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LENGTH: Category Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2006
ISBN 1-58608-982-x
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Lily had no idea when she 'borrowed' the 'old car' that the owner would come with it, but so it was and then, on top of having to run for her life, the possibility that the cops might consider her borrowing as theft, she also had to worry about being arrested for kidnapping.

There was something very comforting about having Jack along, however, and she wasn't at all sorry to have the company … particularly since the man had the most amazing hands and mouth….

Rating: Contains graphic sexual content and adult language.

CARJACKED

By

Liz Craven

© copyright October 2006, Liz Craven

Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright October 2006

ISBN 1-58608-982-x

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

She stole his car.

His morning had started off normal enough. He had risen at the usual hour, gone for his customary five-mile run, taken a quick shower, and headed to Rosemary’s Diner for breakfast. He sat in the same booth he always did, reading the paper while the sun came up. It was the same routine he had followed almost every day since moving back to Ashford.

Ten years of military training, however, had him constantly scanning his surroundings, looking for anything out of place. And boy was she out of place.

He noticed her the instant she got off the bus. Surrounded by migrant workers and aging hippies, she stood out like a nun at a biker bar.

She was dressed casually, but even looking at her from across the street, he could tell that she was the type that was used to having it all together. Her clothes were quality, if somewhat rumpled--something with a label. She clearly did not belong on that bus, and that sparked his interest.

Jack watched her sling a bag over her shoulder and cross to Rosemary’s. She moved regally, with a confident bearing, but he knew how to read people. She was desperate to get indoors. She kept looking around like a small animal that senses danger, but doesn’t know from where and can only hope she isn’t running straight towards it.

He was afforded a quick glimpse of her face as she passed his booth. Both her pretty features and the way she was keeping her head down further intrigued him. She clearly did not want to draw attention to herself. Was she afraid of being recognized or afraid of being remembered?

Unable to resist, Jack walked to the register to get a better look when she paused next to it. He ignored Tess’s knowing grin. He always left cash on the table. Not once in two years had he ever gone to the register. Especially with a full plate still sitting in front of him.

His timing was perfect. The object of his attention stepped to the register a couple of seconds ahead of him. She was carrying a blue ball cap snatched from Rosemary’s small store of consumer goods. It read “Bad Hair Day.” He would have been surprised to see her carrying one of Rosemary’s racier hats, like the one that read, “I’m Not Losing Hair--I’m Getting Head!”

Standing near her, Jack realized that she was smaller than he had first thought. The top of her head only reached his shoulders. She wore her ebony hair twisted into a tight bun, displaying a smooth, vulnerable neck. The long, supple column held him spellbound, and he had to resist the temptation to lean down and taste it.

His gaze drifted down the rest of her body. Her long, lean frame was rounded in all the right places. He imagined that if he were to pull her back against him, she would fit perfectly.

Then she turned towards him, presenting Jack with his first clear look at her face, and he felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. He had been wrong. She wasn’t pretty. She was beautiful.

Her skin was tanned a healthy golden color and her pert little nose had a smattering of freckles. He had never before realized how sexy freckles could be.

She had impossibly high cheekbones. Her eyes were indigo blue, and framed with long, black, spiky lashes. And even without lipstick, her full, pouty lips were tinged pink. Images of what he would like to see her doing with that mouth almost made him groan.

He reigned in his thoughts before his imagination produced a noticeably physical response. Rosemary was grinning cheekily at him from behind the register. For a grandmother of fourteen, she had a saucy vocabulary and a complete lack of tact. She wouldn’t hesitate to draw attention to his response. Hell, she already wasn’t going to let him live this down.

The raven-haired beauty was struggling with the plastic tag hanging off the cap.

“Allow me,” he offered, pulling his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. With Rosemary and Tess unabashedly staring, he felt as awkward as a teenager picking up his first date.

She flashed him a grateful smile and handed him the ball cap. “Thanks.”

He cut through the plastic in quick order and had just slipped the knife back in his pocket, when her expression changed. She caught sight of something--or someone--over his shoulder and her features registered alarm. Before he could turn to see the cause of her distress, the blue-eyed beauty caught his face between her hands and pulled his mouth down onto hers.

His mind registered that she was shielding herself with him, but he didn’t care. Her lips were soft and pliant. Unable to resist the temptation, Jack ran his tongue lightly over her lower lip and then deepened the kiss. She tasted like honey and cinnamon. He stroked his tongue against her with a slow, languorous movement, stoking the fires of desire. She gave a little moan deep in her throat, and he pulled her hard against him. He’d been right. She fit perfectly.

When the kiss ended, Jack followed her gaze and saw the door to the men’s room swinging closed.

Still clasping his face between her hands, his mysterious temptress offered him another smile. “Thanks, again.”

To Jack’s surprise, she then darted across the diner and out the door. It took a moment for his mind to process her bizarre behavior. With his reflexes lagging, she had several seconds head start on him.

Jack reached the door just in time to see her sliding behind the wheel of his 1959 Cadillac convertible. He had gone soft living in Ashford. Its Mayberry-like atmosphere had lulled him into complacency, dulling his survival instincts and common sense.

He’d left his damn keys in the car!

The car started backing out of the parking place, and Jack found himself reacting on instinct. Diving head first, he slid across the back of his car like a runner sliding into base. The passenger-side headrest caught him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him a moment before his head cracked against the dashboard.

The seductive little thief threw the car into first. The shift in momentum slammed his arm against the gearshift. He heard the engine’s soft power hiccup as it went from first to second gear while he finished his graceless entry, crashing onto the floorboard.

He opened his eyes to find himself in the ignoble position of having his legs waving in the air while his upper torso lay wedged under the dashboard. He paused a moment to ensure that his body had stopped bouncing about the car before trying to right himself. Twisting slightly so his cheek rested against the floor mat, he looked up into the incredulous gaze of the driver.

He glared at the woman who had wreaked havoc on his well-ordered life during the fifteen minutes since he had first laid eyes on her. Once he righted himself, he was going to strangle her. Right after he kissed her again.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

“Me?!” She just stole his car and now she had the audacity to ask what he was doing? Christ! He had been minding his own business when she showed up and turned his life into a bad comedy sketch.

“Listen Mister, I really don’t have time for this. You need to get out of the car.”

Jack couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t slowed down as she attempted to eject him from his own car. Righting himself awkwardly, he replied, “Make time.”

“If you don’t get out of the car, you could find yourself in real trouble.”

“How do you figure that?”

She glared at him. “If you must know, the owner of the vehicle is unaware of the fact that I have ... borrowed the car.”

“And you think the owner might object to you borrowing his car without permission.”

“Exactly.”

“Lady, I don’t know where you’re from, but around here when you take something without permission, we call it stealing.”

She gasped so hard she almost choked. “I have never stolen anything in my life.”

Her outrage amused him, but he was careful not to let it show. “Enlighten me. How does taking a car without permission differ from stealing?”

“I told you. I’m borrowing the car, not stealing it.”

“So you intend to return the car?”

“Of course.”

“But only if you get caught.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Are you always this cynical?”

“Usually.”

“For your information, I intend to return this car to its owner with a full tank of gas and an apology for not asking permission.”

“A full tank of gas makes everything okay in your mind?”

“Once the circumstances are explained, I’m sure the owner of the car will understand.”

“What exactly are the circumstances?”

“Personal.”

“Then get personal.”

“Mister, not only are the circumstances personal, but they are dangerous. And the less you know the safer you will be.”

“Are you running from your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Your husband?”

“No.”

“The police?”

She hesitated. “No, but it’s better that I avoid them right now.”

That’s going to be hard to do if the car is reported stolen.”

“I told you--”

“I didn’t say you stole it, I said if it was reported stolen.”

“Assuming that happens, you are going to be arrested with me. And until the whole mess is sorted out, you could be charged as an accessory. And that’s the best case scenario.”

“That won’t happen.”

“How do you know that? Everyone at that diner saw you jump in the car with me. You are definitely going to be charged as an accessory.”

“Lady, I can’t be charged as an accessory to stealing my own car.”

“Your car?”

“My car.” He leaned towards her with a tight little smile. “Which means, I’m not an accessory. I’m a hostage.”