Hard as It Gets by Laura Kaye Page A

warning.
    The need to have him inundated her. She couldn’t deny it. Didn’t want to. Her mouth came down on his nipple.
    The groan that ripped out of his throat shot right between her legs and filled her with an empty ache that begged for relief.
    Hands tight on her upper arms, he shoved them apart but didn’t let go. Mouth open, breathing hard, muscles rigid everywhere, he glared down at her with a lethal look that did absolutely nothing to deter her lust.
    He ripped off his gloves and threw them to the floor, blazing eyes never leaving hers. And then he was on her.
    Hands in her hair, he tilted her head back and devoured her in a kiss. Hot. Hard. Commanding. Her lips fell open on a gasping moan and his tongue slipped between, stroking against her own. He tasted of mint and man and sinful promise, and Becca couldn’t get enough.
    The room spinning around her, she grasped at his shoulders—and groaned at the gloves. “Off, off,” she rasped around the edges of the kiss.
    Nick pulled back, his face a dark mask of desire. He removed her gloves in about two seconds and tugged her into his chest, holding her tighter than before, kissing her more deeply.
    Becca’s hands were immediately in heaven, caressing and grasping at the bunched muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his back. He was hard everywhere, and the strong, aroused feel of him curled heat low in her stomach.
    One hand holding her head, his other hand slid down her body and cupped her breast. She moaned as he massaged her through the layers of her clothing, his thumb stroking over and over against the hard nub of her nipple. Her hands found his hair, soft and thick, and grasped and tugged at it as he tormented her with his mouth and fingers.
    His hips rocked against her belly, and Becca gasped and shifted against him. Groaning, he dropped the hand from her hair to her ass and urged them more tightly together. Wetness created a maddening need for friction between her legs. God, this was crazy, but she wanted him like she’d never wanted another man. She dragged her fingertips over his chest, slipped her hand between their bodies, and grasped his cock through the denim. Oh, he was a delicious handful. She couldn’t wait—
    “Stop.” He pulled back and grasped her wrists.
    “Why?” she asked, missing his heat against her.
    Chest heaving, he rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, like he was tasting her there. “Because you’re upset and vulnerable. And I shouldn’t take advantage. I won’t.”
    “It’s hardly taking advantage if I want it.” And she did. She just wanted to lose herself in his body, his intensity, his strength, for a long while.
    His fingers dug into her wrists, just shy of painful. “It’s not a good idea.”
    Her gaze dropped to the bulge filling out the left front of his jeans. Jesus, if he straightened himself out, she had a sneaking suspicion the rise of the denim might not cover the whole of him. Her mouth watered. “Looks like a pretty good idea to me.”
    “Damnit, woman.” The percussive blast of his curse drew her gaze back to his face. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
    “Why? If I don’t want you to—”
    “Because I want to make you hold onto that bag while I bury myself in you so hard and so deep you don’t know your own name. But then tomorrow, in the light of day, when your brother’s still missing and we’re still trying to figure out the mystery of who broke into your house, getting fucked by a stranger in a warehouse will be just one more thing you have to deal with. And I won’t do that to you.”
    The words absolutely stole her breath. She tugged out of his grip. His words dragged Charlie back to the center of her thoughts, where he should’ve been all along. Guilt sloshed over her arousal and pricked at the backs of her eyes.
    “Fine.” She scooped her gloves off the floor and crossed the room to return them to their shelf, then made for the door. “What’s the code to your