Dark Paradise Read Free Page B

pretty damn good imitation of it," she
    snapped, squirming. "You're pushing my spleen into my lungs."
     
    Immediately he loosened his grip but still held her firmly against him.
    "Just settle down. Just take it easy."
     
    Marilee craned her neck around to get a look at his eyes.
     
    Men could say anything, but their eyes seldom lied. She had learned that
    in the courtroom and in the offices of countless lawyers. She had taken
    down testimony word for word, lies and truths, but she had learned very
    early on to read the difference in the witness's eyes. The pair boring
    down on her were tucked deep beneath an uncompromising ledge of brow.
    They were the gray of storm clouds, and slightly narrow, as if he were
    permanently squinting against the glare of the sun. They gave little
    away of the man, but there was nothing in them that hinted at lies or
    violence.
     
    She relaxed marginally and he rewarded her by easing her down so that
    her feet touched the floor. Air rushed back into her lungs and she
    sucked it in greedily, trying not to lean back into him for support. She
    was already too aware of his body, the size and strength of it, the heat
    of it. His left hand encircled her upper arm, the knuckles just brushing
    the outer swell of her breast. The fingers of his right hand splayed
    over her belly, thumb and forefinger bracketing the inner and under
    contours of the same breast. The contact sent electric currents of alarm
    and awareness zipping through her. A shift of inches and he would be
    cupping her, filling his hand. Her nipples tightened, an automatic,
    autonomic response.
     
    He smelled of hard work, leather, and horses. Concentrate on that,
    Marilee. He smells like a horse.
     
    As he murmured to her in his low, soothing voice, his breath drifted
    like a warm breeze across the shell of her ear and the side of her face.
    Butter mint. She couldn't think of a single psychopathic killer who had
    been described as having butter mints on his breath.
     
    "You gonna be still?" J.D. asked softly, his voice swimming through a
    rising tide of unexpected, unwanted arousal.
     
    Her curvy little body was pressed back into his, reminding him just how
    soft a woman could be. His line of sight down over her shoulder gave him
    an unobstructed view of the rise and fall of her breasts as she
    struggled to slow her breathing. The loose vest she wore had slipped
    back during the struggle, revealing small, plump globes covered by thin
    white cotton. The outline of a lacey bra was unmistakable, reminding him
    just how delicate a woman's underwear could be.
     
    She was soft and warm beneath his touch. All he needed to do was turn
    his hand a fraction and he could fill his palm with the weight of her
    breast. His fingers flexed involuntarily against her rib cage, ready and
    willing. The scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils - a light, powdery
    perfume that reminded him just how good a woman could smell. The curve
    of her neck beckoned him to lower his head and sample the taste of her.
     
    His blood pooled, hot and thick in his groin. Her backside brushed
    against him and he choked off a groan at the base of his throat.
     
    Damn. He'd gone too long without. That was clear enough. He didn't allow
    himself to indiscriminately want women. He had too many more important
    things to focus his attention on. He shouldn't have even considered the
    possibility with this one. A friend of Lucy MacAdam's.   He didn't have
    to know any more about her than that to know she was trouble.
     
    Trouble was, he hadn't considered. His hormones were reacting all on
    their own. He was a man who prided himself on his control. He didn't
    like the idea that after thirty-two years, his body could crack that
    control in a heartbeat.
     
    He dropped his hand away from her belly abruptly and took a half-step
    back, distancing himself from temptation.
     
    Marilee turned to face him, her sneakers crunching on the kindling that
    had once been an end table