Page 2 of A Ruthless Bargain

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” I tried an uneasy smile, but it felt forced and unnatural on my face.

“Have we?” His inflectionless voice gave away nothing.

“Yes. I promise that I am not connected to your fugitive. In any way, shape, or form,” I over-enunciated. “Truthfully, I wasn’t paying attention and… got in the way of your chase.”

“Indeed.”

I opened my arms wide. “What can I do to convince you that I wasn’t involved? Then we can go along our merry ways.” My voice ended in a slight sing-song cadence, like I was trying to cajole him. Yeah, that wouldn’t be suspicious at all.

“There is one thing.” The marshal stepped toward me.

I withstood the desire to step back in response. “What is it?” Anything so I could get on my way.

“Give me your bag. Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” he ordered.

“Wait, what?” A quick glance showed me we were alone in the alley. I cut through this alley all the time and never saw anybody here. That was what I liked about it. Usually.

“The fugitive was carrying something he was not supposed to have. If you do not have it on your person, you will be free to go.”

I considered my options. Let him search my purse and frisk me. Or refuse and risk being brought to the station. I didn’t have what he was looking for, so what was the harm? Jax Smith, the US Marshal, was obviously power hungry and got off on lording it over the little people.

“Or I could take you down to the station.”

His again inflectionless voice—and the fact that he seemed to read my mind—freaked me out a little bit. Okay, a lot. I needed this new job. Student loan payments for graduate school were about to start. Putting a well-paying job at risk over a few minutes of demeaning discomfort didn’t make sense for my analytical mind.

Fuck it.

I thrust my purse at Marshal Smith and spun around.

“Hands against the wall.”

I leaned forward and placed my hands at head-height but wider than my body. The brick wall was rough and dirty, but didn’t seem to have any unknown substances on it. That I was aware of anyway. The zipper of my purse sounded. I strained to hear, my heart in my throat at what would be next. A few agonizing moments later, my purse landed with a thud about a foot from my shoe.

“Hey,” I objected, turning my head to try to see him. There might not have been unknown substances on the wall. But the ground? I shuddered to think what my leather purse landed in.

“Head straight.” His voice startled me at its closeness, hot breath on the back of my left ear. A sweet, yet musky scent enveloped me.

I whipped my head back toward the wall and my body tensed. What could he really do? It was late morning. This wasn’t typically a well-traveled alley, but surely we wouldn’t stay alone.

A hand lifted my hair and dropped it over a shoulder before two hands rested at the sides of my neck. Fingers ran along the neckline hem of my blouse, cupping my shoulders before moving over the short sleeves. I was not a small woman, but his hands completely encircling my biceps made it seem like I was.

The hair on my arms stood at attention with the movement. My mind clutched at the unexpected silkiness of his fingers. I distracted myself with consideration of what lotion he used to get such silky soft skin.

His hands released my arms. His palms warmed my shoulder blades through the shirt fabric, and he slid his hands down my back with firm pressure. Those powerful hands rested a moment at my waist before sliding over my stomach, under my untucked shirt.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. He had my full attention now. My nails scratched at the wall in response to the unwanted desire pooling in my belly.

“Searching everywhere a small object could be hidden.” His gruff voice sounded against my ear again. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I admitted.

The marshal’s hands continued their upward motion, stopping at the bottom of the swell of my breasts. Fingers played with the edges of the bra’s hem, like with my shirt. Hands slid up over the fabric of my bra and cupped both of my breasts.

A gasp escaped. Should I scream? I’d agreed to this. No sanctioned search would go like this. Right?

“Women hide objects in bras,” he responded to my gasp, oblivious to my frenetic thoughts.

His hands squeezed and released my breasts multiple times, his thumbs circling my raised nipples, hard as fuck from the attention.

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