Stolen Fury by Elisabeth Naughton Page B

surprises she had underneath, starting with those sandals so he could lick and suck on her sensual toes as he slowly moved his way up her tantalizing body.
    Oh, hell. He ran a hand over his face. One look at the curvy archaeologist and he’d nearly forgotten why he’d scammed the woman in the first place.
    Family. Future. A chance to make up for the past. Don’t forget it, Sullivan.
    He wouldn’t. Now that he was back in control, he could handle anything. Seeing her less than a week after their last sultry meeting was just a shock to his system. Those emerald eyes of hers had reminded him exactly why he’d almost tossed this chance away—all for one night of sex. He blew out a breath. Good thing there was no chance of that happening again.
    With a grunt, he jerked open the passenger door of the Tahoe. “Get in.”
    “I am not getting in your car.” She fisted her hands on her hips, tilted her chin up at him in a clear challenge. “I have a rental that works perfectly fine. I’ll follow you.”
    He hadn’t expected the fight in that tiny body. Heck, he hadn’t expected her to track him down so fast, either. It wasn’t like he’d covered his tracks all that well. He hadn’t, and on purpose. The truth of the matter was he still needed her, but he’d expected to use her on his schedule, not hers.
    And being waylaid by her on the docks had not been part of his plans.
    “Your rental’s fine here. Get in. We’re not going far.”
    When she didn’t respond, he pinned her with a look. “Don’t make me ask again.”
    She leveled him with a measuring gaze. He could see the indecision swirling in her eyes, could practically feel the anger pumping off her in waves.
    Good. That would make this easier all around. He wanted her to think he was a prick. Better for both of them.
    With a scowl, she climbed into the vehicle. He snapped the door shut and walked around the Chevy. Tamping down the frustration, he eased into the driver’s seat, clicked his seat belt and turned on the ignition.
    “You’re an ass,” she muttered when he pulled out onto the street, her gaze fixed ahead.
    A smile curled his lips before he could stop it. No, she definitely hadn’t tracked him down because she’d missed him. On the contrary, it looked like she wanted his head on a platter.
    “You’re not the first to tell me that, querida. ”
    “I have a name,” she said, looking out the side window.
    He turned down Olivia Street. “Right. Lisa.”
    “Dr. Maxwell, Slick.” She glanced his direction with steely eyes before looking back out the window. “Don’t forget it.”
    Like he ever could.
    He pulled into the drive of his small house and killed the ignition. She opened the car door and slipped from the vehicle before he even released the latch on his door.
    Bitchy. Probably a good thing nothing more had happened in that hotel. Domineering, obnoxious women weren’t his type.
    “Oh, there you are, Rafael.”
    He tucked his keys in his pocket and looked up at the sound of the frail voice. “Hey, Mrs. Kimbel.”
    Scissors in one hand, Anita Kimbel stood near the smallpicket fence and wiped her other hand down her long-sleeved cotton shirt, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. “Do you think you could take a look at my ice maker again? The ice is getting all stuck inside. You know I just can’t drink my lemonade without my ice.”
    He shot a quick look at her front porch where her worthless grandson, Jimmy, sat in a plastic deck chair, shirtless in the afternoon sun, sipping a beer and scowling their direction. The punk was sucking the old woman dry of cash and beer and food. And she was letting him.
    He glanced back at his elderly neighbor and tried to smile for her sake. He hated that she was being taken advantage of. She was a nice old lady who’d never done a thing wrong in her life, except help some whacked-out kid who didn’t deserve her generosity. And her situation rang just a little too true for his liking. “Sure