And then he'd broken her heart. So if it hadn't been for that pesky gunshot wound in her arm, Margo certainly wouldn't have found herself being held captive–for her own good, of course–in his house, his bed, handcuffed to his gorgeous, naked body.
And her body wouldn't have betrayed her at his heated stare, his electric touch, his very presence. She'd still be hating Ryland Archard, instead of hating herself for wanting him–a man who was still too old for her, a jaded cop who kept a .38 Special in his breadbox…and her heart and future in his hands.
