Lori Foster - Men of Honour - Ready, Set, Jett / When You Dare / Trace of Fever / Savor the Danger / A Perfect Storm / What Chris Wants / Bare It All

This time her hand went over her heart, and Dare saw a pulse beat wildly in her throat.

“I know you said you did, but—”

“Still holds true.” He took a step closer, but then stopped himself. If he touched her, he’d lose it for sure. “After last night, more than ever.”

Shoulders slumping, Molly shook her head. “I don’t understand you at all. Everything you did last night—”

“Yeah.” God, he would remember that for the rest of his life. No way would he let her deny what they’d done. “I got you off, and you liked it.”

She blinked fast in mixed embarrassment and confusion. “But then you stopped!” Her dark eyes were huge and filled with accusation. “If it’s not because I’m ugly right now, well, then, tell me why you stopped. Make me understand.”

Ugly? Jesus, is that what she thought? Here he was, doing his damndest to be noble, and she thought she wasn’t appealing enough?

Through his teeth, Dare said, “You want me to spell it out for you?”

Uncertainly, she nodded.

“Fine.” Let her deal with the truth. “If all I wanted was a fuck, trust me, Molly, you damn well would have been fucked.”

Her mouth fell open.

Dare turned, pounded the heavy bag three more times, but it didn’t help. Knuckles aching, he dropped his hands. How the hell could he make her understand what he hadn’t yet figured out for himself?

Voice strained, he said, “I like you, Molly.”

He heard her inhale.

Over his shoulder, gaze sharp and temper primed, he looked at her. “I care about you.”

“You do?”

In two long strides, he closed the distance between them. She backed up, but then bumped into the wall.

“Tonight.” Because he couldn’t stop himself, Dare flattened his hands on the wall to either side of her head. He leaned closer, loomed over her without letting his body touch hers.

“Tonight?” she whispered.

At five-seven, she was considerably shorter than him, small, delicate, vulnerable. And he was wild for her. He wanted to carry her to the ground, pin her down with his body and take his fill.

Breathing hard, Dare bent and put his mouth to hers. He didn’t touch her in any other way. He didn’t dare tempt himself that much; he couldn’t go there, not right now.

The kiss was warm and firm, and though Molly didn’t realize it yet, it was possessive as hell. A line had just been crossed, and he didn’t give a damn. She’d asked for it, so she’d get it, and then they could deal with her reaction together.

When she moaned and touched her hands to his chest, he straightened and took a quick step back. “Tonight, Molly. If you still feel the same tonight, then I’m done objecting.”

“Tonight?”

Was she having second thoughts? “Make damn sure you know what you want before then, because I’m not a man who’s good with half measures.” He caught her chin, determined to make her understand. “Once we’re in that bed together, we’re going to be there for a few hours, maybe all damn night. And trust me, Molly, before we’re done, you’ll know there’s not a damn thing about you that I find unappealing.”

Her lips trembled; she covered his hand with her own. “All right.” She drew in a slow, shivering breath and started to reach for him again.

And Chris yelled down the stairs, “Is Molly down there? I can’t find her.”

Molly jumped back as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. Her reaction was amusing, but Dare was a long way from humor. “Chris was gone?”

She nodded. “He went into town to get my stuff.”

Dare studied her flushed face, and then he noted how her nipples had tightened beneath her sweatshirt. Without taking his gaze off her breasts, he yelled up to Chris, “She’ll be right there.”

“Ooookay,” Chris said, and they both heard the basement door close.

Chris was giving them privacy, but Dare didn’t want it. Not here, not like this. But now that he’d told Molly how he felt, the barriers seemed very insubstantial. If he didn’t get some space, he’d end up taking her on the cold concrete floor.

“I need to shower,” he told her, “and then I’ll be right up.” As dismissals went, that was pretty clear.

“Oh. Right.” Keeping her back to the wall, Molly sidled toward the stairs. “I’ll just be up there. With Chris.”

Dare couldn’t take his gaze off her. “Give me twenty minutes.”

She continued to retreat. “Twenty minutes.”

Obviously he’d thrown her for a loop. Seemed fair to Dare, given how she’d turned him inside out.

His jaw flexed. “Get going, Molly, before I change my mind.”

She turned and hustled up the stairs, fascinating Dare with that taut behind and the bouncing of her full breasts. He stood there transfixed, watching her until she reached the top of the stairs and disappeared from his sight.

Damn, but she was something. Pure. Honest.

A great contradiction to the life he’d built for himself, a life of precision, deception and detection.

Being around Molly felt good.

Today he’d make her confront her life back home, and, God willing, tonight she’d still want him.

KATHI BERRY-ALEXANDER finished giving directions to one of the well-mannered household staff before she started down the hallway of the mansion she shared with her husband, Bishop Alexander. All her life, she’d been groomed for the skillful organization and planning required for a residence this large—not that Bishop understood or appreciated her significant contribution to making their home comfortable. He was a very busy man, an important, influential man, and he couldn’t be expected to care about such things. She knew that, in many ways, he considered her dispensable.

But she loved him anyway.

She loved the prestige he provided, the social circle, the authority.

He might not be the most charming man around, but he was an excellent provider and a respectable husband that society admired and that some even revered.

Her parents had raised her with advantages, but they weren’t powerful like Bishop. Marriage to him ensured that she kept a prestigious edge over others.

She happily basked in the cold shadow of his success.

What Bishop couldn’t or wouldn’t give her, she was resourceful enough to get on her own.

As Kathi looked around at the beautiful artwork on the walls and the fresh flowers in multiple vases, she nodded in satisfaction. Meticulous detailing ensured that nothing would ever mar her perfect existence.

Mentally listing her duties for the coming evening, Kathi considered the yoga class in an hour, then lunch with friends before she’d visit the salon in preparation for a dinner party with her husband’s business contacts.

Everything revolved around those contacts. Over the years, Bishop’s business investments grew more diversified, and even extended into political backing. She didn’t understand all of his dealings, but she knew that he owned a chain of gun stores and several recreational properties. Business didn’t interest her; she received a generous household allowance and personal account, and should anything ever happen to Bishop, she was a major beneficiary of his will. The house, the properties, would remain hers.

She was satisfied.

As she strode along the marble floors, Kathi’s heels clicked rhythmically in a soothing cadence until she stepped into the master bedroom in search of her purse. That’s when she spotted Bishop out on the veranda.

Despite the cool day and brisk wind, he wore no jacket. With his cell phone to his ear and tension in his shoulders, he leaned on the ornate iron railing and stared out at the grounds.

He spoke in a tone harsh with anger, and Kathi couldn’t help but overhear him.