Bound By Temptation (4 page)

“It’s okay, baby.” Emma’s eyes darted back to her house. “I’m sure it’s not him.”

After all this time? No. It’s not him.

She eased her Accord in behind the black Renegade, turned off the engine, and twisted in her seat, craning her neck for another look around. The vehicle in front of her had tinted windows—like Lucas’s did—but through the dimness it looked empty and there was no sign of a tall, lean, athletic God wandering around her property.

Relief whooshed out of her. Revisiting the destruction someone had unleashed on her home was going to be bad enough. But it wouldn’t be nearly as painful as facing Lucas after the ass she’d made of herself over him. Three months of distance hadn’t come close to easing that particular humiliation.

Another long, slow look around. Still no sign of that libido stirring masculine swagger.

“What did I tell you?” Emma’s voice rose with forced cheerfulness. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just a coincidence.”

Yanking her key out of the ignition, she scrambled out of the sedan and walked around the front of her car. She pulled open the passenger door just enough to slowly reach inside for the leash, using her body to block the open space until she had the lead firmly in hand. Although the dog hadn’t shown any aggression toward her, she’d be wise to move cautiously until they’d acclimatized to each other.

With the leash held tight, she stepped onto the sidewalk, and opened the door wide. “Come on, baby, time to investigate your new home.”

Cuddles stood up, hopped out of the car with regal grace only to suddenly stop and let loose with a series of body shakes hard enough to whop-whop-whop her ears against the sides of her head. Once finished, she stood calmly at Emma’s side with her tail wagging slightly. Emma shut the passenger door and tightened the slack in the leash in preparation for leading her new housemate to her new home.

“What the hell?” a deep, frustratingly familiar voice thundered from somewhere above Emma. “Rio said you were getting a dog. What the hell is
that
?”

Emma froze and then slowly turned, finding Lucas Trammel, in all his six feet-three inches of overbearing glory barreling down the porch steps toward her in his customary worn jeans and t-shirt. His hair was wet, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. She scowled as he headed toward her with that limber, far too sexy walk. The gait of a man in peak condition, in the prime of his life.

Her traitorous body went weak kneed and hungry. Her muscles heated, her skin tingled, her mouth watered. Sexual attraction revved her heart and respiration.

Not going to happen. Not ever again. Like ever.

“Lucas.” She schooled her voice and face to ambivalence. No hurt. No anger. No embarrassment. Nothing to show how much he’d wounded her with his abrupt abandonment. “What are you doing here?”

His stride checked at her tone and the eyes locked on her face turned wary. “Rio called me.” He stopped and cocked his head, apparently noticing her lack of familiarity with the name. “Dante Addario, the officer who responded to your 9-1-1 call? He’s an old friend.” He shrugged and ran a palm across the back of his thick neck. “He told me what happened.”

Emma fought back a sour smile. Of course Officer Arctic was Lucas’s buddy. She should have known from his surly disposition and lack of people skills.

“What do you want?” Emma asked, letting a hint of impatience creep into her tone. Better annoyance than hurt, or even worse—interest. He stepped back slightly, as though her attitude surprised him.

“I thought you could use some help,” he said after a long pause.

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got it handled.” She forced a smile, but suspected from the sudden crinkle to his brow that she hadn’t sounded all to sincere in her appreciation.

Another awkward pause, even longer this time, and the dark brown eyes watching her narrowed. “Rio’s concerned whoever’s responsible may return.”

Concerned? Really? Officer Arctic?
She swallowed a derisive snort.

“If they do, I’m prepared for them,” she told him with all the confidence she could muster. “I’ve taken steps to protect myself.”

Her eyes were desperate to soak in that long, lean body she remembered so well, far too well after thirteen weeks of abstinence, so she locked her gaze on his jaw. That chiseled chin, with its hint of a dimple, was about as safe as it got when it came to the man in front of her.

“Steps?” he repeated, his gaze dropping to the dog sitting patiently at her side. “Is that one of your
steps
? When Rio told you to get a dog, he meant an actual dog, not an oversized rat.”

Emma bristled. Nobody made fun of her Cuddles.
Nobody
. Before she had a chance to force feed that disparaging description down his arrogant throat, the animal he’d maligned exploded into another of those deep, vicious, Rottweileresque growls.

Lucas did a double take, his eyes widening.

Ridiculously pleased with Cuddles’s response, Emma bent over to give her an appreciative petting. “Good girl, baby. You showed him who’s boss.”

“Right,” Lucas drawled, with a shake to his head. He stepped back and appeared to reassess. “I just meant that when it comes to dogs and protection, the bigger the better.” He glanced down at Cuddles who was still snarling at him and his eyebrows climbed so high they merged with his damp, mocha colored hair. “And it sure as hell helps if they have some
teeth
.”

“Cuddles will do just fine,” she said stoutly. Setting her jaw, she narrowed her eyes and glared, daring him to argue. “She’ll bark and alert me to strangers on the property, which will give me a chance to protect myself.”

…hopefully…

“Cuddles?” He snorted and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Yeah, that name just inspires fear.”

“Look, go away, alright? I don’t need your help.” The request came out much sharper than she’d intended. Something he’d obviously picked up on since that earlier wariness returned to his square face.

Ambivalence, Emma. No hurt. No anger. No embarrassment
.
No emotion
.

He said something softly beneath his breath. Although she hadn’t heard it clearly, she was pretty sure it was a swear word. With a frown, he ran a tense hand through his hair leaving it tousled and sexy and unbearably reminiscent of those nights in his bed. Unwelcome memories flashed through her mind.

Burnished shoulders arched above her…his hard, tight face dripping sweat…the sleek skin and rippling muscles of his back beneath her hands...

Whoa! She pulled back hard from the memory, praying it hadn’t blazoned itself across her face. She was over him damnit—she was!

“Look—” An awkward, uncomfortable look dug into his face. “I should have called you back sooner. I’m sorry, okay? I was out of town and—”

“Sooner?” she interrupted in pure disbelief. “
Sooner?”
Her voice climbed. “This unwelcome visit does not count as a call back!”

And there went her mask of ambivalence.

“Emma—” Gentleness touched her name. Regret flashed across his face.

She flinched. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay?” She took a deep breath, and regrouped. “How long have you been back in town?”

He scowled, and rolled his corded shoulders. She could see the play of muscles through his gray
American Sniper
t-shirt. “I don’t see—”

“
How. Long
?” she snapped.

He studied her face and swore beneath his breath again. Yep—definitely a curse word.

“Two months, give or take.”

Two months
? The breath huffed out of her. “See? We have nothing to talk about.”

He squared his shoulders and set his jaw. “Regardless of how things ended between us, I still consider you a friend.”

A friend? Really?
Really
.
He’s playing the we can still be friends card?
And here she hadn’t thought things could get more humiliating.

“And friends help friends,” he continued doggedly.

Was the man insane?

“So we’re friends?” Her tone emerged perfectly cordial. Nothing there at all to cause him to back up a good solid foot, but he did. “So friends ignore each other for three damn months, they abandon each other for no good reason, they turn into cowardly weasels who don’t have the guts to return one phone call? A quick sorry, I’m not interested would have sufficed. Or there’s that old standby—it’s not you, it’s—”

She broke off, reining herself in. Apparently she had some unresolved issues with him after all. She gulped down a huge breath, which got stuck in her tight throat, and tried to asphyxiate her.

“Look,” she said, her voice raspy with the urge to cough. “I don’t want you here. That’s about as clear as I can make it.
Go away
.”

His expression flattened. “You need help. Whoever trashed your place could be dangerous. They could come back. You need more than a dentally challenged mutt for protection. I can help damn it. If you’d just be reasonable about this.”

Oh, she was plenty reasonable. She was perfectly willing to admit she needed help. If Officer Arctic had offered—regardless of how much she disliked him—she would have accepted his assistance with gratitude. But this was Lucas, and he was trying to open a door she had no intention of ever walking through again.

He shoved his fingers through his hair and scowled. “Look, I’m not suggesting we take up where we left off. I’m offering to show you some self-defense moves, no strings attached.”

Sadly, what he’d proposed was exactly what she needed. And since the offer was free, it wouldn’t further decimate her savings account. However, his
no strings attached
condition had shot a sharp pang of disappointment through her. Like it or not, she apparently still had feelings for the man. Strong feelings. Feelings that would probably intensify if they spent more time together. For her emotional health, she simply couldn’t afford to take him up on his offer.

“Thank you.” This time she managed to infuse some actual gratitude into her voice. “But I’ve already hired someone to teach me how to protect myself.”

Or at least she’d get right on that as soon as she googled local self-defense instructors.

“No shit.” Pure disbelief glittered in his brown eyes. “Who?”

“None of your business.”

She’d forgotten how inflexible Lucas was when he set his mind to a task, and helping her was apparently his current mission. Nothing she said would convince him to leave. Nor could she afford to stand around chatting—the man could be unmercifully persuasive. Time to make a graceful exit before he had a chance to change her mind.

At some point he’d have to give up. Hopefully that point would be by tonight, so she could get a start on the herculean chore of cleaning her house. If not, at least she’d have the actual name of a self-defense instructor to give him when she came back. Maybe that would convince him she had things under control.

“Look.” Emma pivoted and stepped back to her car. “I have too much to do today to waste time arguing with you.” She opened the passenger door. After a light tug on the leash, Cuddles hopped inside and curled into a tight ball on the seat.”

As she closed the car door and headed around the front of her Accord, an engine roared to life down the street.

“Emma—”

His grim voice sounded like it was right over her shoulder. Prickles skittered down her spine. She sped up.

“Can’t you get it through your thick skull I don’t want you here?” she tossed the words harshly over her shoulder. “I don’t need you. Please—don’t be here when I get back.”

Y
eah
, that went well.

Lucas grimaced, watching the stiff set to Emma’s shoulders as she slammed the passenger door. As she stepped back, her grizzled canine co-pilot stood up. The dog’s previously misaligned eyes were fixed
squarely
on his face, a distinct glare in the blue and brown depths.
Cuddles—Cuddles for Christ’s sakes
—placed her delicate paws against the window and pulled back her lips in a silent, don’t-mess-with-me snarl. An expression that might have carried some weight if the damn thing was a hundred pounds heavier, with some big-ass teeth.

His gaze shifted back to Emma. The rigidity of her muscles and her flat expression were new. Emma had always had the sunniest, sweetest personality—generally in a good mood, enjoying life to the fullest. She’d seemed to greet each day with open optimism. Her cheerfulness had been one of the things he’d liked the most about her.

While physically Emma hadn’t changed—same golden, shoulder length hair; same milk chocolate colored eyes; same delicate jut to her chin—that earlier joyfulness had given way to brittle sharpness.

Was the change because of him? He flinched, acid clawing at his gut. Praying like hell that he hadn’t been the one to extinguish that unique buoyancy she’d beamed upon the world. Christ, he hadn’t intended to hurt her. The steps he’d taken had been designed to break things off
before
he hurt her.

But based off her reaction to finding him on her doorstep, he’d miscalculated, and badly.

Dammit.

He should have called, explained why they couldn’t see each other anymore. She’d called it fair and square, he
had
been a cowardly weasel. Unfortunately, his sudden epiphany didn’t negate the fact she’d refused to except his help. Would continue to refuse, even though she clearly needed it.

Time to regroup and redeploy. Okay, so she wouldn’t accept help from him. What about someone else? He had plenty of teammates qualified to teach her some self-defense moves.

To the right, the harsh growl of a diesel engine roared to life. He glanced down the street as a white cargo van pulled slowly away from the curb.

“I get it; you don’t want me around. Fine. But you need help. You have any objection to Tag stepping in and showing you some self-defense moves?” He shot her a quick glance, relaxing as she stopped next to her front bumper and turned to face him.

She frowned, her expression skeptical. “Did he offer?”

“Absolutely.” Which wasn’t a lie, more like a strong prediction. Once his roommate heard about Emma’s quandary, he’d insist on helping. Tag had a protective streak a mile wide and he’d always liked Emma.

Of course Tag also had a habit of getting up close and personal with the women he rescued. Look what had happened with Demi. Tag and Aiden still weren’t talking. Plus, there’d been that whole mess with Sarah.

He scowled, scrubbing a palm down his face. Scratch Tag, he’d find someone else to provide the lessons.

“How about I—”

The amped up, throttled roar of an untimed engine swallowed his voice. What the fuck was going on with that van? It should have passed them by now. He twisted, scanning the street to his right. The van had pulled alongside the curb again, and sat there loudly idling less than ten feet away. Two, big shadowy figures filled the van’s front windshield, and their heads were turned toward Emma.

His scalp prickled. His instincts warped to full alert. He snapped back to check on Emma. While he’d been preoccupied with the van, she’d rounded the Accord’s hood and stepped out from behind the protection of her car.

The idling engine to his right suddenly roared.

Ice crashed down his spine.

“Emma! Get out of the street!”

The scream of tires against cement obliterated his warning. Jerking up his t-shirt, he reached for the weapon holstered behind the waist band of his jeans.

Emma stopped at the squeal of the tires and glanced toward the oncoming vehicle. Instantly, she turned, leaping for the front of her car and safety. But it was already too late. The van was upon her. It screeched to a stopped beside her, rocking violently. The side cargo door slid open.

“Drop. Drop. Drop,” Lucas shouted, trying to line up a shot as arms emerged from the shadowy interior of the vehicle.

Emma pressed back against her car. Hands latched onto her right wrist and left elbow. As the arms retracted back into the van, Emma was dragged forward, toward the murky interior of the van.

His heart hammering so hard it jiggled his aim, Lucas lined the Shield’s sight on the cargo door, but Emma’s body was blocking his shot. Nor did he have time to vault the car and snatch her back before they hauled her inside and took off.

Son of a bitch.

While he was closer to the rear of the vehicle than the front, there was no back window—just a pair of steel doors. He couldn’t disable the van, or the tangos from that direction. Lowering his weapon, he bolted across the lawn at a left angle.

If he could get in front of the vehicle…

Milking every ounce of strength and speed from his legs, he raced to cut the van off. If he could reposition himself…get a clear bead on the driver…it was his only shot at saving Emma.

A shrill, agonized scream lit the air.

His heart stuttered and then launched into overdrive.

Almost there…almost there…

The van’s engine revved.

Fuck. Out of time.

He threw himself forward and sighted on the burley chest behind the wheel, adjusting his aim to account for the curvature in the windshield. It was a tricky shot damn it, the angle tighter than he liked.

Abruptly ice-cool, he steadied his hands and his breathing and squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Ringing echoed through his ears. The rounds punched through the windshield, exactly where he’d targeted. The van lurched hard to the right—thank Christ—if it had gone left it would have crushed her. The hands dragging Emma across the threshold of the van lost their grip. With another shrill cry, she jerked back hard, hit the Accord’s driver’s door, and jolted forward.

As she lost her balance and collapsed, Lucas adjusted his aim, lasering in on the shadowy figure in the open cargo door.

Crack. Crack.

Feral satisfaction flooded him as the tango dropped to the floor, twitching violently. The bastard wouldn’t be kidnapping anymore women.

The van accelerated, its backend fishtailing wildly. Oily black smoke and the rancid stench of burning rubber engulfed the street.

Lucas sprinted after it, hitting the pavement so hard the shock reverberated through his ankles, up his shins and into his knees. He lined up another shot, this time on the rear tires. If the round penetrated the rubber it would slow the beast down—eventually. Maybe strand them alongside the road, sitting ducks for a passing cop.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

He took a few seconds to memorize the license plate as the van fishtailed again. It took the corner at full speed, on its right front and rear tire, and teetered for a moment.

Roll…roll.

But then the left two tires hit the pavement with a crash, and the vehicle squealed out of sight.

His ears still ringing, his heart hammering like a motherfucker, he lowered his weapon and spun to face Emma. She huddled next to her car, on her palms and knees, as though she hadn’t budged since she’d fallen.

He didn’t remember moving. One second he was standing there in the middle of the street, the next he was crouched in front of her.

“Emma.” Her name burned its way up his throat.

As the ringing vacated his ears, a wild, howling took its place. Violent scratching against glass sounded above his head. He ignored her dog’s urgency, and focused on her ashen face and terrified eyes.

“Easy babe, easy. They’re gone.” He eased her rigid body into his arms and carefully rose to his feet.

She followed him up, but stiffly, with no coordination.

“Just breathe. Nice, deep, long breaths.” He forced calmness into his voice, and ran his hands up and down her rigid back.

The breath she released stuttered up her throat and out her mouth, ending in a wheeze.

“There you go. That’s it. How about another one?”

Her next breath came easier, deeper, and the tension in her back eased. She stirred against him, the brush of her bare arms against his familiar, and comforting, and savored.

Christ, he’d almost lost her.

He eased her back a bit so he could assess the damage. Based on the splotches of crimson on his t-shirt where her hands had been pressed she was bleeding. Lifting her right wrist and then her left, he inspected her palms, wincing at the scraped and oozing flesh. From the hints of red seeping through the shredded denim, her knees were in the same shape as her palms. A livid red band circled her right wrist and left elbow.

But she’d gotten off remarkably lightly. It could have been worse. So much worse. She could have been taken.

Weak in the knees, his arms contracted around her, drawing her back against his body. As she settled against his chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, his hands started to shake.

Ten years in Special Ops, hundreds of risky missions, and this was the first time he’d gone weak in the knees and shaky in the hands.

Because of her. Because he’d almost lost her.

Suddenly the last three months felt like the most asinine waste of time. He’d been a fool. Sure the reasons for cutting the ties between them remained, they just didn’t seem as important.

* * *

W
ith her stinging
, gauze swathed palms resting lightly on her thighs, Emma absently watched the paramedic roll her slit pant legs down over her bandaged knees.

“You should get your knees and arms checked out,” he said as he closed and latched his first aid kit and rose to his feet in front of the porch swing. “There’s only so much I can assess without medical equipment. As a precaution, I’d check in with your doctor as soon as possible.”

“I’m fine,” she told him in a hollow voice.

Because Lucas had been here; if he hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t stopped them…

Emma shuddered, watching the paramedic shrug and vanish down the porch steps. She tried to banish the memories, but they dug in and clung, replaying over and over in her mind.

Vicious fingers digging into her flesh…relentlessly dragged forward, no matter how hard she fought back… eyes as dead as a shark’s watching her struggle…

If Lucas hadn’t stopped him…stopped them…

She took a deep, shaky breath, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe. If she’d been alone, she’d be dead by now. Or if not dead…yet…wishing she were.

A shrill whine drew her attention to the dog pressed against her side on the porch swing. Cuddles seemed almost as unnerved by the attempted kidnapping, as Emma was. For the past ten minutes, since the legion of cops and paramedics had descended on her property, the dog had alternated between snarling at everyone and pressing hard against Emma’s side. Finally, about halfway through the cleaning and bandaging of Emma’s hands and knees, Cuddles had settled back to silently watch, monitoring the treatment with round, suspicious eyes.

“We’re okay,” Emma whispered, wincing at the lack of confidence in her wobbly voice.

When the dog whined again, she gingerly lifted her left arm—which throbbed like an abscessed tooth—and draped it around Cuddles’s fragile shoulders. The dog melted into the loose embrace, her wiry body trembling. Oddly, the trauma of the past fifteen minutes seemed to have bonded the animal to her. Or at least the dog seemed much more affectionate and protective than Emma had expected so early into their partnership.

“We’re fine.” The reassurance was as much for her as the dog quivering against her side. “They won’t come back with all these cops around.”

But what about after the cops left?

If Lucas hadn’t been here…

After practically carrying her up the stairs to the swing and spending a few minutes caressing her back and whispering reassurances, he’d vanished back down the porch steps. He’d returned maybe a minute later with Cuddles tucked beneath his arm.

The dog hadn’t been growling—for some reason that fact had embedded itself in Emma’s memory.

She didn’t remember him calling the cops or paramedics, so he must have done that when he’d retrieved Cuddles. His police officer buddy had arrived minutes later, and Lucas had headed off to conference with him. The rest of the cops along with the paramedics had arrived soon after. They were still arriving. Good lord, shouldn’t some of the police take to the streets in search of the men who’d attacked her?

With all the bullets Lucas had unleashed on it, the white van should be pretty messed up, which would make it easily identifiable.

She craned her neck and scanned the blue-suited men and women gathered below. She found her savior’s tall, muscled frame next to Officer Addario, out on the street, beside her car. Both men had their heads down, apparently inspecting the asphalt.