Don't Tempt Me:Georgian 04(104)

By: Sylvia Day

Her breath came fast and was getting faster. Her eyes lit with fire—even in the dim light he could tell. “Why me?” she whispered, the implication having nothing to do with the case but with the two of them together now in this hallway after all these years of dancing around.

His brain refused to function, probably because the part of his anatomy below his belt was over-functioning. “You run an ad in the yellow pages.” Maybe? He had no idea about anything right now except Charlotte and wanting to kiss her and knowing he shouldn’t. Things between them were complicated—always had been and getting worse by the minute. He studied her delicious mouth, wanting and waiting for his lips. Make that getting more complicated by the second, and if his plan worked, complicated would be a huge understatement and their lives would be totally fucked.

He touched Charlotte’s cheek, her skin soft and smooth, as her body leaned into his, setting him on fire.

“We don’t have an ad.” She bit her bottom lip. “You’re right, I should have phoned,” she said with a shiver. “But we’re here now.” She yanked his tie again, bringing his face to hers, and she kissed him right on the mouth, her lips full and moist and delicious and opening. Did they have to open? Closed lips were a lot easier to dismiss, but this was not a dismiss kind of kiss, especially since he’d wanted it for so many damn years he’d lost count.

She released his tie, her arms sliding around his neck as his tongue touched hers and he lost his mind. Dumbass!

Their tongues mated, and his hands dropped to her sweet round bottom, pressing her softness to his hardening dick. There’d always been an attraction between them, but this was pure jump-her-bones-and-do-her-right-now lust . . . and he liked it more than he ever imagined.

She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, the motion suggestive as hell as her legs parted, nesting his erection tight against her heat. God, she had great heat! He slid his hands into the waistband of her skirt, her firm rump fitting so well into his palms. His mind warped, there was a ringing sound . . . no kiss or ass-grabbing had ever made his head ring before, especially to the tune of Moon River . . . a Johnny Mercer song . . . his favorite. Ah fuck! His cell!

Meet more sexy shifters

in Cynthia Eden’s


coming next month from Brava . . .

“I’m an empath, Colin. My gift is that I sense things. I sense the Other. I can sense their feelings, their thoughts.”

Oh, yeah, he’d definitely tensed up on her. “You’re telling me that you can read my thoughts?”

The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees. “I’m telling you that sometimes I can tell the thoughts of supernaturals.” She’d known he wouldn’t be thrilled by this news, that was why she hadn’t told him the full truth the other night. But now that they were working together, now that her talent was coming in to play, well, she figured he had the right to know.

Colin grabbed her arms, jerked her forward against his chest. “So this whole time, you’ve been playing with me.”

The sharp edge of his canines gleamed behind his lips. “No, Colin, it’s not like that—”

“You’ve been looking into my head and seeing how much I want you?”

“Colin, no, I—” Seeing how much I want you. Had he really just said that?

His cheeks flushed. “While I tried to play the dumbass gentleman.”

Since when?

“Well, screw that.” His lips were right over hers, his fingers tight on her arms.

“If you’ve been in my head, then you know what I want to do to you.”

Uh, no she didn’t. Her shields had been firmly in place with him all day. Her heart was pounding so fast now, the dull drumming filled her ears. She licked her lips, tried once more to tell him the truth, “It’s not like that—”

Too late. His mouth claimed hers, swallowing her words and igniting the hungry desire she’d been trying so hard to fight.