Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

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      He silenced her with another kiss. Her protests died in the wake of the raw emotions consuming her. Her belly tightened, craving more of his touch, knowing instinctively he could drive away the loneliness and satisfy both her body and her mind.

      She wanted his skin pressed against hers. She wanted to let loose the fire behind his dark eyes.

      His hand slid up her stomach, and her breasts tingled in anticipation. But before he could reach his goal, his thumb brushed her shoulder holster.

      She shoved him back instantly.

      In the dimly lit parking lot, white sand beneath her shoes, ocean breeze brushing against her skin, she gasped for air and watched him. He looked as dazed as she felt.

      “You touched—” She broke off and slid her hands into her pants pockets. Her fingers quivered with the need to brush an errant lock of his silky hair off his forehead. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Sorry. My weapon holster. It’s an instinctive thing for a cop to protect.”

      Still breathing heavily, his mouth lifted on one side. “Remind me to disarm you next time.”

      She shook her head. There shouldn’t be a next time.

      And yet could she really imagine resisting the beautiful man standing before her for long? If he wanted her—and by the evidence presented in the past few minutes she could only assume he did—was there any way she wouldn’t be his?

      She shivered at the thought.

      “Cold?” he asked, stepping forward and bracing his palms beneath her elbows.

      “No.” She shook her head. “That’s the last thing I am.”

      His hands gripped her waist, and she noted he was careful to keep them away from her holster. “Come home with me.”

      She turned away. “I can’t. I need to think.” She’d never been a coward in her life, but she wasn’t sure whether she should run toward or away from this man.

      “Think about me?” he asked, his lips against her ear.

      “Among other things. I need to go to the gun club.”

      “The…what?”

      She glanced over her shoulder into his confused eyes. “Gun club. They have an indoor shooting range that’s open twenty-four hours.” Then she remembered the whiskey she’d indulged in earlier. The club would have to wait for morning. “I like to shoot to relax.”

      “I like to walk on the beach.”

      Just another way they were opposites and completely wrong for each other.

      When she opened her car door, he let go of her and stepped back. “You want a ride home?” she asked him.

      He started off. “I’ll walk. Thanks.”

      “Oh, Hamilton? By—”

      “Do you think you could call me by my first name?”

      “No, I really don’t think I can now.”

      He scowled. “Then when?”

      She shrugged. “When it’s the right time. And, by the way…” She let her gaze track down his body, long, lean and illuminated by the streetlight. “The Bureau couldn’t care less whether you wear boxers, briefs or nothing at all.”

      “What about you?”

      She had no doubt he’d look hot in anything. Or nothing. “I couldn’t care less either.”

      3

      BINOCULARS AROUND his neck, Carr leaned against the aft railing and stared at the moonlit water where his boat bobbed at the dock.

      At nearly eleven o’clock on a Wednesday, the bar was the only place that was hopping. Jack’s boat was still out, so it seemed the only thing to do was wait.

      His thoughts returned, as they had a million times, to the night before and the kiss he’d shared with Malina Blair. Of course, describing what they’d shared as a mere kiss diminished the encounter by miles.

      Touching her had been like holding lightning in his bare hands.

      She—

      He halted his thoughts as he sensed movement behind him on the dock. He didn’t flinch or turn, but his heart rate picked up speed.

      Were Jack’s buddies back?

      He hadn’t seen them since that night he’d found the coffee grounds nearly three weeks ago.

      Were more drugs being delivered? Were there even drugs involved at all? Something odd was certainly going on, but had he jumped to conclusions based on the coffee grounds? Malina had passed off the connection between drugs and coffee. Was she right, or was she simply trying to demonstrate that he had no business messing around in her case?

      If these guys were drug dealers, they were certainly ruthless. And while he could hold his own in a courtroom, he acknowledged for a stark moment that he might just be out of his element in this particular world.

      He could battle, but he wasn’t trained in any physical combat beyond the conniving elegance of the fencing ring. Brutality wasn’t part of his life. And, candidly, he was more brains than brawn.

      As he heard a click on the starboard side of the boat, he spun on the balls of his feet and crouched at the same time.

      “Smooth,” said a familiar voice. “But I still wouldn’t have missed.”

      The next second, a powerful flashlight blinded him. Cursing, he rose and held his hands in front of his face. Malina Blair’s shadow was barely discernible. “Is that really necessary?”

      The light flicked off.

      He blinked and saw spots as his eyes adjusted back to the darkness. Before he’d fully recovered, she was inches from him.

      She tapped the binoculars. “A little late for bird-watching.”

      Dressed in black, her arm was a shadow that ended in a lethal-looking gun pointed to the sky. With her dark hair pulled back tightly from her face, the first thing he could see clearly was her startlingly turquoise eyes. He had the crazy, poetic urge to drown himself in them.

      “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, narrowing those eyes as she holstered her pistol.

      He wanted to see her hair loose and tangled around her beautiful face. He wanted to feel the strands brush across his bare skin. He wanted to bury his body in her softness and hear her breath catch as she lost herself in the pleasure of his touch.

      “Contemplating a late-night cruise,” he managed to return finally.

      She shook her head in disbelief.

      If he admitted the truth—that he was imagining her in his bed—would СКАЧАТЬ