Tempted by His Target Read Online Free PDF

unconscious.
    Brandon appreciated her assistance, but he was too busy to acknowledge her. All of his energy was focused on choking the man underneath him into submission. Blood from his brow dripped into his left eye, blinding him. Finally, Gaucho’s body went slack. Brandon released his grip, exhausted.
    Isabel wore the same expression he’d seen in the alleyway. Fear, horror, guilt.
    Sweating profusely, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and glanced at the man she’d brained. There was no blood, and his chest was moving with shallow breaths.
    “Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked, nibbling a fingertip.
    “I don’t know,” he said, rolling away from the man underneath him. “This one will wake up soon, I guarantee it.”
    Her eyes darted toward the street. “Let’s get out of here before the police come back.”
    Brandon’s brain felt like a scrambled egg. He was dizzy and fatigued, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of his own blood. There was no time to ask questions. Mute, he retrieved his backpack from the vehicle and they left the carport together.
    She had a beat-up motorcycle parked nearby. It wasn’t built for two but Brandon figured it would hold their weight. He mounted the bike first, trying to make room for her. She ended up sitting on him.
    “Do you know how to drive this thing?”
    “Sort of,” she said, starting the engine.
    The situation was surreal, like an out-of-body experience. Brandon might be able to process it in a few hours. For now, he was on autopilot, his head spinning. A minute ago, he’d been participating in a violent fistfight. Now he had a deadly female in his lap.
    “I owe you one,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.
    She glanced around to make sure the road was clear before pressing on the gas. “We’re even.”

Chapter 4
    T he highway from Puerto Escondido to Oaxaca City wasn’t for the faint of heart.
    During the day, the hairpin turns, deep potholes and absent road signs kept even the most experienced drivers on their toes. At night, the journey was extremely dangerous, almost impassable.
    The good news was that they were all alone.
    Isabel went as fast as she dared, watching out for headlights and herd animals, feeling safer with every mile gained. Brandon voiced no complaints but she sensed his discomfort. Every time they went over a hard bump or around a sharp curve, his arm tightened around her waist and his shoulders tensed, as if he was steeling himself from the pain. He’d taken some hard knocks to the head.
    She’d been surprised by the skill and ferocity of his counterattack. He’d shown no hesitation in taking on a much larger man. She still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to break free. One moment he was getting pummeled, the next he was choking his opponent into submission. Isabel had watched the brutish display with a mixture of awe and unease, mesmerized by the corded muscles in his neck.
    Although she’d known he was fast, she’d underestimated his strength. His lean elegance was deceptive. He fought like a professional.
    She shivered at the thought. Even now, after hours on the road, she was aware of the hard thighs beneath her bottom, the locked forearm around her waist and the solid wall of his chest against her back. Well-built surfers were the rule, rather than the exception, but they didn’t typically excel at ultra violence. Her mind raced with questions, and she had to force herself not to squirm on his lap.
    Who the hell was he?
    The noise of the engine and the speed of travel inhibited conversation. By the time the city lights of Oaxaca were visible, it was well past midnight, and Isabel was exhausted. “I’m going to find a hotel,” she said as soon as they exited the highway.
    Brandon made a sound of agreement. His injuries needed attention, and he had to be as tired as she was. If he wanted to take his chances at the airport, or split up, he was welcome to hail a cab from the hotel.
    Finding a place