The moonlight highlighted the sagging roofline. A summer breeze and utter silence surrounded her, making her shiver. She sighed as an owl hooted in the tree, reminding her how far she was from Chicago. All part of her plan. This had been her summer fun place as a child. Now it would be the perfect place to hide until the furor died.
She walked up the rutted path, retrieved the spare key from above the door, and stuck it in the lock. It wouldn’t turn. The darned thing was probably rusted. Frustrated, she threw down her bags and got a good grip on the doorknob, rattling it as she tried to force the lock.
Suddenly, the door flew open, taking her with it. She tumbled inside the pitch-dark room. Crashing to the floor with athump, she let out a shriek. Then the air whooshed from her lungs.
Stunned, she desperately gasped for air as a heavy person jumped onto her back, pinning her to the floor. A mingling of woodsy cologne and testosterone washed over her as he flipped her around. She now lay pinned under his muscular, very male body, if the bulge pressed against the junction of her thighs was anything to go by.
He was too big to be her ex-fiancé, but could Grayson have dispatched some thug to retrieve her? Or even worse, had she stumbled across a squatter, a criminal hiding in the woods?
Panicked, she took a wild swing into the darkness. Her fist crunched into hard flesh and bone as she struck a glancing blow off his jaw.
It had no effect on the hulking brute on top of her. The solid wall of muscle shook off her blow with a muffled grunt. Then, he flattened her even more with his weight.
She tried to hit him again.
He blocked her move, capturing both her wrists in a steely grip.
One of his large hands began running over her trembling body. As it skimmed over her breasts, she let out a blood-curdling shriek.
He froze, his hand still cupping her breast. “Stop that damned caterwauling.”
She paused. She recognized the voice, and her terror melted like ice cream on the Fourth of July. If there was anyone she didn’t want to see or be felt up by in the dark, it was Jake Ramsey.
“Ramsey, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, if it isn’t my little Sunshine. What’s the matter, honey, cold feet?”
Samantha pushed against his rigid body. “Take your hand off my breast, goon.”
He removed his hand, but not without a teasing squeeze. “Sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Sunshine.”
She frowned at his sarcasm while his solid weight slowly lifted off her aching body. He knew she hated the nickname he’d hung on her during her turbulent teens. He obviously hadn’t mellowed in the seven years she’d been away.
The lights came on, and she glared at the tall, redheaded brute hobbling her way. He had a few sprinkles of silver at the temples now, but it didn’t fool her into thinking the years had softened him. She’d just had a sample of his rough treatment.
He was dressed—or should she sayundressed—in a tight pair of halfway-unzipped jeans. His feet and his chest were bare. Her gaze followed the sprinkle of hair on his chest to where it whorled around his navel and disappeared into his pants. He looked like a sleep-rumpled male centerfold come to life. That was, if one discounted the brooding expression in his gunmetal gray eyes.
She ignored his speculative gaze and focused on his limp. It was gratifying to know she’d gotten the better of one man this horrendous evening.
But why was Ramsey here? He wasn’t one of Grayson’s pawns. Had matchmaking Uncle Delbert gotten wind of her departure? One look at Ramsey’s grim expression told her he wasn’t one of Cupid’s little helpers. No, her father must have found out about her premature wedding departure and sent his own goon squad after her.
Ignoring the hand Ramsey semi-gallantly held out to assist her, she picked herself up off the floor. She slanted an assessing glance his way. His stony expression was as hard to read as always.
“Did Dad send you after me?”
“So, I was right.” He quirked an eyebrow, stating flatly, “You did cut and run.”
Samantha brushed the dust off the seat of her pants and scowled at him. “I wouldn’t put it that way. And anyway, it’s none of your business.”
His mouth kicked up in a triumphant grin as he sat on the arm of the sofa. “Then why did you think I came to retrieve you?”
She shrugged and looked away from his too-penetrating gaze. “Isn’t rounding up wayward daughters one of your many duties as my father’s hired goon?”
