A Wicked Seduction

Jo’s arm was fastened to the bedpost…with her own handcuffs!

She blinked her lashes open and found her prisoner reclining casually on her bed, his head propped up by his hand, unrestrained and completely in control.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Dean said lazily. “I figured turnabout is fair play…especially when it comes to indulging in fantasies.”

An unexpected thrill coursed through Jo, chasing away her alarm and eliciting a sensual heat that spread to her feminine nerve endings. “And what fantasy is that?” she dared to ask.

He splayed his long fingers on the mattress in front of him and grinned roguishly. “Me captor, you prisoner, with a little bondage thrown in for good measure.”

“There’s just one thing you’re missing, Master.”

Amusement flickered across his expression. “And what’s that?”

“A submissive female,” she replied impudently.

Dean chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made Jo’s body warm with awareness. “Oh, I’m not worried about your surrender,” he said, a little too confidently. “After all, I’m a great believer in the power of persuasion….”

Dear Reader,

I’ve had a blast writing supersensual stories for Blaze, and with A Wicked Seduction, I had the opportunity to try something different…to write about a female bounty hunter who ends up wickedly seduced by her captive! Jo Sommers thinks she’s come across every kind of felon—until she takes gorgeous Dean Colter into custody and discovers he has a thing for bondage…. Get ready for a generous dose of red-hot sexual tension and overwhelming erotic pleasures.

I hope you enjoy Jo and Dean’s sexy, sizzling story. And I hope you keep a lookout for my future Blaze releases—check my Web site at www.janelledenison.com for updates. As well, I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at: P.O. Box 1102, Rialto, CA 92377-1102 (send a SASE for goodies!) or at janelle@janelledenison.com.

Enjoy the heat!

Janelle Denison

A Wicked Seduction

Janelle Denison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Laurie Pyke and

Cheryl Shoemaker, two of the most devoted,

enthusiastic fans a writer could ever hope for.

And to Don, for giving me the best fifteen years of my life.

Happy anniversary.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

1

FOR JOELLE SOMMERS, success was sweet and heady, and almost as exhilarating as great sex. Not that she’d had any of the latter lately, she thought wryly as she settled into her cushy office chair and propped her booted feet on the corner of her cluttered desk. But today’s triumph more than made up for not having a man in her life. Sex provided a fleeting buzz com pared to the elation of finally solving a difficult abduction or missing persons case and reuniting the individuals involved.

A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. When she’d made that idle comparison to a girlfriend during an evening of dinner and drinks, her friend blithely responded that she obviously wasn’t getting laid by the right man, because the blissful aftereffects of sexual gratification could last for days on end.

Imagine that, Jo mused with wonder, unable to ignore the tingling warmth infusing her veins. She reached for a file folder next to her blotter and she sighed. That’s about all she did these days…imagine, because she’d discovered that fantasies were so much better than her reality. Finding and wanting any man, let alone the right man, had become a tiresome quest that no longer appealed to her.

Unfortunately, Jo could always count on the men she dated to balk at her working in a male-dominated field filled with dangerous scenarios. Ultimately, they didn’t understand her drive and passion for locating missing people, especially abducted children. And when they discovered she was an ex-cop and moonlighted as a bounty hunter on occasion, most felt compelled and obligated to lecture her on the perils of a woman capturing wanted fugitives. And how could she do such a thing without male protection?

Oh, puh-leeze! She’d had enough of that overbearing attitude from her two older brothers. While Cole and Noah had learned over the years to tamp down the guardian tendencies they’d honed at a very early age, both still managed to interfere with cases they believed were too much for her to handle. It was a battle she constantly struggled to win.

She couldn’t seem to escape the male stereotypes that dictated she belonged in a safer line of business, or married, barefoot and pregnant, so she sacrificed sex—good, bad, or indifferent—for the thrill of the chase her cases provided. A piteous substitute for carnal pleasures, she knew, but she didn’t need the frustration and hassles that came with involvement with the opposite sex.

Nor had any man inspired enough lust or passion to make it worth the effort, Jo mused as she stamped CASE CLOSED in red ink across the front label of the file she’d finally solved. Now that was the kind of satisfaction that drove and excited her.

A brisk knock sounded on her open office door, followed by the entrance of Melodie Turner, Sommers Investigative Specialists’ front-end secretary. “A delivery just came for you,” she announced, flashing a grin that lit up a pretty face untouched by cosmetics. “And it has the makings of a celebration.”

Jo swept her feet back to the floor and sat up in her chair, eyeing the cellophane-wrapped gift basket Melodie placed in the center of her desk. Withdrawing the enclosed card, Jo smiled as she read the note from the Faron family thanking her for spending the past six months searching for, and for finding, their runaway daughter, Rachel.

It hadn’t been an easy case. The thirteen-year-old girl had left a cold, difficult trail to follow by changing her name and appearance, but Jo had eventually tracked her down to a cult just outside of Sacramento, where Rachel had been selling beaded necklaces on the street. Convincing the teenager to return home had been much simpler than tracking her. The young girl, regretting her rash actions and no longer feeling defiant and rebellious, admitted to being homesick and missing her family. A perfect ending with a joyful reunion.

Unfortunately, not all of her missing person cases ended that way, and each one that did was a cause for celebration.

Jo peeled away the cellophane to reveal the treats hidden within the basket. “Umm, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. Care to join me in a toast?”

Melodie looked just as eager to sample the enticing delicacies. “You don’t have to ask me twice. It’s ten after five, I’m technically off the clock, and I certainly don’t have a better offer waiting for me.”

Jo slanted her an amused look. “What, no hot Friday night date?”

Melodie rolled her eyes as she lifted the bottle of champagne from the basket, along with two plastic glasses. “I haven’t had a date, hot or otherwise, in months.”

Yeah, you and me both, sister. “Maybe that’s because you spend way too much time here at the office.” Standing, Jo shrugged out of her jean jacket and hung it on the coat tree behind her desk. “This is the first time in weeks that you’ve stopped working at five. And from what Noah has said, you’ve been staying as late as Cole in the evenings.”

Retrieving the bowl of big, plump chocolate-covered strawberries, Melodie shrugged and looked away, but Jo didn’t miss the light shade of pink that swept across her cheeks. “It’s not like I have anything more exciting to occupy my nights, or a line of men beating down my door.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t going to attract any male attention spending all your waking hours here.” Jo’s voice trailed off as she put two and two together. It seemed Melodie had a thing for Cole, and her boss had no clue she existed other than in her capacity as his dependable, reliable, devoted secretary.

Oh, man. Melodie had been working for Cole long enough, two years to be exact, to know that his interest in women ran toward the occasional undemanding fling—no promises involved—usually with sophisticated, leggy blondes who played by the same rules he did. Unfortunately, Melodie was the epitome of a respectable, decorous female in her plain, conservative outfits, and possessed the kind of good-girl tendencies and traditional values Cole avoided. If those qualities weren’t enough to inspire Cole to keep his distance, Melodie was also the daughter of the man who’d become Cole’s mentor after their own father had been shot and killed in the line of police duty. Cole had hired her as a favor to Richard Turner and had come to rely on Melodie as all bosses relied on their secretaries, but the odds of him noticing her as a woman were stacked heavily against her.

And Jo didn’t have the heart to dash her friend’s hopes.

While Melodie popped the plastic cork from the champagne bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into each of their glasses, Jo unbuckled her shoulder holster. Her brother insisted she wear a gun if she worked for him, but Jo knew it would take the direst of circumstances for her to actually use the weapon. She’d learned during her police academy training that you didn’t retrieve your gun unless you were prepared to fire. When actually faced with that reality, she hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. She still felt a painful twist in her heart thinking of the devastating results—the death of her partner. She’d screwed up, and her failure had cost Brian Sheridan his life.

Since that fateful day over two years ago, Jo hadn’t deluded herself with the belief that a gun would be her best source of defense. While she carried a weapon, she chose to protect herself with more controlled devices—a beanbag shotgun, a collapsible baton, and a black belt in martial arts. The combination served her well, and gave her a semblance of control over her actions.

Setting aside her holster, Jo picked up her drink and held it toward Melodie’s. “Here’s to another happy ending.” Their plastic glasses clicked dully, and they each took a sip of the champagne. Then they indulged in the juicy, sweet strawberries dipped in a rich layer of chocolate, murmuring their appreciation for the delicious confection.

“Melodie?” a deep, rich voice abruptly called from the outer office.

At Cole’s summons, Melodie popped up from her chair, abandoning her moment of relaxation. Jo nibbled on a piece of fruit and watched in amazement as the other woman circled her chair and was halfway to the door when Cole appeared, a file in hand. Melodie came to an abrupt stop before they collided and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Did you need me?” Her voice was undeniably breathless.

Cole didn’t notice, his demeanor strictly business. “Have you seen or heard from Noah?”

“He’s been out of the office for the past two days on surveillance for the Blythe divorce case,” Melodie answered in her ever-efficient manner. “He checked in this afternoon for messages, but said he probably wouldn’t be back in the office until Monday.”

“Damn,” Cole muttered beneath his breath, clearly annoyed at their brother’s lack of availability. Though Noah worked for the company, he was definitely his own man and did things his own way. He was a drifter of sorts, an ex-Marine who worked when he needed the money, and played when his finances made it possible.

Cole dragged a hand along the back of his neck, as if the brusque movement could release the tension radiating from his body. “By the way, did you get the final report and billing on the Cameron case typed up?”

“I put it on your desk about fifteen minutes ago. All it needs is your signature.”

He nodded succinctly, just as the office phone rang. Jo didn’t bother reaching for the receiver on her desk, too interested in seeing how this scenario played out.

Another loud jingle.

Cole lifted a dark brow expectantly at Melodie as if to say, “Aren’t you going to get that?” Too much a creature of habit, and too eager to please, Melodie automatically slipped around him and headed down the hall to answer the front-end phone.

Jo licked the sticky sweetness of candied strawberry from her fingers as her brother approached her desk. “Jeez, Cole, would it kill you to answer the phone?” When he gave her a blank look, she added drolly, “Melodie is off the clock, or are you paying her overtime?”

With a frown he glanced at his watch, obviously surprised to see it past quitting time. “I just assumed since she was still here that she was working.”

That was part of the problem. Cole took Melodie’s enthusiasm to do his bidding for granted. But, Jo decided, that wasn’t her dilemma to resolve. It was up to Melodie to change her abiding, predictable ways and set Cole straight—both on a business level and a personal one.

Cole’s blue-eyed gaze took in the fare she was enjoying and skimmed over the card that had been attached to the basket. He read the note, then smiled warmly at her from across the desk, looking like a younger version of their deceased father with his tousled sable hair, lean features, and head-turning good looks. “By the way, good job on the Faron case.”

“Thanks.” She accepted his compliment with pleasure and satisfaction.

When she’d quit the police force and decided she wanted to work for Cole, her brother had been reluctant to hire her, not that she could blame him. Her past actions gave him too much reason to discount her ability to defend herself, or others. But her suggestion to specialize in finding abducted and missing children was a relatively safe field that Cole eventually approved. It also added a different dimension to the agency, drew a whole new clientele, and helped her absolve the guilt she carried over a past case gone bad.

She drew a deep breath, pushed aside her thoughts, and waved a hand at the champagne and strawberries. “Care to join us for a drink to celebrate?”

He shook his head, his gaze dark and distracted. “Thanks, but I don’t have time. Since Noah has made himself conveniently unavailable, I need to call Vince back and…” Cole’s sentence ebbed into silence as he belatedly realized his error.

Jo perked up at the mention of the bail bond agent who traded professional favors with Cole. On occasion, Vince found himself shorthanded and needed a bail enforcement agent to retrieve someone who’d jumped bail. Cole was a certified recovery agent, as were she and Noah.

“What does Vince need?” she asked.

A scowl creased Cole’s expression, which did nothing to dissuade Jo’s interest. It never did. Her brother had a habit of being overprotective when it came to her. It had been that way ever since their mother had divorced their father when she was five, and she’d ended up shuffled between two households. As the oldest, Cole had taken on more duties and responsibilities than any teenager should have had to endure.

“Spill it, Cole,” she said, pushing his hesitation.

His jaw unclenched, but his hold on the file folder in his hand tightened. “A guy skipped out on his bond, and I owe Vince a favor,” he said with un-characteristic nonchalance. “I traced the guy back to his Washington State residence, and I was going to ask Noah if he could recover the skip since I’m on the verge of cracking the Petrick case. But since Noah isn’t around, I’ll just call Vince and have him find someone else to do the job.”

Adrenaline shot through her veins. “I’ll do it.” Standing, she rounded the desk toward Cole.

“No.”

She stopped in front of him, bristling, though she and Cole conducted this same argument every time. Her brother preferred when she kept a low profile and stayed out of trouble. For the most part, she’d been a commendable employee and sister. But she resented that he wouldn’t let her do a job she was fully qualified to perform. She’d never been afraid of the chase and capture—not when she’d been a cop and not now—and she actually enjoyed an occasional run. It appeased the restlessness in her, which she’d been experiencing too much of lately. The bounty she made also helped to fund her low-income abduction cases, which was her main priority. And the well was quickly running dry to support those gratis projects she took on from time to time.

She folded her arms over her chest, refusing to back down, a stubborn trait she’d learned from the very guy standing in front of her. “You know, for someone who showed me the tricks of the trade, you certainly have a way of making me sound inept, despite my training.”

His gaze narrowed at her attempt to heap guilt onto his conscience. “I’m not trying to make you feel inept,” he countered. “Dammit, Joelle, you shouldn’t be out gallivanting after criminals. That’s why you quit the police force.”

That wasn’t why she’d resigned, and they both knew it. But it was a moot point she didn’t wish to argue. “I need the extra money to help supplement my lower-income cases.”

“I’ll help fund those cases. I’ve told you that.”

“No, thank you.” She appreciated her brother’s support, but as always she refused to accept his offer. While the agency made damn good money from locating missing persons and other investigative services, which in turn fattened her own paycheck, she didn’t feel right about draining his finances, or the company’s, to support her own personal cause.

Ignoring any further protests, she plucked the folder from his grasp and didn’t even flinch when he growled in response. Having been raised by Cole since the age of sixteen, she knew he was more bark and growl than bite.

He dropped into the chair Melodie had recently vacated, and Jo skimmed the contents of the file without his interference. She found all the pertinent information enclosed—a bail bond agreement, a certified copy of the bail, a booking slip, a picture of the fugitive and a copy of his Washington State driver’s license. Though the guy had committed his crimes in San Francisco, he apparently hadn’t bothered with a California renewal.

She took in his statistics. Dean Colter, age 32. Six feet tall and one hundred and ninety-five pounds. Judging by the date of birth on the document, he’d be celebrating his thirty-third birthday behind bars, since that date was next week Friday.

Her gaze traveled between the booking photo and the one on the license, comparing the two. The man had pitch-black hair, and though the license stated his eyes were green, she couldn’t confirm that with either photograph. While the driver’s license showed Dean Colter with a short, executive haircut and an easy grin, the booking picture captured a grown-out shaggy hairstyle and a cocky smirk. Obviously, the former photo had been taken before Dean’s penchant for a life of crime.

Her finger skimmed down the attached report, absorbing more details and what he’d been charged with. Grand theft auto. “This is hardly a threatening skip.” She met her brother’s gaze. “Come on, Cole, cut me some slack. It’s not as though I’ll be dealing with a murderer here.” She’d certainly come up against much worse.

“How do you know?” he challenged.

She perched her jean-clad bottom on the edge of her desk. “Because it states that he’s a first-time offender with no priors. How dangerous can he be?”

Cole elevated a dark brow in response. “Did you happen to notice that his bail was set at a hundred thousand dollars?”

She glanced back to confirm Cole’s claim, and her jaw nearly dropped in shock. She’d definitely missed that tidbit. “Why? He was only charged with GTA. That’s a felony, yes, but a minor crime in general.”

“He was arrested with half a dozen high-end vehicles that were headed for a chop shop and theft ring that the local police have been trying to bust for the past three months. The guy knows the contact’s name, and he was willing to testify against him. The bail was set at such a high amount to keep him honest, but being a first-timer, he was very predictable and hightailed it back to his home address in Washington.”

“He’s easy money then,” she said, very aware that her cut would be a cool ten grand, which would go a long way in filling her professional reservoir.

Cole sighed, the sound rife with resignation. “It’s a good fifteen-hour drive to Seattle from Oakland.”

As if that minor inconvenience would deflate her determination! She figured out the time line in her mind. “If I leave within the hour and spend the night at a motel on the way, I’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.” She flashed Cole a quick grin that reflected the tide of exhilaration blossoming within her and warded off any further argument from him. “I’ll be back before the weekend is over.”

She’d return with her guy in tow, and an easy ten grand in her pocket.

2

“WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING at home?” Brett Rivers, the CEO of Colter Traffic Control asked his boss, the disapproval in his tone clearly drifting through the phone line. “You should have been long gone by now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean tucked the cordless phone more comfortably against his ear as he walked out of his master bath with everything he needed for his spontaneous getaway. Brett was his right-hand man, a good friend, and someone Dean trusted implicitly to hold down the fort in his absence. “I keep telling myself the same thing,” he said, shoving his shaving kit into his duffle bag on top of the casual clothing he’d packed. “And I promise I’m almost out the door.”

After three years of working day in and day out to the point of mental exhaustion and burnout, Dean was anxious to taste a bit of freedom and indulge in a week of pure relaxation and solitude—with a cold beer in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. While basking in the sun and waiting for the trout to bite, he had some serious thinking to do about his future and the direction of his father’s company. To make the important decisions awaiting him, he needed a mind free and clear of any distractions or influences.

Dean gave his bedroom one last quick glance, found nothing he couldn’t live without, and addressed Brett’s question while zipping up his piece of luggage. “I know I told you I’d be leaving early this morning, but I had a few things to wrap up at the office and it took longer than I expected.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he groaned, realizing that he sounded just like his father, who’d passed away three years ago from a stroke. How many times had Dean been on the receiving end of that same excuse while growing up? And how many times had he resented that flippant explanation and sworn he’d never be like his father, who’d been obsessed with work to the point of excluding everything else in his life?

Too many times to count, yet here Dean was, careening down that same path to emotional and physical destruction. Sure, he had some work-related success to show for his efforts. He also had a broken engagement.

On a personal level his life was sorely lacking, and that knowledge was beginning to bother him. Especially since he’d lived such a carefree, easygoing life before taking on the family business. Hard to believe how much of a rebel he’d been back then. Now, when he came home in the evening after a twelve-hour day, or a week-long business trip, he was too aware that there was nothing or no one waiting for him. Hell, he didn’t even have the time to care for a pet, let alone give attention and affection to a woman. And the truth of the matter was, what woman would endure his rigorous schedule for the long run?