Back to business,” Izzy said, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms until it hit the floor. The undershirt came off next and she raked her hands and mouth over his chest again.
“They’ll…call,” he said, trying to concentrate on anything but what she was doing to him.
“Who?”
“Dispatch.”
The phone rang and he glanced in the direction of the cordless on the entry table.
Figures.
He’d been dreaming of this every night for five days and had his fantasy list completely up to date, tucked safely in his wallet where no one would find it. The phone rang a third time.
“Izzy,” he said, shoving the phone at her while she headed south. “You have to answer and give them the code or they’ll send the cops. And right now, the cops are the dead last thing I want.”
No, what he wanted was to rip that dress off, shove her against the wall and pound his aching body into her.
Just as she reached to unfasten his pants, she stopped. No. No. No. If his body could talk, it would be screaming for her to keep going. Screaming .
Too bad his brain was in charge at the moment. He punched the speaker button on the handset and she straightened up before shoving her rumpled hair out of her face. Major league hot and totally shaggable.
“Hello?” she said and kissed him again.
Tongue and all.
No longer able to keep his hands still, Peter slid her dress up and his fingers skimmed her bare ass.
A thong.
Good thing he hadn’t known about that all night or he’d really have to be committed.
“Ms. DeRosa?” a voice asked, filling the room from the speaker.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Peter mentally checked his willpower and pulled back. “Just talk to her.”
“Ms. DeRosa, this is Connie from Taylor Security. Are you all right?”
Great. Connie from central station in Chicago. Ballbuster of the year.
“We are fine ,” Izzy said giving him the nymphet smile again.
“Can you give me the code?” Connie asked.
But Izzy had no interest in Connie or the code. She had her arms wrapped around him and was busy kissing his neck.
“Iz, give her the code.” Please, give her the code. Now!
“The code?”
Oh, come on.
“Connie?” He rolled his eyes because Izzy had her hands all over him and was moving down his body. Good God . He had to get rid of Connie. “This is Peter…uh…Monk Jessup. The code is I-P-9-5-3. Everything is fine. I was—” Oh, hell, Izzy hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants. “Uh…showing Ms. DeRosa how to work the alarm and we didn’t turn it off in time.”
Connie let out a sarcastic snort. “Sure you were, Monk.”
He’d never live this down. As soon as they hung up she’d be on the phone to the rest of his team and they’d call his cell constantly for the remainder of the night.
“You two have a lovely evening,” she said.
Peter stabbed at the button, tossed the phone over his shoulder, and it hit the wood with a crack.
“I think you broke my phone,” Izzy said.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
He reached down, hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her up against the wall. Their eyes met for a second and the heat nearly scalded him. Now it was his turn to make her crazy. And he’d enjoy every damn minute of it.
“Born to Run” blasted from his pocket into the quiet of the house. Connie worked quick. Let the games begin. He retrieved his phone, shut it off and turned his attention back to Izzy.
Her eyes were closed.
Nuh-uh. She’d closed her eyes. Crap. “Look at me, Izzy.” Hope nestled in the back of his mind. Not to mention other parts of his anatomy.
She didn’t open her eyes, but dragged him against her and kissed him, nearly swallowing him. She worked at it, doing everything she’d been doing just a few minutes earlier. But this kiss lacked the spontaneous heat of the others.
The mother of all hard-ons, and Creepy Izzy comes home. Rotten luck.
His whole body deflated. Well, maybe not his whole body, but it came damned close.
“They’ll…call,” he said, trying to concentrate on anything but what she was doing to him.
“Who?”
“Dispatch.”
The phone rang and he glanced in the direction of the cordless on the entry table.
Figures.
He’d been dreaming of this every night for five days and had his fantasy list completely up to date, tucked safely in his wallet where no one would find it. The phone rang a third time.
“Izzy,” he said, shoving the phone at her while she headed south. “You have to answer and give them the code or they’ll send the cops. And right now, the cops are the dead last thing I want.”
No, what he wanted was to rip that dress off, shove her against the wall and pound his aching body into her.
Just as she reached to unfasten his pants, she stopped. No. No. No. If his body could talk, it would be screaming for her to keep going. Screaming .
Too bad his brain was in charge at the moment. He punched the speaker button on the handset and she straightened up before shoving her rumpled hair out of her face. Major league hot and totally shaggable.
“Hello?” she said and kissed him again.
Tongue and all.
No longer able to keep his hands still, Peter slid her dress up and his fingers skimmed her bare ass.
A thong.
Good thing he hadn’t known about that all night or he’d really have to be committed.
“Ms. DeRosa?” a voice asked, filling the room from the speaker.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Peter mentally checked his willpower and pulled back. “Just talk to her.”
“Ms. DeRosa, this is Connie from Taylor Security. Are you all right?”
Great. Connie from central station in Chicago. Ballbuster of the year.
“We are fine ,” Izzy said giving him the nymphet smile again.
“Can you give me the code?” Connie asked.
But Izzy had no interest in Connie or the code. She had her arms wrapped around him and was busy kissing his neck.
“Iz, give her the code.” Please, give her the code. Now!
“The code?”
Oh, come on.
“Connie?” He rolled his eyes because Izzy had her hands all over him and was moving down his body. Good God . He had to get rid of Connie. “This is Peter…uh…Monk Jessup. The code is I-P-9-5-3. Everything is fine. I was—” Oh, hell, Izzy hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants. “Uh…showing Ms. DeRosa how to work the alarm and we didn’t turn it off in time.”
Connie let out a sarcastic snort. “Sure you were, Monk.”
He’d never live this down. As soon as they hung up she’d be on the phone to the rest of his team and they’d call his cell constantly for the remainder of the night.
“You two have a lovely evening,” she said.
Peter stabbed at the button, tossed the phone over his shoulder, and it hit the wood with a crack.
“I think you broke my phone,” Izzy said.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
He reached down, hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her up against the wall. Their eyes met for a second and the heat nearly scalded him. Now it was his turn to make her crazy. And he’d enjoy every damn minute of it.
“Born to Run” blasted from his pocket into the quiet of the house. Connie worked quick. Let the games begin. He retrieved his phone, shut it off and turned his attention back to Izzy.
Her eyes were closed.
Nuh-uh. She’d closed her eyes. Crap. “Look at me, Izzy.” Hope nestled in the back of his mind. Not to mention other parts of his anatomy.
She didn’t open her eyes, but dragged him against her and kissed him, nearly swallowing him. She worked at it, doing everything she’d been doing just a few minutes earlier. But this kiss lacked the spontaneous heat of the others.
The mother of all hard-ons, and Creepy Izzy comes home. Rotten luck.
His whole body deflated. Well, maybe not his whole body, but it came damned close.
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