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The sheer purple nightie was gone.

Caden attention sharpened on the object.
What the fuck?
Tucked away behind the passenger’s seat was a large, bulky blanket that he hadn’t noticed before—man alive, it hadn’t crossed his mind to check the back seat in the early morning darkness. Besides, Jerry had had his head spinning.

The balled-up material looked suspiciously like the bedspread from the New Millennium Inn.

He stalked around to the passenger’s side, pulled the door open, and flipped the seat forward. The bedspread moved.

A stowaway. One he knew, undoubtedly.

In one swift movement, he yanked the bedspread up and off.

She was curled up in a ball on the floor, neatly wedged between the back bucket seat and front passenger seat, clutching the missing nightie like it was her last possession.

“Out,” he demanded.
Hell
,
if she doesn’t have balls the size of Vegas.

Sophie angled her head and gave him a bold smile. “Nice ride.”

* * *

“I should have followed through on that restraining order,” Caden murmured. His body was straight and tense, but his lips twisted wryly. “Damn, you are persistent.”

Sophie climbed out of the back of the Aston Martin, feeling the pins and needles in her legs from being crunched up for so long. She saw Caden’s gaze shift to the nightgown in her hands and quickly stuffed it inside her pants pocket. She sucked in a breath. “So,” she began nervously, yet her voice sounded smooth and unaffected.

“So?” he responded, in a low, sexy tone. Her toes curled upward at the sound. His gaze raked over her in a bold caress, from her head to her curling toes.
Humph
. Was Caden trying to intimidate her? Or make her feel bad about hitching an uninvited ride?

Sophie decided to soften her approach. “James Bond’s car, right? An Aston Martin.”

His lips lifted for a fraction of a second before he nodded agreeably.
Dang-diggity.
“DB5.”

It seemed he wasn’t going to make this easy on her.

He tossed his luggage back onto the back seat, reminding Sophie about the fate of her own bags.

She hoped Sal had managed to secure her camera bag and large suitcase in the luggage bin underneath the bus. He’d promised to take care of things earlier this morning when they’d discussed her plans—though plan A, hiding on the bus, had been shot to pieces once she’d spotted Jerry prowling around.

Shifting toward the car’s hood, she scooped up her thong and tucked it safely away in her pocket, to keep company with her nightie.

Out of your cotton-pickin’ mind with crazy plan B
, she scolded herself for the hundredth time.

Clearly, she’d been too hung over when making this rash, by-the-seat-of-her-pants decision. Without considering the massive consequences, most notably six foot three of lean, muscled welterweight. A man with eight-pack abs, who now stood before her looking bemused, pissed off and indecisive, all at the same time. Eyeballing her like a schoolmarm he’d caught being naughty. It made her want to show him just how naughty she could be.

Jeez.
What she needed was a cold blast of water on her face.

She straightened her blouse. What did Caden expect, after all? It wasn’t like she had a choice. Staying behind was out. Her three attempts at boarding the bus without Jerry knowing had failed. She’d had a fleeting window of opportunity to climb into the Aston Martin and become invisible—between the time Caden silently dropped Jerry off and headed into the hotel, and seconds later, when he’d returned. She’d hoped to high heaven he wouldn’t spot her. For once, luck had been in her favor.

Raising her chin, she looked back at Caden. Her luck had run out.
Or possibly not
, she thought, as he ran a thumb along his jaw, deeply contemplating his options, or so it seemed. She worked her fingers through her hair, as much to loosen the messy knots as to loosen him up further with a classic feminine move. Perhaps he wouldn’t be all that opposed to some company.

Sophie pressed on, wanting to make light of the situation. Take advantage of the sudden change in him. “Loved how James Bond and the Queen jumped out of that plane during the Olympics. Talk about a great PR campaign.”

“Listen, I’m gonna get a cup of coffee. This isn’t the safest of neighborhoods, so this is what I’m going to do. I’ll take you as far as the Park-n-Ride at top of the I-70 on-ramp, then you’re on your own. Catch a bus back to wherever the hell you came from. Man, I’d love to see the look on Jerry’s face when he sees you standing there.”

Sophie snorted and ignored his last comment. “That’s the safer option? Heck, there are more missing person’s reports along interstates—”

“Like hiding in the back of a stranger’s car is safe?”

“You’re hardly a stranger.” Sophie grimaced, thinking how false that statement really was. Drooling over someone’s billboard, following their career in the tabloids, and having a minor altercation with a person—well, a few minor altercations, if the pool and the kiss qualified—hardly fell under the category of “Getting To Know You.” “I know you can hold a tune, but your choice of music stinks. And that you wear briefs like nobody’s business.”

A deep V formed on Caden’s forehead, and Sophie gave herself a mental kick. Mocking the man’s music wasn’t earning her any points here. “You are attempting a comeback and are rumored to be the best welterweight out there. What else do I need to know?”

“I don’t do interviews anymore. No exceptions.”

Ouch.
“Well, you know what they say...”

“She who expects nothing, won’t be disappointed. No exceptions.”

Double ouch.
Darn
,
Caden was quick.
“More like it’s better to expect the unexpected. So maybe over a cup of coffee, you’ll listen to what I have to offer.”

He straightened and the tension in his big body seemed to disappear. He pinned her with his gaze. This hunk positively gleamed with sex appeal. Sophie considered adding an addendum to her offer:
Be mine for a night.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and she wondered if he felt the sizzling energy too. Heck, she’d been about to sexually combust before him. “Watch my luggage. I’ll get the coffee, and then you’re history.”

Sophie stood with her hip on the trunk and watched Caden stalk away, telling herself she needed to keep things in perspective. Though the perspective of his tight body so beautifully wrapped in worn jeans was downright distracting.

What could she possibly offer Caden that would entice him enough to let her ride along, and more importantly, give her a genuine, God’s honest interview? Naughty visions of the nightgown in her pocket came to mind, her in it and Caden on his knees, a smirk on his lips, willing to do whatever she demanded. Except they were back at the New Millennium Inn, not in a Cuppa Joe parking lot. And, let’s face it, Caden wasn’t exactly the submissive type.

Furthermore, although TV host and journalist extraordinaire Sophie Morelle was known for her brazen, no-holds-barred style, the real Sophie would never sell herself short by offering her body for a story. Locking lips, as Caden had so eloquently put it, didn’t count.

Someone made a loud clucking noise, and Sophie turned. A large man in a Cardinals baseball cap and another stout guy with long, brown hair walked up to her. “This your car?”

They stepped a bit too close for her liking, invading her space. But Sophie held her ground. Years ago, she’d learned that fear was something a predator could smell miles away. Fear was hard to shake once it grasped hold of the senses. And Sophie had to inhale deeply as it welled up inside her. “My boyf—fiancé’s car. He’s standing inside by the window. Hi, honey!” She waved at the small, dirty store window.

The bulkier guy snorted. A low, disconcerting sound. Hard to tell if he was buying her story or not.

“When he’s not beating the pulp out of someone, my fiancé likes cruising around in his car.”

“Hear that, Pete? We’ve got a tough guy on our hands.”

Pete cracked his knuckles.

“Pete here packs quite a punch. Would hate to see him finally lose a fight.”

Oh
,
crapola.
“He’ll just be a second...and has the car keys.”

The two men looked at each other, sending an unspoken message that Sophie read clearly.
Trouble
.

She stepped back until her bottom pressed up against the trunk. “You’re not mugging me in a Cuppa Joe parking lot. Heck, there are cameras
everywhere
.”

The tall mugger pulled his cap lower on his forehead while the stout one looked anxiously around the dirt parking lot—one better suited to a truck stop than any sort of retail space.

“Empty your pockets.”

She thought about reaching into her pocket and texting for help, like they did in the movies. Except her Smartphone was buried inside her purse, which was tucked away safely under the passenger seat.

“Look, I don’t have any money.”

Both men looked from the Aston, to her, to her bulging pant pocket, incredulous. “Sugar, you’ve got something stashed away. I can see it.” Pete offered her his palm.

“No.”

“What did she say?”

Sophie straightened, putting her hands on her hips. No way in crapola was she giving up the contents of her pocket. “N.O.”

Pete stepped forward, so close she could smell his breath. The man certainly could use some lessons in oral hygiene. He grabbed her arm and held her still while he jammed his hand inside her pocket. The pink thong fell to the ground as he held up the nightie. His expression was one of utter stupefaction, until it changed. Then, he looked like he’d won a prize at the local fair. “What have we here?” he exclaimed.

“What
have
we here?” Caden repeated, his voice deep, calm and surprisingly unaffected as he took strode up to them. He bent, scooped up her thong and tucked it into his pocket nonchalantly, like he was gathering rocks for his collection. Sophie frowned, then noticed how he wasn’t carrying any coffee.

“Quite the little fiancée you’ve got, buddy. Hot and ready for some action, huh,” Pete mocked, his mouth twisting into an ugly grin. “Sure you can handle her?”

The man was still way too close, close enough for her to give him a quick knee to the crotch. She contemplated whether to escalate the situation or let Caden handle matters. Judging by Caden’s laid-back manner, as if the redneck had asked him if he liked cold beer or big-busted women, she’d better act. Sophie flexed her leg, warming it up for action.

“Uh, Pete. We gotta head out. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Kelly.” The tall man began to walk away. Pete, however, wasn’t biting.

“Nah, man. I’m taking a ride.”

Pete wasn’t looking at the car. Sophie felt an icy chill shoot up her spine, even though the only ride she planned on giving the man was a long trip in an ambulance. How hard did a woman have to knee someone in the groin to warrant major surgery?

“Come on, Pete. That’s Caden freakin’ Kelly.” The mugger with a newfound conscience—or was it perspective?—turned toward Caden. “Honestly, he didn’t mean any harm to your fiancée.”

Stepping several feet back from Sophie, Pete’s full attention swung toward Caden. He stood impassive, with his arms folded across his body like he was waiting on the tide, like the jerk had offered her flowers instead of trouble. His focus wasn’t even on Pete. Instead his attention fixed on her, as if he was assessing her worthiness as his better half, or something.

Sophie contemplated giving Caden a swift kick to wake him up. Was he just going to stand there, without doing or saying anything?

He shook his head.
God
,
was he enjoying this?
“Don’t do it,” he warned. Something more than amusement was in his tone, but before Sophie could put her finger on it, Pete made a serious attitude adjustment, changing from aggressive ass to obsessive ass.

“Hey, man. I’m a huge fan. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble here. I’ll just be going...” He turned quickly on his mud-crusted boots. Sophie moved even quicker, and snatched her expensive nightgown out of his filthy grasp before he trotted off. This garment was not going to join the trail of undies senselessly thrown onto the highway.

Caden’s eyebrows lifted, bemused. “Jesus, one surprise after another with you. Pure trouble,” he remarked, before finally deciding to form a complete sentence. “Good thing I caught your wave, sweetheart,” he murmured sarcastically.

Without waiting for her to respond, he retrieved his luggage from the back seat and popped the trunk. His biceps flexed as hefted his suitcase and carried it to the back of the car.

Muscles that big and on a body that tight should come with a warning sign.
Holy stud alert.
“Didn’t even get my coffee,” he grumbled, unaware of her perusal.

Her mouth went dry.

“Hmph, cat caught your tongue for a change?” He stopped and peered at her more closely. The sun seemed hotter, like it was midday instead of 7:00 a.m. “You might be a nuisance, but nothing was going to happen to you.”

“Damn straight.” Gosh, he had her cursing now. It was well worth it though, when a generous, panty-wetting smile crossed his face.

“That’s what I like about you, Morelle. You’ve got gumption.” Caden turned away.

Sophie couldn’t stop herself from basking in the warmth of his compliment, a feeling akin to her certain reaction if he’d signed on for an exclusive interview. Softening her in a way only a woman can be softened when garnered with hot male attention. And in the afterglow, she soaked up every little bit about him. The way he filled a T-shirt like nobody’s business. The tightness of his buns in those faded jeans. There was so much more to Caden than a pretty face, but boy-oh-boy did his body just do it for her. Like that drool-worthy biceps...

Caden froze, suitcase hoisted midair. His whole attitude changed from laid-back beach bum to scowling fighter. Exactly the reaction she’d been expecting a moment earlier—which is why the change in him caused her breath to catch.

“What the fuck is this doing—?”