light touch, but with so much impact, it reached
her toes.
Jess gazed at his mouth and her head tilted up all by itself.
His dark eyes offered escape. Who could care about anything
in a moment like this? Time didn't matter, life didn't matter,
breathing didn't matter. She only wanted this, only wanted his
touch. Wanted him.
He drew closer. Soap. Sunshine.
His kiss.
The soft rustle of bending leather. His hand, gentle on her
neck. The too-fast pounding of her heart in her ears.
His mouth covered hers, tantalizing her with the promise
of more if she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. Her body
hung from that touch, dangled in a sea of need behind the
connection of his lips against hers.
She grabbed the back of his neck, felt his arms tighten and
lift her against his chest. The kiss deepened as she opened to
him, gave him possession of more than just her tongue, her
mind, her thoughts. She gave him her entire needy, greedy
soul.
He was so strong, his shoulders so wide, it stole her away
to a place where the FBI didn't exist, where killers and clothes
were banished. To a place where skin and flesh and arms and
legs tangled erotically in a world made soft by satin and….
He drew away, buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Jess," he breathed the word, his lips on the sensitive skin
where her jaw joined ear and throat together.
"Oh boy." Reality soon cleared the gauze of lust from her
thoughts. She shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be begging
for this with every ounce of her being. Not with the agents
waiting outside. Not when she'd see her dad soon.
Mitch straightened, heaved a deep breath, and refused to
look into her eyes. He rubbed the top of his head briskly and
replaced the sunglasses. Facing the wall, he said, "Sorry about
that."
She crossed her arms, the points of her breasts hard
against her arms. She shook once, trying to regain function of
her limbs and brain. "Me too."
Except she wasn't sorry, not one damn bit. She'd wanted
that kiss, wanted to know what it would be like since the
moment she'd seen him outside the garage. It didn't matter that
her heart pounded too fast or that her lungs were a good deal
smaller than they'd been five minutes ago.
He nodded, she wasn't sure at what, and lifted the bags.
"We should go, or we'll miss the flight."
Jess opened the door for him, and found she couldn't look
him fully in the face either. She was afraid he would see the
need in her eyes. "Can't miss our flight."
"Nope, sure can't."
The sound of a smile in his tone gave her the courage to
venture a glance at him. He grinned. She smiled back, though
she had the sinking feeling the flight would be anything but
comfortable for her. She thanked heaven she could hide her
arousal easier than a man could.
As he stepped outside, she looked at his jeans. What she
saw made her grin widen to a satisfied smile.
* * *
That kiss had been a mistake. Mitch didn't know how it
had happened. He'd wanted to comfort her, not maul her. He
could still feel the press of her body against his. Jess didn't do
anything by halves and that kiss had felt like all or nothing. Glad she picked all.
He motioned for her to stay in the alcove of the lobby
doors and wait. With Jess's keys, he unlocked the Mustang.
Mordstrom, dabbing powder-sugar lipstick, waved from his
government-issued car. Mitch stowed the bags in the back seat
and closed the door. His gaze fell to the puncture wounds
along the side panel. The bullet holes were a sober reminder of
the line he'd crossed.
Never get involved with a client or a member of their
family .
The outcome, never good, usually included a bad
reputation that spelled death for future business. Gorgeous,
sexy, or willing didn't matter. He couldn't touch any woman
under his protection.
He eyed the street, the parking lot, the few guests
wandering to the lobby for their breakfast. No threats in sight.
He couldn't allow himself to get sloppy, to let anything but his
brain do the
her toes.
Jess gazed at his mouth and her head tilted up all by itself.
His dark eyes offered escape. Who could care about anything
in a moment like this? Time didn't matter, life didn't matter,
breathing didn't matter. She only wanted this, only wanted his
touch. Wanted him.
He drew closer. Soap. Sunshine.
His kiss.
The soft rustle of bending leather. His hand, gentle on her
neck. The too-fast pounding of her heart in her ears.
His mouth covered hers, tantalizing her with the promise
of more if she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. Her body
hung from that touch, dangled in a sea of need behind the
connection of his lips against hers.
She grabbed the back of his neck, felt his arms tighten and
lift her against his chest. The kiss deepened as she opened to
him, gave him possession of more than just her tongue, her
mind, her thoughts. She gave him her entire needy, greedy
soul.
He was so strong, his shoulders so wide, it stole her away
to a place where the FBI didn't exist, where killers and clothes
were banished. To a place where skin and flesh and arms and
legs tangled erotically in a world made soft by satin and….
He drew away, buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Jess," he breathed the word, his lips on the sensitive skin
where her jaw joined ear and throat together.
"Oh boy." Reality soon cleared the gauze of lust from her
thoughts. She shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be begging
for this with every ounce of her being. Not with the agents
waiting outside. Not when she'd see her dad soon.
Mitch straightened, heaved a deep breath, and refused to
look into her eyes. He rubbed the top of his head briskly and
replaced the sunglasses. Facing the wall, he said, "Sorry about
that."
She crossed her arms, the points of her breasts hard
against her arms. She shook once, trying to regain function of
her limbs and brain. "Me too."
Except she wasn't sorry, not one damn bit. She'd wanted
that kiss, wanted to know what it would be like since the
moment she'd seen him outside the garage. It didn't matter that
her heart pounded too fast or that her lungs were a good deal
smaller than they'd been five minutes ago.
He nodded, she wasn't sure at what, and lifted the bags.
"We should go, or we'll miss the flight."
Jess opened the door for him, and found she couldn't look
him fully in the face either. She was afraid he would see the
need in her eyes. "Can't miss our flight."
"Nope, sure can't."
The sound of a smile in his tone gave her the courage to
venture a glance at him. He grinned. She smiled back, though
she had the sinking feeling the flight would be anything but
comfortable for her. She thanked heaven she could hide her
arousal easier than a man could.
As he stepped outside, she looked at his jeans. What she
saw made her grin widen to a satisfied smile.
* * *
That kiss had been a mistake. Mitch didn't know how it
had happened. He'd wanted to comfort her, not maul her. He
could still feel the press of her body against his. Jess didn't do
anything by halves and that kiss had felt like all or nothing. Glad she picked all.
He motioned for her to stay in the alcove of the lobby
doors and wait. With Jess's keys, he unlocked the Mustang.
Mordstrom, dabbing powder-sugar lipstick, waved from his
government-issued car. Mitch stowed the bags in the back seat
and closed the door. His gaze fell to the puncture wounds
along the side panel. The bullet holes were a sober reminder of
the line he'd crossed.
Never get involved with a client or a member of their
family .
The outcome, never good, usually included a bad
reputation that spelled death for future business. Gorgeous,
sexy, or willing didn't matter. He couldn't touch any woman
under his protection.
He eyed the street, the parking lot, the few guests
wandering to the lobby for their breakfast. No threats in sight.
He couldn't allow himself to get sloppy, to let anything but his
brain do the
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