CHAPTER ONE

      Lara’s back slammed against the wall.

      Instead of tasting pain or fear, all she could taste was pleasure.

      She moved against the man with a vigor she reserved for no one else. He was made up of flames and water. Pouring over every inch of her skin yet leaving nothing but heat in his wake.

      His kiss was passion.

      His touch was sensational.

      He was all-consuming.

      Lara crashed her mouth into his, begging for more as he spread her legs wide. She moaned against his lips, hungry for what would happen next.

      “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice filled with grit. She was about to say the same of him when he thrust deep inside of her. All words left her mind.

      All Lara Grant felt was absolute pleasure.

      She matched his rhythm in the dark room with ease. Two dance partners familiar with all of the steps. They moved in tandem, never breaking from each other’s lips, while bringing both closer to climax. Hands in her hair, nails on his back, bare chests against each other, his hard length sliding in and out of her pleasure.

      Andrew!

      Lara’s eyes flew open, and she all but jumped out of her bed.

      She was no longer in that room.

      She was no longer with that man.

      “No,” she yelled into her empty bedroom. Her chest heaved up and down. Sweat adhered her tank top to her skin. Ripples of pleasure still pulsed between her legs. “Oh God.”

      Pure revulsion coursed through her, slowly replacing any gratification that the dream had made her feel. She closed her eyes tight, willing her body to focus on anything else.

      But there he was, naked and waiting.

      “No,” she repeated into the quiet. Her fists balled in the sheets, and she closed her eyes tight. She was at the brink of tears, while a storm of emotions raged within her racing heart.

      But Lara Grant didn’t cry.

      Not easily, at least.

      “Pull it together.”

      She took a deep breath, and the man behind her eyelids was replaced by the image of a box with pink wrapping paper and a silver bow. Its contents made her body move before she realized what she was doing. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, looking for her phone. Dialing an alarmingly familiar number, she ran her hand through her hair.

      “It’s Grant,” she greeted when the man answered, not wasting any time. “They’re safe?”

      The U.S. Marshal didn’t sigh in frustration or get angry at her insistence—he wasn’t that kind of man—but she did catch the weight of exhaustion that dragged down his response. It reminded her that she hadn’t been the only one who’d had a long night.

      “Like I told you the last two times, yes, they’ve been moved,” Peter Linden answered. “And, no, once again, they weren’t followed.”

      Lara exhaled, shaking slightly with relief.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to know the location of the safe house? I gave you the phone number. I can give you the location, too.”

      A stab of anguish broke through Lara’s temporary relief. She knew the answer she needed to give, but it was as far away as what she wanted to say as something could be.

      The couple of times she’d visited the little yellow house, she’d used every safety precaution she’d been taught throughout her career or even picked up undercover. Rented cars, aliases, always checking her rearview for anything out of the ordinary. Not once did she suspect that someone had been watching her and the family.

      Not even for a moment.

      Lara’s fists balled again. She should have known better. People like Moretti had ways of finding out what they wanted to know, with or without bars in front of them. For the family’s safety, she shouldn’t know where they lived. She shouldn’t be able to find them.

      “I’m sure.”

      For now, anyway.

      Lara didn’t try for small talk, and Peter didn’t expect her to either. They ended the call, and once again Lara was alone. The alarm on her phone was due to go off within the hour, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. She wouldn’t chance another encounter with the man she couldn’t forget.

      Lara tried to push the entire thing out of her mind by taking a long shower and starting the day. The water—unlike the man—was cold. It shocked her system into a state of focus and determination. She had a job to do. She couldn’t afford any distractions.

      Not when she was dealing with Moretti.

      She dressed in a white blouse that tucked into a pair of tight, dark jeans and put on her holster beneath a jacket. Her ID wallet went into an inside jacket pocket, and her badge clipped to her belt, out of view—like her gun—unless she wanted it seen. Her thoughts slid to her partner as she looked herself over in the mirror. She didn’t need his approval of how she looked—she didn’t need anyone’s—but she found a small part of her would have liked the acknowledgement. It was an unnerving thought she didn’t look deeper into as she put on a pair of black ankle boots. They gave her an inch of height without sacrificing the comfort she’d need for tracking down leads all day.

      Today was going to be the day they found a lead worth following. They had to put an end to this case and fast. The little yellow house stuck in her mind’s eye as she locked up her apartment and made her way downstairs.

      They just had to finish it.

      Jerry, the doorman, was already off of work, probably exhausted at having been extensively questioned about the package the night before. He’d given them nothing that could be used to find out the who, why or when. Because that would have been too easy. Now he was replaced by Ron, who worked the day shift. Ron knew all