Avenging Angel Read Online Free PDF

know you like chocolate, Miss Lane. Lots of chocolate. Preferably in gold boxes. But this”—he gestured at the rows of candy bars—“will have to do.”
    She did like chocolate, especially chocolate in gold boxes. Austin had kept her in constant supply—a fact Dylan Jones obviously knew. But that he considered her enough to act on that knowledge was what disconcerted her.
    When she didn’t make a move toward the candy, he did it for her, emptying a couple of the boxes into their cart.
    “I’m trying to make this as pleasant as possible,” he muttered, disconcerting her even more. As outlandish as his claim was, she believed him. Nothing in his manner was ingratiating. He didn’t seem to give a damn whether she liked him or not, which ironically made her feel more secure. He wanted her to have the chocolate, simply because she liked chocolate.
    Still, she wasn’t going to let a few candy bars sway her determination. Her last hopes centered on signaling the night clerk for help. As they approached the counter Dylan drew her closer under his arm and nuzzled her neck. She instantly froze.
    “Come on, honey.” His words were definitely slurred, spoken in a sensuous timbre she would have thought impossible of him. His lips grazed her cheek in the same instant his gun grazed her thigh.
    She lurched forward and began emptying their basket onto the counter, pulling stuff out, letting it pile up and fall over into the cigarette and candy displays crowded around the cash register. Chocolate or no, he didn’t have any right to touch her like that.
    The clerk gave them both a big, easy grin, his young face open, friendly, and freckled to match his rust-colored hair.
    “Howdy, folks,” he said, fishing a roll of first-aid tape out of the bubble-gum bowl. “Hope you found everything you wanted. These sandwiches were just brought in this morning, guaranteed fresh.”
    Neither Johanna nor Dylan commented on the sandwiches. Johanna because she had no intention of eating a smashed, day-old, convenience-store sandwich. Dylan because he didn’t care how old or fresh the sandwiches were—he was going to relish every bite.
    “You folks from around here?” the clerk asked, continuing his friendly chatter and ringing up their purchases.
    “No,” Dylan said, pressing against her as he dug in the pocket of his long overcoat. Johanna opened her mouth to speak, to say anything to keep the conversation going, but the clerk didn’t need her help. He was talking again before she made her first sound.
    “The weather’s been pretty darn hot this summer. Hope you folks have some air-conditioning to keep you cool. Where you heading?”
    “To bed,” Dylan said, pulling his hand free of his pocket and sliding three boxes of condoms across the counter.
    The conversation died an ignominious death. The clerk turned a bright shade of red, and his gaze skittered from the boxes to Johanna’s breasts, to her thighs, back to her breasts, and finally to the cash register.
    Johanna’s face was red, too, but not from embarrassment. She hadn’t seen him pick up the little boxes, but it took more than a condom, or even a dozen of them, to embarrass her. She was angry, plain and simple, and as soon as Dylan Jones was through saving her life and stuffing her full of cheap chocolate, she was going to nail his felonious hide to the wall.
    Dylan paid cash for the supplies and nudged her leg with the shotgun. The condoms had done their job of shutting everybody up long enough for the clerk to finish his job, and none too soon. The muscles in his chest and shoulder ached and burned with the weight of the firearm. His head was pounding out a staccato beat of pain. His mouth was too dry to spit, and all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and the floor, preferably in a dead faint. Instead he was acting out a part he was all too familiar with, all too good at—the heavy. He nudged her again when she didn’t move, pressing the barrel of the gun against