Read Playing with Fire for Free Online

lately?
    Yanking hard, he forced her to lean in. “I’m not asking,” he whispered. “I’m telling. There are two cars parked outside. One belongs to my driver. The other belongs to the Conversion Office. I’ll let you pick which vehicle you get into. You have an hour to decide.”
    “Bullshit,” Fiona said, and let loose a big glob of spit right into his face. Patrick calmly pulled a handkerchief from his interior jacket pocket and dabbed at the bridge of his nose, not even blinking as a drop fell into the corner of his eye. As he put the handkerchief away, he grabbed a file tucked inside his jacket and handed it to Fiona with as much ceremony as a marriage proposal.
    “These are the papers I filed with the CO this afternoon.” He checked his watch. “You’re a very dangerous woman, you know. They were quite interested in what I had to say.”
    Fiona didn’t take the file. “What’s stopping me from getting into my own car and hightailing it out of here?” she said. Her own voice came to her from far away, as though she was speaking from the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.
    Patrick laughed, tossing his head back until she could see every last one of his molars. “Read the file, Fiona. And then let me know how far you think you’ll get.”
    Without another word, he tossed the manila folder across her threshold. He was always crossing her threshold. Crossing the line. That was what Patrick Veller did.
    He took the stairs casually, one at a time, and she couldn’t shoot even a flicker of flame at his receding back. She wanted to, more than anything in the world. But apparently, Patrick had found the one thing that could stop her lustful, fiery sparks before they even began to form.
    Fear.
    Debilitating, ice-cold fear.

Chapter Five
    Forget science. Ian was turning out to be a pretty good stalker.
    From the bench seat of his ‘69 Chevy pickup, he had a good view of Fiona’s apartment complex. He’d already logged the arrival and departure of several residents, and so far, not one had pounded on his window and told him to get his creepy Peeping Tom eyes out of there.
    In his book, that counted as a success.
    Though the more he thought about it, the more it seemed this might be the kind of neighborhood that catered to shady-looking young men with binoculars. His chest ached a little, right in the center, as the meaning of that sunk in. Fiona lived right around the corner from a bar that promised “Nakkid Lady Tuesdays.” Piles of garbage decorated the curb. The years might have been kind to her physically, but she was obviously struggling.
    It wasn’t fair of him to judge. A few maxed out credit cards and an anonymous research grant donor were the only things keeping him from similar conditions.
    A figure approached the front door of the building from inside, and Ian dropped his binoculars as he fumbled to bring them to his eyes. He reached to get them just as a fist crashed into his passenger window.
    Okay. Crashed was an exaggeration. But the knock was loud enough to make him jump, his heart slamming harder than normal when he realized the face peering in was the one he’d been waiting for, red lips and all.
    He rolled down the window a crack. Surprise made him gruff. “Fiona? What the—”
    She signaled for him to unlock the door. Ian reached across to flick up the metal lock stub and lift the handle and watched, helpless, as Fiona slid onto the tan leather seat.
    “Go. Now.” She cast a panicked look around.
    Ian glanced toward the chain-link fence leading to the back of her apartment. The gate was swinging shut, but he didn’t see anything particularly frightening. No dragons. No men in capes.
    “I said go,” Fiona cried. “The longer you sit there, the better his chances of coming after me. Please, Ian. I’m begging you. Get me out of here.”
    A fierce protective instinct kicked in, and Ian’s foot hit the pedal before he was able to fully register what he was doing. That realization