Read Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 for Free Online Page B

this guy? A driving instructor moonlighting as a hit man?
    His brows drew together as he struggled to jam it into the slot, and his eyes met hers. Intensely aware of how close he was, she looked out the window, relieved when he finished buckling her up and slid back to his side of the truck.
    More than a little disturbed by how hot she suddenly was—and who wouldn’t be after what just went down in the woods, right?—she took a perverse amount of pleasure in watching him curse under his breath when it took three times to make the truck’s engine turn over, a task she sensed drained Lucas of any lingering patience.
    She opened her mouth, but a tiny voice warned her not to ask to see a valid driver’s license, considering he was still the one with the gun. Instead, she kept quiet as he popped the gearshift into drive and pulled onto the road.
    Her silence lasted a full five minutes before she tried again to get some information out of Lucas. He continued to ignore her, even when she’d insisted on needing to stop and use a bathroom somewhere, which wasn’t exactly a lie. His only response involved a muttered warning to hold it or end up sitting in it.
    Ten minutes later, Lucas surprised her by turning into a motel parking lot. Long past its prime, the motel’s yellow paint was faded and peeled away in places and the blinking vacancy sign was like something out of a low budget horror film.
    He parked the truck in front of a pair of vending machines, one of which was leaning to the right due to the large dent in its side where someone had probably backed their car into it.
    Lucas shut off the truck, pocketed the keys and faced her. He’d barely opened his mouth to say something and already she knew she wasn’t going to like it.
    “Take off your shirt.”
    Really, really not like it. Max scoffed. “You first.”
    Holding her gaze, he reached behind his neck and tugged his shirt over his head, then down his arms, careful of his shoulder. “Now are you going to take it off, or will I?”
    “As much as I’m sure you’d enjoy that—” she jiggled her wrists to remind him she was handcuffed, “—neither of us will be taking it off while I’m still wearing these.”
    When she didn’t immediately lean forward to give him access to the cuffs—which had absolutely nothing to do with wondering if he bench-pressed Volkswagens to get such sculpted abs—he made a move to help her out.
    “Paws off, bud. Exactly when did I give you the impression I got friendly with every perp who made a pass at me?”
    “Trust me, if I was making a pass, you’d know.”
    It would have been so much easier to blow off the remark if his voice didn’t have the same sexy edge he’d used before her evening had gone to hell.
    Lucas blew out a breath. “I just need to borrow your shirt. I can’t exactly go in and rent a room wearing this.” He fingered his torn and bloody shirt.
    “And how is that my problem?” She had no idea what dragging out the conversation would actually accomplish, but talking seemed to be about the only thing she had any control over at the moment.
    “Max,” he warned, coming remarkably close to the same bordering-on-exasperated tone her father and brothers used whenever she said something to piss them off. Nine times out of ten they deserved it, though.
    “You know, I don’t think pink is your color.”
    His eyes narrowed. “I’ll make do.” He reached for her once more. “If you try anything—”
    “Yeah, yeah, you’ll shoot me. I know.” At least that’s what he said earlier. Considering he’d taken the time to belt her in, he either had no intention of killing her, or he needed her alive.
    Reminding herself that a night at a run-down motel was better than getting any closer to the border, she leaned forward so Lucas could unlock the cuffs and free one hand. Assuming that he wouldn’t care if her wrists were sore, she didn’t waste time rubbing them before yanking her sweater over her head in