Reckless Excerpt He put his hand on her arm. A friendly, supportive gesture that had a much-more-than-friendly effect on her insides. "How are you? Still shook up" Shook up? That was putting it lightly. She was operating on almost no sleep, had practically drowned in the middle of the road, had missed killing a dog by mere inches, and ended up splattered with mud and street grime. Then, to top it all off, her knight in shining armor turned out to be none other than the man she'd come all this way to seduce and reduce to a crumpled pile of male ego. The same man who was standing before her looking, well, yummy. And she looked like she'd failed Intro to Hygiene. "Miss?" She stepped back, silently urging him to let go of her arm. "I'm fine. Fine. Really." His gaze raked over her. "Well, you do look mighty fine." A wry smile tugged at her mouth as she glanced down at the shapeless, puke green scrubs he'd given her to change into. "Just keeping up with the Paris fashions. I'd hate to be caught in the wrong outfit." "I'm betting the wrong outfit would look just right on you. For that matter, it would probably look even better off you." Oh, Lord, she could actually feel herself blushing. Where the hell had that come from? The whole night was not going how she'd expected. Somehow Carl had managed to grab the upper hand in their little game. Unacceptable. Rachel Dean did not lose sex games. Certainly not to a man who wasn't even in her league. Straightening her shoulders, she flashed him her sophisticated city girl smile, the one that never failed to catch the men. "Are you flirting, Doctor? Or offering?" "Well, now, I guess that depends." "On what?" His smile just about stopped her heart. "On which answer will keep you around longer." Oh, my. She took a shaky breath. With what seemed like very little effort, he'd turned her insides to mush. And mush was not the proper frame of mind for her plan of attack. She needed to get her head back on straight. To be the one in control. The script in her mind cast her as the Seductress and him as the Lowly Luster. Carl was on a completely different page. In his performance, he was the Handsome Stranger, and she was the Cowering Maiden whose heart was thumping wildly. That wouldn't do, and she scrambled for safe territory. "Can I see Thumper now?" Her ploy worked, and in an instant, he transformed from available hunk to concerned vet. "Follow me." The operating room opened up to a kennel, and there was Thumper, zonked out on a mangled blue blanket in a cage that seemed plenty big but broke her heart anyway. Something brushed her leg and Rachel looked down into the single wide eye of an otherwise beautiful Calico cat. "Blinky, meet my mystery guest. Blinky's been here forever, almost eighteen years. She keeps the place running. Does night patrol. Greets visitors. That sort of thing." Rachel leaned down to give Blinky a head-scratch, which, if the way the ancient cat purred was any indication, meant they were now friends for life. "What happened to her eye?" His face hardened. "Owners brought her in one night when she was just a kitten. She got hit by a car. Mangled her legs, destroyed her eye. My dad worked all night to fix her up. He got everything back in working order except for the eye." "What about her owners?" "Didn't want a cat with one eye. So we kept her." He grinned. "She keeps everyone in line." "Tough job, I imagine." "Not me. I'm pretty much housebroken." He flashed a lopsided grin. "You can take me anywhere." Take him? Oh, yeah, she could take him. "Is that an invitation?" "Would you like one?" He'd pitched his voice low, and her knees went weak. Say yes. Say yes and go see what kind of mileage you can get out of that couch in the back. She looked at the floor. "Why don't you let me pet Thumper." Inside her head, New York Rachel was screaming a blue streak worthy of a cab driver during rush hour. In Carl's kennel, the ghost of Belinda Rachel had possessed her body and tied her tongue. Carl opened the cage and she rubbed Thumper's head. The weary dog opened his eyes and blinked, then nuzzled her hand before drifting back off to sleep. Those damn tears threatened again, but this time they were tears of relief. Rachel opened her eyes extra wide, fighting them back. "Thank you so much. I don't ... he couldn't ...." "It's okay," he said, reaching for her. She struggled to keep from jumping at the jolt of electricity that shot through her when he casually stroked her cheek. When she realized he'd brushed away a tear, the floodgates opened and she sobbed, letting him pull her into his arms and hold her tight. With her face buried in his shirt, she sniffed and blustered like an idiot, realizing only after the fact that she'd practically adopted his shirt as a handkerchief. So much for her attempt to be the world's greatest seductress. Another sniffle and she willed the faucet to stop. Carl pushed her gently away and looked down at her. She met his eyes and quirked a smile, hoping he didn't think she was a basket case, and absolutely certain he wasn't going to fall prone at her feet, knocked over by the strength of her sex appeal. "Are you all right?" "Stressed, tired, relieved. Everything. But I'm fine." His lips brushed her eyebrow. Just a quick touch, nothing really. Yet still enough to leave her breathless. Nothing was happening as she'd planned. Control had abandoned her. If there was a sexy, tempting, tantalizing ice-queen seductress anywhere nearby, it sure wasn't Rachel. His eyes beckoned, warm and friendly, but with longing as well. She swallowed. Only hours ago she'd have been thrilled to leave him an empty shell crumpled on the pavement, starved with unrequited love for her. Decked out in a black knit body suit, thigh-high leather boots, and blood red lipstick, she would have just stood there, one foot propped on his stomach in victory, while she casually filed her nails. The best laid plans... Now she wanted his comfort, his touch, and she cursed herself for falling so easily to his charms. She never fell this fast. Never. Hell, she never fell at all. She was always too busy making sure she had the upper hand, making sure the men only saw the Rachel she wanted them to see. In all of ten years, she'd let one man get close, and he'd dumped her. So much for opening her heart to the world. A chill coursed up her spine, and she shivered. Carl closed his arms around her. "Are you cold?" She shook her head. Burning up was more like it. His lips danced over the top of her ear, and the stubble of his beard grazed her temple. Her pulse quickened, and she reminded herself to breathe. "Is someone expecting you?" His voice was hesitant, a whisper. "Do you want me to take you somewhere?" "No," she said, her voice imploring, begging him not to take her anywhere. To just take her. She felt tension melt out of him. "Good," he murmured. "What do you want?" She swept her tongue over her lips, longing to taste him there. There was no question what she wanted—what she needed—right then. Right there. From his eyes, she could tell he wanted her too. Then it hit her. She'd won. Mission accomplished and they hadn't even achieved lift-off. Somehow, despite the soggy clothes and the smeared make-up, she'd maneuvered him exactly where she'd wanted him. Breathless and hard and wanting her so bad it hurt. This was her cue. Tell him her name, remind him of what he'd done and walk out the door. Simple. She took a breath, reminding herself of why she'd come all the way back to Texas. Her mission, remember? The plan was to leave Carl MacLean so desperate he hurt. And to make sure he knew that Belinda Rachel Dean was the one who'd got him that way. Trouble was, right now walking away would punish her as much as him. Every atom in her body glowed like an ember, ready to ignite. And, Lord have mercy, she needed him to stoke that fire. If she walked away in the morning, she'd still prove her point. Maybe even better, right? Then he'd really know what he was missing. And she'd get to have her proverbial cake and eat it, too. Sure. Not a problem. A little voice disagreed, telling her that sleeping with Carl MacLean would be a mistake. A huge, mind-numbing, screw-all-her-plans kind of mistake. Maybe the voice was right. But what the hell. "I want you."