Читать книгу Fast Burn - Lori Foster - Страница 13
ОглавлениеTHE INTRUSION OF his friend’s voice took Brand off guard.
Shit, he had forgotten—but no way in hell would he admit it. “It’s under control.”
Sahara glanced at him. “What?”
“I’m talking to Miles. He’s been with us the whole time.”
She gasped, then hissed low, “He heard you threaten me?”
Brand found her hand—clenching the bra-covered handle of her weapon—and gave it a squeeze, his way of requesting her patience.
Miles cleared his throat. “You’ll be able to get out?”
One way or another. “Probably.”
“I’m nearby,” he said. “If I hear anything I don’t like, I’m coming in.”
“Leese?”
“He and Justice are on their way back.”
Brand felt compelled to remind Miles. “Sahara doesn’t want police involved, so unless you know there’s no other way—”
“Got it.”
Sahara said, “Thank you.”
He gave her one more squeeze, then told Miles, “They’re here. Not a word, okay?”
“Understood.”
The driver backed the van in, and even the red taillights were bright enough to give them away.
Brand pressed farther away, taking Sahara with him. He didn’t know how she managed it, but she didn’t make a sound and she didn’t topple off those heels.
Conversation preceded the men from the van, and they sounded very disgruntled.
“It’s a hell of a trip to make twice.”
“When you’re running things,” the biggest of the men said, “you can fuck it up all you want, but I don’t like to take chances. Now we know that we’ll only be able to leave one guard here with her because everyone else will be needed to cover all the entrances.”
“We’ll have to turn right back around to get there by midnight and get set up,” another mentioned.
“You had something better to do?” The big guy, still wearing a mask, left the van with a box in hand. The open door kicked on the interior light, and Brand saw that it was a cardboard carrier for a bag of takeout and two colas.
Unfortunately, the men still wore their disguises, the fanatical pricks.
“I have better things to do than cater to her,” the friend grumbled. “That’s for sure.”
“She’s only had a sandwich. Feeding her won’t hurt anything.” He slammed the door.
So the head honcho was disgruntled, was he?
“You’re too soft on her.”
That muttered complaint must have pushed him too far. Holding the food box in one hand, he used the other to slam his cohort up against the side panel. “When,” he growled, “did I ever say we’d abuse her?”
“You didn’t, but—”
“She’s a means to an end, a way to get what we’re owed.” Clenching a fist in the complainer’s shirt, he jerked him forward, then slammed him back again, pinning his forearm across the other man’s throat. “That’s all she is. Now you can either get on board, or get the fuck out. What’s it to be?”
“He sure as hell isn’t leaving,” another man said. “We’re either in this together, or we’re all out.”
The one being strangled under the muscular arm rasped, “I’m in. Jesus. Let up.”
Seconds ticked by, three, four—and finally the boss shoved away. He flipped on a flashlight and stalked off, the beam bouncing ahead of him.
The remaining two men, the one who’d fucked up and the one who insisted he stay in, stared at each other.
“He’s soft on her,” the half-strangled dude insisted.
“Maybe, but one thing’s for sure, you better keep your fucking mouth shut because either way, he’s touchy when it comes to her.” He loosened the mask to scratch at his neck, then turned to leave.
His friend followed.
A million thoughts went through Brand’s mind, especially the supposed “softness” the head honcho felt for Sahara, but Brand knew they’d only have seconds to go so he shoved them all aside for now. He had to time it perfectly so that they weren’t close enough to hear him running out, but hadn’t yet reached the downed men to know they’d lost their bait.
He could practically feel Sahara’s trepidation. “Stand, slowly,” he whispered. He held her arm and helped her to do that. Then he took that freakishly wicked weapon from her.
Getting accidentally stabbed was not on the agenda.
“You’ll get it back when we’re clear,” he breathed into her ear, then, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He tucked a shoulder against her middle and silently lifted her, his arm around her thighs to help balance her. Lifting the binoculars, he checked the path he’d take. Night-vision goggles would have been nice, but they weren’t available in the Body Armor inventory.
Later, he’d talk to Sahara about that.
He let the binoculars drop back to his chest and eased out from behind the crates. “Once we hit the street, I’m going fast.”
In answer, she grounded herself by clenching her hands in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry about me. Just get us out of here.”
Brand strode silently toward the opening. A moonlit night would have been welcome, but the scent of the storm still hung thick in the air. His feet had just cleared the garage when he heard the chaos behind him.
Needing no more incentive than that, he ran flat out, first up the street, then into an alley so that he cut through to another street, then into an empty building, across the floor and back out to another alley. He paused, listening, but the sounds were distant now.
“Put me down, please.”
He did, letting her slide the length of his body, his hands going from her warm thighs to her shapely ass, to her small waist. He told himself he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
His dick told him he was a liar. “You okay?”
“I think you broke a rib, but otherwise I’m fine.”
Brand coasted a hand back up her body until he found her throat. He curved his hand there, using his thumb to tip up her face. “Did I really hurt you?”
“No.” Her hand covered his. She stepped closer. “May I have my shiv back now?”
Insane, but Brand smiled. Crazy, unpredictable, cool as a cucumber Sahara. “Do you actually know how to use it?”
“Stab,” she whispered, “and twist.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, that’d work.” He gave it to her, then said, “Stay right here. I’ll only be a second.”
“It’s dark and I hear rats.”
So there was something she feared? “They won’t bother you.”
“I’ll skewer them if they do, but hustle up.”
Tunneling his fingers into her hair as a guide, he bent and took her mouth in a firm, quick kiss.
Before he did anything else stupid, he edged toward the front of the building. Holding very still, he listened, but didn’t hear anything.
Miles said into his ear, “The van just sped away.”
Damn. “All of the men?”
“Two were carried out, but yeah, there were six of them.”
“Sahara is going to be pissed.”
“Somehow I get the feeling you’ll talk her around.”
Hearing the note of humor in Miles’s voice, Brand said, “Fuck off.”
Moving right past that, Miles asked, “She’s not hurt, is she?”
“Hurt? She was planning a massacre.” Ready to get her to safety, he added, “We’ll head to the corner of South Street and Garfield. You can pick us up there.”
“Dicey area. Watch yourself. I’ll head back to get the car and be there in five.”
Brand returned to Sahara. She was right where he’d left her, eating M&M’s out of her purse. When she heard him coming, she asked, “Brand?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you eaten? Because I’m starved.”
Would she ever cease to amaze him? He knew she had a hundred things on her mind, all of them more important than food. Then again, she was a pragmatist, especially when it came to basic needs.
Her no-nonsense approach meant she’d be doubly disappointed to know she couldn’t question anyone, so he ignored the mention of food and broke the bad news. “I’m sorry, honey, but the goons took off.”
She absorbed that in silence, then slammed her weapon against a rickety wall. “I told you I should have interrogated those men!”
He caught her shoulders before she could begin pacing. “They were carried out, so my guess is they couldn’t have answered your questions, no matter how you tortured them.”
“Oh, they’d have talked,” she promised in an evil voice.
Brand grinned again. “You’re scary, you know that?” He kissed her once more, a little longer this time. “Mmm. You taste like chocolate.”
“It’s the candy.”
He went in for a deeper taste, and damn her, she let him. When he pulled back, she breathed, “I wanted to hold you so badly, but I have M&M’s in one hand and this trusty dagger in the other, so—”
Later, he promised himself, then shook his head because he couldn’t seriously be thinking about going down that path. Everything Sahara did ultimately ended up back at the same place—with her need to find a brother who was no longer alive.
For hopefully the last time, he took her trusty dagger from her and led her through the crumbling building and out to the street. At least the air was fresher here, even if everything dripped from the storm. “We have to meet Miles a few blocks up. It’s a nasty area so if anyone shows up, for the love of God, get behind me and let me handle it.”
“Like a knight in shining armor?” She sighed. “So romantic. It’s almost like you were born to be a protector.”
He huffed a laugh. “You never give up, do you?”
“When I want something this much? No.”
If she wanted him that much, he’d be flattered. But she wanted another employee and that was a whole different game.
They made it to the corner without incident. It was a little busier here, more bustling with traffic passing and a few places lit up: a bar, a convenience store, a gas station. He watched as Sahara buttoned up her coat, tied the belt and turned up the collar.
Her long hair curled a little from the stormy humidity and she looked so damned sexy, so sweet, all he could think about was having her.
It was in part due to the adrenaline dump. Back in the day he’d been a regular street brawler and, to be honest, he’d loved it. But his mom hadn’t, and so he’d gotten his shit together, went legit and made it to the SBC.
That was all up in the air again, though, and odds were, he’d have to quit after the next fight.
But not yet.
And not to be Sahara’s underling.
“I’m cold.”
“Is that a hint for me to warm you up?”
“Could you?” Without waiting for an invite, she stepped in to him, her cheek against his chest.
Feeling her shivers, he held her closer, his free hand wrapped in her hair. “How come you never wear it down?”
“Because I’m the boss.”
She said it like it made perfect sense. “Bosses can’t have long hair?”
“Bosses have to look controlled.”
Trying to figure her out, he asked, “And the clothes you wear?”
“They’re my expensive, professional, classic I’m-in-charge-and-I-know-it clothes. Perfect for a shark.”
She sounded sleepy, and that automatically led him to thinking about her going to bed. At her big mansion. Alone. “Tired?” he asked.
“A little, but I need food before I rest.” Keeping her chin on his chest, she turned her face up to his. “Do you feel like eating?”
A loaded question, especially with the way she looked at him. Did she mean to put carnal images in his head? Whether she did or not, he got a distinct visual of her on her back, her long legs over his shoulders while he stroked her with his tongue.
“Brand?”
Damn it, now she sounded breathy but he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or interest.
Bottom line, if she wanted company, he’d be company. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“My place.”
Her place? Oh hell no. Trying to be reasonable, he said, “I was under the impression that the kidnappers know where you live.”
“Clearly, but once I’m locked inside they can’t bother me.”
“They’ve already bothered you.”
“Yes, but there’s nowhere more secure than my home.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And you can ensure I get inside safely, right?”
Be alone with her in that mausoleum? With her braless, her hair down and the caveman testosterone still pumping hard through his bloodstream? Bad idea. “Sahara—”
“Look, isn’t that Miles now?” Once she spotted him, she straightened with relief. “Thank goodness because, much as I hate to admit to a weakness, I’m ready to crash.” As if he didn’t already know it, she heaved a heavy sigh and said, “It’s been a trying day.”
What an understatement.
And what a woman. Sahara would always be a handful...but then, Brand had very big hands.
* * *
HE WAS INCREDIBLY PISSED—and also impressed—to the point where he couldn’t reconcile the two emotions. He sat in the back of the van with his downed men, ready to finish them off the second they came to.
Carrying them out hadn’t been easy, not up those stairs. Sahara...carrying her had been a pleasure. She was a shapely thing, slender and toned but still soft in all the right places. And she smelled good. It had taken great resolve on his part not to turn his face against her hip and...
“They’re coming around finally,” Olsen said.
Ross gave him a dark look and he went silent again. Olsen had a problem keeping his mouth shut. No one was supposed to talk to her but him. He, at least, hadn’t underestimated her.
Much.
But Olsen, with his ideas on the weaker sex, couldn’t stop his blathering. It’s a wonder Sahara hadn’t flayed him alive.
Ross had no doubt that if she’d decided to, she’d have found a way.
When the man closest to his outstretched legs groaned, Ross gave him a nudge. “Think carefully before you say anything. One fucking lie and I’ll throw you out to the street where you can die without being a pain in my ass.”
Not taking the threat to heart, he groaned again.
Ross sat forward. “Tell me she didn’t do this to you.”
The groan mixed with a laugh. “No. A man...he came in to get her.”
Ross relaxed, but only a little. Of course, Sahara hadn’t done all that damage. The lady might have brass cojones and plenty of ingenuity, but she didn’t have the bulk and muscle needed to demolish grown men. “And what the fuck were you doing? Jacking off?”
“Talking to Terrance.”
Uh-huh. “So you two geniuses were so lost in conversation, you didn’t hear this guy come in?”
Terrance struggled onto his side. “Didn’t hear a sound, Ross. Then suddenly he was there.” Gingerly, a hand to his nose, he sat up. “I think it’s broken.”
“You think?” Ross eyed the grotesque swollen flesh that used to be Terrance’s nose. “Your nostrils damn near touch your ear. Yeah, Sherlock, it’s broken.”
Olsen shook his head. “Figured it was a man. I didn’t think that skinny lady could do all that damage, but Ross wasn’t so sure.”
Ross slowly turned his head to glare at Olsen. “You haven’t yet figured out that she somehow signaled the guy who came for her?”
Olsen looked struck. “Signaled him?”
“How the hell else do you think he found her?”
Andy, too, managed to sit upright. “I didn’t recognize him as one of her bodyguards, but the bastard sure knew how to fight.”
“There wasn’t any fight,” Ross snapped. “He wiped the floor with the two of you.”
“I got taken by surprise with a kick to the face,” Terrance defended. “I don’t remember much after that.”
“And you?” Ross asked Andy. “Your face is so fucked, I barely recognize you.”
With only one eye open, Andy complained, “I don’t remember shit either.” He moved his tongue in his mouth, then spat out a tooth.
Ross gave a disgusted laugh. “So this guy just materialized out of nowhere and started destroying you both?”
Terrance glanced at Andy.
Andy, looking a little alarmed, tried to frown but Ross caught the look.
With throbbing menace, he asked softly, “What did you do?” Fury brought him slowly forward. “Did you touch her?”
“No.” They were both quick to deny.
Then Terrance, maybe seeing a way to deflect the anger off his own head, admitted, “We were talking about her, though, and I guess he overheard.”
Even softer now, Ross asked, “What did you say?”
Holding his ribs, Terrance scooted until he could sit with his back against the side of the van. “I just pointed out how hot she looked in those heels.”
If he hadn’t been so pathetically abused, Ross might’ve hit him again. Yeah, she did look killer-hot in the heels, but they knew his rules.
Sahara Silver was off-limits—and damn it, in his mind, that included fantasizing over her.
After touching the bridge of his nose and wincing, Terrance added, “Dumbass over there was running his mouth, though. I’m guessing that’s why he got the worst of it.”
Andy did look a mess, more deliberately worked over. Not a spot remained on his face that wasn’t bruised, swollen, split or bloody. It was a wonder he could speak at all with his lips so fat. Even his ears were mangled. Given how gingerly he moved, he’d taken plenty of body blows as well.
Ross didn’t care. He didn’t have an ounce of sympathy.
“What were you saying, Andy?”
“Nothing.” He must have thought better of that, and explained, “Same shit as Terrance.”
Ross waited.
As the tension grew, Terrance put his head back and closed his eyes. The other men looked away. Andy shifted—and groaned.
“Jesus H. Christ, Andy. Just spit it out,” Olsen snapped. “You’re making everyone uneasy.”
Sullen, Andy stared at his feet. “I made a joke about gagging her.”
Unaccountable rage gripped Ross. “And?”
“I just said she’d be perfect except for her mouth, and I joked—joked, Ross—about checking on her so I could gag her. I knew she wouldn’t be peacefully sitting down there, waiting like you told her to, and you did warn her what would happen if she didn’t behave. I figured she was up to something, and I guess I was right, wasn’t I? Somehow she called that prick and—”
“Did you actually touch her, Andy? Did you lay a single finger on her? Even get close to her?”
All of the men stared at him, aware that he just might snap if—
Terrance said quickly, “We never even opened the door, Ross. It was just talk, that’s all.”
Gradually, Ross got his shit together. He was making a fool of himself over her, but damn, he’d been studying her for so long, he felt like she belonged to him.
Being with her today, having control of her while also being her protection, had affected him in ways it shouldn’t have.
Means to an end.
That’s what she was, what she had to be. Allowing himself to feel anything else was beyond stupid. It didn’t matter that she was gutsy and fearless, refined despite the circumstances, bold and intelligent... He clamped down on all those wayward thoughts.
Means to an end, goddamn it.
Forcing himself to sound reasonable, Ross said, “She had no way to call anyone from the basement.”
“So she was down there behaving?”
Olsen snorted. “Hell no. She took apart the heater. Parts are missing. I’m guessing she made a weapon.” He grinned, seeing the surprise on Andy’s and Terrance’s faces. “If her boyfriend hadn’t stomped on you, she might’ve done it herself.”
“He’s not her boyfriend,” Ross said, his voice deliberately devoid of inflection. “She doesn’t date, not since Scott went missing.”
“Not a bodyguard, not a boyfriend,” Terrance said. “Then who was he?”
“I don’t know.” That fact really pissed him off. “But I intend to find out.” No, he silently promised her, we’re not done, Sahara. Not by a long shot.
And the next time I get you, I’ll make damn sure you don’t get away.
* * *
BRAND TRIED NOT to look as uncomfortable as he felt standing in Sahara’s grand foyer. Far as he was concerned, it was a terrible idea, never mind that she had a locked gate and a high-tech security system. She shouldn’t be alone, period. But she’d ignored all his arguments, damn it, and the other guys hadn’t been any more successful.
He suspected it was her pride insisting she stay in the house; she wasn’t a woman who’d easily show her fear. He knew it, he understood it, but Jesus, he hated it.
Now, after unsuccessfully trying to convince her to at least bring in the cops, the others had left.
“No,” she’d asserted. “This is personal. They know something about Scott. I’m going to handle it my way, so get used to it.”
Her way, for the remainder of the evening at least, was to pretend she hadn’t been taken hostage.
Her car, which probably cost more than some houses, had been parked in the end of the driveway just as, she claimed, the kidnappers had promised. She’d wanted to drive it up to the front door herself, but the men had outvoted her on that.
Once Miles had done a full sweep of the car, Justice drove it up to her garage. Of course, they’d wanted to take turns standing guard, but Sahara refused that, too. They all had upcoming assignments to prep for, and she felt safe in her own home, so they’d only hung around long enough to ensure she wasn’t too upset—ha!—and that no one had tampered with her house.
Brand would stay with her—she’d agreed to that much—but the guys didn’t like it. They trusted him, but as they’d said, he wasn’t a bodyguard. Still, he assured them that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and he intended to make good on that promise.
The keyless entries, one at the street that opened wide arched gates, and another at the end of the long lighted private lane that secured the main entrance, were still set.
If anyone without the passcode had tried to intrude, alarms would have gone directly to a security company.
Showing no residual effects from her adventures, Sahara stepped out of her shoes, wiggled her toes, shrugged off her coat and hung it on a coat tree. The enormous shiv she placed at the bottom of the stairs.
“What,” he asked, “do you plan to do with that?”
“I’m partial to it now, so it’ll probably reside in my bedroom.”
With her bra still used as a grip for the handle?
She gave him a tentative smile. “Come on.”
Brand wasn’t sure if he should remove his shoes as well. His running shoes wouldn’t hurt the polished marble floors, but then again, what did he know about the protocol for a mansion?
Without him having to ask, Sahara answered by hooking her arm through his and leading him to the kitchen. He felt the full curve of her breast against his upper arm and it kept his body humming with tension.
Any other woman and he’d have already checked the invitation to see how far it extended. But not with Sahara Silver, owner of Body Armor, self-proclaimed shark.
The kitchen was something out of storybooks, momentarily distracting him once she let him go. He turned a full circle taking it in. “Damn.” The detailed ceiling was its own work of art. One end boasted a sectional couch under tall windows, a center island held plenty of bar stools and at the other end was the thick wooden table that could seat six.
“Grab a seat. Do you want something to drink while I throw together a meal?”
Yeah, he wouldn’t mind the whole bottle. Maybe it’d help him get through this bizarre night. He shook his head as he pulled out a chair at the table. “I’m good.”
“Coffee then.” On bare feet she went to a massive refrigerator and retrieved several things, including chicken fillets. Going on tiptoe, stretching those sexy calves, she got down a bowl and dropped the chicken inside, then poured in Italian dressing, dashed in some other seasonings, and used a fork to stir it around. Next she set her oven, then washed her hands and got the coffee started.
She seemed to do it all with planned movements meant to best utilize her time and streamline all processes.
Nothing new in that. Sahara was one of the most efficient people he’d ever met.
After grabbing a cookie from a big round jar, she joined him at the table, watching him while she nibbled. She held it out. “Want a bite?”
He shook his head. “What are you cooking?”
“Italian chicken, baked potatoes and salad.”
Hell of a meal to “throw together” after midnight. He lifted a brow. “Dessert first?”
“Oh, honey, a single cookie could never be dessert.” She popped the rest in her mouth, left her seat to poke at the chicken with the fork, then got out a dish and prepped it with butter. “How hungry are you?”
Starving...but not for food. Every time she went on tiptoe, he had the burning urge to run his palms up the inside of her thighs. The movement of her breasts under that soft sweater kept drawing his attention, too. Her nipples were just tight enough to be visible—and to make his mouth water.
She looked over her shoulder in a provocative way—deliberately or not, he wasn’t sure. “Brand?”
He met her gaze with a piercing stare, very deliberately. “I would have been fine with a sandwich.”
Blue eyes lit up. “Something fast and easy, huh?” Her mouth curled. “Not my style.” Looking away from him again, she washed two potatoes, then put them on a plate and into the microwave. “Although, this meal is pretty quick and not all that difficult.”
Brand was still pondering her “fast and easy” comment, knowing he might be fast with her, but not easy. No, he wanted to claim her. He wanted that bad. “I get the feeling you’re teasing me, Sahara.”
His tone alerted her, and she turned to face him. “Maybe a little. You always resist easily enough.”
Not tonight. “Trying to see how far you can push it?”
She braced her hands behind her on the counter, which pushed out her breasts. One leg bent, her gaze sultry, she said, “I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
He already knew his breaking point, and he was damn near it already. Smiling just to confuse her, he asked, “So how long is this meal going to take?”
The oven dinged and she turned away. “Thirty minutes.”
He watched as she got everything in the oven. She ate another cookie while putting together a salad, and then she set the table, leaning close to him, brushing against him.
She was really feeling frisky tonight—or was it something more?
When she started to move away, Brand caught her arm. Her skin was soft and warm, her bones delicate, but the woman had iron in her blood and a will made of titanium.
Brushing his thumb over the silken skin inside her elbow, he asked, “Is this your way of reacting to the evening?”
A flash of uncertainty filled her blue eyes, then cleared behind a big grin. She put a hand to his chest. “One of the most appealing men I’ve ever known is in my kitchen, and you want to dissect my mood?”
That evasive nonanswer only made him more determined. “Yeah, I think I do.” He tugged.
Of course she resisted his efforts.
And of course he won the small battle.
She either overestimated her strength, or underestimated his.
Sahara ended up sprawled in his lap, a sexy, squirming armful. As he worked to contain her, he asked, “Easy or hard, Sahara?”
Her eyes flared wide and her lips parted.
Cursing himself over his unfortunate wording, Brand briefly looked away. When she again tried to scramble free, he locked his arms around her and pinned her with his gaze.
Being so close, he saw the thickness of her lashes, how her pupils dilated—he even felt the warmth of her faster breaths.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Fighting his way out of the cage with the number one heavyweight would have been easier, but he managed not to kiss her. “We’re going to talk about what happened tonight, especially what happened while you were alone with them.”
“We are?”
He saw no reason to repeat himself, so he merely waited.
Proving she wasn’t on her A game right now, she cracked. “There’s nothing much to tell. They said Scott owed them money and they were getting it back by ransoming me.”
That sounded true—but no way was it the whole story. “You said someone put you over his shoulder?” Even though he’d done the same thing, it infuriated him to imagine it.
“The boss man,” she confirmed with an indignant nod. “The one in charge. He warned the others not to bother me, and they didn’t. Shoot, they hardly spoke to me. But he explained a few things.”
“About Scott?”
“No, just...the rules.”
Something in her expression, in the way her voice dropped, alerted him. Opening his hand on her back, he soothed a path up and down her rigid spine. “What rules, honey?”
She stared at him. “You’re comforting me?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh.” Suddenly she tucked herself closer, her cheek against his shoulder, her hand sliding up his chest. “This is nice.”
Drawing out her name like a warning, he said, “Sahara.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Nothing happened, I promise.”
Brand tunneled his fingers into her hair, then tugged her head back. “I know you better than that.” He wanted her trust. He needed her to know that she didn’t have to be the boss every minute of every day, not with him.
Her searching gaze bounced back and forth over his. “You have really thick, dark eyelashes, Brand. Did you know that?”
“Sahara—”
“And all this sexy stubble,” she said, reaching for his face.
“Enough.” Brand tilted out of reach. “You’re going to tell me what happened to you, so stop trying to distract me.”
Groaning, she whacked his shoulder. “You’re not normal, damn it! Why can’t you just take what I’m offering—”
His mouth covered hers in the most expedient way to silence her annoyance. She immediately sank against him, all the vibrating agitation draining from her slim body.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Bordering on dangerous...and wasn’t that absurd given the situation they’d just escaped?
