Out of Control. Julie Miller

      WAS IT POSSIBLE for one woman to be any stupider about men than she’d been tonight?

      Alexandra Morgan briefly flashed back to the crippling knowledge that she’d once proved the answer was yes.

      Still, there was little comfort in knowing that tonight could actually be worse. She’d shunned the idea of dating for so long that she’d known it wouldn’t be easy, but she thought she’d get something right. After that awful night in high school, and the handful of doomed attempts in the nine years since that had turned her into a closed-up, guarded, spinster tomboy, she’d finally gotten frustrated enough to try embracing the sexy, feminine side of her nature again. She was anxious to learn about all the good things she’d been denying herself. The intimacy. The trust. The orgasms. She’d wanted this.

      But nothing had changed. Wanting wasn’t the same as knowing. Her feminine instincts—or lack thereof—had failed her once again.

      College had given her confidence in other aspects of her life. Her four years of the University of Tennessee made her rethink how she handled the small minds that had dictated the course of her life. She’d gone to work for her father, outlined new ideas to improve the family auto-repair business. She’d made a success of her life despite the concessions survival had forced her to make. But a degree in business management couldn’t prepare her for nights like this one.

      Tears began to chafe like grit beneath her eyelids again, and Alex blinked them away along with the painful memories from her past. She was smart enough now to grab hold of the anger that gave her the strength to bear the disappointments of her life. Like tonight.

      The big bruiser with the badge here was just the icing on the cake. Her feet were blistered. She was cold, embarrassed. Accepting a blind date with the friend of a friend hadn’t proved to be the fresh start she’d hoped for. “What did I do wrong?”

      He clipped his badge back beneath his black leather jacket, giving her a glimpse of a gun and a rip of muscles that warned her getting away from him wouldn’t be as easy as getting away from Dawson Barnes had been. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not necessarily taking you in. But we do need to talk about what you’re selling.”

      “Selling?” Alex planted her hands on her hips in a defiant pose. “Do you see a purse? Pockets? A suitcase? I don’t have anything on me to sell.” Dawson had left her with nothing but the clothes on her back. She’d thought his offer to drive all the way to Dahlia to pick her up for dinner had been a gentlemanly gesture.

      But when he’d started tearing at her sweater before they’d even gotten inside the restaurant, she’d fought her way out of the car without thinking about her phone or purse or the fact he might drive off and leave her.

      Oh. My. God.

      The blood rushed from her head down to her painted toenails. Those two boys in the saloon who’d seemed harmless enough to approach? That jerk in the car? Mr. Tall, Dark and Serious here? “You think I’m a hooker?”

      “Well, that dress doesn’t exactly say all-American sweetheart now does it.” His sarcasm burned through her.

      Alex glanced down at the twin curses bulging over the lowcut neckline, seeing for the first time just how close she was to popping out over the top of the tight rayon knit. She quickly hugged her arms around her chest as if she could hide her assets. But the cop’s gray eyes, dark as steel and just as hard, said it all.

      “I look like a hooker.”

      She was going to be sick.

      Alex rubbed her hands along her skin from her elbows to her shoulders. Her father had assured her that her late mother had always put on makeup when she’d gone out. She’d always worn a dress and heels like a “fine lady.” Every fashion magazine Alex had picked up over the years talked about how a woman could never go wrong with a little black dress.

      She’d managed to go wrong.

      Despite the good intentions of the military father and workaholic brother who’d raised her, Alex had managed to go way wrong.

      All she’d wanted was a date. One date with one decent guy who’d treat her like a lady and maybe teach her a thing or two about the intricacies of a physical relationship with a man. But Dawson hadn’t wanted to teach. He’d wanted to take.

      And, by damn, Alexandra Morgan was done letting men take what she’d be willing to give the right one.

      At five foot three, she didn’t have much to work with in the intimidation department, but she tipped her chin up, way up, to look this cop in the eye and set him straight. “Just so we’re clear on this. I am not a hooker.”

      “Then I expect you’re either in trouble, or you’re well on your way to finding it. Either way, you need my help.”

      “I can take care of myself.”

      “Yeah, I can see that.” More sarcasm? He raked his fingers over dark hair that had enough silver in it to give the short, crisp cut a smoky cast. “Come on.” Making some sort of decision, he cupped a hand beneath her elbow and turned her back in the direction she’d come from. “Let’s get you off the street before I have to arrest you for public indecency.”

      “Are you kidding me?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “This is a perfectly good dress.” At least, it had looked fine on the girl in the catalog. Of course, that girl was probably taller, and no way did a fashion model have a pair of 38 EEs to work with. “It’s not my fault I lost the sweater that goes with it. You take a look for yourself, pal. Everything I own is covered.”

      But even Alex could look down and see that wasn’t far from a lie. Oh, God. She was blushing hard enough that even her boobs were turning pink. Quickly, she tugged the square neckline up half an inch. But then she felt a distinct breeze down between her thighs.

      What she wouldn’t give for one of her brother’s big T-shirts—or a hole to crawl into—right about now.

      Alex didn’t know whether to give NPD here credit for patience or perseverence. She saw the officer’s gaze go there, then politely move back up to her face. He nodded toward a halfton black pickup parked in an alley at the end of the block. “I’ll give you a ride to headquarters where we can sort this out.”

      “There’s nothing to sort out. I’m going home.”

      “Excuse me?”

      She shook her head. “Unless you are arresting me, I am not going anywhere with you.”

      His gray eyes grew even steelier. The cool leather of his jacket brushed against her cheek as he took a step closer and pointed over her shoulder at the cars passing by. “You won’t accept a ride from a police officer, yet you’ll get into the car of a complete stranger?”

      “You’re a stranger to me,” she countered, feeling suddenly surrounded by his heat and strength, and fighting the urge to either turn tail and run or throw herself against that wall of black T-shirt and pray his offer to help was a legitimate one. “How do I know I can trust you?”

      He was going for his badge again. “You see this? This means you do what I say.”

      “I don’t have a particular fondness for cops.” And though this one with the jeans and the leather and the shoulders was a sight better looking than the good ol’ boy who ran her hometown, she wasn’t inclined to put her faith in any man right now.

      “I wasn’t giving you a choice, Trouble.” He grabbed her arm firmly enough make her understand he wasn’t letting go. “You’re coming with me.”

      “Hey!” The crowd parted in front of his long, determined stride as he escorted her back to his truck. Alex tapped along in double-time beside him, struggling against his grip every step of the way. “Did you just call me Trouble? This is police harassment. I’ve got a good lawyer.” A big brother who’d be indignant on her behalf, at any rate. “I’ll sue.”

      “Sue