Tag, You're It! Read Online Free PDF Page B

right, she'd peeked. Once she'd gotten an eyeful of the muscles he'd been hiding under his preppy clothes it had been too tempting not to lift the waistband of his silk boxers and see if the rest him lived up to the advertising.
    Her mouth went dry and her pulse spiked just remembering. Normally she would have felt a little slutty about that, but considering the circumstances she only felt stupid.
    So what if Tag Donovan was movie-star handsome, action star buff, and porn star… Nope, not going there.
    He'd fallen out of a plane, she reminded herself. He'd pointed a gun at her when she'd tried to rescue him, and withheld information that, at the very least, she probably needed to know in order to protect herself. He was too charming, too slick for her taste.
    And yet she was smiling. She would have thunked her head against the wall—several times—but apparently her brains were already scrambled enough. What she'd been through would have turned Pollyanna into a pessimist, but not Alex Scott. No, she still wanted to see the best in people.
    She had a feeling the best of Tag Donovan would be spectacular. As long as a woman didn't believe it was real. Or that it would last.
    There was no chance of that in her case. The only thing she wanted was to see the last of him.
    But suppose he was telling the truth? Suppose her ignorance was for her own protection? She found it hard to buy, but was that cynicism or a gut feeling? Either way it was a possibility she had to consider.
    She needed to find out what he was up to before he left. Her life might depend on it—and yeah, she was curious, too. Who wouldn't wonder why some random guy fell out of a plane after being shot at? Who wouldn't want to know why the shooters had come back and tried to finish the job? And if they'd be looking for her after Donovan was long gone?
    He hadn't told her anything, but that wouldn't matter to them. It mattered to her.
    "I don't like being kept in the dark," she said to Jackass. "And look at what he put you through. Standing out here in the cold without being rubbed down. And after we rescued him. Some people have no sense of gratitude."
    Jackass rolled his eyes and nickered, which could have meant anything from "we're both in the dark"—it being nighttime and horses being literal creatures—to "I'm hungry." She had to admit the latter was more plausible, since he fell on the oats she ladled out like he was starving to death.
    She knew how he felt.
    Her dinner, unfortunately, would have to wait because the minute she opened her front door an arm shot through and dragged her inside by the coat front. Her Winchester was pulled out of her hand and she was shoved, stumbling, into the cabin. Tag Donovan, dressed in his own rumpled and half-damp clothing, his pistol in his waistband, shut the door and stood between her and it.
    "You always talk to your horse?"
    She raised an eyebrow, which was easier than it should have been with a gun in her face and panic spiking through her bloodstream. Then again, the gun wasn't in her face, exactly. It wasn't even aimed at her.
    Tag was actually using it to point at the back wall, the one the cabin shared with the stable. "Don't know what you were saying," he continued, "but I could hear your voice."
    She looked around, saw the beer bottle by the bed, broken. That explained a lot. "I hope that was empty."
    "You didn't leave me much choice. I couldn't get at the knots with my teeth, the way you tucked the ends between my wrists and tied them so tight."
    The interchange—seeing as it didn't contain gunfire— steadied her nerves. "Guess I didn't think of everything," she said, edging to one side as she talked, trying not to be obvious.
    "Don't bother," he said, pointing the gun at the radio. "I disabled it."
    "Which means you don't want to shoot me."
    "True, but I'm not so sure about you. And since the least you'll do is tie me up again, I think I'll hang on to the guns."
    He was between her and the only exit, but