The Perfect Outsider Read Online Free PDF Page A

always extra clothing in the safe house—she never knew who might arrive in an emergency with only the clothes on their back.
    Molly trudged to the kitchen, shoulders set in a sullen slouch. The kid was acting out of fear, thought June as she propped Jesse up on several pillows. Molly was terrified Samuel’s reach would extend into the safe house and June couldn’t blame her.
    “I’m going to get you into some dry clothing, Jesse,” she said calmly, maneuvering his wet denim jacket off his shoulders. “Then I’ll clean those wounds properly and stitch you up.”
    He cleared his throat. “You’re calling me Jesse—why? Is it my name?” His voice was hoarse.
    “That’s what your belt buckle says—probably a clothing brand. But I had to call you something.” June helped him lift his damp T-shirt over his head.
    “Great.” His lips almost curved, then he sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the pillows.
    His torso was sun-browned, as if he made a habit of working outdoors without a shirt. And his large hands were calloused—a man of physical labor, or a rancher perhaps? June didn’t peg this guy as the poolside- or beach-tanning type.
    A thick scar curved down one side of his waist, as if he’d been gored by something. Another scar snaked up the inside of his arm.
    June frowned. A violent life, or a bad accident of some kind?
    But apart from the old scars there were no fresh swellings or lacerations that she could ascertain.
    His chest hair was dark. June’s gaze followed the whorl of hair that ran down his washboard abs and disappeared seductively into his low-slung jeans. She needed to get him out of those wet pants, and the idea suddenly made her think of sex, which was ludicrous. She was a trained paramedic. The human body was part of her job. She never reacted like this.
    Nevertheless, this rugged mountain man was doing it for her, and it made her uneasy.
    She glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply, rhythmically, his bare chest rising and falling. He had a fine scar across his chin, too, and crinkles fanned out from his eyes—smile lines and sad lines. Deep brackets framed his mouth…a beautifully shaped, wide mouth. She couldn’t help noticing. Or imagining what it might feel like to have those lips brush hers.
    She cleared her throat. “I’m going to get you out of your boots and jeans. Is that okay, Jesse?”
    No response. Worry washed softly through her again, and inside her heart compassion blossomed.
    She shook his shoulder. “Jesse?”
    He nodded, eyes still closed.
    “Are you just exhausted, or do you have pain anywhere else?”
    “Tired,” he whispered. “Just…really tired.”
    June removed his boots and wet socks and quickly unbuckled his belt once more. She edged his pants down over his hips and swallowed.
    His thighs were large, all muscle, his legs in stunning shape apart from a massive scar across his left knee—looked as if he’d had some kind of surgery there.
    She covered him with a soft blanket, pointedly ignoring the dark flare of hair between his thighs and trying not to think about how well-endowed he was. She put his wet boots in front of the cast-iron stove and hung his jeans over the back of a chair to dry. Flames glowed in the little stove window, and June realized she was perspiring, pulse racing.
    She ran her hand over her damp hair, feeling edgy, perturbed. She hadn’t wanted sex since she’d lost Matt and had thrown herself wholly into cult and rescue work. And she preferred it that way. It helped her stay focused. She needed every ounce of her focus right now because that dark and rugged stranger lying naked on her bed could represent everything she’d devoted her life to fighting—he could be a cult enforcer, violent and potentially deadly to everyone she was trying to protect in this safe house.
    June returned to his bedside and looked at him. He wore no wedding band, no jewelery, nothing that could