Truth Or Dare by Lori Foster Page A

intriguing color darken Becky Harte’s soft cheeks again. God, but he loved the way the woman blushed. Since he was still touching her, he even felt the heat Would she flush all over like that when he had her securely bound to his bed, naked and hungry and waiting for him to give her a screaming orgasm?
    He had a feeling she would, and he could hardly wait.
    What a little fraud she was. He’d worked at the factory as a supervisor for two years now. In that time, he’d gotten to know Becky well. Or so he’d thought. She was very young—too young he’d sometimes thought And though at twenty-five she should have had her share of experience, Becky still had “sweet and innocent” stamped all over her in a way that made a man’s primal instincts go on red-hot alert.
    From her big blue eyes, to her bouncing blond curls, to her sweet small-town accent, she exuded artless naïveté. She was the type of woman who—he’d thought—would want to get married if she got intimate with a man.
    Still, he thought of her nearly every day, and wanted her more often than that. At work, he couldn’t help stopping to chat with her whenever possible. She was so sweet, so open, damn near every man at the factory felt drawn to her, himself included. But Becky never seemed to notice.
    And she never seemed to want male attention.
    She’d certainly turned him down. She hadn’t been rude or inconsiderate about it, but rather she’d feigned misunderstanding. He’d tease, and she’d give him a blank look, then call him Mr. Westin in a way that made it clear she considered him a supervisor, a casual work friend, and nothing more.
    In many ways, her youth, her fresh-faced candor, and her disinterest had made her more appealing, to the point he nearly felt obsessed with her. Of course, her body had helped in that, too.
    He absolutely burned with the need to see beneath her conservative clothes.
    Her long skirts and buttoned-up blouses couldn’t quite disguise a sweetly rounded figure ripe with curves. The way she tried to conceal herself only made his imagination go wild. More often than was wise, he’d fantasized about getting her into bed.
    And now he knew the truth. Sweet, innocent Becky wasn’t into marriage. No, she was into bondage. She wanted to be tied down, she wanted to be vulnerable. She wanted to be at a man’s mercy.
    Yet she still blushed, and she honestly seemed to be clueless about things sexual in nature.
    What an intriguing conflict.
    Becky Harte wanted to be dominated—and George was just the man to accommodate her. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let any other guy do it.
    With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Becky turned away from him to study the wall of blindfolds. George studied her ass.
    He could hardly wait to get his hands on her.
    Today she wore a beige denim skirt that hung clear to her ankles, but he could see that her feet were small, her ankles trim. Her bulky coat over a loose thick sweater hid her waistline, but couldn’t hide the thrust of her full breasts.
    George’s palm tingled as he remembered slipping his hand beneath her coat to feel her heartbeat. She’d trembled gently, her heart thumping hard and fast, her breast a warm firm weight against the back of his hand.
    He’d wanted to slide his fingers higher and cup her breast. He’d wanted to stroke her nipple until he felt it puckering tight.
    She’d wanted the same.
    But not teasing her now would get him further later, so George had controlled himself, and in the process, he’d controlled her, though she might not have realized it. All in all, sexual preferences aside, he was experienced enough to know that she was innocent, and that delightful mix of timidity and hot sensuality had him hard and more than ready.
    And here he’d considered Cuther, Indiana, a dull place. He grinned. With Becky Harte wandering loose, there was nothing dull about it. Since first meeting her, he’d wanted her. Against his better judgment and her