Chapter 1

A woman thought of just one thing when she looked at a man like Rafael Dawson—and it had nothing to do with firewalls and passwords.

Oh, my. Kerry Sullivan watched him prowl into the baggage claim at Tampa's International Airport with a restless, sexual grace. He looked good enough to eat . . . or at least nibble on for prolonged periods.

Not the most intelligent way to regard the man she had to abduct in the next two minutes.

Grimacing, she tugged down the little black miniskirt Jason had insisted would distract Dawson. Looking at her prey, Kerry feared she would be the one hard-pressed to focus. He was far more devastating than his little black-and-white picture—or his annoyed voice on the phone telling her to seek professional help—had implied. "Nerdy" was the last word she'd use to describe him, not with that wide, sensual mouth and cheekbones that could have been chiseled from a work of art. Damn it, he was supposed to be a techno-geek. Unfortunately for her, she didn't see a pair of thick glasses or a pocket protector anywhere.

Kerry watched as Dawson retrieved his black hanging bag from the serpentine carousel and slung it over one wide shoulder. He gripped his laptop case with his other hand and scanned the signs the chauffeurs around her held up.

Now it's up to me.

The bank hadn't sent a driver. Kerry had invented one for her purposes and made a sign to lure her quarry. All she had to do was raise it—when she found her nerve.

I am woman. I am strong . . . I am way outta my league!

How was she going to coax a major melt-in-your-mouth hottie like Rafe Dawson, especially if he recognized her voice from their previous . . . misunderstandings? Even if he suspected nothing, she doubted he'd give her a first glance, much less a second. And if he knew she had absolutely no experience with men, she would have two chances of interesting him: slim and none. Already, Slim was packing its bags.

A virgin at twenty-three, she felt like a freak.

Even if he did look at her, couldn't place her voice, and fell for her plans, what then?

Her brother Mark and the possible prison term in his future forced her to ignore the vise of self-doubt and fear cramping her stomach. Screw what the FBI and her brother's boss, that tyrant, Mr. Smikins, thought. Mark was innocent. She owed it to him to persuade Dawson to help her prove it. The good news was that she was much more articulate face-to-face than she ever could have been over the phone. The bad news: Rafe was already one pissed-off puppy.

No, she had to put some positive energy into her thoughts. Her plan would enable her to get Dawson's undivided attention. Then he would understand she'd been right about Mark and not press charges. She hoped. Damn, she was breaking something like ten laws here.

Kerry sighed. Her first instinct had been right: This was a stupid, stupid plan.

But Rafael Dawson had refused to listen to her pleadings during any of her calls. Mr. I-Only-Take-Corporate-Clients had blocked her number, too. Since then, the brainstorm fairy hadn't gifted her with a brilliant plan, and time was slipping away. This was it.

In a way, Dawson's abduction was his own fault. If he'd only listened when she called, they could have worked something out! Well, okay . . . a teeny, tiny bit was her fault, too. Being less rattled would have helped, but still . . . His personal assistant screened his calls so thoroughly, Kerry wondered if the woman was a talking Doberman.

The first time he had answered the phone himself, presumably after the rabid canine's departure for the day, had been the most successful. Of course, he'd accepted the job to shore up Standard National Bank's electronic security some weeks prior and had assumed she was a bank representative. Once she'd corrected him . . . well, he'd disconnected the call. The next time she called, he'd barely listened. Her coworker's four-year-old with ADHD stayed tuned in longer. The third time, she'd been smarter. She'd pretended to be calling from another company and asked him if he did any investigative work. He'd covered his list of impressive credentials and client list—FBI and tons of Fortune 500 companies. She had no doubt he could prove her big brother innocent of embezzlement. Dawson definitely played in the big leagues. The price per hour he'd quoted her confirmed it. Kerry had nearly dropped the phone and started crying. Trial attorneys were less compensated. Much less.

She sighed. But the fourth conversation . . . That one had gone really badly. Even now, she could hear his deep growl . . .

Copyright © 2006 by Shelley Bradley