Prologue




“YOU’RE SAFE NOW, Princess.”

Sophie’s fear streamed away the moment she heard him. He would set her free.

The cloth covering her eyes and mouth prevented her from seeing him, from saying his name, but she recognized his voice, his touch. Just the barest brush of his fingers along her throat made her skin burn and her blood heat.

In the three days since her kidnapping, she’d known that Tracker McBride would come for her. She’d steeled herself against his anger for tricking him and making him chase her across the country. But his hands were gentle, his voice soothing.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He would touch her now—to make sure she was all right. The anticipation of it made her tremble. The reality of it, the press of those long, lean fingers as they moved over her shoulders and down the length of her arms, left every inch of her skin quivering and then burning.

Her response was always like this—basic, primitive. He touched and she wanted. Desire twisted into a hard knot, and her body began to move, lifting, aching to get closer.

When he gripped her waist, heat, a searing flame, streamed through her. Muscles deep inside of her clenched and her hips arched upward. More. But his hands moved on, continuing their slow, thorough journey over her hips and down her legs. Torturing her.

“I’ll have you free in a minute,” he said as he removed the blindfold and the gag. “Don’t open your eyes right away.”

The moment her arms were untied, she wrapped them around him and held him tight. Safe. Now he would free her from the terrible heat he’d built inside of her. He had to. He stroked one hand down her hair, then she felt his fingers slip beneath her chin and lift it.

“Please…” She wasn’t even sure it was her voice that had said the word. But his mouth brushed against hers and his tongue moistened her lips.

“Now.” With a will of its own, her body melted, molding itself to every hard plane and angle of his. It wasn’t enough. She wanted him right where that deep, demanding ache tugged at her very center. Threading her fingers through his hair, she arched against him. Soon…please.

Finally, when she thought she might die of the wanting, his mouth grew harder, more insistent, and his hand moved to the inside of her thigh.

Yes. Almost. Need built razor sharp as she arched against him, urging him on. The tension inside of her built, twisted, tightened. When his fingers finally slipped into her, the climax moved through her at once, building higher and higher until, deep inside of her, pleasure exploded.

It was the sound of her own voice crying out that shot Sophie out of the dream. For a moment, she lay there, shuddering in the aftermath of the release that had nearly shattered her. She was gripping the bed-clothes in her fists, sweat was cooling on her skin and her breath was coming in short pants. Opening her eyes, she saw that Chess, her cat, was peering down at her.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, releasing a fistful of sheet so that she could run her hand over her large, plump guardian angel.

The cat snorted in disbelief.

Sophie sighed. Chess had been a gift from her brother, Lucas, when she’d moved out of the family home into her living quarters over One of a Kind, the antique and specialty store she ran in Georgetown. They’d been together for five years now, and Chess’s main joy in life seemed to stem from making her be honest with herself.

“All right. All right.” Sitting up, Sophie ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not fine.” How could she be when the best sex—the only sex—she’d had in over a year was occurring only in her dreams?

And the dream was being triggered by a man who annoyed the hell out of her in real life. Tracker McBride, or as she called him, “The Shadow.” Two years ago her brother had hired him to head up the security at Wainwright Enterprises, but as far as Sophie could tell, Tracker’s mission statement read: “Keep the spoiled, misfit sister from destroying Wainwright Enterprises.”

The inescapable fact that she’d come close to doing that twice now—by hooking up with fortune hunters who were after the Wainwright money—humiliated and infuriated her. Having her weakness and stupidity exposed by a complete stranger had only added salt to the wound. Tracker McBride now knew what everyone else in the family knew: she just wasn’t good enough to be a Wainwright.