Free Tempted by His Target by Jill Sorenson Page A

with anguish. “You don’t even know me.”
    “Then let me get to know you,” he said, frustrated. “Why won’t you tell me what those assholes want? What have you done that’s so bad?”
    She let her shoulders rest on the wall behind her, staring up at the ceiling. “They think I killed someone.”
    “Did you?”
    Her gaze reconnected with his. “I don’t know.”
    “How can you not know?”
    “I was drunk. And high. I—feel responsible.”
    He believed her. “This happened in the U.S.?”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to say more.
    He wanted to advise her to go to the police, and promise to help her, but that kind of conversation wasn’t permitted in his line of work. Tipping off a subject was an egregious offense, worse than seducing one.
    And, although he felt certain that she wasn’t a cold-blooded murderess, he couldn’t trust her not to hit him over the head and bolt.
    When he’d recovered well enough to stand, and to touch her without losing control, he rose to his feet. Cupping her chin with one hand, he tilted her face up to look at him. “Let’s try to get some rest,” he said, brushing his lips over hers, very gently. “Trust me on this. Everything will be okay.”
    Her eyes shone with tears, but she nodded, accepting the lie as easily as he’d told it. They turned off the lights and climbed into bed, both longing for what they couldn’t have. Almost an hour later, her breathing turned soft and steady. He rose from the bed to stare out the window, feeling twice as conflicted as the night before.

Chapter 7
    I sabel woke at dawn.
    Once again, Brandon’s side of the bed was empty. He was standing in the dim light by the window, looking down at the street below. “Buenos días,” he said in a gruff voice, glancing over his shoulder at her.
    The towel she was wearing must have fallen away as she slept, because she was naked beneath a thin sheet.
    Sometime during the night, he’d covered her.
    She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. Had he looked his fill before leaving the bed? Maybe it had been too dark to see anything until now.
    “Did you sleep well?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she said, flushing a little. Last night she hadn’t been plagued by nightmares of dead and dying men. A very healthy, very vibrant fantasy of Brandon had invaded her dreams instead. Her tummy quivered at the possibility that she’d moaned his name or writhed against him, insensible.
    “I don’t think the café is open,” he said, “but we can buy breakfast from a street vendor on the way to the bus station.”
    She nodded, wondering how to get up without exposing herself further. Her towel was draped over the edge of the mattress, but she couldn’t put it on without letting the sheet drop. He followed her gaze, understanding the dilemma.
    Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met and held. He stared at her a moment, studying her bare shoulders and disheveled hair. Then he turned back to the window, offering her a modicum of privacy.
    She scrambled off the bed, wrapping the towel around her and grabbing the clothes she’d hung up the night before. They weren’t quite dry. In the bathroom, she used the facilities and changed quickly, her skin prickling with gooseflesh. She’d kill for new lingerie and a pretty sundress. Instead she had two sets of clothes; one dirty, one damp. Her plain white bra and pink cotton panties were serviceable, at best. She put on her baggy drawstring pants and worn gray tank top, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror. It didn’t help that the mark on her cheek had faded into a sickly greenish bruise.
    After brushing her teeth, she pulled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and left the bathroom.
    Brandon’s appearance was also scruffy, but he managed to look sexy and dashing and a little bit dangerous. His jaw was unshaven, his shirt wrinkled. Although the black hair and cheap sunglasses didn’t quite suit him, she was pleased with the