Free Dangerous Liaisons by T. C. Archer Page A

the computer. The display read Cole Smith. Her pulse skipped a beat. Smith? His name was Smith? Jesse wanted to laugh. Hell. Mr. Smith had traced the bank transaction and, instead of bursting in, guns blazing, had called first—on a phone no one but she and The Professor knew existed. What would Emma Peel do? Be civilized, of course.
    Jesse picked up the phone. “Hello, Cole.”
    “Hi, Jess.”
    She closed the laptop display as the hotel room door opened and Cole filled the doorway. He met her gaze, cell phone to his ear, then lowered the phone and closed it with a click. His other hand gripped a plastic drugstore bag.
    “Like a bad penny,” she commented. Though she could deal with bad luck when it arrived in tight jeans and a midnight blue, long sleeve, button down shirt.
    He offered a lopsided grin that sent a flutter skittering across the inside of her stomach. He stepped into the room and she flicked a glance past him at the empty parking lot before he closed the door.
    “We need to talk,” he said.
    “I’m too tired to kick your ass,” Jesse said, and meant it. “How did you get my cell number?”
    “I called Tom.”
    “Tom?” she blurted.
    Cole cut her off. “You weren’t compromised. He set up a blind relay to forward my call to your phone.”
    Jesse’s mind raced. Why had Tom admitted to being in contact with her?
    She closed the phone and set it on the table. “Come on in and join the party.”
    Cole ran his gaze down her body. She felt a stab of disappointment when he said, “You need to change the dressing.”
    She sighed and glanced at her pant leg. Blood had seeped through her chinos in spots resembling splashed coffee stains. She had dressed the wound once in the ladies restroom at Penn Station, but it still ached. Cole was right, it needed attention, but she said, “It’s nothing.”
    “Take off your pants and get on the bed.”
    Jesse blinked, then laughed—hard.
    Cole looked hurt. “You need the bandage changed.”
    She hiccupped, tried to get out a word, but battled another fit of laughter before she managed, “This is too good.”
    “I’m serious,” he said.
    “I know.” She snorted a laugh. “That’s what makes it so funny.” Jesse motioned to the bag he carried, and said, “Even brought your own supplies, I see,” before howling with laughter again.
    Cole crossed his arms over his chest and the bag bounced off his waist. He gave her a stern look, and Jesse made a valiant effort to push back her amusement. She felt her lip twitch, and he lifted both brows.
    “Come on,” she said. “You have to admit you have nerve coming here like Mother Teresa.”
    “No more nerve than you do, stealing money that isn’t yours.”
    All amusement vanished. “Don’t like having your hard-earned blood money stolen?”
    Cole strode to the bed and sat on the edge nearest her. He dumped the contents of the bag onto the bedspread, then leveled his gaze on her. “You want to hear why I let you take the hundred thousand?”
    Jesse blinked, then laughed again.
    She quit laughing when Cole slid from the bed onto his knees and reached for the buttons on her Chinos.

Chapter Seventeen
     
    Jesse remained motionless as Cole carefully undid the hook on her pants, then the button and the zipper. He drew back the waistband until the top of her powder blue boy-short panties were visible. Her belly tightened at the prospect of inspecting the rest of those cigarette burns he’d mentioned. The girl always falls for the bad guy , that’s how she justified it when she found herself remembering his broad shoulders, and the lean forearm he’d revealed when he’d shown her the burns. He started to slide the pants down her hips.
    She didn’t move, and he looked up. “Lift your hips so I can get the pants off.”
    Jesse still didn’t move. Cole glanced at the bloodstains, his brow furrowed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he actually cared.
    He pinned her with a hard stare. “You haven’t