Tempting the Bounty Hunter

TEMPTING THE BOUNTY HUNTER LIV PRESCOTT Copyright © 2023 by Liv Prescott All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Copy edits by: Jenny Sims Proofreading by: Lawrence Editing Contents Book Description Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue One Epilogue Two Epilogue Three Also by Liv Prescott About the Author Book Description HANNAH: I’ve never been on the run before, but I’m pretty certain I’m doing it wrong. Jumping bail was the only way I could clear my name, and now, instead of skipping town, here I am casing out the club where my scumbag of a boss is still doing every despicable thing the cops want to nail him for. Another thing I’m sure is a super big no-no in the on-the-lam handbook? Falling for the dangerously intense bounty hunter chasing after me… DANE: I don’t hunt down women—personal rule. But then I see her photo. Cute smile. Curves for days. A genuine sweetheart. No way in hell am I letting another bounty hunter go near her. So, I take the job, never expecting her to be innocent...in every definition of the word. Problem is, she doesn’t just have the cops after her, but the cartel as well. Which means they’re all about to learn how scary good I am at what I do, and just how ruthless of an SOB I can be. Note: This is a short, steamy romp between a gruff, guarded bounty hunter and the sweet, lush cutie he has to chase down. It’s all the HOT insta-fun sparks, yummy tension, and falling-hard-and-fast swoon for the busy reader wanting quick & dirty schmexy sweetness, with a romantic, feel-good HEA. Enjoy! Chapter One Dane “She’s just a woman.” Benny spreads his arms so wide the buttons of his shirt strain against his gut. “Hell, she’s practically a girl. You’ll get her in no time.” “Not interested.” I toss the flank steak into the pan. The oil pops and sizzles. “Come on, man.” Benny eyes the steak, then drops his hands and paces in the three-foot space between the butcher block and the kitchen door. “I don’t have time to find someone else. Besides, you’re the best. We’ve been working together…what, ten years now?” “Twelve years and three months.” He chuckles. “Okay, but who’s counting?” I am. Every fucking day. I grab a potato and start peeling off the skin. In the back of my mind, I add up the years, the captures, the miles, the money, the time. I still don’t know what it all amounts to. After I was arrested—again—at nineteen and cut a deal with the judge, bounty hunting was supposed to be a temporary gig. A way to make money while I figured out how to turn my life around. But word spread that I was damn good at the job, bringing in bail jumpers quickly and without complications. Within months, I had a massive workload and a steady, if uneven, income. So despite the nagging sense that I didn’t want to be hunting down fugitives, I kept at it. Then my sister got sick, and I went into adrenaline-fueled overdrive, busting my ass twenty-four seven to catch whichever bail jumper would earn me the most cash. Twelve years and three months later, I still haven’t officially quit. I’ve worked with countless bondsmen and brought thousands of skips back to face the consequences of their crimes. Not a single one has gotten away from me. But now? Nicole’s been gone for over a year. I’ve prowled around the seediest shitholes and hauled in lowlifes from every state and several different countries. I’ve confronted the worst of humankind. At thirty-two, it’s too late to “turn my life around”—not that I even know how I’d do that—but I’ve had enough of the slimy underground world of bondsmen and lawbreakers. “Damn, that steak smells good.” Benny stops in front of me, his hands on his hips. “Can I have some?” “No.” He glowers. I peel another potato and start slicing it. “What will you do if you don’t take the job?” he snaps. “Just sit here eating and moping?” “What the fuck do you care?” “I don’t, except that I want my damn skip back,” he replies shortly. “And I want you to go get her for me.” “I don’t hunt women.” He snorts. “Yeah, you and your moral center or whatever. Women commit crimes too, Armstrong. And like I said, this skip is more of a girl than a woman. Make an exception for her.” I slice the second potato and eye him narrowly. “The bond isn’t enough to make it worth my while.” “I know it’s not much, but I’m on thin ice with this judge,” he whines. “And my reputation took a major blow after Turner led my guys on that wild freaking goose chase. My referrals nosedived, and my business hasn’t recovered.” I almost laugh. “You think a little girl is going to save your reputation after a most-wanted fugitive almost outsmarted you?” “He wouldn’t have if you’d been on the case,” Benny reminds me. “True.” He barks out a laugh and watches me toss the potatoes into another pan. “You’re really going to eat all that by yourself?” he asks. “You can’t have any.” He grunts in irritation and stalks out the door, though he’s not leaving. I push my knuckles into my side, where an old injury aches. Sunlight spears into the room through the half-open door. Pots, pans, storage containers, and cooking utensils clutter every inch of space. There’s hardly enough room to move