signature begins humming between us, and I feel
my body respond. The passion of violence lies dangerously close
to sex for me, and the adrenaline that I summoned to deal with
Adams awoke that need.
But instead of gripping her body tight against mine,
ravaging her like every part of me aches to do, I summon my
self-control. “What happened?”
Her shoulder lifts in a delicate version of a shrug, and my
eyes catch on that sliver of flesh at the base of her throat, like
a captured butterfly beneath the veil and cover of skin. Her
heart beats toward escape. I want to lay my lips there so badly
I bite my nails into my palms to keep from seeing the impulse
through.
“He’s mad because Brad put him in his place last week,” she
explains, her voice shaky with the strain of the last few minutes.
“I don’t know why he’s become fixated on me.” Her eyes roll to
mine, still wide, still scared, but a little edge of trust glows from
her. For me.
She trusts me. Jesus, what a mess. My eyes slide from hers.
Back in box.
“Gunner?” I clarify for her benefit, switching gears instantly
to Dec’s alias: Brad Gunner.
She cocks an arched brow that looks suspiciously dark
against her golden hair. Of course, I’m looking for it because I
know the flame of red hidden under all that gold.
Jewell nods. “Yeah,” she replies slowly, as a cute stripe of a
frown appears between her brows. “Do you know everyone?”
I smile. If she only knew. “Just about.” I stare down at
her, memorizing every inch of her face, mesmerized by her
closeness, that addict part of me begging for a fix. The mix of
what I must do and what I want to do an alluring blend and
just the cocktail I want. “But not you,” I say, my voice a low and
husky drawl as I watch her eyes go to my mouth. And just like
that, I know she wants me too.
However, I feel her insecurity, her need to pull away, and we
continue the verbal circle of small talk. “I don’t think he liked
getting dressed down in front of me. Not that my existence
should matter to a jerk like Brock,” she says quietly, like an
afterthought, and I’m left to wonder why she dismisses herself
so quickly.
Jewell is still looking at me when her face suddenly changes
expression like she’s hit on something funny, and a giggle
escapes. I feel my eyes move to her mouth.
“What’s so funny? Didn’t I just interrupt an extreme
manhandle there?”
She nods, a huge grin plastered on her face. “I was
experiencing a pang of jealousy over your lashes and thinking
you’d never need mascara.” She covers her mouth, still
trembling slightly after the encounter with Adams, I’m
guessing.
Or busy having a laugh at my reaction. I frown at the
thought of makeup or the notice of my eyelashes for shit’s sake
and guide the conversation back to Brock. “You gotta watch
him,” I say, my eyes flicking away from those kissable lips to
where Luke disappeared. “He’s got a rep. And now he’ll be all
ass hurt because I stopped him from threatening you.”
That isn’t the half of it, but it’s all I can say.
“I hear you have a rep too,” Jewell says in a coy tone that
baits, her level stare on mine, and I know her friends have
passed on the gossip. My ruse for the Bureau is working. I’m
just dangerous enough to intrigue, just protective enough to be
safe. It worked.
So why don’t I feel triumphant?
Jewell stands indecisively before me as we stare at each
other, looking like she’ll bolt, and then suddenly she says,
“Well, it’s not like he was going to get a date the way he went
about it!” She gives another nervous laugh and folds her arms
underneath her ballet top that covers her completely. That’s
why it’s tough to look at, it’s that subtle sexy I love. It shows
every line, every curve, wrapped in a package of sleek black, her
breasts offered up by her arms in and unwitting frame just for
my eyes.
I reach out against my express will. Everything
my body respond. The passion of violence lies dangerously close
to sex for me, and the adrenaline that I summoned to deal with
Adams awoke that need.
But instead of gripping her body tight against mine,
ravaging her like every part of me aches to do, I summon my
self-control. “What happened?”
Her shoulder lifts in a delicate version of a shrug, and my
eyes catch on that sliver of flesh at the base of her throat, like
a captured butterfly beneath the veil and cover of skin. Her
heart beats toward escape. I want to lay my lips there so badly
I bite my nails into my palms to keep from seeing the impulse
through.
“He’s mad because Brad put him in his place last week,” she
explains, her voice shaky with the strain of the last few minutes.
“I don’t know why he’s become fixated on me.” Her eyes roll to
mine, still wide, still scared, but a little edge of trust glows from
her. For me.
She trusts me. Jesus, what a mess. My eyes slide from hers.
Back in box.
“Gunner?” I clarify for her benefit, switching gears instantly
to Dec’s alias: Brad Gunner.
She cocks an arched brow that looks suspiciously dark
against her golden hair. Of course, I’m looking for it because I
know the flame of red hidden under all that gold.
Jewell nods. “Yeah,” she replies slowly, as a cute stripe of a
frown appears between her brows. “Do you know everyone?”
I smile. If she only knew. “Just about.” I stare down at
her, memorizing every inch of her face, mesmerized by her
closeness, that addict part of me begging for a fix. The mix of
what I must do and what I want to do an alluring blend and
just the cocktail I want. “But not you,” I say, my voice a low and
husky drawl as I watch her eyes go to my mouth. And just like
that, I know she wants me too.
However, I feel her insecurity, her need to pull away, and we
continue the verbal circle of small talk. “I don’t think he liked
getting dressed down in front of me. Not that my existence
should matter to a jerk like Brock,” she says quietly, like an
afterthought, and I’m left to wonder why she dismisses herself
so quickly.
Jewell is still looking at me when her face suddenly changes
expression like she’s hit on something funny, and a giggle
escapes. I feel my eyes move to her mouth.
“What’s so funny? Didn’t I just interrupt an extreme
manhandle there?”
She nods, a huge grin plastered on her face. “I was
experiencing a pang of jealousy over your lashes and thinking
you’d never need mascara.” She covers her mouth, still
trembling slightly after the encounter with Adams, I’m
guessing.
Or busy having a laugh at my reaction. I frown at the
thought of makeup or the notice of my eyelashes for shit’s sake
and guide the conversation back to Brock. “You gotta watch
him,” I say, my eyes flicking away from those kissable lips to
where Luke disappeared. “He’s got a rep. And now he’ll be all
ass hurt because I stopped him from threatening you.”
That isn’t the half of it, but it’s all I can say.
“I hear you have a rep too,” Jewell says in a coy tone that
baits, her level stare on mine, and I know her friends have
passed on the gossip. My ruse for the Bureau is working. I’m
just dangerous enough to intrigue, just protective enough to be
safe. It worked.
So why don’t I feel triumphant?
Jewell stands indecisively before me as we stare at each
other, looking like she’ll bolt, and then suddenly she says,
“Well, it’s not like he was going to get a date the way he went
about it!” She gives another nervous laugh and folds her arms
underneath her ballet top that covers her completely. That’s
why it’s tough to look at, it’s that subtle sexy I love. It shows
every line, every curve, wrapped in a package of sleek black, her
breasts offered up by her arms in and unwitting frame just for
my eyes.
I reach out against my express will. Everything
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