Take the Heat

She huffed a drawn-out exhale over her pink fingers. “I’ll take the hottest drink you got, with a double shot of scalding.” The profile of her pink lips bowed up, rounding her flushed cheeks.

Mother of God, her smile leaped the space between them, curled its warmth around him and settled in a low burn between his legs. If she was the journalist, her carefree demeanor and natural glow went well beyond the polished-blonde look so common in TV personalities. Maybe Ms. Joni Torpey wasn’t an ass clencher after all.

She wove toward the counter, teeth chattering, shoulders bunched.

“House coffee to go, ma’am?” The barista still wore her grin.

“For here, thanks.” She leaned a hip on the counter, her body angled toward him and the men at the bar, but her attention clung to the display of pastries. “And some of that yummy brown bread.”

Her curve-hugging dress exposed golden skin from her midthighs to her ankle boots. The cropped length of her unzipped leather jacket catered to LA couture, not Midwest winters. No wonder she was freezing her tits off.

The douches at the bar seemed to have forgotten their devices in lieu of ogling her erect nipples. Fuck, he was staring too.

“I’ll bring your order to you.” The barista waved a hand over the room. “Go warm up.”

“Lovely. Thank you.” All four corners of the shop offered seating, but she turned unerringly toward his.

Their eyes locked, and his breath hitched. The graceful rise of her cheekbones caught the dim light, illuminating her fresh-faced complexion and dainty features. The puckered lift of her lips, her tiny upright nose, and the arch of one narrow eyebrow cast an expression glimmering with amusement.

He wanted to see that look while her naked body was strung up and spread open, his dick thrusting into each and every hole.

Blood rushed below his belt. If he didn’t rein it in, he wouldn’t be able to stand without revealing the nature of his thoughts. Not that he had a problem with public arousal.

She slid one long leg in front of the other and closed the distance. He knew he was smiling like an asshole, but his cheeks refused to relax, so he gave her a chin lift.

Her eyes didn’t sway from his as he adjusted himself and stood. A coffee table separated the two chairs in his little corner, and he suddenly wished he’d chosen the spot over there, the one with the single love seat they could share. So he could smell her. And accidentally touch her. Because he was a fucking pervert.

And not the only one. The men at the bar watched with gaping jaws as she glided past them, her strides as easygoing as the lift of her mouth. The temperature of the room stoked to blazing. He tugged at his collar. Was there a law against a fetish for beautiful smiles? Smilephilia? He’d found a new kink to poke at the hundred trapped ones in his head.

He shifted around the table and came face-to-face with sparkling hazel eyes.

“You must be Detective Devon Burgess. I’m Joni Torpey.” With an outstretched hand, she grinned up at him, her mouth curling in gentle peaks.

He clasped her hand, his fingers enclosing icicles. “Gloves are advisable in single-digit temperatures.”

She tightened her grip. “Good to know for the next time I never come here again.”

Smart-ass. “Call me Dev, and you’ve got me till closing time.” He glanced at his watch. “Which is at—”

“Nine o’clock. We’ve got two hours.” She released his hand and adjusted the briefcase strap on her shoulder. “Thank you so much for agreeing to the interview.”

To think he’d almost declined it. The only specs his background check had turned up was her clean criminal, DMV, and tax history, and her birth records. She’d just turned thirty-four. Five years his junior. “We could’ve done this over Skype.”

“Nope.” She shook her head, silky blonde hair swishing around her face. “This is more effective. The energy transmitted in body language and expressions is as valuable as verbal responses.”

No dispute there. Her vividness was a stark contrast from her stoic e-mail. “You’re not like the journalists who usually interview me.” When her eyebrows lifted, he said, “Are you going to clench your ass every time I mention the word sex?”

Her tongue tapped her front teeth. “Will you need to perform an anal cavity search to check for clenching?”

A whiplash of lust quickened his breath. She might as well have cupped him and squeezed. Get a grip, dickhead. She was teasing, not begging for a cock in her ass. “Only if you require one, Ms. Torpey.” He smirked.

“Joni.” She returned his smirk.

“Have a seat, Joni.” He gestured toward the one he’d vacated beside the fireplace.

When she settled, her head cocked, teeth sawing the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Her soft gaze traced his mouth and wandered down his chest as he took the seat opposite hers. She wasn’t even trying to hide her interest. His desperate mind whispered possibilities, and all of the scenarios included a night that extended beyond two hours.

He cleared his throat. “When did you fly in?”