Free Never Too Late by RaeAnne Thayne

been done to him, first by that bitch Dru Ferrin and then by the system of justice he had risked his life day after day to uphold.
    The miles ticked by and for a long time she stared out the window watching dark clouds scud by above the desert, moving even faster than they were. Finally, she turned back to her book but she found it much harder to concentrate than she had earlier. She was relieved when Hunter stopped the SUV on the outskirts of Moab to fill up again and let Belle out.
    Their first pit stop earlier in the day set the pattern for this one. Once more they worked as a team—Hunter pumped gas while she found an open space to exercise Belle for a few moments.
    This time, though, when they finished she offered to drive again. To her surprise, he agreed.
    The SUV handled even better than her little Honda, she was pleased to discover. Kate took off heading south while Hunter, big and rangy in the seat next to her, leafed through her CD collection for several moments.
    She waited, curious as to what he might pick. Music was one of her passions and her collection was eclectic and extensive. Most men she dated tended to favor her blues or classic-rock CDs but she had to admit to some surprise at Hunter’s ultimate choice—Dianne Reeves, one of her favorite jazz vocalists.
    “I saw her in concert once at Red Butte,” he explained at her raised eyebrow.
    They listened in silence for a few moments while she adjusted her driving instincts to the SUV’s bigger frame and longer braking time. By the third song, she glanced over and was further surprised to find Hunter’s eyes closed.
    At first she wondered if he might be feigning sleep to avoid making conversation, but after a few moments of the steady rise and fall of his chest, she was certain he was genuinely asleep.
    This was nice, she thought. Driving along through harshly beautiful scenery with a gorgeous man sleeping in the seat beside her, while soft jazz kept her company.
    Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon at all.

Chapter 5
    H e was in heaven.
    A paradise of sensations—heat and hunger and the sweet tug of anticipation.
    He was lying on a beach, palm fronds rustling and clicking overhead. Sunlight seeped into his bare skin, his toes dug into warm sand and his arms were filled with naked womanly curves.
    Heaven.
    Kate.
    She was everything he hadn’t let himself imagine. Her skin was creamy and smooth and when he pressed his mouth to the curve of one shoulder, she tasted like sun-warmed vanilla candy. He wanted to lick every inch of it, to work his way from her pink-polished toes to that sweetly bowed mouth then back again.
    “Mmmm, that’s good,” she murmured, arching her back as she stretched beneath him so that the tight buds of her nipples brushed against the hard muscles of his chest.
    He groaned and kissed her neck, that intriguing hollow just above her collarbone, then shifted his body just enough that he could cup one of those warm, tantalizing breasts in his fingers.
    She made a soft, erotic sound and arched again, long, smooth legs sliding against his. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.
    He couldn’t seem to breath as a torrent of sensations crashed over him like those sea waves buffeting the shore. So long. It had been so terribly long since he had tasted and touched and explored the mysteries of a woman’s body.
    She called his name and her low voice rippled down his spine like a slow, warm trickle of suntan lotion on his skin. He reached for her again, craving her touch with every cell, every synapse. She came to him with an eagerness that stunned and aroused him, with that secretive, seductive smile that hinted of female delights he had nearly forgotten.
    “I want you,” he murmured.
    Her sleepy-lidded eyes beckoned him. “I know.”
    One hand slipped from behind his back between their bodies. He waited, stomach muscles contracted, not a single particle of air in his lungs, as she reached for him.
    Her hand moved