Tori Carrington - Private Investigations

Breasts. Bare breasts. That’s the first thing Joe saw as firm thighs squeezed his hips. “Stay still,” the woman on top of him quietly ordered.

What did she mean? He was still. Oh, well, maybe there was one part of him that wasn’t completely obeying….

The balcony doors slid open, but before Joe could see what was going on, the woman was kissing him.

No, she wasn’t kissing him—she was devouring him. He groaned against the mattress. This was better than any dream. Forgotten were the strangers on the balcony, the identity of the woman straddling him, the bizarre notion that he didn’t have any idea what was happening. All he could think about was the rush of heat to his groin, the taste of the mouth now plundering his….

Then she moved. Oh, God, she moved.

Somewhere in the back of Joe’s mind he realized the shadows were no longer at the balcony doors. And his dream nymph moved again—only this time, it was away from him. Joe blinked, trying to focus on the gorgeous, naked woman now standing at the foot of his bed.

In a panicked voice, she said, “I need your help.”

Dear Reader,

Is there one thing you’ve always wanted to do, but never dared try? Have you yearned to shrug off your usual nine-to-five clothing and slip into something a little more adventurous…risqué, even? In Private Investigations, Ripley Logan does just that by chucking her job as a secretary for a more exciting career as a private investigator. Only, she doesn’t anticipate just how very exciting things will get. And sizzling, sinful Joe Pruitt is all too willing to show her….

An ex-jock turned successful businessman, Joe isn’t thrilled when he gets pulled into whatever professional mess sexy Miss Logan has gotten herself into. After all, he’s willing to go only so far for a good turn in the sack. The problem is that line keeps getting farther and farther away….

We hope you enjoy Ripley and Joe’s sexy adventure! We’d love to hear what you think. Write to us at P.O. Box 12271, Toledo, Ohio, 43612, or visit us on the Web at www.toricarrington.com.

Until next time,

Lori & Tony Karayianni

aka Tori Carrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for all our online buds at Writerspace.com,

NovelTalk, R.E.A.D., Writers Club Romance Group,

Cata Romance, Compuserve, Romance and Friends,

The Romance Journal and last but definitely not least,

RomEx. Thanks for keeping it real.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

SLICK FINGERS slid down the length of the long, hard surface then back up again. Moist heat swirled up and around, dampening her skin, making her long for something that was taking far too long to achieve. She gave a good squeeze, gauging the liquid ready to ooze out, then rested her cheek against the familiar object she’d been longing to get her fingers around all day.

Ripley Logan finally judged the bathtub water deep enough, uncapped the bottle of bubble bath in her hand and upended it. She watched, mesmerized, as the contents mixed with the rapidly falling water. She couldn’t wait to sink in and soak away the weariness that had built up through the long day.

Okay, she admitted, maybe she’d made more informed decisions in her life. Sitting on the side of the hotel room bathtub, she took a deep breath, allowing the smell of peaches to wash away some of her exhaustion. Who would have thought being a private investigator would be so grueling? Exciting, yes. That was the whole reason she’d learned how to handle a firearm, taken six months worth of specialized classes and studied up on the finer points of surveillance equipment. But her first case, and second day on the job, and she was wondering why no one had told her about the long hours, the countless people who wouldn’t talk to her even if she threatened Chinese torture treatment and, well, the plain loneliness of the job. Turning the nearly empty bottle upright, she capped it then stretched to her feet. Muscles she’d forgotten she had hurt. If the reason for her tired state had been interesting, that would be one thing. Pounding the pavement looking for a woman who didn’t want to be found was quite another.

She glanced at the time, then took off her watch and laid it on the sink. After midnight, and she was no closer to finding out anything more about a certain missing person, Nicole Bennett, than she had been twelve hours ago, roughly the time her plane set down at Memphis International Airport.

Ripley could practically hear her mother saying, “Maybe they’ll take you back at your old job, honey. You do have six years in there. And you’re a reliable and skilled worker. I’m sure they’ll understand that you’ve had a change of heart.”

Merely imagining the conversation with her mother was enough to snap Ripley’s spine straight. The company she’d worked for had been bought out by another company, and a good third of the employees had been offered early retirement or attractive severance packages. She’d been the first in line to take one of the latter. Of course, the part she’d never tell her mother was that she’d seen the offer as a sign that she should stop chomping at the bit and run full out. The perfect opportunity to do something more exciting with her life. Something that didn’t involve carrying an extra pair of nylons in her purse and hours shopping for dress shoes that wouldn’t kill her.

Not that she expected her mother—or her father either, for that matter—to understand her recent decision. Vivian Logan had been forty-five when she and Fred had given up trying to have a child of their own and adopted Ripley. They’d always been out of step with her friends’ younger parents. While classmates were having cool birthday parties with roller-skating or movie themes, she had suffered through Kool-Aid and cupcake get-togethers with games of pin the tail on the donkey—or worse, piñatas. It wouldn’t have been so bad when she was five. But she’d been fifteen.

After the last humiliating experience, when her mother had introduced crazy string to the party and emptied an entire can on top of Jason McCaffee’s handsome blond head, she’d talked her parents into the notion that she was an adult and no longer needed parties, and her birthdays were marked with a quiet dinner out with her parents.

Yes, she knew her latest career move would worry the hell out of them. But the thought of continuing with her blah life the way it was scared the hell out of her. It would be one thing if she actually made her parents happy by leading her life the way she thought they wanted her to. The problem was that they seemed ceaselessly exasperated by her decisions, especially during her very brief but frequent streaks of rebellion that neither began nor ended with adolescence. Rather, Ripley had come to suspect that the alter ego behind those streaks was the real her. And she’d found it was fun finally letting her out to play.

She unstrapped her brand-spanking-new nickel-plated 9mm from her shoulder holster and weighed the two and a half pounds of steel in her hands. Despite how many times she held it, she couldn’t get used to seeing herself holding the firearm. She felt like a kid playing cowboys and was ceaselessly filled with the urge to point it and mouth, “Pow, pow!” Only if she did it now, the pow would put a very real hole in something or someone.