I push that in his face and ask him to speak up?"
Finn restrained his temper. "We tape it to you."
"Really?"
"Underneath the dress."
An amused look flickered across her face as her eyes met his. Touching me again? He could almost hear her sassy voice saying the words aloud. Not on your life, Angel. But despite himself, his fingers tingled with anticipation.
Slowly, she turned her back toward Mike, her eyes never leaving Finn's. Heat wanned his face under her challenging stare. "Would you mind?" Her voice held a note of promise and her luscious mouth tilted up in a slight, knowing smile. Mike unzipped the dress, and the sheath slid to the floor with a satiny hiss.
Oh, my God. If Finn believed in the power of saints, he'd call on one now.
She stood wrapped in a single piece of lingerie that clung like a second skin. Black lace, it started at her full breasts, barely contained inside the strapless bosom, then hugged her waist and hips and ended with beribboned holders that fastened onto the tops of a pair of sleek, black stockings. The only other items she wore were the black heels and the strand of pearls, and if Finn had been speechless before, he was dead dumb now. In front of him stood the living emblem of every man's fantasy.
In less than ten seconds he was steel hard.
Hands on hips, she cocked her head in an innocent expression. "Now, you want to put that... where?"
Finn bit down hard on the explosion about to erupt inside him. You want to play games, Angel? I can play games. With grim deliberation, he took two steps in her direction, reached for the cleft between her breasts, and tugged her forward by the top of the black lace.
She stumbled toward him awkwardly. "That's a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of French lace you're pawing, Sharkman." She smiled at him sweetly and for the life of him, he wanted to do nothing more than bury his mouth over her insincere lips.
"Give me the wire, Mike." In spite of the heat circulating inside him, his voice came out just the way he wanted it to: cold and harsh.
"Why don't you let me-"
"Give me the wire."
Mike handed him the device, and he began to slide the thin cable between her breasts. The nerve endings in his fingers jumped when they came in contact with her skin. You can do this Carver. Without your hands shaking. If it were possible to get any harder, touching the plush mounds of her cleavage made him hard to the point of discomfort. But he resisted shifting his stance to find a better position, and continued threading the wire between her breasts.
Her breathing changed when he touched her and she tensed to fight her reaction. Grimly, he smiled to himself. The soft, breathy sound told him she wasn't as indifferent to him as she pretended. Triumph zinged through him, and he knelt to finish the job. But when he was on his knees in front of her, his head level with her belly, he lost his composure all over again. Pausing for a moment, he longed to lay his head against her, to rub his hands over the lush curves encased in black lace.
Heart booming in his ears, he slowly raised his hands and placed them on her left thigh, above the top of the black stockings where her smooth, soft flesh was bare. He found the end of the wire and plugged a matchbook-size cassette recorder to it, then laid the recorder against her skin. God, she smelled good. He inhaled her scent, something lush and utterly feminine, and for a moment he forgot what he was doing.
"You going to spend the night at my feet, Sharkman?" Her words floated down to him on a sultry whisper, and he raised his head to look at her. She was looking right back at him, as if she knew what she was doing to him.
Suffocating him. Taking him by the throat and throttling him with his own desire.
"Mike." He was damn proud of the coolness in his voice. "Finish her up."
Finn rose and stalked over to the sideboard, where the hotel had provided a selection of liquor. He opened a bottle, not even checking to see what it
Finn restrained his temper. "We tape it to you."
"Really?"
"Underneath the dress."
An amused look flickered across her face as her eyes met his. Touching me again? He could almost hear her sassy voice saying the words aloud. Not on your life, Angel. But despite himself, his fingers tingled with anticipation.
Slowly, she turned her back toward Mike, her eyes never leaving Finn's. Heat wanned his face under her challenging stare. "Would you mind?" Her voice held a note of promise and her luscious mouth tilted up in a slight, knowing smile. Mike unzipped the dress, and the sheath slid to the floor with a satiny hiss.
Oh, my God. If Finn believed in the power of saints, he'd call on one now.
She stood wrapped in a single piece of lingerie that clung like a second skin. Black lace, it started at her full breasts, barely contained inside the strapless bosom, then hugged her waist and hips and ended with beribboned holders that fastened onto the tops of a pair of sleek, black stockings. The only other items she wore were the black heels and the strand of pearls, and if Finn had been speechless before, he was dead dumb now. In front of him stood the living emblem of every man's fantasy.
In less than ten seconds he was steel hard.
Hands on hips, she cocked her head in an innocent expression. "Now, you want to put that... where?"
Finn bit down hard on the explosion about to erupt inside him. You want to play games, Angel? I can play games. With grim deliberation, he took two steps in her direction, reached for the cleft between her breasts, and tugged her forward by the top of the black lace.
She stumbled toward him awkwardly. "That's a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of French lace you're pawing, Sharkman." She smiled at him sweetly and for the life of him, he wanted to do nothing more than bury his mouth over her insincere lips.
"Give me the wire, Mike." In spite of the heat circulating inside him, his voice came out just the way he wanted it to: cold and harsh.
"Why don't you let me-"
"Give me the wire."
Mike handed him the device, and he began to slide the thin cable between her breasts. The nerve endings in his fingers jumped when they came in contact with her skin. You can do this Carver. Without your hands shaking. If it were possible to get any harder, touching the plush mounds of her cleavage made him hard to the point of discomfort. But he resisted shifting his stance to find a better position, and continued threading the wire between her breasts.
Her breathing changed when he touched her and she tensed to fight her reaction. Grimly, he smiled to himself. The soft, breathy sound told him she wasn't as indifferent to him as she pretended. Triumph zinged through him, and he knelt to finish the job. But when he was on his knees in front of her, his head level with her belly, he lost his composure all over again. Pausing for a moment, he longed to lay his head against her, to rub his hands over the lush curves encased in black lace.
Heart booming in his ears, he slowly raised his hands and placed them on her left thigh, above the top of the black stockings where her smooth, soft flesh was bare. He found the end of the wire and plugged a matchbook-size cassette recorder to it, then laid the recorder against her skin. God, she smelled good. He inhaled her scent, something lush and utterly feminine, and for a moment he forgot what he was doing.
"You going to spend the night at my feet, Sharkman?" Her words floated down to him on a sultry whisper, and he raised his head to look at her. She was looking right back at him, as if she knew what she was doing to him.
Suffocating him. Taking him by the throat and throttling him with his own desire.
"Mike." He was damn proud of the coolness in his voice. "Finish her up."
Finn rose and stalked over to the sideboard, where the hotel had provided a selection of liquor. He opened a bottle, not even checking to see what it
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