Arresting Jeremiah E-Book

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• Herausgeber: Amber Daulton
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When love and duty clash, his every action might be his last.
Injured Parole Officer Jeremiah “Jim” Borden never expected Calista Barlow, the sassy blonde waitress he’s craved for months, to ring his doorbell. She slips into his heart—and his bed—but he’s obsessed with a gangland investigation that threatens his career and maybe even his life.
Calista doesn’t trust easily, not with a daughter to protect and the stalker who keeps calling her. After her violent ex-boyfriend returns, she finds solace in Jim’s arms.
Jim may have to forego his need for answers to protect the ready-made family he adores, but how will he and Calista escape an unseen enemy that is always one step ahead of them?

– Book 2 in the sexy romantic suspense series, Arresting Onyx.
– Please note that Arresting Jeremiah features scenes of gang violence and organized crime, stalking/harassment, domestic assault, and endangerment of a child, which may be uncomfortable for some audiences. No cheating. HEA guaranteed!
– Second Edition. Newly revised and edited.

Available in the Arresting Onyx series
Arresting Mason (Mason and Mia)
Arresting Jeremiah (Jim and Calista)
Ryan’s Temptation (Ryan and Chanel)
Arresting Benjamin (Benji and Belle)
Trevor’s Redemption (Trevor and Shea)
Arresting Alan (Alan and Hannah)

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

SPECIAL OFFERS

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ARRESTING ONYX SERIES BIBLIOGRAPHY

Dedication

Arresting Jeremiah

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Ryan’s Temptation

Chapter One

About the Author

Read More from Amber Daulton

Arresting Jeremiah

Amber Daulton

Arresting Jeremiah © 2025 Amber Daulton

Second Edition

Published by Daulton Publishing

Cover Art by Satin Rose Designs

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

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ARRESTING ONYX

SERIES BIBLIOGRAPHY

Arresting Mason

Arresting Jeremiah

Ryan’s Temptation

Arresting Benjamin

Trevor’s Redemption

Arresting Alan

Arresting Onyx: Box Set Volume 1

Arresting Onyx: Box Set Volume 2

Download from Amber’s store and get a discount!

ALSO CONNECTED

Lozano Cartel series

Dark Hearts Aflame

Lost in His Spiderwebs

Corrupting His Wife

Dedication

To Nikolai:

You were such a wonderful, sweet cat, and though your life was cut short, you will live on in this story as the inspiration for the character Niko. Though I had to cut some of his scenes (my memories of you) for better pacing, I will never forget your crazy antics and expressive golden eyes. I love you, my little red man. May you rest in peace.

To my husband, Gregory:

You’ve always enjoyed my stories and supported me when I’m feeling down. Even though Jim isn’t one of your favorite characters, thank you for giving his book a chance.

Arresting Jeremiah

When love and duty clash, his every action might be his last.

Injured Parole Officer Jeremiah “Jim” Borden never expected Calista Barlow, the sassy blonde waitress he’s craved for months, to ring his doorbell. She slips into his heart—and his bed—but he’s obsessed with a gangland investigation that threatens his career and maybe even his life.

Calista doesn’t trust easily, not with a daughter to protect and the stalker who keeps calling her. After her violent ex-boyfriend returns, she finds solace in Jim’s arms.

Jim may have to forego his need for answers to protect the ready-made family he adores, but how will he and Calista escape an unseen enemy that is always one step ahead of them?

Prologue

“Aren’t we as good as dead?” Parole Officer Jeremiah “Jim” Borden lowered his gun and tucked his broken arm to his chest. Nausea washed through him in a tidal wave of pain. Blinking hard to keep upright, he bit back a moan.

How were they going to get out of this hellhole of a factory? Bristol Rieger and his thugs were never going to let Jim, his sister, and her boyfriend escape. They knew the drug lord’s identity—an identity far different from his family’s upstanding reputation.

“I understand your skepticism, Mr. Borden.” Rieger stroked his goatee, sliding his ice-cold gaze over Jim’s bruised face and grimy clothes. “To the outside world, I’m a charming playboy with too many women and cars. I’m wealthy, respectable, but I do break the law on occasion. Usually for speeding.” He smirked. Then his eyes narrowed, his amusement fading. “As Thorn, I’m a notorious criminal who dirties his hands and cleans up unexpected messes. He’s someone you don’t want breathing down your neck.”

Sweat trickled down Jim’s back, prickling his skin. God, the man’s a jackass. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. Thorn controls the drug flow in Denver, Aurora, and other areas.”

“That’s right. My mood is the deciding factor in a situation like this. All I have to do is snap my fingers, and all of you are dead.”

Jim straightened so fast his lower back muscles pulled. Another wave of pain scorched him. Fucking perfect. They were screwed. He glanced at his sister, Mia, and then at ex-gang member Mason Harding—Jim’s parolee and Mia’s guy.

Mason coughed, drawing Rieger’s attention, and stepped forward. “I did you two favors, sir, so you claimed to be in my debt. I officially call in the markers. I want you to spare Mia’s and Jim’s lives. Two lives for two debts.”

Jim flinched. “No fucking way. I won’t let you do that.” He glared at the back of Mason’s head as the man’s neck flushed red.

“Mason.” Mia grabbed her man’s arm, but he didn’t turn. Her breathy voice sharpened. “Are you crazy? Don’t do this.”

“You would choose her brother over yourself?” Rieger pursed his lips.

“Yeah, I would. No hesitation.”

Shock seized Jim’s chest. He and Mason were always butting heads, but they’d fought together to escape the kidnappers who’d brought them to the disreputable building, only to have the drug lord stop them from fleeing. If they survived, would his truce with the parolee last?

“I must demand stipulations if I accept the deal.” Rieger clasped his hands behind his back. “My men disobeyed and will face punishment. You and your friends are victims of their stupidity. If I can trust you to keep silent, I’ll let the three of you live.”

“We can be trusted, sir.”

“I believe you can, Mr. Harding. I’m not sure about the others.” Rieger’s gaze snapped to Mia and Jim, and back to Mason. “Very well. Keep your mouth shut about everything that happened here. If you tell anyone about my identity, I’ll slit your throats and drop your bodies in a ditch. I have more than enough connections to bury all rumors about my Onyx involvement.”

Jim shifted his feet. His heart slammed. Oh, God. They were going to live.

“In return for your cooperation, I’ll compensate each of you for your pain and distress. A physician on my payroll will tend to your injuries once you leave here.” Rieger leveled his no-nonsense stare at Jim. “No paperwork. No parole violations. Consider our peace treaty voided if I find any such documentation, and I will check.”

Jim snorted. As if he could file any paperwork against Mason without having to explain the dirty truth of his own actions. If he admitted to killing a crooked cop to save his sister, he’d find himself behind bars faster than he could blink.

The drug lord offered Mason his hand. “I will hold you accountable if you or your friends speak of this incident to anyone. I guarantee you will not like my methods.”

Mason shook hands. “You have my word. I can’t thank you enough.”

Jim grunted. Hell had frozen over. His rebellious parolee kowtowed to an authority figure, and it had to be a criminal. Damn.

They were alive. He should sing or shout, but the icy pit in his stomach doubled. Despite the drug lord’s mercy, their paths would likely cross again.

He hadn’t seen the last of Bristol Rieger.

Chapter One

Two Weeks Later

Jim ducked and dashed among the bushes and trees as he neared his problem parolee’s small house in a poorer section of Denver, Colorado. Judging by the racket coming from inside the ramshackle dwelling, his parolee was either in trouble or creating it himself. No doubt for a minute that it was the latter. Pesci had been a problem from the word go.

The porch step creaked as Jim climbed, and he flattened his back against the siding. “Pesci? You there?” he called out and banged on the front door. Someone screamed from within the house, the guttural sound racing a chill down his spine. “Aw, shit.” He snatched his civilian-registered .22 caliber gun from its holster and slammed open the unlocked door. Air sliced through his lungs, adrenaline kicking in. The cluttered living room with its old-fashioned furniture had a few recent additions—fist-sized holes in the wall.

“Pesci, answer me. It’s Jim Borden. I’m armed, so come out slowly.” He crept down the carpeted hall and quickly checked each room.

Tension hung in the air, so thick and oppressive it nearly clogged his lungs. A loud bang shattered the silence. He inched farther along the wall, his heart pounding like a gavel. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades as he eyed his target. The last door on the left. Goddamn it. He wasn’t a cop. He shouldn’t be dealing with this crap.

After a few more careful steps, he rapped his knuckles on the door. “Stay calm, Pesci. I’m coming in.” He fumbled with the doorknob. Damn his cast! The fiberglass prison sheathed his broken left arm from beneath his armpit to his fingers with the sling cradling it to his chest. He tightened his good hand around his weapon as he tried the doorknob again. Finally, the door unlatched and swung open. He crossed the threshold into the main bedroom where the curtains hung in shreds, jagged shards of a shattered mirror glinted on the floor, and several colorful pills lay scattered atop the vanity. Muggy air slicked his skin.

Floyd Pesci sat on the floor in the middle of the destruction, hugging his knees and clutching a gun with one hand. He rocked back and forth, mumbling incomprehensible words.

“What’s going on? Where are Jodie and the kids?” Jim aimed his gun at the floor.

Pesci squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling. Tears leaked down his pale cheeks. “G-gone. Jodie left me. Took the kids.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He tunneled his hand through his dark hair. “Ten years together, and she said she couldn’t take it anymore. That fucking bitch. It’s not my fault.”

“Drop the gun, Pesci. Slide it to me. Don’t make this worse.” The stench of body odor and piss turned his stomach. Pesci’s sausage fingers whitened around the gun, and Jim stiffened. “You begged me to come here. You said you needed help. I told you to call my supervisor, or 911, but you refused. Do you remember that? It was only an hour ago.” He licked his lips as Pesci nodded. “I’m on suspension for two weeks. As of now, I’m not legally your parole officer, so I shouldn’t be here. Did you get the message I left on your cell phone yesterday?”

Again, Pesci nodded. “What should I do? I’m so angry. I want to hurt someone.”

“But you haven’t. Not yet. You called me for help. That means, on some level, you trust me. Drop the gun. You’re not supposed to have firearms.” He nodded toward the pills on the vanity. “What is that? Speed?”

“Jodie left me. Without her, I have nothing. Nothing!” His words bounced off the walls like hail during a storm.

“That’s not true. You have a job. You haven’t contacted anyone from your old crew since you’ve been on parole. That’s something to be proud of.” He flicked his gaze back to the drugs. “Well, I could be wrong. Where did you get the contraband? From Capularia?”

Even though the former gang member had been doing okay for the past year, he punched a coworker in a drunken fit a few months prior. So much for being lenient and having the guy attend AA meetings. Jim should’ve trusted his damn instincts.

“Explain the situation to me, Pesci. From how it looks, you’re going back to prison.”

“It’s your fault. You gave Jodie those stupid pamphlets. You warped her mind.” The haze in his dilated, bloodshot eyes faded. He scrambled to his feet. The gun wobbled in his grip.

Jim stepped back, lifting his weapon a few inches. His muscles tensed. “Stay calm. Think about your actions.”

Pesci smacked his lips. “You wanna help? Call my wife. Tell her to come back. She’ll listen to ya. Jodie says you’re a nice guy, and I’m nothin’ but a damn bum.”

Hell, no. He’d rather eat glass than ask the woman to come back. In situations like this, the innocents always paid the price.

Thank God he wasn’t an innocent. His mouth dried. He bit his tongue, squeezing out a few drops of moisture. Goosebumps raked his skin.

Pesci stomped forward, his heavy boots pounding hard. Then he groaned and stumbled sideways. His eyelids fluttered. He pointed his weapon at the floor and rubbed his head.

“If you’re doing or selling drugs, and keeping a gun, she had a good reason to leave. Jodie and the kids deserve better.”

“Fuck that. They’re my family, not yours.”

Damn it. Why bother? Pesci was so high he wouldn’t listen. Jim scoffed. Of all the times to get suspended. He couldn’t arrest the prick for this bullshit. If only he’d called the police before he stepped foot inside the residence. “Tell me about the pills. Are you dealing again?”

The spaced-out loser blinked, his head swaying. “That’s why Jodie flipped out. She found the drugs. I told her my job pays crap. We got bills on top of bills.” He spat yellow mucus on the floor. “Yeah, I’m slinging trash for Capularia again. My old set welcomed me back with open arms. When I told Jodie, the bitch slapped me. I fuckin’ lost it. I smacked her back. A woman should respect her man.”

“You shouldn’t have hit her.”

“She deserved it. She should know by now not to run her damn mouth.”

“It’s about time you admit it.” Jim shrugged, feigning nonchalance as Pesci sneered. “I’ve seen the bruises on Jodie’s face. She always blamed the marks on clumsy accidents. Who’s she fooling? I should’ve taken her to a women’s shelter, instead of giving her those pamphlets, but she refused to go. Refused to admit anything was wrong.”

What was it with women thinking they could survive toxic relationships? If a man hit them, why stay and try to change him? They should get the hell out.

He tsked. Of course, not every woman had the option of leaving. Some were too scared or had no one to call for help. At least Jodie got out.

Pesci swung the gun toward him. “You planned this, didn’t ya? I’ve seen the way you look at my wife. You fucking her?”

Jim growled. He’d looked at Jodie in pity, not with lust. Hell, they were both screwed. He couldn’t have the woman he wanted either. Calista was too good for him. Focus. Not the time to think about the sexy waitress. He stared at the weapon, then at the parolee. “Easy, now. I’m not threatening you with my gun. Show me the same courtesy. We’re talking. Everything is fine.”

“Fine? Fine!” Pesci fired the gun, the bullet slamming into the wall three feet from Jim.

Jim darted through the open doorway, stalking backward down the hall. “Don’t do this, Pesci. You’re digging your hole deeper.”

“Get back here. Fight me like a man!” The irrational dealer raced after him.

Gunfire blasted. Jim dropped to one knee, the bullet striking something behind him. He fired back, aiming at the ceiling.

Powdery-white dust rained from the tile, and a cracked piece fell on Pesci’s head. “Shit.” The other man lost his footing, hit the wall, and swiped his hand across his flushed face.

Jim leveled his firearm at Pesci. “Enough. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Anger flared in Pesci’s eyes. Then he dropped his gaze, his shoulders deflating. He threw the gun down the hall, away from both of them.

Jim bit his tongue. He’d give anything to use his left arm. Though if he could lift his shoulder the right way, the fiberglass would work great as a weapon.

After holstering his semi-automatic, he pulled a pair of plastic zip handcuffs from his blazer pocket. How he would get them on the man was anyone’s guess. “Turn around. Place your hands on your head. I’m gonna pat you down.”

Pesci obeyed and braced his forehead on the wall. His thick jowl and neck quivered as he breathed.

Jim stepped up behind him, and the dealer hauled back, slamming his elbow in Jim’s ribs. “Aargh!” Jim doubled over, dropping the cuffs, as the man barreled down the hall. What the fuck? Air rushed from his mouth, his lungs straining. Pain sliced through his side. Should’ve known the loser would try something.

Pesci snatched his gun off the floor and hurried back into the master bedroom. The door slammed shut.

Jim fisted his gun again and pushed open the door. He jerked back, awaiting gunfire. Silence rang. He dared a glance into the room, then rushed back in. Empty. A light breeze wafted from an open window. He popped his head through the opening.

The overgrown, fenced-in backyard prevented escape, but the swinging, clanking side gate led to the road. An engine revved. Squealing tires peeled off into the twilight.

“Damn it.” He drew back inside the room, holstered his weapon, and snatched the phone from his blazer’s inner pocket. After calling the police, he stomped outside to wait on the porch.

This was a mess. If gangbangers weren’t trying to snuff him, his damn parolees were. Despite drug lord Bristol Rieger letting him go after their intense run-in, Jim’s life had been falling down quicker than a snowstorm in hell.

He rubbed his stiff neck. Pesci had almost stolen Jim’s new chance at life. He was like a cat. How many lives did he have left? He plopped into a rusty metal chair and leaned back. Crickets chirped, easing his tension. He dialed his chief supervisor, Duane Hamlin.

The man’s smug voice pierced the line. “What’s going on, Borden? You gonna beg me to reinstate you already? Shit, it’s only your first day on suspension. Suck it up.”

“Yeah, well. I wish I wasn’t working today. I got a situation, and it’s not pretty.”

Chapter Two

“C’mon. Answer the door.” Calista Barlow jabbed the doorbell again. The mellow chime rang out inside the modest one-story house, muffled yet insistent. A breeze carried the heady perfume of blooming hydrangeas along the porch, sweet enough to wrap her in a warm cocoon. July heat pressed against her skin even under the shade of the awning. Sweat beaded on her temples as her nerves twitched like loose wires.

She shouldn’t be here.

A dog barked in the distance, and she jumped, her pulse leaping.

Forget it. Bad idea. She backed away as the door flew open.

“What the hell do you want?”

She stiffened as Jim’s harsh words slapped her in the face.

Jim scowled as he gripped the doorframe. Then his eyes widened like fathomless pits. His mouth fell open. The rigid lines tightening his face disappeared.

Calista’s breath hitched at the sight of his battered torso—bare, glistening from sweat, and streaked with greenish-yellow bruises that sprawled across his chest and right arm. Her gaze snagged on a fresh mark near his lower rib cage, angry and purple like it had bloomed overnight. His left arm was trapped in a sling, a white cast wrapped from his biceps to his wrist. Her gaze followed the dark curls at his chest that spiraled toward his navel and dipped beneath his jeans.

His raw masculinity paralyzed her, his battered body only adding to the appeal—like he’d walked out of some survivalist pinup calendar. He wasn’t much older than her own twenty-eight years. She itched to reach out and trace the outline of the worst bruise, to kiss it better. Not that she would. That was fantasy-land stuff.

“Calista? What are you doing here? Sorry for snapping, but I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

She met his gaze. Air stuttered through her lungs, her knees weakening. Where was her control? She touched her chin, checking for drool. Men never affected her like this, so her palpitating heart and sweaty palms scared her a bit. Frankly, she didn’t know if she should jump his bones, or turn tail and run for the hills.

She’d spoken to him countless times at Demi’s Diner while she slaved away, but he always came in fully clothed. Now, she eyeballed him like a hungry lady at a buffet and slid her gaze back to his oh-so-tempting abs.

He shifted his bare feet under her blatant observation.

Dear God, she was ogling the man. He wasn’t a slab of meat. She couldn’t marinate his chest with her tongue. She swiped her fingers through her long blonde hair and looked back up.

A sexy smirk stretched across his whiskered cheeks.

She gulped and held out a large casserole dish. “For you. It’s tuna.”

He raised his eyebrow, glancing at the foil-wrapped glass dish.

Okay, time to find a rock and hide under it. She planted her feet on the porch instead. “I heard you fell and broke your arm. You aren’t married, so I figured you live alone. Would you like a home-cooked meal? I haven’t seen you at the diner for a few weeks, so I wanted to check on you.”

“Check on me? You do this with all your customers?”

“No way. You couldn’t pay me enough to cook for some of those people, let alone deliver it to their home.” Her cheeks heated. As an underpaid and unappreciated waitress, she wouldn’t go beyond the call of duty without good reason. “I rang the doorbell several times, which should’ve been a big clue that you were busy or sleeping. Anyway, I’ll go.” She bit her cheek, stopping her incessant babbling, and handed him the dish.

Instead of taking it, Jim hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket. “How do you know where I live?”

“That’s not important.” Of course, he’d ask that. If only she had a reasonable answer.

“Unlisted address, Cali. Pretty sure it’s important,” he replied, his voice sharper. He joined her on the porch.

She backed away. He followed her every step and trapped her against the railing. A car honked somewhere behind her. Her pulse leapt to her throat. She fumbled the casserole dish, then tightened her grip on it and lodged it between them.

“You know about my job. I have to keep my personal information confidential.”

She swallowed a moan as Jim stroked a lock of her hair. Yes, please. His chest rose faster as he breathed heavier, and the puffs of warm, minty air leaving his mouth caressed her face.

“Sometimes I worry someone might drive by and riddle the house with bullets. If you could find me, what would stop an angry parolee from doing the same?”

His third degree rushed over her like gravel on silk, but he had a point. Hell, he could read her the riot act. She wouldn’t care as long as he continued toying with her hair.

Before she lost her nerve, she told him the truth. “I followed you one day. You parked in the garage here, so I put two and two together. It’s a nice neighborhood. Quiet and suburban.”

“You stalked me?” The thin crow’s feet near his eyes deepened.

She winced. “No, no, not stalking. Not really. I didn’t plan to follow you.” If he filed a restraining order against her, she would have to hunt for a new job. In this economy? Yikes. “I went to your office a few months ago to ask you something. Sat in my car for almost an hour, but the pep talk did squat. Then you were leaving. I didn’t want to lose my chance, so I followed you. Carpe diem, you know? I stayed several cars back. It just sort of happened.”

His shoulders snapped straight. Tension radiated around him.

Or was that the morning heat creeping in? The hair on her nape prickled. Her stomach sank like a ship running aground in shallow water. She was going to lose her job and the man she’d been dreaming about for the past year. Could her day get any worse?

“I’m sorry, Jeremiah. You’re right. I stalked you, but I’m not crazy. I’m acting crazy right now—I’m sane enough to realize that—but I’m usually a calm, normal person. I never should’ve let my curiosity take over that day. If I were you, I’d feel wronged and violated. Privacy is important.”

“Calista, I—”

“Oh, God. Why do I ramble?” She slapped her forehead. “I know why I ramble. I’m a nervous wreck, but that doesn’t matter. I messed up. I’m sorry, I—”

He clasped her cheek, his palm rough and calloused, cutting off her rapid speech.

“It’s okay. I’m flattered—shocked, too—but mostly flattered. Want to come in?”

Tears pricked her eyes. Some carefree, confident woman she turned out to be. More often than not, she obsessed and analyzed everything before making a choice. Even with Jim. At least, most of the time. That morning, she’d acted on impulse and now blamed her period, along with her irrational need to make sure he was all right. After receiving several dirty phone calls from some depraved stranger, she cared more about finding solace in Jim’s arms than keeping her distance from him.

Pressure pounded behind her eyes. How much longer could she handle those damn calls? If the pervert panted in her ear again, she might scream.

“Relax, Cali. You look like you’re about to have a stroke. You’re redder than a tomato.” Jim laughed, the corners of his mouth crinkling. He traced the line of her jaw. “Though I do love tomatoes. Are you sweet and juicy, ripe and ready to be plucked?”

His dark-brown irises twinkled, or maybe that was the sunlight.

She was more than ready. Her feminine core quivered.

For months, they’d flirted and bantered, but never made a move. Now, temptation smacked her stupid and tied up her nerves.

She tilted her face away from his hand. “I should go. Please take the food. I’m about to keel over with embarrassment or have that stroke, and I don’t need an audience.”

“I would, but I can’t. Too injured.” He patted his cast. “Come in. Stay a while.”

Poor baby. Of course, he could hold it with his good arm, but she let the fib slide. All right. What to do? Ditch the casserole on the porch and run?

“Take the dish to the kitchen. We’ll talk.” Jim turned, reached the doorway in two long strides, and held open the door.

His hot, seductive gaze lingered on her breasts and then swept to her face. A cocky grin spread to his cheeks.

With a deep breath, she pushed away from the railing and entered the house.

****

Jim closed the door, his sudden good fortune a godsend. Before Calista rang the doorbell, he’d been tossing and turning in bed, shivering in a cold sweat and reliving the same nightmare that had plagued him for the past two weeks. At least he had the sixth sense to pop a few breath mints in his mouth before opening the door, despite his irritation at having a visitor.

Calista’s blue-eyed gaze bounced around the living room. Her pink, button-down work blouse hugged her breasts and shaped the slope of her spine. Her khaki skirt swished a few inches above her knees. Jaw-dropping strappy heels belonged on her mile-high legs, but a pair of worn, white sneakers and tube socks sheathed her feet instead.

“Everything is so clean and organized. I’m surprised you don’t live in a messy, cramped apartment somewhere.”

“I grew up here. After my parents died, I inherited the property and donated most of their stuff to halfway houses and women’s shelters. The few things I kept are now in storage. I do miss my bachelor-pad apartment, but why sell a perfectly good house?” Unfortunately, he slept in his childhood room since he couldn’t stomach taking over the now-empty master suite.

Her eyes tightened, likely in sympathy for him and his family. “Well, I like your place.”

He snorted. “Thanks, but you can say the truth. It’s sterile and boring.” Not a single picture or scrap of art hung on the beige-painted walls. Until that moment, he hadn’t cared. Thank God he’d closed the bi-fold doors leading to his office. It was a mess in there.

“Maybe it just needs a woman’s touch.” Her cheeks pinked, and she turned away.

Hell, yeah. She should move in and renovate. Change whatever she wanted. Time to show her the bedroom. Let her test out the bed.

Nah, that was moving too fast. If he’d learned anything in his thirty years of life, pushing a woman too hard was the best way to drive her off.

“Hello, there. Aren’t you a cutie?” She cooed to the orange cat lounging on the love seat.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds over the large window, highlighting the golden strands in Niko’s short, thick fur. His unblinking yellow eyes dilated. He flopped over and showed his belly while his loud motor rumbled from his stocky body.

“Oh my goodness. Look at you.” After she set the dish on the glass-top coffee table, she bent over and petted the furball.

Her fine ass rose in the air, tempting Jim to grab it. He bit his lip, silencing a moan. Damn. He wanted a belly rub too. “Careful, now. Niko is a ladies’ man. Even though he’s neutered, all the she-cats on the block love when he comes around.”

She laughed. “I believe it.”

The cat nibbled on her hand before he jumped to the table and sniffed the covered dish.

Calista picked up the casserole. “Like most cats, he’s also a tuna lover.”

“We better put that away. Niko will find a way to get it. That boy is sneaky. Follow me.”

He ignored the hallway that branched deeper into the house and led her past the matching striped sofa and love seat. Cool air circulated and prickled his skin. The large TV in the entertainment center caught their reflection, highlighting the smile on her face. Beautiful, his goddess. Blonde, kind, and bright like the summer sun.

Hell. Now he was spouting poetry. He reached the open doorway across the carpeted living room and turned to face her. Her gaze jolted up to his.

Naughty minx. She’d been staring at his ass. A shiver of desire snaked down his spine.

Crimson infused her face.

Shirt. Where was his fucking shirt? He licked his dry lips, fighting the urge to hurry into his bedroom. He was tempting fate. How could he stay half naked in front of her and not strip down to nothing? If he left her alone, she might flee.

He leaned on the doorframe. “What are your plans today?”

“Work starts at nine, ends at three. After that, nothing much.” She placed the dish on the kitchen counter and straightened her blouse, grimacing at her uniform. “Lacey meets with a tutor after school. She’s on the year-round program at the elementary school, which fits better with my work schedule than the traditional school year program. Anyway, we’ll go home, and I’ll make dinner.”

“So you’re having a short day today.”

Her brow arched. “How do you know that?”

“You usually go in at eight and leave around three.” He coughed behind his fist as her eyes widened. “I—um—I never followed you home, but I know your work schedule. I only go in when you’re there.” The greasy joint ranked low on his list of great restaurants, but this woman made a heart attack worth it.

Laughter burst from her. Her hands fluttered over her lips.

“What is it?”

“We both have stalker tendencies. Isn’t that hilarious?”

A damn riot. He swiped his sweaty palm on his jeans. “I’ve wanted to ask you out on a date for a while, but I couldn’t do it.” He pushed away from the doorframe and paused a few feet from her. He tunneled his hand through his short, uncombed hair.

“Why not?”

Though he craved her, he couldn’t have her. His life was too crazy, his job too dangerous.

He took pride in his job, or at least he used to, and traveled across Denver and the tri-county area to visit his parolees, despite the mediocre pay. He often showed leniency to his less-dangerous parolees but kept a close eye on the sex offenders, murderers, and former gang members in his charge.

He backed away to the other side of the island and pressed his hand to the cold stainless-steel stove. Frustration choked him. Fuck, he’d made a mistake with Floyd Pesci.

After he gave a detective his statement the previous evening, the man issued a warrant for Pesci’s arrest. Hamlin was furious at Jim for dealing with Pesci while on suspension, but Jim still wrote up an incident and violation report, then emailed it to his supervisor.

“My job isn’t safe, Cali. I want the best for you and your daughter, but I deal with assholes every day. I refuse to expose you to them.”

Other than a drunken one-night stand with a friend six months earlier, he’d spent the past year with only his hand for company. After meeting Calista, he didn’t want anyone but her.

“You meet some parolees at the diner, though, for meetings and evaluations.” She glanced down as she dragged her foot along the tile grout. “There are seven men.”

“Yeah, I do. Six of those guys have learned from their mistakes, and I would trust them around my girlfriend, if I had one. The seventh guy, well, I’m having trouble with him.”

“I understand but don’t care. Ask me out.” She met his gaze and cocked her hip.

A smile tugged at his lips. She was gorgeous when riled. Which did he prefer more—her bashfulness or ballsiness? Damned if he knew.

“No. I’ll ask you.” She folded her arms. “That’s what I wanted to do all those months ago when I called every parole office in the city to find out where you worked. I just lost the nerve after I drove to your building.”

He straightened his back and puffed out his chest. Her rushed explanation added further detail to her stalking incident. He made the woman as crazy as she made him. She wanted him as badly as he did her. They were a pair, all right.

Her chest heaved, and her breathing quickened. “Would you like to have dinner with me? Friday night, perhaps?”

Jim’s heart leapt to his throat. His father’s no-nonsense words rumbled through his mind. “Stop worrying about the ‘worst-case scenario.’ Live your life, son. You only get one.”

His father had served as a parole officer, then as a police sergeant, even though he’d married and started a family. Everything had worked out great for the man, family-wise, but times had changed. Criminals were tougher, smarter. Miracles of love and a safe home life never happened twice in a row.

Not as far as Jim knew. He shouldn’t risk his heart or Calista’s life. But his desire for her burned like an obsession. He could sleep with her, but never offer anything more than sex.

“Friday? I don’t know. It’s kinda short notice.”

Her sultry smile fell. The sparkle of light in her eyes vanished. She ducked her face behind her veil of golden hair.

“Calista?” He approached her with swift, steady steps and lifted her chin with his index finger. Her shy gaze met his. He opened his mouth. No words emerged.

Fuck. She wasn’t a booty call. She deserved respect and would get it from him. “I’m sorry. Bad joke. Friday works for me.” He palmed her hip and kissed her with a gentle, coaxing pluck of his lips. Her moan vibrated down his throat. Her soft body pressed like heaven against his much harder one. Every nerve ending thrummed just beneath his skin.

She flattened her hands on his pecs as though to stop him, but then she wove her fingers through his chest hair. She grazed a bruise, but the fire in her touch soothed the sting.

“Jump up.” He pushed the casserole dish farther down the bluish-green countertop. If only he could lift her himself. Once she climbed up and gripped his shoulders, he claimed the space between her legs and pushed her skirt up her thighs. He swallowed the puff of air escaping her mouth, then closed his eyes and nibbled on her bottom lip. Her floral-perfume scent sparked fire in his blood. Their lips moved in sync. He nipped at her chin, trailed kisses down her throat, and suckled the smooth dip of her neck. His heart pounded against his rib cage. Would it break through bone and sinew and fall at her feet?

She pushed at his chest and shook her head. When he stepped back, she closed her legs and smoothed down her skirt. A hickey splotched her neck.

She licked her slightly swollen lips, her chest shuddering.

“You’re an amazing woman. I didn’t mean to take things too far.” A groan escaped him as she teased her short fingernails across his chest. His cock throbbed against his zipper. No, damn it. They couldn’t do this now, as much as he wanted to. Treat her right. Dinner first.

When had he turned into a pussy? Did he really want to wine and dine her before he screwed her brains out? Damn right, he did. His dream girl deserved it.

He clasped her roaming hand and kissed her knuckles. His throat tightened, roughening his words. “Believe it or not, I’m usually a gentleman. I don’t make a habit of accosting women on countertops.”

“I’m a lady most of the time, but it’s all right to misbehave now and then.”

A sexy shade of fuchsia consumed her face and neck. Tempted to drag her to his room—or the floor would do—he grasped her arm and helped her down from the counter. His libido had to wait.

“I should go. I can’t be late for work.” She straightened her skirt again.

He pushed her back against the cabinets. “Stay. Have breakfast. I’m dying to try your tuna.” Her eyebrows rocketed toward her hairline, and heat seared his cheeks. “I didn’t mean that as an innuendo.”

“It’s all right. I’ve dreamed of taking this attraction between us to the next level.”

“Agreed.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. “I’ll call you about the date. Wherever you want to go, we’ll go.” He freed her from the cabinets, and she stepped away.

A low, rough meow rumbled near Jim’s feet.

Niko crept along the baseboard, wove between Calista’s legs—the innocence all an act—and launched onto the countertop. He clawed the casserole dish. The top layer of aluminum foil ripped off, and he tossed it up like a toy.

“Down, boy.” He grabbed the feline and dropped him gently on the floor.

Niko hissed, his pupils slitted. His fur stood on end. He slunk back into the living room, his ears down, and his tail twitching.

“You weren’t kidding. He’s adorable, the little imp.”

Jim balled up the torn foil, threw it in the nearby trashcan, and stored the dish safely in the fridge. “He’s spoiled rotten.”

“You can lift the dish. Good job.” She clapped.

He flashed a smile. “So I tricked you. Do you regret coming in?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I wish you’d stay.”

“Maybe we can have breakfast later this week? Like Saturday?”

He kissed her again. “It’s a date.”

Chapter Three

“Hello?” Calista answered her cell, then froze. Her breath caught in her throat as heavy, obscene breathing echoed through the line. She gripped her flip phone so tightly her hand ached.

“Calista, fuck.” Lust saturated the stranger’s gravelly voice. He moaned, panting hard. “I need you.”

Panic prickled over her skin like a rash. She’d been screening restricted calls, but after her hectic, dizzying shift, she’d slipped. Just one mistake. And here she was, a target. Again.

“Listen to me, you pervert,” she snapped, forcing strength into her voice. “It’s been three damn weeks of this nonsense. It’s not funny. Stop calling, or I will go to the police.” She ended the call with trembling fingers and shoved the phone deep into her oversized purse as if burying it would quiet the vile voice still echoing in her mind.

“Calm down. You’re all right.” She repeated the words three times before her racing heart slowed. Throat burning, she drew a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled through clenched teeth. Tears stung her eyes. She grabbed her crackly plastic water bottle and downed a long swallow of tepid liquid, trying to ease her queasy stomach.

The wall clock above the sink ticked another minute off her fifteen-minute break. The fridge rattled, vibrating the shelving unit in front of her. She tossed her purse into her designated cubbyhole with more force than intended.

Her whole body ached to destroy something. Preferably that cursed phone.