Worth The Risk. Melinda Di Lorenzo

and turned. He revved the engine and kept going. Up one street, down another, looking in the rearview every few seconds. So far, the sedan hadn’t caught up. The sirens, though, were getting closer.

      Maybe they’d scared off the redheaded driver.

      Hopefully.

      Sam took the Bronco up another street and scanned for a place to hide the vehicle. He spied a narrow alleyway behind them.

      Good enough.

      He shifted to Reverse, but Meredith’s soft hand landed on his wrist. The contact made his pulse jump even higher than the increasingly loud sirens. It also made him pause. Which, judging by her next statement, was her intention.

      “Not that alley.”

      “No time to be choosy, sweetheart.”

      Meredith rolled her eyes and released his arm to point at a sign. “It’s a dead end. We’ll get stuck.”

      “Fine. A little time to be choosy.” Sam put the truck back into Drive and sped past the next two buildings, then stopped in front of another alley. “This one meet your needs?”

      “Our needs,” she amended. “Unless you suddenly stopped wanting to get away from that creep. And yes. It’ll work. Sweetheart.”

      Sam fought an unexpected grin as he made the turn, pulled the truck out of street view and cut the engine. He closed his eyes for one second, but before he could take a single, calming breath, he heard the telltale squeak of one of his rusty doors.

      Seriously?

      His eyes flew open just as Meredith’s door slammed into the building beside them. She sent a guilty look his way, then slipped toward the narrow opening.

      Sam smacked open his seat belt and reached out a hand, which found purchase in the waistband of Meredith’s jeans. She pulled forward, exposing skin and lace. Sam pulled and his knuckles brushed both. With the contact, a jolt of heat shot up his arm, and he let go, startled by the force of it.

      Holy hell.

      He barely managed to recover in time to see Meredith fall forward. Her legs slid to the ground with a thump, while her upper body stayed in the car. Sam continued to watch for a minute as she wiggled futilely.

      At last she turned and glared at him. “Little assistance?”

      He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to pull you back in or push you out?”

      “Are you giving me a choice?”

      “Not really.”

      “Then why bother to offer?”

      “I didn’t.” He couldn’t cover a grin. “You asked for help, remember, sweetheart?”

      “Can we call a truce?” she replied with an eye roll. “And can you stop calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

      “Hmm. Let me see. No to the second part. And maybe to the first part.”

      “Sam!”

      He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Even when she said it in such an exasperated way.

      “Yes, sweetheart?”

      “Are you going to help me?”

      “I will. If you agree to stop stomping on my feet and running away.”

      “You’re chasing me!”

      “I’m just trying get some information on Tamara’s whereabouts.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t suppose if I tell you it’s confidential you’ll accept that as an answer?”

      “My day looks like this so far. A mild wine hangover. A weird—bordering on scary—call from my sister, who hasn’t talked to me in months. You, on my doorstep. And now a crazy man chasing me down with a car.”

      “You spoke to Tamara? Today?”

      “Yes. Briefly. But that’s not my point,” Meredith replied.

      She’s alive.

      The confirmation filled Sam with relief. He itched to know more about the conversation, but he doubted Meredith would tell him a damn thing. Not until they established some trust. Which wasn’t going to be easy. He still had to try.

      “Look,” he said. “Would you be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt? At least until I get you unstuck?”

      She wrinkled her nose. “Fine. Just...pull me back in. Please?”

      For a second, he considered leaving her there, just to prove a point. Then he reminded himself that he needed her help, if he wanted to solve his case. If Meredith had a good side, he should be making more of an effort to get on it. Or at least try to get off the bad one.

      “Only because you asked so nicely,” he said. “Put your hands out.”

      With an exaggerated eye roll, Meredith stretched her arms in the vehicle. Sam took a deep breath and prepared himself for the electricity he knew would be coming, then clamped his fingers down on her forearms. Want hit him hard. He couldn’t shove it aside, so he tried to harness the energy instead, to channel it to help pull her into the vehicle. In typical fashion, he overdid it. He yanked too hard and Meredith came flying into the Bronco, knocking him to his back and landing on top of him.

      He expected her to leap off. Instead, she wriggled a little, then stayed where she was, her green-eyed gaze fixed on his face. Her lithe form remained pressed against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her hands positioned above his shoulders, holding her face above his. He could feel every one of her inhales and exhales. Her lips were so close that if he moved, even a little, they’d land on his mouth. And if he’d had any doubt about his attraction to her, it slipped away right that second. Meredith’s body was a perfect fit for his.

      “You all right?” he asked, desire making his voice husky.

      “I’m okay.” She paused. “Sam?”

      Yeah, he definitely liked it when she said his name. It sent all the blood in his body straight to his groin.

      “Sam?” she said again.

      He swallowed. “Yes, Meredith?”

      “I think my jeans are stuck to your belt.”

      “Oh.”

      At the one-word reply, she lifted a perfect eyebrow. “Do you think you could, um, unstick it? Or does that fall outside the realm of your expertise?”

      “Let me see what I can do.”

      He slid a hand between them, stifling a groan as the backs of his fingers brushed the skin of her stomach. She wiggled a little more, like she was trying to give him some space to work.

      “Not helping,” he said.

      “Sorry.”

      She moved again anyway.

      “Seriously. Could you hold still?” Sam asked.

      “I’m trying.”

      His teeth gritted together again, though this time for a different reason entirely. He dug his hand down, desperate to find his belt buckle before he went crazy. Finally, his fingers closed on the warm metal. Sure enough, the button from Meredith’s jeans was lodged under the frame. With a firm tug, Sam set it free, then dragged his hand out regretfully.

      “You’re all set,” he told Meredith.

      She righted herself. “Thank you.”

      “So that’s what it takes to earn your gratitude? Third time’s the charm?”

      “Third time?”

      “First, I saved you from becoming a pancake. Then, I saved you from our friend in the sedan. And now, I saved you from yourself.”