Bound By Passion: No Desire Denied / One More Kiss / Second-Chance Seduction. Cara Summers
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probably envisioning another. In one of my books, this would be a plot point. The characters would have to make a decision. Either they find out and deal with the consequences, or they keep thinking about it. I would assume that, in your job, it pays to know exactly what you’re up against. Right?”
“Close enough.”
But he wasn’t nearly close enough. The heat of his breath burned her lips, but she had to have more. And talking wasn’t going to get it for her. If she wanted to seduce Reid, she had to make the move.
Finally, her arms were around him, her mouth parted beneath his. And she had her answers.
His mouth wasn’t soft at all but open and urgent. His taste was as dark and dangerous as the man. That much she’d guessed. But there was none of the control that he always seemed to coat himself with. None of the reserve. There was only heat and luxurious demand. She was sinking fast to a place where there was nothing but Reid and the glorious sensations only he could give her. She wanted to lose herself in them. Her heart had never raced this fast. Her body had never pulsed so desperately. Even in her wildest fantasies, she’d never conceived of feeling this way. And it still wasn’t enough. She needed more. Everything. Him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she pulled him closer.
Big mistake. In some far corner of Reid’s mind, the words blinked like a huge neon sign. They’d started sending their message the instant he’d told her that they would settle what was happening between them now. He’d gotten out of the car to gain some distance, some perspective. Some resolve. But the brief respite had only seemed to increase the seductive pull Nell had on him.
He’d been a goner the moment he’d stuffed himself back into the front seat.
Long before that.
Oh, her argument had been flawless. Knowing exactly what you were up against was key in his job. Reid heartily wished it was her logic that had made his hands streak into her hair and not the feelings that she’d been arousing in him all day.
For seven years.
The hunger she’d triggered while she’d been talking so logically felt as if it had been buried inside him forever. Then once her lips had pressed against his, he forgot everything except that he was finally kissing her. Finally touching her hair. He hadn’t imagined how silky the texture would be. One hand remained there, trapped, while the other roamed freely, moving down and over her, memorizing the curves and angles in one possessive stroke.
She was everything a man could wish for; as small, slim, and supple as he’d imagined. And he’d imagined a lot.
Her lips were soft, too. Inviting, accepting, arousing—just as he’d fantasized. The first taste had been sweet. Just as he had expected. But when he changed the angle and used his tongue to probe farther, to tease and to tempt, her flavors grew darker, stronger, hotter. And beneath all those layers, he tasted not surrender but demand. He had no choice but to answer it, taking them both deeper until all he knew was her. His desire only grew until it was huge and consuming. Not to be denied. He wanted her—no, he needed her the way a man needed sleep after a day of labor; the way he needed water after a drought.
Unable to stop himself, he took more. Her hands were on his shoulders, gripping hard. He wanted them on his bare skin so that he could feel the softness of her palms, the scrape of her fingers. Even through the layers of clothing, she made him burn.
Reid knew he had to get a grip or that burn would sear right through him and leave a scar. No other woman had ever seduced him this way: body, mind, soul. He’d never allowed it. He shouldn’t allow it now. But he couldn’t stop himself from releasing her seat belt. His hands gripped her waist, lifted.
A series of staccato blasts from a horn had him dropping her back into her seat. Reid glanced around, spotted a sedan two slots down in the row facing them with its lights blinking, the horn blasting. Behind it, a woman fumbled with her keys and managed to quiet the alarm.
Emotions shot through him. Relief that the noise had been caused by a woman who’d accidentally set off her car alarm. Fear that it could have been worse. Anger at himself that he’d let Nell so thoroughly distract him again.
He brought his gaze back to her. “Now we know what it’s like.” And the knowledge could change everything if he let it.
Perhaps it already had.
Nell felt like a diver resurfacing layer by layer from a very great depth. Her head was reeling. Good thing he hadn’t asked a question. Since her lips were once more not taking commands from her brain, she wouldn’t have been able to answer.
In contrast he seemed to be doing fine—except for the grunt he made as he extricated himself from his side of the car. She waited where she was, praying that her brain cells would click on and that she’d be able to move by the time he circled to open her door.
When he did, he didn’t offer his hand as he had at the fast-food restaurant. Instead, he stepped back while she made it out on her own. She tested her legs, while she pressed the remote to lock the door.
“One more thing,” he said.
She met his eyes.
“Now that we know what it’s like, we’re going to put it in a file and forget it.” Then he turned, scanned the area and gestured her forward.
Wanna bet? Once more she was grateful that she didn’t trust herself to speak. What she knew was that she now had two conflicting narratives to deal with. In one her goal was to find a long-missing necklace, and in the other, her goal was to seduce Reid Sutherland. Plot and subplot. All she had to do was find a way to weave them together.
NELL STOOD IN front of a long glass window. Beyond it Deanna Lewis lay in a narrow hospital bed flanked by serious-looking machines that beeped and blinked continuously. A nurse was in the room replacing an IV.
Ever since they’d left the car, Reid had slipped back into the role of Secret Service agent. He’d introduced himself and shown his badge to the young officer who was standing guard at Deanna Lewis’s door. Officer Jameson had been polite, but he’d asked them to wait while he contacted his superior officer.
Signaling them to join him, the young man said, “Sheriff Skinner over in Glen Loch has cleared you.”
Reid nodded to him, then turned as the nurse opened the door. “How is Miss Lewis?”
“There’s been no change in her condition since the surgery.” The woman’s name tag read Nancy Braxton. Nell estimated she was in her late twenties. Leading them back into the room, Braxton continued, “Dr. Knight stops in to see her every day. He’s confident that she’s healing, but there’s no way to tell when she might come out of the coma.”
“And there have been no visitors?” Reid asked.
“No. The police have been quite explicit about that. The only people who have been allowed in this room are doctors, nurses or members of our volunteer staff.”
“There was a reporter from the New York Times who stopped by last week,” Officer Jameson said from the doorway. “I told him about the no-visitor policy.”
“A reporter?” Reid asked.
“Very polite young man. James Orbison,” Jameson said.
“Can you describe him?” Reid asked.
“Medium height, short brown hair, slender build,” Jameson said.
“Cute,” Nurse Braxton added. “He wore preppy clothes, and the glasses added a geeky aura. Sexy.”
Jameson glanced at the nurse with a raised eyebrow. “Sexy?”
Braxton shrugged. “Just saying.”
Reid interrupted the byplay. “Anything else you can recall?”
“He