His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) by Barbara Dunlop Read Free Book Online Page B

with her as his captive, contemplating the best way to stay out of jail. He wanted to be on a date with her, somewhere great in the city, contemplating how best to get her into his bed.
    “There’s a simple solution,” she told him.
    It took a second for him to get his brain back on track. “Let you go?” he guessed.
    “Bingo.”
    “Not until we meet up with Mac tomorrow.”
    “You’ll let me go then?”
    He knew he was being cornered, but there really was no choice. He could only hope Mac could come up with definitive proof by morning.
    “Yes,” said Jackson.
    Crista’s mouth curved into a dazzling smile. They hit a swell, and she pressed against him. Her curves were soft, and her scent was fresh. For a moment the risk of jail seemed almost worth it.
    * * *
    When Crista awoke, she was disoriented. It took a few seconds to realize the warm body beside her wasn’t Vern. She was in bed with someone bigger, harder, with a deeper breathing pattern and an earthier scent. And the bed was moving beneath them.
    Then reality came back in a rush. Long after midnight, she’d given in and laid down on the bed in the bow of Jackson’s boat. He was still up, and she’d hugged one edge of the massive, triangular shape in case he decided to join her. At some point he obviously had, and in her sleep she must have moved to the middle.
    Now she was cradled by his strong arm, hers thrown across his chest. And her leg…uh-oh. Her leg was draped across his thighs. The jersey had ridden up to her waist. Luckily, he was wearing sweatpants. Otherwise, there’d be nothing between them but the lacy silk of her white panties.
    She knew she should move. She had to move. And she needed to do it before he woke up and caught her in such a revealing position. Now that she thought about it, she should have recoiled from him the second she was conscious.
    Staying put like this was bad. The fact that she liked it was even worse. She was an engaged woman. She was all but married. She had absolutely no business enjoying the intimate embrace of another man, no matter how fit his body, no matter how handsome his face and no matter how sexy his warm palm felt against her hip.
    It was all she could do not to groan out loud.
    Jackson moved and she drew a sharp breath.
    “Hey, there,” he whispered lazily in her ear, obviously only half-awake himself, obviously believing she was someone else.
    Then he kissed her hairline.
    “I—” she began. But he kissed her mouth. And his arms closed around her.
    Before she could gather her wits enough to struggle, the kiss deepened. A fog of desire invaded her brain, blocking out the real world.
    He was one fantastic kisser.
    His hand slipped down to cradle her rear. Pulling her to him, his thigh wedged between her legs. Arousal fanned through her, hot, heavy and demanding.
    She had to make this stop. She so had to shut this down.
    “Jackson,” she gasped. “I’m not your date. Wake up. It’s me. It’s Crista.”
    “I know.” He drew back, gazing at her with dark eyes. “I know who you are.”
    “But—”
    “And you know I’m not Gerhard.”
    She wanted to deny it. She desperately wanted to lie and say that, of course, she’d thought he was her fiancé. What kind of a woman would behave like this with another man? But she couldn’t bring herself to lie, not with his sharp stare only inches away, and their hearts beating together.
    “I was confused,” she replied instead.
    He answered with a knowing smile. “Confused about what?”
    “Who you were.”
    He shook his head. “Crista, Crista. There’s no real harm in not being truthful with me. But I hope you’re being honest with yourself.”
    “I am being honest with myself.”
    “You claim you love Gerhard, yet you’re in bed with a stranger.”
    “I’m not in bed with you.” She immediately realized how ridiculous the protest sounded. “I mean, not like that. We didn’t… We aren’t…”
    He glanced down between them, noting