Working for A+ Bounty Hunters was the most fun I’d ever had—out of bed, that is. Especially now that I was no longer encumbered by “training wheels.” I’d proven myself to the agency’s lead, Catch, and to my partner Bulldog. Sure, Bulldog still had certain rules he made me follow—like, he was always the first to enter a building where we knew we might face resistance, and that I’d better be ready for some sexy retribution if ever something I did scared him (yes, there were a few things that scared my big badass boyfriend!).

I think he knew I didn’t mind his punishments, but it was our thing. The way we blew off steam and tension. Once the bad guy was in lockup, we’d find the first restroom, logging trail, or deserted alleyway and go at it like rabbits on steroids.

I liked our quick, hard fucks. Bulldog’s fierce frowns and angry intensity always turned me on. Those fucks took off the edge until we made it back to our place for more leisurely play.

“Our” place was Bulldog’s house deep in the woods. He’d invited me to move in a month ago. A formality since I’d been sleeping there every single night for two months already. But he was slow to trust. Slow to accept change. The fact he’d been attracted to me in the first place had annoyed the hell out of him. He didn’t fuck his fellow hunters. But then again, A+ had never hired a “girl” before me. He’d been assigned as my trainer, but I hadn’t been a very good student. I didn’t stay where he put me and constantly ended up in the middle of some shit-storm takedown—bruised and cut but grinning. An ex-Army MP with combat experience, I wasn’t a wuss. Something I made sure he knew from our very first bust.

He’d underestimated me. I’m five-feet-five and slender. He’d taken one look at my blonde hair and blue eyes and decided on the spot I was unsuited to the life. He’d even given me my nickname—Buttercup—thankfully, not adding the “princess” part, but everyone got his meaning. He hadn’t expected me to last a day as his trainee, but I proved to be every bit as stubborn as he was.

Admitting he was wrong about me had set his teeth on edge, because he didn’t want me working there, didn’t want me anywhere near any danger. You see, Bulldog, at his heart, had a soft spot for women in general and an ingrained protective instinct towards those he cared about. And Bulldog cared about me but had yet to admit how deep that caring went.

As for my feelings…? I was head over heels, old-fashioned besotted with the dude. Everything I’d learned about him, everything he made me feel when he handled my body, told me I’d never experience the likes of Bulldog again. I wasn’t willing to let what I felt, or him, go, because I knew I’d never find this again.

So, there you have it. Bulldog and I were still dancing around each other—working hard, playing harder—and because I feared that pushing for a declaration might cause him to react in stubborn opposition, I kept silent, bottling up the emotions roiling inside me. Was I being cowardly? Probably. But this life wasn’t bad. I spent every waking and sleeping hour right beside him. If proximity bred affection, I hoped, in the end, he’d realize the reason he liked having me around was for more than my “great tits” and endless sex drive. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about sex…

I glanced out the window of Bulldog’s Dodge Ram truck as he jogged back after speaking to a group of bikers who’d exited a dive bar in Bear Lodge, Montana, and let go a deep sigh. At six-feet-four and heavily muscled, the man shouldn’t be able to move as lithely as a big cat. He came around the front of the truck and opened his door. A blast of frigid air accompanied him as he slid into the seat beside mine. He shot me a glance.

His expression rarely gave away his thoughts, but I’d learned to read his eyes. Right now, the crinkles at the sides were deeper. He was plenty satisfied with what he’d learned. “Well? Did his buddies give him up?”

“Yup.”

Fucker. His smirk said he wasn’t sharing without a little effort on my part.

I narrowed my eyes and tapped my foot on the floor. “Well?”

“Can’t hold your pee for a second, can you?”

I waited as he hit the ignition button and pulled back into the street. We headed north out of town.

Bulldog snorted. “His club isn’t happy with him. Said he’d broken their rules when he’d roughed up his girlfriend. She’s a friend to the group.”

“Meaning she’s slept with a few of them.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he’s holed up at a hunting cabin ten miles out. They even drew me a map.” He pulled a dingy bar napkin from a pocket of his jacket and handed it to me.

“Think you can navigate?”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t rise to his bait. He’d have to work harder to piss me off.

Ten miles down the road, dusk was settling in, creating deep shadows in the forest around us. I pointed toward what looked like a logging trail to the right. A narrow, cleared road with a dusting of snow that accentuated muddy ruts and potholes.

Bulldog passed it and drove a couple of hundred feet farther to a wide shoulder in the road and parked. We both climbed out of the crew cab. He circled to my side, opened the passenger door behind my seat, and pulled out our go bag. He handed me a vest, my web belt, and my handgun. As we both donned our gear, he began his short briefing. “Remember, this guy has no qualms about beating a woman. Keep clear of his fists. When we get to the cabin, let me do the recon.” He handed me an earpiece then waited as I fitted it into my ear.

And then, as always, he gripped my upper arms and pulled me in for a quick kiss. “Stay safe,” he said gruffly as he set me back.

I gave him a wide grin, just so he’d know much fun I thought this was.

He shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

And off we went, following the rough trail to the cabin that the directions scribbled on the napkin said was four hundred yards in beside a small stream. With me admiring Bulldog’s broad shoulders and tight ass, I nearly stumbled a couple of times, because I was so busy noticing how good he looked I didn’t see the potholes.

The cabin was exactly where the bikers had said we’d find it. “Boy, his buddies must be really pissed,” I murmured.

“I’m going to circle around. You stay put until you hear from me.”

I kept quiet. And still.

For about a minute.

A light shone between closed shutters, which meant someone was home. I raised my feet high and lowered them slowly, trying to make as little noise in the snow as I could.

“You’re walking…” came Bulldog’s voice, deadly and low.

“I’m moving my feet. They’re cold.”

“Dammit, Buttercup.”

I ducked as I got closer to the cabin and kept my head below the windowsill. One quick dart upward, and I stared into the skinny slit. I couldn’t see much, just a rickety table and an open beer can. I ducked down again. “Can’t see if he’s the one inside.”

A string of whispered curses sounded in my ear. “Going around front. No back door. A window on the north and on your side. Stay at yours.”

Like hell. With my back to the side of the cabin, I edged quietly toward the front of the cabin.

Three hard knocks sounded, followed by, “Fugitive Recovery Agent! Jeremy Bullock, come out with your hands up!”

I strained my ears, listening for sounds coming from inside the cabin then heard a huge crash as Bulldog kicked in the door.

Beside me, the shutters burst open and a booted foot appeared over the windowsill. “Got a runner,” I whispered, as I edged back to the window.

“Goddammit, Jeremy, fucking get back inside that window!”

Jeremy tumbled to the ground then bounced back up.

I unclipped my telescoping night stick and jerked my hand to extend it.

Jeremy’s head turned at the sound, but before he could turn his body too, I swung out the stick and caught him behind the knees. Down he went.

“Oh, my fucking knee!”

A growl sounded behind me, and I glanced back to see Bulldog grip both sides of the window a second before he propelled himself through it.

Although I had a head start, he reached Jeremy first, flipping him to his belly and kneeling on his ass as he snapped handcuffs on his skinny wrists.

When he stood, Bulldog reached down and gripped Jeremy by the collar of his jacket to pull him to his feet.

Lord, I loved it when he got physical. All that manly power on display. Jeremy only limped a little as Bulldog propelled him back through the woods toward the truck.

Over his shoulder, Bulldog said, “Lock up the cabin. Make sure he didn’t have a flame going. And be quick.”

I didn’t mind that he barked orders at me. Adrenaline was still spiking his system. When he came down, he’d be quiet. Blame it on me giving him another scare because I hadn’t stayed where he wanted me to be. Twice.

I quickly went through the cabin, closing the window, turning off the propane heater. As I passed the cot in the back, I noted a stack of porn magazines, the topmost featuring a girl with wooden clothespins attached to her purpling nipples. Ouch. I wrinkled my nose as I let myself out of the cabin and pulled the door as far closed as I could in its splintered state.

Clothespins? Had to hurt.