Lori Foster - Fast Burn

Sahara pressed closer, her breasts to his chest, her belly to his dick, and logic nearly flew the coop.

He lowered his hands to her perfectly shaped ass, toned from the sky-high heels she favored—heels that made her long legs look even more amazing. Scooping her closer, he rubbed her against him, then stifled a groan.

Two seconds more and he’d be hard.

Ending the kiss wasn’t easy, not with her tongue dueling with his and all those soft, sexy sounds escaping her. He gentled her, slowed her down and finally freed his mouth. Hoping to make it less abrupt, he kissed a trail over her stubborn jaw to that sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Subtle perfume vied with the natural scent of her fragrant skin.

She tipped back her head.

Unable to ignore that invitation, he teased damp kisses along her throat before drawing her head to his shoulder. He returned his hands to her upper back, moving up and down to soothe her.

Against her temple he said, “I’m sorry, Sahara. I shouldn’t have started that.” But he wasn’t sure anything could have stopped him from tasting her. “This isn’t the time or place to get carried away.”

Awareness drew her back and she stared at him in shock, her blue eyes wide and vague, her lips—now slightly swollen—parted.

Brand smoothed a tendril of thick, light brown hair that had escaped her pins. “You okay?”

That got her stepping quickly away. “Yes, of course.” She brushed her palms against the tight material of her skirt over her thighs. “It was only a kiss.”

For some reason, it annoyed him that she downplayed the impact. “A kiss that had you crawling all over me, and you damn near yanked out my hair.”

Her eyes widened even more...and then she laughed. “We did get a little carried away.”

“A little,” he agreed, still nettled. Could she really be less affected than he was? Or was she hiding behind her usual cool persona?

“I’m fine.” She reached up to remove his sunglasses, then stroked her fingers through his hair. “But did I hurt you?”

Her touch ignited him all over again. Dangerous. He’d known that about her within minutes of their first introduction. Catching her wrists, he lowered her hands—but then couldn’t let go.

And she didn’t pull away. After a long look, she said, “We could...discuss this more tonight.”

Hell of a suggestion, but he’d damn near lost it in her office with Enoch just outside the door. If he had her alone, no way in hell would he be able to keep his hands off her. So he shook his head and explained, “I’m meeting the guys at a bar tonight.”

One slender brow arched up. “My guys?”

Did she think she owned them? “If you mean Leese, Justice and Miles, yeah, they’ll be there, but arriving at different times. I think Leese is between assignments, right? And both Miles and Justice should finish up for the day in time to join us.”

“Us?”

“A half-dozen other fighters, some of their wives. You’ve met most of them.”

She nodded. “Will you be going to that quaint little hometown place, Rowdy’s?”

Damn it, did she plan to crash the party? Actually, how the hell did she know about Rowdy’s? He thought about asking her, but decided he’d be better off getting out of there. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

She waited, but when he said nothing more, she briefly looked wounded before giving him a cool smile. “Have fun then.” She went back behind her desk and turned on the monitor to her PC in clear dismissal. “Do let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” But he didn’t like being dismissed. “My sunglasses?”

As if she forgot she held them, she looked at her hand in surprise. “Oh sorry.” Nonchalant, she leaned forward, offering them to him without getting up, her attention still on the monitor.

Proving he had a perverse streak a mile wide, Brand let his fingers slowly graze hers as he took the glasses.

Her startled gaze flew to his face, but she only grinned, once again in full control. “Wicked, that’s what you are.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Thanks for stopping by.”

And she went back to staring at the screen.

Left with nothing else to do, Brand walked out. That meeting hadn’t gone as planned, but then nothing with Sahara ever did.

He knew he’d done the right thing.

So then why did it feel like he’d been kicked in the chest?

CHAPTER TWO

SHE WOULD NOT feel dejected, Sahara promised herself as she walked through the lobby toward the parking garage exit. Her heels clicked on the marble tiles and she smiled automatically at every friendly face she saw.

Anita, the lobby receptionist, stood to ask, “Done for the day, Ms. Silver?”

“I am, yes.” She liked Anita, so she stopped to ask, “How’s the weather out there? Still raining?”

“Storming, unfortunately. Do you need an umbrella?”

“I’ll go from the garage here to my garage at home, but thank you. What about you?”

“I’ll make a mad dash into my apartment, but I have a raincoat with me.”

“So you’re not worried about melting either?”

She laughed. “I like rain, actually. Always have.”

“Same here. A good storm leaves everything fresh.” Sahara buttoned up her lightweight coat and pulled up the collar. “Be careful driving then.”

“You, too, Ms. Silver.”

She waved as she stepped away.

Other employees spoke to her, all of them friendly and familiar but still respectful. For her, Body Armor was a business with a family vibe. After all, she’d practically grown up here. Being sixteen years older than her, Scott had taken over raising her while their parents traveled the world. She’d always known she was an unpleasant surprise for them, but she’d never doubted Scott’s love.

The agency was all she had left of him and being here, surrounded by people he’d hired, protocols he’d put into place, contacts he’d built, made her feel closer to him.

Brand was a distraction, the first to consume her since she’d taken over the agency, and that scared her a little. She had to shake it off. She was not a woman to brood.

So he’d kissed her senseless, then made it clear that he didn’t want her to join him for the evening. Men were fickle. She’d been dealing with them long enough that it shouldn’t have bothered her.

But...she’d thought her men, all of them, liked her as more than a boss. They had an easy camaraderie. She’d spent time with them outside of work and they’d never seemed to mind. She liked to think she’d been helpful when it came to various problems they’d encountered.

Holding her purse strap over her shoulder, she pushed through the security doors to the parking garage. Her black Mercedes-Maybach, looking much like all the other black sedans in the garage, sat in isolated splendor in her private spot.

The spot reserved for the boss.

The spot where her brother used to park.

Stop it. Melancholy doesn’t suit you.

She could have used a driver, as she often did. But tonight she’d wanted the solitude of a quiet drive home.

The storm raged and she pulled onto the road cautiously. At only 7:00 p.m., it looked like midnight, dark clouds obliterating any light. There wasn’t much traffic, and even driving more slowly, she neared her home outside the city within twenty minutes.

She could see the keyless entry gate for the long private drive when suddenly an SUV pulled crossways into the road, blocking the way. She slowed, the sense of danger overwhelming her. Headlights shone in her rearview mirror as another black SUV approached and that vehicle, too, pulled across the road.

Well, hell. Her doors were already locked, so using the automated voice control, she called Leese Phelps.