BARE IT ALL by Lori Foster

BARE IT ALL by Lori Foster

Love Undercover
Men Who Walk the Edge of Honor

A cop’s craving to know more about the woman next door could prove fatal in the steamy new novel from  New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

As the person responsible for taking down a brutal human trafficker, Alice Appleton fears retaliation at every turn. No one knows about her past, which is exactly how she prefers it…until the sexy cop next door comes knocking.

Detective Reese Bareden thinks he knows what makes women tick, but his ever-elusive neighbor keeps him guessing like no other. Is his goal to unmask Alice’s secrets? Or protect her from a dangerous new threat? One thing is certain: their chemistry is a time bomb waiting to explode. And with no one to trust but each other, Reese and Alice are soon drawn into a deadly maze of corruption, intrigue and desire-and into the line of fire….

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Book Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

 

As she came toward him, Alice’s baby-soft hair hung loose, with silky tendrils drifting over her shoulders. Her big brown eyes, so innocent and yet so aware, watched him intently, the way she always watched him. She smiled and that smile did remarkable things to him. Made him ravenous, when he’d never quite experienced anything like that before. Lust, sure. But such a powerful need? No, never.

 

Only with Alice.

 

Very close now, so close the warmth of her touched him all over, she brushed her nose against his jaw, his neck, his ear.

 

He groaned. Out loud. He heard it, but could barely credit that the sound came from him.

 

From a gentle nuzzle.

 

Against his ear.

 

It was insane, but it took very little from her to get him painfully aroused.

 

“Reese?”

 

He wanted her mouth on him. He turned his face toward her and he felt her breath. Hot. Then her tongue. Wet.

 

“Oh… um, Reese?”

 

She sounded so tentative that he smiled as he reached for her and opened his eyes. His hand encountered dense fur, and the expressive brown eyes staring back at him weren’t Alice’s.

 

They weren’t even human.

 

His dog Cash panted at the sign of life. Delighted to have him awake, Cash barked, turned a quick circle, and… licked Reese’s face.

 

Again.

 

“Shit.” Reese dodged the dog’s sloppy fondness while trying to orient himself. The dream had felt so incredibly real. And so welcome. He shifted – and found himself cramped from head to toe… on a sofa.

 

Alice’s sofa.

 

Lifting his head, he looked down at himself. He wore only boxers, and as was usually the case when he first awakened, they were tented. Hmmm…

 

Where had the sheet gone? Ah, over the side of the couch to the floor.

 

Levering up to one arm, Reese attempted to orient himself – and there stood Alice at the foot of the couch, fully dressed in summer slacks and a sleeveless blouse, her hands locked together in front of her and, yes, her soft brown hair hung loose.

 

But now, with him wide awake, her hair looked tidy, like Alice, not sexily rumpled as it had in his dream.

 

She watched him, but those soul-sucking brown eyes weren’t on his face.

 

They stared with absorbing attention at his morning wood.

 

Great. Playing kissy-face with his dog was bad enough. Scrambling for the sheet now would only make him look more foolish. He wasn’t used to finding himself in tricky, uncomfortable situations. At least, not with women.

 

As a police detective, sure, he’d often found himself discomfited by perps, though usually not in boxers while sporting Mahogany.

 

Alice was many things: a neighbor, an enigma, an irritant and a subtle bombshell.

 

And obviously, based on that ramped up dream, she was also the current focus of his fantasies.

 

He cleared his throat. “Up here, Alice.” Her curious gaze rose to his face. “Thank you. Now if you don’t mind, you could turn around a moment. My modesty is beyond compromised, so it doesn’t really matter to me, but with your face already going pink I’m not sure –”

 

“Of course.” Turning, she gave him her back. Posture stiff. Air uncertain.

 

That lovely fawn-colored hair fell just beyond her shoulders.

 

“Sorry about that.” She strode fast and unsteady to the patio door that led to her small deck. She’d left the door open, allowing in a muggy, late-August breeze that teased her beautiful hair.

 

Given the heat of his interest, air conditioning would have been nice, but since this was Alice’s apartment, and she’d been generous enough to let him crash on her couch, he wouldn’t complain.

Much.

 

“What time is it anyway?” Sitting up, Reese reached for the sheet, but Cash sat on it. The dog watched Reese, his furry ears perked up, his expression hopeful. Reese grinned. After tugging out the sheet and covering himself, he patted the couch beside his thigh. “C’mere, boy.”

 

The dog bounded up with over-the-moon enthusiasm. Because of the undercover sting they’d just wrapped up, Reese had spent as much time away from Cash as with him – and still he and the dog had bonded.

 

“It’s a little after one o’clock.”

 

And she hadn’t awakened him? How long had she been sneaking around the apartment?

 

How long had he lain there without even a sheet?

 

He was generally a light sleeper, so either he’d been really out of it, or she was… stealthy.

 

That thought bothered him, and meshed with other concerns he had about Alice. Her keen observance of everything around her, combined with her cautious air, planted awful background possibilities into his head.

 

Then there was the way she’d come onto the scene yesterday, a big, loaded gun in her hand…

 

“Cash hasn’t been out for a few hours. I was trying to lead him through without waking you, but he saw you there on the couch, and then you made… a sound.”

 

“A sound, huh?” Given the erotic dream, he could just imagine.

 

“Cash sidetracked to you and –”

 

“I thought he was you.” When her shoulders stiffened more, Reese felt devilish enough to say, “And I was having this rather sexual dream.”

 

Wide-eyed with something akin to astonishment, she faced him, stole a peek at his lap, and when she saw he’d bunched the sheet there, she met his gaze. “What do you mean?”

 

“You and me.” He gestured between them. “And damn, but the dream felt real.” Reese scratched under Cash’s furry chin. “You were near me. Breathing on me.”

 

Indignation brought her brows together. “Breathing on you?”

 

Wondering when she’d catch on, he gave a sage, serious nod. “You nuzzled my ear and I felt your hot tongue -”

 

Backing up fast, she bumped into the screen on the patio door and almost fell through it. After an accusatory scowl at Reese for making her stumble, she checked the screen, saw that it remained in the track, and cleared her throat. “I would never –” She searched for a word and came up empty.

 

“Lick me?”

 

To his surprise, she kept quiet, but her mouth – and her expression – softened.

 

“No? What a shame.” He gave the dog a few pets, which encouraged him to shower Reese with more affection. “But apparently Cash would.”

 

Realization dawned. “Oh.” A smile twitched. “You felt Cash trying to wake you, and you thought..?”

“Yeah. Helluva way to start my day. I mean, I’m fond of him, but…” Reese looked her over. “Not that fond.”

 

“He’s adorable!”

 

“Sure he is.” Reese had only recently gotten the dog, and while he’d never considered himself a pet-lover, he and Cash were getting acclimated – with Alice’s help. “I just don’t want you mistaking my…” He nodded at his lap. “Reaction.”

 

Though she covered her mouth, a short laugh escaped anyway.

 

That laugh was as mesmerizing as her smile, and his sheet-covered boner twitched. “Keep it up, and I’ll never get it under control.”

 

Rather than backing up or blushing again, she chastised him. “Really, Reese. It’s not something to talk about.”

 

“Not something to be embarrassed over either.” But he sort of was anyway. What was it about Alice that affected him so profoundly – and so physically? “Not to minimize your appeal, but it happens to most guys in the morning.”

 

“When they awaken, you mean?”

 

“Yeah. It’s called morning wood, or in this case, afternoon wood, I guess.”

 

“I see.” She tipped her head to study him. “But when you knocked on my door this morning, you were wide awake, fully dressed and had just finished working.”

 

He’d also been aroused over the possibility of spending more intimate time with her. Knowing he shouldn’t tell her that – yet – he scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

 

“Yet even then,” she continued, her tone mischievous and teasing, “you had a…um…”

 

Having her talk about it wasn’t helping. Reese trapped her gaze with his own. “An erection.”

 

“Yes.” A little too matter-of-factly, she nodded. “You had one then, also.” Though the color in her fair skin intensified, she didn’t look away. “You told me not to worry about it.”

 

“I know what I said.” God, he wanted to kiss her. If she was any other woman, he would.

 

But he hadn’t known Alice that long, and what he did know of her kept him from pushing things. Already, thanks to the fiasco the day before, she’d seen the hazards of his job.

 

Wasn’t every day that murderers and thugs, the very criminals he investigated, showed up on his doorstep. It was even more uncommon for those offenders to get the drop on him. Usually he was great at his job. But yesterday… yeah, he’d suffered a first-class cluster fuck – and Alice had managed to get right in the middle of it.

 

Maybe that’s why he’d been dreaming of her. She’d been helping out by watching his dog while he and his partner closed in on their quarry, and then when shit went sideways, she’d recognized the deadly situation and sent in reinforcements.

 

He eyed her understated, prim façade, which hid so much intuition, bravery, and cunning. “You will never have reason to worry about anything with me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She was the most curious woman, and that, too, could explain his unaccountable reaction to her. “Just like that, huh?”

 

“I know you’re honorable.”

 

Sensible Alice. Of course she was right – he was honorable, most especially where women were concerned. But in the short time they’d known each other, how could she possibly be that confident about his intentions?

 

She couldn’t.

 

So he’d taken in a stray dog – a dog she now adored. So what? He was polite, mannerly, dressed well and had his own proper persona. It meant nothing, and she should realize that.

 

Yet from what he’d seen so far she had great instincts.

 

The type of instincts usually honed in the field.

 

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WHAT CHRIS WANTS by Lori Foster

WHAT CHRIS WANTS by Lori Foster

Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Story

New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster captivated readers with her stories of love, justice and danger in the Men Who Walk the Edge of Honor series. Now, fan-favorite Chris Chapey gets his own story!

When the going gets tough, the tough turn to Chris Chapey. As the right-hand man to a group of take-no-prisoners mercenaries, Chris can organize a top-secret rescue mission with his eyes closed. But when it comes to his personal life, Chris is the one who needs a little help.

His problem: Matt Houser. Chris can't deny his attraction to Matt, but Matt has no idea what Chris's job really entails and how much it means to him. Matt challenges Chris to change his life—and make a place for him in it. Can Chris risk telling him the truth?

Look for more titles in the Men Who Walk the Edge of Honor series, available now from Lori Foster and Harlequin HQN: A PERFECT STORM, SAVOR THE DANGER, TRACE OF FEVER and WHEN YOU DARE.

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~Excerpt~

Dressed in his usual aged and faded T-shirt with comfortably loose shorts, his feet bare and his hair finger-combed, Chris stared at the bed.

Or more precisely, the man in his bed.

On his stomach, dead to the world, the rumpled sheet covering only a small part of his lower body, Matt slept on undisturbed. He was so damned different from Chris. Precise in his style and attitude. A hairdresser, for crying out loud—though Matt insisted on being called a Master Stylist.

He was good, no two ways about it. He owned his own upscale salon and catered to the elite—people who were, again, nothing like Chris.

Maybe that was what drew him to Matt. More appealing than the good looks and fit bod was his outlook on life. Matt was different, exciting, fun and easy to be with.

But the big problem remained: Matt had no idea what Chris really did for his friend and employer, Dare Macintosh. He didn’t—couldn’t—know the high-level, influential and powerful reach of Dare’s assignments. Matt mingled with them all: Dare, Trace, Jackson and Spencer. He was accepted. But only because he didn’t know. The others trusted Chris to understand the importance of privacy. Not that Chris dug into the minor details either.

He coordinated for the others, lining up transportation, fabricating their cover. Research. Data. When necessary, he did computer surveillance, background checks, document searches.

He knew the men never left unfinished business or loose ends. They all had the capability to be lethal. They worked with local authorities when they could, but had the capacity to move beyond them when necessary.

Whenever possible, he stayed on the sidelines. If Dare went off on a mission, Chris held down the home front. And despite what Matt might think, he was damn good at his job.

Rolling to his back, Matt stretched, unwittingly putting on a show, displaying flexed muscles and innate sensuality. Even first thing in the morning, Matt looked good. Too good. Chris locked his jaw and his knees, fighting the urge to rejoin him in the bed. But if it was only physical appeal, resisting would be easier.

With Matt, it was so much more.

After a yawn Matt opened his eyes—and caught Chris’s smile.

Which, of course, made the smile disappear. “I made coffee,” Chris told him, trying not to stare too hard when Matt sat up.

“You don’t drink coffee.”

No, he didn’t. But Matt did. “You probably have time for one cup, but I have to get to work.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s your way of telling me to hit the road?”

Jesus, he did not want to have this argument, not now. “You don’t need to get to work?”

An arrested expression came over Matt’s face. He twisted to see the clock on the nightstand, and then relaxed. “I have an hour, damn it. Don’t scare me like that.”

Glad for a change in topic, Chris asked, “Important client coming in?”

“Wealthy client.” Matt grinned. “I make her beautiful, and she tips me really well.”

And of course that made her important, yet Matt refused to see the importance in what Chris did.
Because he doesn’t know what you do.

Biting off a groan, Chris turned away. “I’ll call you later.”

He heard Matt leave the bed, but he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking, away from Matt, away from his conflicted feelings, and away from the need for immediate decisions…

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A PERFECT STORM by Lori Foster

A PERFECT STORM by Lori Foster

Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Book Four

He never saw her coming...

Spencer Lark already knows too many secrets about Arizona Storm, including the nightmare she survived and her resulting trust issues. But in order to expose a smuggling ring - and continue avenging his own tragic past - the bounty hunter reluctantly agrees to make Arizona a decoy. Yet nothing has equipped him for her hypnotic blend of fragility and bravery, or for the protective instincts she stirs in him.

Arizona wants to reclaim her life, which means acting as bait to lure the enemy into a trap. Sure it's dangerous, especially with a partner as distractingly appealing as Spencer. But as their plan - and their chemistry - shifts into high gear, Arizona may discover there's an even greater risk in surrendering her heart to a hero...

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Excerpt - Chapter One

Arizona Storm sat quietly on the overstuffed chair, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, her fingers laced together around her shins.

Waiting.

In the quiet, shadowed room, she breathed in the unique aroma of aftershave and gun oil, and the headier scent of warm male. On the back of the chair behind her he’d tossed his jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Close at hand on the nightstand, he’d placed his freshly cleaned gun and his deadly switchblade.

His discarded boxers lay on the floor.

He fascinated her.

After breaking into his house, she’d removed her sneakers and put them next to his boots by the front door. The air conditioning, set on high, left her toes cold, but he’d covered himself with no more than a thin sheet.

Again and again, her gaze tracked over him, from one big foot sticking out over the side of the bed, up and over his flat, solid abs covered by the snowy white sheet, to his chest – not covered by anything except enticing body hair.

With one arm behind his head, she saw his underarm and the dark tuft of hair there. Seeing that almost made him look vulnerable – except that, despite his relaxed pose, the positioning of his long arm made a thick biceps bulge.

At nearly six and a half feet tall, solidly built and finely sculpted, Spencer Lark was one of the biggest, strongest, most impressive men she’d ever met.

And she knew some really prime specimens.

His long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, but that didn’t detract from the bruising beneath one eye. A recent fight? She smiled while picturing it, sure that Spencer had come out ahead. His skill at fighting intrigued her even more than his big bod.

Amazing, but even his slightly crooked nose held her rapt. When and how had he broken it?

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that, given the silence in his home and Spencer’s acute instincts, disturbed his slumber.

Arizona admitted to herself that maybe she’d wanted to wake him. After all, she’d been watching him – and waiting – for awhile now.

His head turned on the pillow, his legs shifted.

Holding herself perfectly still, she waited to see if he’d awaken, what he’d do, what he’d say. She didn’t know him all that well, and yet… she did.

Sort of.

They’d met nearly a month ago while they were both on a sting. Immediately, they’d butted heads, and he’d infuriated her by interfering with her life.

But worse, he’d robbed her of the revenge she desperately craved.

Sure, he had his own need for revenge, so she understood his motives. She didn’t forgive him. Not yet, anyway.

But she did understand.

At least, she thought she did. Once they talked it over, then she’d decide for sure.

He made a soft, gravelly sound as he stretched that long, strong body. His chin tucked in. Muscles flexed.

The sheet tented.

Eyes widening, Arizona stared, not really alarmed, but no longer so at ease, either. She had a very dark history with aroused men, so she doubted she’d ever be unaffected by them. But she didn’t let it get in her way, not when she wanted something, not when she had a goal in mind.

She knew she should have taken Spencer’s gun, at the very least moved it out of his reach. But instead she’d found him in the bed, and before she’d even thought it through, she’d taken the empty seat and settled in to study him while he slept.

Since that fateful day when her destiny had been stolen from her, she’d seen him only a handful of times. She tried to stay away. She tried to forget about him.

She hadn’t been successful.

Stretching, he brought his hand out from behind his head, around to rub over his hair, across his face, down his chest.

As he gave a sleepy, growling groan of waking, that hand disappeared under the sheet.

Arizona’s lips parted and her heartbeat tripped up. She cleared her throat. “Spence?”

Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

She frowned at him.

He didn’t look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just stared at her.

With his hand still under there.

“Yeah…” Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at his lap. “You weren’t going for a little tug, were you? Because, as your spectator, I’d just as soon not see it.”

He brought his hand out and put it back behind his head, still silent, still watching her. Almost… relaxed.

His gaze was so dark, so compelling, she felt like squirming, damn it. “I mean, I guess I could wait in the other room if it’s really necessary. That is, if you don’t take too long.”

He disappointed her by not reacting. As if he often woke with an uninvited woman playing voyeur in his bedroom, he looked her over, from her bare toes up to her long, wind-tangled hair.

“Been here long?”

“Maybe half an hour or so.” Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Were you going to… you know?” She nodded at his lap.

“Most men say hi to the boys first thing.”

“Say hi?”

With no sign of discomfort, he shrugged one shoulder. “You broke in.”

A statement, not a question. She did her own casual shrug. “Since you’re not dumb enough to leave the place unlocked, yeah, I had to.”

He turned his head, but not to check on the time. He saw the gun still on the nightstand where he’d left it, and brought his gaze back to hers again. “You know how to make coffee?”

One eyebrow lifted high. “Trying to get me out of the room so you can leave the bed? I’m not squeamish, you know. I mean, with my background, I’ve seen plenty of –”

He threw off the sheet and sat up, effectively shutting down her snide retort.

Ho boy.

“If you don’t know how to make coffee, just say so.” Spencer stretched again, harder, longer this time. Sitting on the side of the bed, he snagged up his boxers and stepped into them. As he stood, he pulled them up.

They fit like a glove.

He still had a tent going.

And she still stared.

He picked up the gun and, giving away some trust issues, checked to make sure she hadn’t unloaded it. Discovering she hadn’t touched it at all, he nodded in satisfaction.

As he passed her, he chucked her under the chin. “It’s called morning wood, little girl. No reason for alarm.” Gun in hand, he went on past her and into the bathroom. The door closed quietly behind him.

Belatedly, Arizona got her mouth shut. Oh how she hated when he called her “little girl.” As of today, she wasn’t quite as young as he thought, and given her experiences, well, she hadn’t felt like a kid in a very long time.

Her brows snapped down and her spine stiffened. She would not let him get to her. Huh-uh. No way.

This was her game. She would call the shots, and if anyone had to be tongue-tied, it’d be him.

She shoved to her feet, but did not stomp. Excesses of emotion gave away too much. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her.

At the bathroom door, voice cold and collected, she stated, “I’ll be the kitchen.”

Minutes later, just to prove a point, she went about making coffee.

* * *

Spencer stood with his hands braced on the porcelain sink, his head hanging, his muscles twitchy.

What the hell?

Sure, he knew Arizona Storm was a reckless, impetuous, headstrong girl. He’d figured that out in the first few seconds of her acquaintance.

But breaking and entering?

Why the hell had she sat there watching him sleep?

He felt… violated. Angry.

He felt extreme pity. For her.

Damn, but he didn’t want her, not in his house, not in his head. He could control the first.

Hadn’t had much luck controlling the second.

Not trusting her to respect his privacy, knowing damn good and well she would snoop without remorse, he gave up the idea of a shower and shave and instead rushed through brushing his teeth, splashing his face and finger combing his hair.

Since she wasn’t in his bedroom anymore, he took the time to pull on his jeans, but rather than mess with the holster, he just stuck the gun in his waistband. He grabbed up his knife, opened it, closed it again and slid it into his pocket.

Barefoot and shirtless, he went in search of Arizona – and he had to admit, anticipation chased away the cobwebs of old memories and lack of sleep.

Seeing her slumped in a kitchen chair, arms crossed, one foot hooked behind a chair leg, jolted his senses even more.

God Almighty, she was a beauty.

Slim, long-legged and generously stacked, with a face like a wet dream, Arizona would turn heads wherever she went. Dark wavy hair hung down her back, usually in disarray. Honey-colored skin seemed in direct contrast with light blue, heavily lashed eyes. A full mouth, a strong chin, high cheekbones…

He wondered at the mixed heritage that had produced such a dream.

As he stood unnoticed in the doorway, she chewed at a thumbnail. Arizona didn’t wear make-up, or polish her nails, or do much of anything to enhance her looks – and she didn’t need to. She could wear burlap and men would burn for her.

“Nervous?”

She went still before affecting a bored expression and swiveling her head to face him. “Do you always sleep till noon?”

“When I’ve been up all night, yes.” He made a beeline for the coffee pot, but didn’t thank her for making it. After all, she’d come in uninvited. “You want a cup?”

“If you have sugar and milk.”

“Creamer.” He poured two cups and set them on the table, then got the creamer from the fridge. The sugar bowl sat in the middle of the table, framed by salt and pepper shakers.

Like many of the things in his kitchen, they resembled cows in one way or another.

His wife had bought the novelty items years ago.

While blowing on the hot coffee, Spencer ruthlessly squashed bad memories. Arizona loaded her coffee with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a liberal splash of the cream.

He watched her lush mouth as she sipped, sipped again.

Shaking himself, he took a drink, and nearly choked. Strong enough to peel the lining from his throat, it was the worst coffee he’d ever tasted. Arizona didn’t seem to notice though, so he manned up and drank without complaint.

The overdose of caffeine would do him good.

Silence dragged out while they each gave attention to their coffee. He wouldn’t be the first to break.

Finally she eyed him. “How come you were out late? Carousing?”

Actually, he’d needed to expend some energy for reasons he wouldn’t yet examine too closely. Shrugging, he said, “I hit up a bar, found a little trouble.” He looked at her. “You know how it is, right?”

To his disgruntlement, she nodded. “Yeah, I did the same. But I fared better than you.” Her mouth quirked in a small grin and she winked. “No black eye.”

Had she really been in a bar? Looking for trouble?

Again?

He didn’t need to defend himself, not to her, but still he said, “You should see the other three guys.”

“Yeah? Only three?” Tsking, she let her gaze drift over him. “Any other bruises?”

“No.”

She propped her chin on a fist. “One lucky punch, huh?”

Did she have to appear so amused by idiotic drinking and brawling? “Something like that.” Actually it was a thrown chair that had caught him, but whatever. He wouldn’t encourage her with details. “So tell me, little girl. What were you doing in a bar?”

She looked away. With one finger, she traced along the top of her coffee cup. “Sometimes,” she said low, her voice almost whimsical, “I just need a distraction.”

His chest tightened. He waited to see if she’d elaborate, if she’d share details of her tragic background spent with human traffickers. She had a need to even the score with people already dead, the monsters who’d hurt her badly.

Suddenly she leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”

Damn, he didn’t want to play these games. “Depends.”

She scowled. “On what?”

“On whether or not keeping it is in your best interest.”

Sitting back in irritation, she demanded, “Why does that concern you?”

He countered with, “Why do you want to tell me?”

For long moments they stared at each other, and then she broke. “Fuck it. I don’t. Not anymore.” After downing the rest of her coffee, she scraped back her chair. “I’m outta here.”

Spencer caught her wrist. And of course, that got her going.

Quick temper and a boulder-sized chip on her shoulder had her swinging a fist. He dodged it, but she kicked and caught him in the shin. Luckily she didn’t wear shoes, so it didn’t hurt.

Much.

In the ensuing scuffle, his coffee cup hit the floor and broke.

Given they were both barefoot, he did the expedient thing and tossed her over his shoulder. Clamping a hand over her thighs, he warned, “Bite me, and I swear to God, you won’t like the consequences.”

Rather than struggle, she braced her elbows on his back. “You’ve threatened me before.”

“Because you’ve attacked me before.” Stepping over and around the mess on his floor, he went into the hallway, then figured, what the hell, and went on into the living room.

He dumped her on the couch.

She bounded right back off again.

Another scuffle, and damn it, it was too early and he was too tired to put up with it.

“Arizona!” He locked her in close in a now familiar hold – at least with her – keeping her back to his chest, her arms pinned down. He squeezed her tight enough to steal her breath. “Knock it off already, will you?”

Her head dropped back against his chest so she could glare at him. He waited, refusing to relent, driven by… God knew what.

She gave one sharp nod.

Spencer opened his arms, but quickly stepped out of her reach. “Okay?”

“Screw you.”

So much animosity, so much rage at the world. She’d never admit it, but Arizona needed a friend, a confidante, and if it put him through hell, well, so what? He’d been in hell for awhile now. “You came to me, remember?”

“And now I’m trying to leave!”

His head pounded. If she walked out now, he’d spend the rest of the day worrying about her.

Or following her.

He worked his jaw, then said, “I’ll keep your secret. What is it?”

“Oh, aren’t you the generous one?”

He sighed. “The sneer is unappealing. Just tell me what it is.”

The narrowing of her eyes emphasized the pale, bright blue color and the thickness of her long, inky lashes. She drew two deep breaths, making it tough for him to keep his attention off her chest.

“It’s my birthday.”

Huh. Of all the things he’d imagined, that wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t even one of the top fifty.

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SAVOR THE DANGER by Lori Foster

SAVOR THE DANGER by Lori Foster

Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Book Three

The one woman he couldn't have was the only woman he desired...

She may be aloof, and more pretty than gorgeous, but Alani Rivers is the kind of woman a hot-blooded mercenary can't forget, no matter how hard he tries. So when Jackson Savor wakes up next to the naked, sleeping beauty - with no memory of what happened - he knows he's been drugged...even if Alani doesn't.

After she was kidnapped, Alani swore she'd never trust another man again. Still, something about this strong, sexy hero with the tender touch makes her want to believe him. As Jackson hunts downs a mysterious intruder, he swears he'll move heaven and earth to keep Alani safe. But what really happened that night? And will the truth bring them closer than they ever thought possible - or put Alani squarely in harm's way again?

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Excerpt:

A little slack-jawed, Alani watched as Jackson meandered down the hall and disappeared into her home office. His long-legged, rangy walk set her heart to tripping; the thought of him going through her personal files slowed it again.

She snapped her mouth shut.

Had that parting shot of his been mockery, or a sincere statement reflecting what they’d shared, the bond they’d forged last night?

A bond that only she could remember.

Groaning, she put her hands over her face and slumped into her bedroom. She quietly closed the door and dropped back against it.

Being honest with herself, she had to admit that deep inside, she’d been expecting – maybe even hoping – that he’d press the issue of intimacy. He wanted her again. He’d been more than open and upfront about that.

But instead, he chose to honor her wishes, the wishes she knew to be more responsible. More reasonable.

It would be a very long night.

Taking her time, Alani freshened up, tidying her hair, brushing her teeth, giving her make-up a boost. With nothing more to do, she girded herself for Jackson’s impact, both emotional and physical, and went in search of him.

She opened her bedroom door and found him right there in the hallway, leaning on the wall, relaxed, waiting for her.

Before she could apologize for making him wait, he straightened.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

She stepped out, and his warm palm curved to the small of her back.

Alani felt the touch everywhere. But then, even if he hadn’t touched her, she’d have been acutely aware of him beside her. When Jackson was in a room, he occupied everything, the space, the air, the attention.

Knowing they were alone, with the bedrooms at their backs, quickened her breath.

“I parked down around the corner.”

Surprise slowed her steps, but since Jackson kept walking, she did too. It hadn’t occurred to her that his car was missing. If she’d seen it on the street in front of her house or in her driveway, she’d have been forewarned of his visit.

And maybe she would have avoided him.

“You didn’t want me to know you were here?”

“I didn’t want anyone else to know.” His hand slid to her hip, nudged her a little closer to him. “In case I was followed, no way did I want to lead anyone to you.”

Another reminder of the danger they might be in. “Well, you should bring your car up to my driveway now.”

“Maybe later.” He stopped at the entrance to her small living room, where so much drama had already gone down. “For now, how about we take your car?”

“All right.” She didn’t mind that. With all he’d been through, it’d probably be better if he wasn’t driving. Sure, he had to be macho and swear he felt no side-effects from being drugged, but how could that be? If she took cold medicine, it wiped her out, and he’d been given a drug so heavy-duty that it had obliterated his memory.

In the kitchen, she found her purse, keys, and Jackson’s hat. She rejoined him in the foyer.

He took the hat from her, slid it onto his head, and then held out a hand.

One brow raised, Alani looked at him in question.

“Keys?” he prompted.

She slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ll drive.”

A priceless expression fell over his face.

“Oh please.” Alani had to laugh. “It’s not like I asked to carry your gun.”

Heartfelt, he tipped back his hat and scoffed. “I’d say no to that, too.” He scrutinized her. “But you do know how to shoot, don’t you?”

“I know enough.” And after her kidnapping to Tijuana, she’d done plenty of practicing to ensure she could handle a weapon.

He reached for her purse. “You carrying?”

“No!” Alani snatched the bag away. “Of course not.”

Considering that, Jackson declared, “We’ll get you a piece. You shouldn’t be out and about without it.” He gave her small designer purse a look of dislike. “You’ll need to carry something bigger, though.”

She did not want to be armed. “You’re here, so what do I need with a gun? Aren’t you protection enough?”

He went so still, it almost made her laugh again. Until he said, “You suggesting I should stick around 24/7?”

“What?” A rush of heat hit her cheeks. “No, of course I wasn’t.”

Keeping her caught in his gaze for far too long, he studied her, and finally smiled. “Yeah, I’m protection enough. I guess as long as you’re with me, you don’t need anything else.” He snatched the keys out of her lax hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here….”

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TRACE OF FEVER by Lori Foster

TRACE OF FEVER by Lori Foster

Book Two in The Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor Series

Caught in the crossfire of vengeance and desire...

Undercover mercenary Trace Rivers loves the adrenaline rush of a well-planned mission. First he'll earn the trust of corrupt businessman Murray Coburn, then gather the proof he needs to shut down the man's dirty smuggling operation. It's a perfect scheme - until Coburn's long-lost daughter saunters in with her own deadly plan for revenge.

With a smile like an angel and fire in her eyes, Priscilla Patterson isn't who she seems to be. But neither is the gorgeous bodyguard who ignites all her senses. Joining forces to plot Coburn's downfall, Priss and Trace must fight the undeniable heat between them. For one wrong move, one lingering embrace will expose them to the wrath of a merciless opponent….

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Excerpt:

Priss stretched awake in the much cleaner and better smelling hotel room. The sheets were smooth, the pillows soft. She had enough space to actually move around without bumping into anything.

Sunlight crept in around the haphazardly closed curtains. It would be another gorgeous June day. Time to get up – except that she couldn’t move her legs, not with Liger stretched out in full splendor across her.

With a yawn, Priss crawled out from under the big cat and sat up on the side of the bed. For this particular morning, she was safe.

So many changes in such a short time.

Her mother’s death had been both a devastating loss and a blessing. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss her, but at least now she didn’t suffer.

Leaving her home should have been an upheaval, but with her motivation driving her, Priss had gotten through the packing, the road trip and the new town by rote. Comfort took a distant second to reaching her goals.

She’d settled in and even found Murray. She’d been right on track.

And then she’d met Trace... whatever his last name might be. She wasn’t buying the name he’d given her. Trace had as many, maybe more secrets than she did.

She enjoyed sparring with him verbally, found him physically appealing, and was intrigued by his cocky attitude. By far, he was the most tempting man she’d ever met.

Because she really didn’t know enough about him to be so captivated, her reaction to him was kind of... well, sick.

Sure, her instincts were good, and her gut told her that Trace was hero material. Despite a lack of facts, she’d already decided he was one of the good guys, an Alpha male who would step into danger to protect others, just as he had – so far – protected her.

And her cat.He was the complete and total opposite of Murray Coburn. So why was he working for that bastard? Or was he?

On her way to the bathroom, Priss glanced at the connecting door.

In the very next room, Trace slept.

Her heart pounded, and that was the biggest change of all. She joked with men, argued with and rejected them. But a pounding heart? Nope. Not once had she ever met a man who affected her that way.

Before leaving the bathroom Priss splashed her face and cleaned her teeth. A glance in the mirror showed her looking a little worse for wear.

Using both hands, she shoved back her hair from her face and gave herself a critical inspection. Before meeting Trace, she’d always accepted herself as a sexless woman, apathetic in most situations, methodical in her approach to life.

But around Trace she felt so much that her head swam. She’d gone to sleep thinking about him and, she just realized, she’d awakened with him on her mind.

Utterly pathetic.

She had just given Liger his food when a tap sounded on the connecting door. Priss’s heart leaped into her throat.

With excitement. Pure, sizzling stimulation. Suddenly she was wide-awake.

Tamping down her automatic smile, Priss leaned on the door. “Yeah?”

“Open up.”

Still fighting that twitching grin, Priss tried to sound disgruntled as she asked, “Why?”

Something hit the door – maybe his head – and Trace said, “I heard you up moving around, Priss. I have coffee ready, but if you don’t want any –”

Being a true caffeine junkie, she jerked open the door. “Oh, bless you, man.” She took the cup straight out of Trace’s hand, drank deeply and sighed as the warmth penetrated the thick fog of novel sentiment. “Ahhhh. Nirvana. Thank you.”

Only after the caffeine ingestion did she notice that Trace wore unsnapped jeans and nothing else. Holy moly.

“That was my cup,” Trace told her, bemused.

But Priss could only stare at him. Despite the delicious coffee she’d just poured in it, her mouth went dry.

When she continued to stare at him, at his chest and abdomen, her gaze tracking a silky line of brown hair that disappeared into his jeans, Trace crossed his arms.

Her gaze jumped to his face and she found him watching her with equal fascination.

A little lost as to the reason for that look, Priss asked with some belligerence, “What?”

With a cryptic smile, Trace shook his head. “Never mind. Help yourself and I’ll get another.”

Oh crap, she’d snatched away his cup! “Sorry.”

He lifted a hand in dismissal and went to the coffee machine sitting atop the dresser. His jeans rode low on his hips. The sun had darkened his skin, creating a sharp contrast to his fair hair.

Another drink was in order, and another sigh of bliss. Hoping to regain her wits, Priss said, “God, nothing in the world tastes better than that first drink of coffee.”

Trace looked over his shoulder, his attention zeroing in on her mouth, then her chest and finally down to her bare legs. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Sensually stroked by that hot glance and the low timbre of his suggestive words, Priss followed him in.

Trace gestured toward the small round table and two chairs. “Take a seat, Priss.”

“I don’t mind sitting.” But first... Priss finished off her coffee and looked at the full pot. “Is it all right if I get a refill?”

“Help yourself.”

When Priss moved toward the coffee machine, rather than give her room, Trace leaned back on the edge of the dresser and watched her. She could detect his early morning scent of warm skin, musky male and palpable sex appeal. Delicious.

Would he smell that sinful up close, if she put her nose in his neck, or near that solid chest? Or... maybe lower?She eyed his gorgeous body, and raised a brow. “Doing a little flaunting of your own this morning, huh?”

“In deference to your delicate sensibilities, I pulled on jeans. Isn’t that enough?”

Enough for what- her peace of mind? Ha. Being around Trace, especially with him half naked, sent her heart racing like a marathon runner’s. “Maybe it would be,” Priss admitted, “if you didn’t look so good…”

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WHEN YOU DARE by Lori Foster

WHEN YOU DARE - Book of one The Men Who Walk The Edge Of Honor by Lori Foster

The tougher they are, the harder they fall...

Professional mercenary Dare Macintosh lives by one hard and fast rule: business should never be personal. If a cause appeals to him and the price is right, he'll take the mission he's offered. But then the lovely Molly Alexander asks him to help her track down the men who'd had her kidnapped - and for the first time, Dare's tempted to combine work with pleasure.

Fiercely independent, Molly vows to trust no one until she's uncovered the truth. Could the enemy be her powerful, estranged father? The ex-fiancé who still holds a grudge? Or the not-so-shy fan of her bestselling novels? As the danger heats up around them, the only anchor Molly has is Dare himself. But what she feels for him just might be the most frightening thing of all...

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Excerpt:

Dare came into the hotel room quietly, saw Molly curled on the bed, and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep-show if he moved to the foot of the bed.

Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.

Besides, the less involvement he had with her, unscrupulous or otherwise, the better. He needed to figure out what had happened to her, and the quickest way to safely remove her from his care.

He’d known she was spent, on the ragged edge, but the fact that she hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself proved her level of exhaustion.

More than anything, she probably needed to eat. But should he wake her for that when she also needed sleep?

He wasn’t a damn babysitter, but since he’d personally gotten her out of Mexico, he couldn’t very well just dump her somewhere. By rescuing her, he had accepted an implied responsibility.

Trying not to rattle the bags and juggling the food with his other purchases, Dare closed the door and locked it. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time at one-thirty A.M. He’d only been gone a half hour, tops.

Luckily the WalMart across the street stayed open twenty-four hours. He’d found not only clothes for her, but food, too. Dressing and feeding her would go a long way toward resolving her most pressing issues.

With barely a sound, he stowed the drinks in the tiny fridge and put her share of the food into the microwave to keep.

Removing his wallet, change and cell phone from his jeans, he placed them neatly on the desk. Next he took out his knife and the Glock 9mm he carried, and set them beside his other belongings. He stretched out his knotted muscles. Too many hours crawling over rough ground, ducking for cover and demolishing men without enough sleep or food had left him tense and weary.

After pulling a chair out from the round table, he opened the covering on his pancakes and coffee.

He’d taken only one bite when she stirred, sniffed the air, and drowsily opened her eyes. Dare turned toward her.

She gave him a “deer caught in the headlights” look.

He studied her, a small bundle huddled tight on the bed, face still ravaged and eyes wounded. Never had he seen a woman look so vulnerable.

He swallowed his bite and, sounding as casual as he could under the circumstances, asked, “Hungry?”

She stared back, then struggled up to one elbow. Her expression changed, the wariness hidden beneath that intrepid bravado. “Starved. Literally.”

With all the dirt removed, her big eyes dominated her small features. More marks showed on her fair skin, one on her cheekbone and under her left eye, one on her throat, and a darker, angrier bruise on her right shoulder.

She breathed deeply, her eyes closing and her nostrils flaring. “That smells so good.”

Out of his seat already, Dare fetched her food. “Do you want to sit here, or eat in the bed?”

She hesitated, looking down for a moment as if uncertain of her welcome, not wanting to inconvenience him. “Table please, but... I should dress first.”

“All right.” He set the food on the table and opened the bag of clothes, pulling out a few T-shirts, panties and a pair of pull-on cotton shorts. “You can get more stuff tomorrow if you feel up to it. Something warmer, maybe, and nicer for the plane ride. But for now, I figured this would fit.”

She didn’t look at the clothes. The arm she leaned on barely supported her, and her breath went choppy with effort.

Voice weak, strained, she said, “I’m sorry, but... I haven’t eaten in too long and I’m feeling kind of... faint.”

Dare straightened, going on alert. Would she pass out on him?

“If...if you could help me into the bathroom, I’ll dress in there.”

Shit. He did not want her passing out alone, maybe hitting her head. “Yeah, no problem.”

Dare moved to the bed and slipped an arm behind her, then drew her to her feet. She swayed into him, one hand clutching at his shirt and holding on for dear life.

She made no attempt to step away. He didn’t ask her to. “What would you like to do?”

“I can’t...” She choked, cleared her throat, and her voice was so low he barely heard her when she said, “This is embarrassing, but the shower...” She swallowed. “I think I’m depleted.”

Easing her back onto the bed, Dare knew he’d have to be firm to get her agreement. “Okay, Molly, listen up.” He kept his tone as impersonal as possible. “This isn’t a big deal. I can dress you. I can even feed you.”

She rolled in her lips with embarrassment, a habit he’d already noticed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he lied.

That brought her dark eyes up to his.

Damn, but her eyes could melt a man’s soul. “I’m in the personal protection business. You’re not the first woman I’ve rescued. You’re not even in the worst shape.” Another lie. Most women he retrieved were found in the first forty-eight hours before too much damage had been done—or they weren’t found at all. “Okay?”

Still with her gaze locked on his, she nodded.

“Good girl.” He grabbed the clothes from the bag, not really discomfited with the task, but he’d just as soon get past it.

Taking clothes off a woman, yeah, he had plenty of practice with that.

Dressing the near-dead... not so much.


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THE GUY NEXT DOOR by Lori Foster

THE GUY NEXT DOOR
This anthology featuring a never-before-published novella from Lori Foster and a prequel to Lori's upcoming Men Who Walk the Edge of Honor series.

Three sexy new spring-fling novellas from three of today's hottest contemporary romance authors!

Ready, Set, Jett! by Lori Foster

A vacation from her no-strings romance with her sexy next-door-neighbor. That's what Natalie Alexander needs to get her head—and heart—together. But her solo trip south turns into a disaster—until gorgeous Jett Sutter turns up with another challenge.

Gail's Gone Wild by Susan Donovan

Single mom Gail Chapman insists on chaperoning her teenage daughter's spring-break trip to Key West. But she never expects to face temptation—in the hunky form of Jesse Batista, the mysterious man in the cottage next door.

Just One Taste by Victoria Dahl

All-work-and-no-play businessman Eric Donovan won't be distracted by a "businesswoman" who's all wrong for him. Beth Cantrell owns a women's erotica shop! And she has a juicy little secret. Can she tempt him to put pleasure before business for once?

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CHAPTER ONE

Hands on his hips, impatience growing, Jett Sutter paced the length of his living room while his youngest sister, Betts, blathered on about God-knew-what. She'd been at his door when he arrived home, throwing off his intricate plans and putting a damper on his fevered expectations.

Never would he deliberately hurt his sister's feelings, but pretending interest had become impossible half an hour ago. A glance at his wristwatch showed that he needed to shower. He needed to... prep. When he thought of what he had planned, what he would do and with whom, his breath quickened and his muscles twitched.

It wasn't an unfamiliar reaction when dealing with his super-sexy neighbor, Natalie Alexander.

Jett loved his family, he really did, but damn it, he needed privacy to deal with the blooming heat and anticipation of the next few hours. He needed...

The familiar sound of a Volkswagen bug pulling into the apartment complex parking lot cut short his thoughts. Without caring what his sister would think, Jett took two long strides to the patio doors and parted the curtains just enough to look out.

And there she was: delectable Natalie Alexander. Super-stacked school teacher. Seduction personified. Enchanting enigma.

His lover.

Damn she looked hot. Natalie was like his most elaborate fantasy, in the flesh, made up of scorching contradictions.

Long, corkscrew curls the color of dark honey danced around her face as she hurried from the miniscule cherry-red car with a bag of groceries in one arm, her requisite heavy book bag in the other, her enormous purse slung over her shoulder.

As usual when returning from work, she wore her school teacher duds of a long dark skirt, flat shoes and a crisp blouse under a warm cardigan. For Jett, it looked like fetish wear; a modest ensemble to disguise the centerfold body.

Seldom had Natalie mentioned teaching, and that was mostly before they'd become intimate. Since then, she'd gone out of her way to keep all conversation to a minimum.

It really burned his ass the way she fought to keep him at a distance.

Not that her evasive attitude had done her any good. He knew what grade level she taught, that she enjoyed reading political dramas and true crime novels, that she cried over commercials and laughed at birds when they visited the bird feeder off her balcony.

He also recognized the vulnerability she tried to camouflage with sexual bravado – at least, with him. Thinking of her utilizing that special brand of bravado with any other guy bothered him in ways he didn't want to analyze too closely.

He knew that Natalie came from a background of extreme wealth and social influence, but the money and prestige hadn't guaranteed her a warm, loving family.

Though Natalie had no inkling of his research, he'd uncovered quite a bit about her, personal and otherwise. If she did know, she probably wouldn't like it.

Too bad.

At first he'd investigated her out of suspicion, because she'd come on so strong and had been so accommodatingly easy. As the quintessential school teacher, absolutely nothing about Natalie's outward persona said "uncommitted sex." Yet that's what they had.

Wild, hot, no-boundaries sex that left him burned and wanting more. A lot more.

Later, he'd done more digging because damn it, he wasn't used to any woman only wanting uncommitted sex with him. It didn't make sense. Natalie never asked him anything personal, never wanted to go out to eat, or to a movie. She rebuked gifts and compliments, and disdained social settings of any kind.

All she wanted was him, in bed.

That should have been the perfect set up for a man intent on maintaining his bachelor status, but for whatever reason, Jett felt fickle about it. He wanted her to want more, damn it.

Why didn't she?

Now, as she exited her car, Jett watched her and knew by the way his muscles twitched and his skin burned that he was getting in too deep. Natalie had the most profound effect on him.

Confusion, he told himself. Curiosity and intrigue. Nothing more.

Once he knew why she'd built so many walls, he'd be able to scale them. They'd both have a good time for as long as it lasted, and neither of them would have regrets.

And with that goal in mind, Jett had a plan.

Using her hip, Natalie bumped the car door shut and, because of the brisk wind, hurried for the entrance. In late March, the weather was milder, but still pretty chilly.

Along the way to the apartment entrance, she glanced up at his window.

Jett made sure she couldn't see him; God only knew what she'd think if she caught him watching for her. He'd look like a dupe, like a lovesick fool when, despite their burning compatibility between the sheets, she'd made it clear that she didn't want anything more.

Sex. For her it was the beginning and the end of their relationship. With every other woman that he knew, he'd find that arrangement perfect.

With Natalie Alexander...no. Hell no.

Tonight, he had a plan to use her carnal nature against her. He'd keep her long enough to hash out a few things.

Thinking about his intent made him semi-erect and taut with urgency. He visualized her in his bed, stretched out, anxious for him -

"All right," Betts said from behind his right shoulder. "Give. Who is she?"

Oh shit. How had he forgotten all about his sister's presence?

Jett turned in what he hoped to be a negligent way. "A neighbor, that's all." With Natalie now home, his patience ended. He took Betts' arm, swiped up her jacket off the back of a chair, and steered her toward the door. "The visit's been awesome, but I need to shower."

Laughing, Betts dug in her heels. "Get real, brother. I'm not budging an inch until you tell me every single juicy detail.

At twenty-six, nine years his junior, his sister wasn't old enough and, he prayed, wasn't experienced enough to hear everything that had gone on between Natalie and him. Never mind that Betts was only a year younger than Natalie.

"Not happening, Betts, so forget it." Knowing his sister, he added, "And don't you dare go blabbing to the folks, either." The last thing he wanted was his mother snooping around in his private life. His dad would shrug it off; his mother, like his sisters, would make him nuts with questions.

Being thirty-five and independent in every way didn't matter, not to his nosey family. He was the only son, with three younger sisters. For years he'd felt protective toward them all, and now they were determined to pay him back in kind.

Somehow, he got Betts halfway to the door.

"If you're seeing someone, I'd like to meet her."

Annoyed, he turned to stare at his youngest sister. "No."

"Why not?"

Because he wasn't seeing Natalie, not in the traditional way Betts meant. They hadn't had a single real date. The sum total of their time together had been spent either in bed, or getting to the bed. Occasionally in the foyer against the wall, once on the couch, once over the back of the couch –

"Jett? Yoo-hoo."

"You're not meeting her, so forget it." Even if he wanted to introduce her to his family, Natalie only stayed around until the lovemaking ended. Then she hightailed it right back out of his life.

Hell, outside of sex talk, they'd barely even conversed. Jett told her what he wanted to do to her, with her, and Natalie always gave enthusiastic agreement. Period.

She'd made it abundantly clear that he was only good for sex.

Actually, she'd said he was great for sex; she hadn't skimped on the compliments in that department. But she usually gave them while naked, draped over his chest, still breathing hard and rosy from a recent screaming climax.

Somehow, he had to work their combustible chemistry to his advantage so that Natalie would let him past her barriers.

"You look flushed, Jett." Arms crossed, Betts surveyed him through narrowed eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

Mood now soured, Jett said, "None of your business, so butt out." He wasn't about to explain to his youngest sis the scorching level of churning lust and... and whatever else it was that he felt.

Hell, how could he explain it to her when he didn't quite understand it himself?

Her foot tapped the carpet. "Jett..."

Struggling for patience, he gave her a tight hug and then held her an arm's length away. Dead serious, eyes narrowed and expression somber, he said, "If you love me, Betts, you will, just this once, let it go." She hesitated, and he waited, staring her down.

With a huff, she gave up. "Fine." Betts pulled free of his hold to don her jacket, jamming her arms into the sleeves with more force than necessary. "But it's only because I do love you."

Thanking her with great sincerity, he opened the door for her to go. Across the hall, Natalie's door remained closed.

Betts kissed his cheek and back-stepped out, watching him with expectation the entire way. Keeping a straight face with effort, Jett waited until he saw her go through the glass doors at the complex's entrance, and until she reached her car.

Heading back inside, he stripped off his clothes along the way. In his bedroom, he turned down the blankets, leaving them at the foot of the bed. Determined on his course, he knelt near the head of the bed in the center of the mattress and wove a long specialized restraint through the headboard slats. A sliding "noose" at each end would be perfect for capturing Natalie's delicate wrists.

His abdomen clenched and his breathing hitched; he tugged experimentally and decided it would serve the purpose.

He glanced at the footboard, considered putting the restraints there too – but no. On a purely carnal level, he loved the idea of seeing Natalie tied spread-eagle to his bed, but he didn't want to push her so much that she felt compelled to object.

Now sporting full wood, Jett went to the shower. He had completed only the most cursory bathing when his attuned ears heard Natalie's familiar knock at his door.

Drawing a deep breath and shutting off the water, he propped a hand flat against the tile wall, dropped his head, and took a moment to regain his control.

After doing a half-assed job of drying, he wrapped the towel around his hips and strode to his apartment door to let her in.
There wasn't anything he could do about the tenting of the towel. He wanted her, bad, more so with every minute that he knew her.

Today he'd make sure she wanted him just as much, in just as many ways.

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