He stopped.
“No, please,” Jacqueline begged from her crouched position in the floorboard. “Don’t—don’t let him take me! I will doanythingjust—”
“Yeah, hold the thought.” He rolled down his window with a press of a button. He also turned on his bright lights to blind the bastard. “Hey, asshole!” Remy shouted. “You’ve got ten seconds to get that piece-of-shit ride out of my way, or I’ll be rolling over it and you!” There. He’d issued a fair warning.
The man kept straddling his bike. He wore a battered jacket and had a black helmet—with the face shield down—on his head. “I’m looking for someone,” the guy shouted back.
“Like I give a shit. You have five seconds.” Remy gunned his engine.
“Let me search your ride—”
“Fuck you!” Remy called back cheerfully. “Gonna be a shame to total that bike, but a man has to do what a man has to do!”
The motorcycle driver craned his head to peer into the truck. Remy turned on the interior lights to show that he was the only person in the cab of the vehicle. He also counted down, loudly, “Five, four, three, two…”
The motorcycle blasted away, zooming in the direction of Rodney’s bar—and the motel that was a few blocks away from the bar. Nice. Exactly what Remy had thought the jerk would do. “Stay down a bit longer,” he told his damsel in distress, “just in case.” They only had a bit to go before their first series of turns. A few turns, and the SOB wouldn’t be able to find them, not once they started snaking through the old roads that twisted through the mountains.
Remy rolled his window back up. Turned on his radio. And drove slowly back to his cabin.
Jacqueline stayed in the floorboard. Curled all in tightly around herself. Still clutching that screwdriver and that pissed him off. Jacqueline was well and truly afraid.
He began to sing along to the song on the radio, wanting to put her at ease, and he kept glancing back to make sure they weren’t being followed. That was the thing about this particular cabin, unless you knew exactly where you were going—and you had a powerful ride with four-wheel drive togetyou to the destination—you’d miss it. Especially in the dark.
He pulled into the twisting drive. Took the truck around to the back of the cabin in order to hide it and then… “Okay, it’s time to get out.”
She didn’t move. Frowning, he leaned over her. “Jacqueline?”
Her head had tipped forward. Her hair fanned over her shoulders, and she was…
He touched her lightly. She didn’t move—because she was out cold. Sonofabitch. She’d fallen asleep on him. Remy exited the ride and went around to her side. Carefully, he opened her door. Not like he wanted her spilling out onto the ground. When she slid back, he caught her in his arms. Hoisted her up against his chest.
“Wh-what…” A sleep-slurred whisper.
“Don’t stab me with the screwdriver,” he warned, but it was an unnecessary warning because he saw she’d dropped it. He snagged it, slid it into the back of his waistband, then focused on her.Sleeping Beauty.He lifted her up, cradled her against him, and carried her toward the cabin.
She felt good against him. Almost right which was freaking ridiculous. He was obviously spending way too much time alone in the mountains if this stranger feltrightto him. No one had ever felt right. His life was a lie. Half the time, he was surrounded by criminals, and he shouldnotbe carrying this woman into his home.
But he was.
Into his home, up the stairs, and all the way into his bedroom. As he carried her, the light scent of vanilla cream teased him even as the loose fabric of her dress trailed down his arms. Whatever else his lost bride had been through, she still managed to smell absolutely delicious. A wondrous feat. She smelled delicious. She looked beautiful. And…
Innocent.
Too trusting.
Because when he put her down, Jacqueline just cuddled into the covers of his bed. Didn’t even open her eyes again. Sure, she’d been running for forty-eight hours by her own account, so she had to be exhausted but…
He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her brow. Remy straightened and left a small present on the nightstand. If his friends—and enemies—could see him now, they would probably be stunned. After all, Rembrandt “Remy” Stuart was hardly known for his good deeds.
This wasn’t actually a good deed, though.
What he’d done…
He’d just stolen someone else’s bride. Not a bad night’s work for a thief. Smiling, he headed for the door. “Good night, sweetness.”
Best thief ever.
Chapter Two