His Stolen Bride. Barbara Dunlop

on board?”

      “Give me strength,” he muttered.

      She leaned close to him. “Am I annoying you? Frustrating you?”

      “Yes on both counts.”

      Her argumentative nature was annoying, but his frustration came from a whole other place. She was stimulating and exciting. She was a beautiful, feisty, apparently complex and intelligent woman, and he was battling hard against his sexual attraction to her. He didn’t want to be rushing from a crime scene with her as his captive, contemplating the best way to stay out of jail. He wanted to be on a date with her, somewhere great in the city, contemplating how best to get her into his bed.

      “There’s a simple solution,” she told him.

      It took a second for him to get his brain back on track. “Let you go?” he guessed.

      “Bingo.”

      “Not until we meet up with Mac tomorrow.”

      “You’ll let me go then?”

      He knew he was being cornered, but there really was no choice. He could only hope Mac could come up with definitive proof by morning.

      “Yes,” said Jackson.

      Crista’s mouth curved into a dazzling smile. They hit a swell, and she pressed against him. Her curves were soft, and her scent was fresh. For a moment the risk of jail seemed almost worth it.

      * * *

      When Crista awoke, she was disoriented. It took a few seconds to realize the warm body beside her wasn’t Vern. She was in bed with someone bigger, harder, with a deeper breathing pattern and an earthier scent. And the bed was moving beneath them.