The Paris Caper Read Free Page A

just rip the
whole damned thing off! He wanted her completely bare. He wanted her naked and
open, trembling for his touch.
    Suddenly, he noticed she was trembling. He jerked back and met her gaze. “ C’est bien ?”
    Her long blond hair was
artfully mussed, her eyes slumberous and half-lidded; she was a sensuous fallen
angel gazing up at him like she would do anything he asked. Anything at all.
    “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed,
“wonderful,” and his arousal thickened.
    “Do you want me to stop?”
he asked hoarsely, just to make sure lust wasn’t coloring his perception.
    “No. Don’t stop,” she
whispered.
    Filled with an
inexplicable sense of power, he ran his free hand lingeringly down the curve of
her hip, pausing at the lacy edge of her barely-there black panties. Trailing
his fingers over the small triangle of fabric, he watched her eyes darken. They
were green, the color of a forest at midnight, and pooled with desire.
    He slipped his hand under
her panties. “Spread your legs,” he said, licking at her mouth, his pulse
pounding with excitement.
    She obeyed and he slid
his fingers into her wet heat, seeking her center. She quivered at his
exploration, and gasped as he sent them deep inside then out again. He found
her bud and worked it, sliding his thumb back and forth, round and round, until
she shook with need.
    “That’s right,” he urged
roughly. “Come for me, then I’ll make you come again, à ma queue .”
    She moaned, closed her
eyes and shattered.
    He let her wrists go and
sheathed himself one-handed as he coaxed every last shiver and whimper from
her. When at last her face was a portrait of bliss and her eyes fluttered open,
he took hold of her panties and ripped them off.
    She gave a yelp of
surprise, her eyes widening as he stuck the ruined panties in his jacket
pocket.
    “To remember the
occasion,” he murmured with a wink, then grabbed her thighs, lifted her to his
waist and plunged into her.
    She cried out, clutching
him around the neck, clinging to him as he thrust deeper and deeper. Exquise .
She was all he needed and more. So much more. She was perfect, young, hot and
tight with inner muscles that gripped him like a vise.
    He gritted his teeth and
marshaled his self-control, wanting it to last as long as possible. Again and
again and again he drove into her, until he was a living agony of need to
release, until she started uttering the sweet noises of a woman close to
completion. He held on for three more hard thrusts, then she swallowed a
scream, her fingernails digging into his back. With a roar he let himself
plummet over the edge. It lasted forever, the almost unbearable pleasure of
releasing his seed deep inside her.
    After the final
shuddering spasm he felt purged, renewed, exhausted. Happy.
    Hell, he was in love.
    He took her face between
his hands and kissed her, both of them shaking and on the verge of collapse.
Her legs slid down his hips but she clung to him and managed to stay on her
feet.
    “That was absolutely
incredible,” he said between sucked-down breaths. “You are—”
    The loud chirp of his
cell phone startled him out of his intended litany of compliments.
    “ De merde ,” he
softly swore, and reached into his inside pocket for it. He looked down at his
newest lover apologetically. “Sorry. I have to answer. It’s probably
headquarters.”
    She nodded. He could tell
she was trying to look nonchalant as he disengaged from her and flipped open
the phone, but for a brief second she looked distinctly nervous.
    “ Commissaire Lacroix,” he answered, and her eyes flared even bigger. He gave her a wry smile
and lifted a shoulder as he tried to make out through the static who was on the
other end of the line.
    “ Jean-Marc,
tu es là ?”
    “I’m here,” he told his
second-in-command, Lieutenant Pierre Rousselot, whose voice was breaking
up. “What’s up, mec ?”
    “Where the hell are you,
buried in some basement somewhere?”
    “ Club LeCoeur ,” he
said