Inside Out by Rowyn Ashby

Olivia.
    She was conscious of his fingers now on her clitoris, circling, stroking, flicking, and her body rocking against his hand, begging for more. Shane’s other hand stole under her neckline to her nipples that were rock hard and screaming for his tongue. She didn’t care if it only lasted a moment. She needed him badly. Hard and now. She threw back her head and clutched at the bar, bracing herself for an orgasm as Shane leaned over her, so close she could smell his skin. He’d just showered, and his clothes smelled of just washed, too.
    He turned his head to her and their eyes held, although Olivia’s were barely open.
    “Yes, I could easily fuck you right here on this bar, Hunter,” he murmured against her mouth and pulled away. “But I’m not going to.”
    She sat up, stunned by his words, searching his face, flushed with desire. “And why’s that…?” she challenged, feeling her mouth twitching with suppressed indignation, the juices that had pooled in between her thighs so abundant she was sure she’d wet the barstool.
    “Because this is not the place to fuck a lady.”
    “Oh, as opposed to?”
    A slight wrinkle formed at the corners of his mocking eyes. Laugh lines. How long had it been since he’d laughed, she wondered.
    “As opposed to your place,” he said with a grin.
    Once again access to her own beloved home eluded her. “What’s wrong with your place, is it holy ground?” She chuckled, but bit her lip as he pulled away, his eyes unreadable, and it dawned on her. He hadn’t taken anyone back there since she’d died. Crap.
    “Or we could go to my shop,” she added, trying to amend with a smile. Could he maybe see her through the kinky disguise of another woman’s body? Feel her thoughts as he always had? Impossible. Absolutely unthinkable.
    Yet Olivia couldn’t help but wonder what Shane would do if she told him the truth. If she sat him down now and explained all that had happened to her. If he could accept that she had managed to escape death, then he might entertain the idea that her soul might have found another body to inhabit, only to be with him again. It wasn’t looking good. She knew his strings better than those of her own cello.
    “Now listen,” he whispered. “Let’s cut the crap here. I know who you are. And the police know who you are. So just a few caveats. First, despite what you may think, I am your only friend here. Two, you don’t run from me again. Got that so far?”
    She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, got it.”
    “From what I’ve heard about you it’s better if you give me my gun back. I’ll worry about your pretty little ass from now on.”
    She hesitated, then finally nodded, and reached into her dress where she’d secured it with a piece of twine she’d found in her travels. Shane made an impressed face.
    “Smart girl. Now, what does it take to keep you in my sight for more than ten minutes, hmm?”
    She shivered. He used to look at her, his wife , like that.
    Shane’s fingertips traced her lips, moving down to her jawline as he whispered, “I need to see you, Hunter. Again and again.”
    Olivia stared up at his handsome, beloved face and the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his beautiful green eyes creased momentarily. Her thighs still trembled. If Randy, or anybody for that matter, came in and saw them, Shane’s large hand on her thigh, it would be more than obvious what was passing between them, and she didn’t want to blow her cover before she even met the guy.
    “Not now,” she whispered. “Please go.”
    His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move.
    “I need you, too. And I know I need your help. I’ll find you.”
    “Promise?”
    “Cross my heart and hope to die,” she assured him and lowered her head to the counter so he wouldn’t see the tears. Hunter Orlando never cried.
    Shane leaned in. “I’ll be at Chelsea Harbor, where we first met,” he whispered and without another word, his hand caressed her hip before he turned on