Running With the Devil Read Free Page A

bloodstream like tiny carbonated bubbles. Of all the moves he could have made… How did he know she craved that gentle touch, right there?
    Maybe he was a sexual psychic.
    Maybe she was desperate.
    “Bring me to the meeting place tonight,” he murmured. His husky bedroom tone fairly dripped secrets of the Kama Sutra.
    Her nipples beaded to tender points under his shameless perusal. Throat dry, she croaked, “What are you doing?”
    “Proving we won’t have to act to convince people we’re lovers.”
    Whoosh. He shattered any pretense of her indifference.
    At some point during his verbal seduction, Agent March had lifted her hand to his lips. He nibbled on her fingertips. Between his lazy kisses, Kenna closed her eyes. She savored the heady sensation, completely lost in the strange way he recognized what she needed. She suspected he’d give her what she’d always craved, but been afraid to admit she even wanted.
    He’s a cop, her brain warned.
    He’s a man, her horny side argued.
    He trailed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses across the back of her hand. Darting his agile tongue between her knuckles, then just the tip of that wayward tongue in and out. “Don’t go all shy on me now. Prove that sexpot routine isn’t just an act, Kenna.”
    His warm mouth slid to the pulse point on the inside of her wrist. He flicked his tongue across the vein, keeping time with the beat of her blood.
    She couldn’t breathe.
    His teeth scraped. Teased. He gently bit down on the fleshy part of her thumb like it was a juicy, tempting fruit.
    A rush of pure pleasure exploded inside her.
    Scorching summer sun, dust, the stench of sour beer, the growl of motorcycle engines intruded into her awareness as abruptly as it’d vanished.
    His rough knuckles continued to lightly caress the sweat-dampened hollow of her throat.
    Kenna opened her eyes, expecting to see his smug male satisfaction.
    The raw hunger on his face sent her senses reeling.
    Without breaking eye contact, he nuzzled her forearm and softly kissed the inside of her elbow. Then he moved her hand down his chest, placing it on his thundering heart.
    The unexpectedly sweet gesture bothered her more than a smarmy comment. She jerked back.
    “Too late for regrets.” The sly grin she expected finally appeared. “Back to the business at hand. Where and what time should I meet you?”
    She stifled a scream. Dammit. His reverent touches and lust-filled glances had been a ploy! She’d been played.
    Seething, she rummaged in her purse for a diversion from his shrewd gaze. “Sorry. I’m busy.”
    “I thought we established you’ll be busy with me.”
    Kenna slicked a clear coat of berry-flavored gloss over her lips, puckered and tossed the tube back inside. “You?” She laughed harshly. “Please, Agent March. You might as well tattoo your badge number on your forehead and wear a uniform. Everything about you screams cop. ”
    “Fooled you, didn’t I?”
    “Briefly. But wearing a Harley T-shirt, jeans, boots and attaching your wallet to a dog chain won’t make you a biker.”
    “That right?” His tone dropped an octave; the air temp plunged from the chill in his voice. “Got any more suggestions?”
    “Yeah. Pull the stick out of your ass, Agent March. I’m just being honest.”
    Lord. He pushed her buttons. She’d spewed more cuss words in the last hour than she normally did in a year. She didn’t even want to think about how one hot look from him made her want to strip them both naked and test the strength of the picnic table. In broad daylight.
    She slanted forward, a little leery of the tight set to his jaw. “I’ll keep my ears open and report whatever I hear back to you. Fair enough?”
    “No dice. How’s this for fair? You help me and I won’t turn you into the Sturgis PD for solicitation.”
    Kenna gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “Try me. Do you have a license for this ‘escort’ business you’ve been running?”
    “It’s not an escort