Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

His skin tingled where her mouth had brought the blood to the surface. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to do something out of character every once in a while.”


“But that kind of behavior is...is sexual harassment.”

He shouldn’t have let her have that last drink. How much alcohol had Shorty put in the damn thing? “I think you’re getting your words mixed up again. It’s not sexual harassment. We don’t work together. We’re just two people dancing at a bar.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “We’re professional associates! And you’re a lot younger than I am, which makes it kind of creepy on top of everything else.”

He caught her face, lifting it so that she had to look at him. “Creepy? Who gives a shit about the age difference between us? We’re both plenty old enough to do what we want.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was doing good, being nice, dancing with everyone and then”—she seemed to have trouble figuring out how she’d even wound up in his arms—“I guess I went too far in the other direction. All I could think about was you, and the way you look in those jeans, and that smile—God, that smile does crazy things to me.”

“If you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a damn fine job,” he said.

She scowled. “Don’t joke around like that.”

He wasn’t joking!

“What I did is completely not acceptable or professional or—”

“Stop making a big deal out of it,” he broke in, to let her know she was being ridiculous. He hated the pain he saw in her eyes. In so many words, she’d told him at the prison she was broken. And now she was frustrated that she couldn’t seem to get it right even when she tried to be more trusting and friendly. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

The careless way he spoke finally seemed to get through to her. At least, she managed to gain control of her emotions and stanch the tears that were about to fall. “Right. I’m only human.”

Movement in his peripheral vision caused Amarok to look to the side. “Ken’s already making his way over,” he said. “We’d better go.”

“That’s a good idea. I need to get some sleep. I’m not thinking straight. I—I’ll start over tomorrow.”

“You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Tell him we’re leaving. No more dances with anyone. Then wait at the bar with Shorty until I come get you.”

Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he needed to give his erection time to go away, so he simply gestured at the restroom.

“Oh.” She acted slightly embarrassed that she’d reacted with a bit of panic, but then she grabbed his arm. “You won’t leave me here without a way to get home, right? I promise I won’t...you know...come on to you again. I’m sobering up.”

“For the last time, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just wait with Shorty. I’ll be right there,” he said and turned away. Obviously, she could tell he was shaken up by what’d just happened, but she’d completely misjudged the reason. He could still feel the pull of her mouth at his neck. The memory alone sent a fresh shot of testosterone to his groin. She was starving, he decided. Starving for a little male attention. And he wanted to give it to her.

But he couldn’t. That was the very thing that frightened her most.

Once he entered the bathroom, he breathed a sigh of relief to find himself alone. He splashed some cold water on his face. Then he pulled his collar back.

Holy shit. She’d given him a hickey. Dr. Evelyn Talbot, the driven but remote, highly educated psychiatrist who was bringing the worst psychopaths in America to Hilltop had put more fire and passion in the way she’d kissed his neck than he’d ever imagined she possessed.

This was the woman he’d heard the mayor call an “ice princess”—and yet she’d just brought him to his knees.

And she’d done it so innocently too.

***

There was a gun on the nightstand, and it was too big to be hers.

Squinting to clear her vision, Evelyn leaned up on one elbow to get a better look. Then she fell back because her head felt like it was about to explode. Where was she?

Immediately, visions of the shack where she’d been held captive twenty years ago rose up. Since Jasper had never been caught, the possibility of being taken somewhere similar felt like fate at times.

She was just about to panic when the memory of the night before came tumbling back to her.

She was in Alaska, in her bungalow. She’d gone drinking with Amarok. And then...

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