Rocky Mountain Rescue, Elle James [rooftoppers .TXT] 📗

imagined his hands, instead of the water, feathering across her skin, over her breasts and down her torso to the juncture of her thighs. How would she react if she lay naked with him? Would she freak out and run? Or would she lie stiff as a board, dreading his touch, afraid of what would come next? Would she ever react normally again to a man’s touch? Would she ever crave a man’s hands on her body?

Though she felt the urge and the aching need to be touched, she was too afraid to act on it. If she wanted sexual relief, she could pleasure herself, and she proceeded to, letting her hand trail down to that juncture between her thighs to stroke that very special spot over and over again, while thinking about Max and how it would feel to have him do this.

The more she imagined him, the hotter she grew. She stroked herself, increasing the pressure and pace, getting faster and faster, her body tensing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Water rushed over her head and eyes, warm rivulets streaming over her naked skin. When she rocketed over the edge, she let out a little cry.

“Max.”

JoJo rode the wave all the way to the end. When she could breathe normally again and her pulse slowed, she turned the water to cool, barely chilling the fire that the Green Beret soldier had inspired. Her lips quirked up on the corners. What would he think if he knew that she had come while she was thinking of him? Would he be turned on or would he be appalled? Fortunately, he’d never find out.

She dried off, slipped a T-shirt over her head and pulled on panties and a pair of soft shorts. She wondered what it would feel like to be comfortable in your own skin and feel safe enough to sleep in the nude. With a rapist still on the loose and a strange car having sat in the parking lot, she didn’t dare test the theory.

After she brushed her teeth, JoJo walked back to the living room to doublecheck the locks on her door. One last time, she checked through the blinds. Her breath caught. The dark sedan was back in the same spot.

For a long moment, JoJo stared down at the vehicle, willing it to go away. She wished Max would return with his truck, sit next to the car and make the man go away.

She found herself reaching for her cellphone. Max would want her to call him. She hesitated. Hadn’t she told him she could handle things on her own? And if she called him, was that handling it on her own?

No.

She couldn’t rely on Max. It wasn’t his responsibility to take care of her. She needed to learn how to take care of herself, to trust in her own strength and abilities.

JoJo laid the phone on the counter, returned to the front window and peeked through the blinds.

The car was still there.

She studied it for a long time. She couldn’t tell whether a driver sat inside or if it was empty. If it was empty, had the person gone into one of the apartments? Or was he lurking, waiting for her to go to bed to break into her apartment?

Her head spun at the thought.

More than likely, she was worrying over nothing. Just in case, she pulled a chair in front of the door. JoJo grabbed her cellphone, went to her bedroom, closed her door and locked it. She moved another chair in front of that door. Standing in the middle of her bedroom, she looked around. What more could she do?

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze landed on her nightstand. She crossed to it, removed her handgun from the top drawer and checked the magazine. Yes, it was full, and it had plenty of bullets in case she missed the first shot. Her can of mace stood on the nightstand as well.

For the next thirty minutes, she paced her bedroom. If she called the cops to report a car in the parking lot, wouldn’t she look stupid if that person was actually a resident of the apartment complex? She had no reason to call the sheriff’s department unless somebody actually broke into her apartment.

JoJo paced some more, straining her ears to listen for any signs of somebody trying to force their way into her apartment. She couldn’t move chairs in front of the windows. Somebody could break the glass and climb through. She’d hear that for sure. She kept her cellphone beside her, her finger ready to hit 911.

After a while, she grew tired of the pacing and laid down in the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Again, she thought about calling Max. Maybe she should call Emily or RJ and talk with them. She might have been better off if Max had never pointed out the vehicle in the parking lot. At least she could be blissfully sleeping by now, unaware of any danger that might be lurking. Instead, she lay in her bed with one hand on her gun, the other one pulling her blanket up to her chin. Eleven o’clock turned into twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock into one, and still she remained staring up at the ceiling.

Sometime after that she must have fallen asleep, because she immediately fell into her nightmare. She lay in the cold dirt. Her body aching, unable to move as somebody shoveled dirt on top of her. The more he shoveled, the heavier the blanket of dirt grew until she could barely breathe. She tried to look at the man, to study his face, to commit it to memory so that she could tell others when she got back to civilization. They needed to know what this man was capable of and keep him from doing it again. Before he covered her head, he leaned close to her and whispered.

“Now, you die.”

“No,” she tried to say.

She tried again to tell him no, I’m