Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

“You put on a realistic show, and he watched?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. I’m all eyes.” Keeping them on her face, he leaned back in his chair and mentally recited the Law Enforcement Oath of Honor.

She rose from his lap and slowly tipped her head back until her hat tumbled away. Then she crossed her arms behind her neck, lifted her hair, and let it cascade down her back. The Oath segued into a prayer for strength.

Prayers wouldn’t be enough, he realized, when she splayed her hands on her rib cage and slowly slid them up her torso toward her breasts. At the last minute, however, she hesitated. Her eyes drifted to his. “Do you want me to…?”

The cynical part of his brain took charge, because he didn’t have any prayers left. “You’ve got the innocent, virginal act down pat. It’s surprisingly effective.” Then the cynic surrendered and all he had left was the truth. “Hell, yes, I want you to,” he whispered. “I might die if you don’t.”

Maybe Stacy got off on tortured admissions, or maybe this was all part of the act, but she closed her eyes, ran her hands over her breasts, and gave a little whimper that vibrated all the way through him.

“Like this?” she whispered.

“That’s good. I mean…” Shit. “If that’s what Carlton liked.”

She strummed her fingers over the tight peaks and bit her lip as if to hold back a moan. He stiffened in the chair and reached for her before he caught himself. “Jesus. Sorry.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. She seemed to be off in her own world, somewhere beyond those closed eyes. Real or simulated? Hard to say. Mesmerizing? Definitely. When she sucked her finger into her mouth, and then rubbed her nipple, transferring moisture to the glistening peak, he exhaled harshly, sending a burst of air over the tip. The skin puckered, and a moan echoed low in her throat.

He groaned and shifted in the chair. Before he knew what she had in mind, she pressed her hips down and rode his throbbing cock. In his overtaxed imagination, there were no barriers between them. No lacy G-string, no dark-blue suit pants, just a slow, slick slide of heated flesh against heated flesh.

They had to stop. He had to—oh, God. Her palm swept down her fluttering belly until her fingers found the soaked lace of her thong. With one hand braced on his shoulder for balance, she arched her back, thrust her breasts forward, and proceeded to rub and stroke herself into a frenzy.

She was giving him, hands down, the sexiest show he’d ever seen. Her uncensored, uninhibited movements sure as hell didn’t look like an act. Didn’t feel like an act. Worse, he didn’t want this to be an act. The last thought shocked him into action. Abruptly, he widened his legs. The move forced her thighs farther apart. “Stacy, we have to stop—”

Too late. Head back and teeth clenched, her entire body tightened against his. Her free hand clenched his shirtfront while the busy hand between her legs stilled. She sucked in a quick breath—as if she’d just walked into the biggest surprise of her life—and then came with a long, shattering cry.

In that moment, Trevor knew that he was completely and utterly fucked.

…

“That was some performance.”

Trevor’s sardonic comment cut through Kylie’s churning thoughts. What the hell had she just done? Had she lost her freaking mind, along with every last shred of decency and self-control? Yes, she was under pressure. Yes, this man stirred up unprecedented chemistry inside her and she had zero experience handling those urges. But indulging in a sexual fantasy to get through a private dance, forfeiting control for some kind of escape, was dangerous and humiliating. Shame burned hot enough to make her tremble.

She pried her eyes open and looked at him. What she saw in his face set her trembling again, this time with panic. He knows. Ruthlessly, she cut the thought off. No, he suspects. He doesn’t know anything you don’t tell him.

“I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” she said breezily, though it was more like a wheeze, and started to climb off him. “Carlton always did.”

He caught her wrist, stopping her retreat. “All part of your show, huh?” His expression mirrored the disbelief in his voice.

“That’s right.”

Before she could guess his intention, he brought her hand to his face. The same hand that, seconds ago, had been nestled between her legs. He inhaled deeply, and her face flamed. She tried to pull away, but he held on.

“If that was a performance, you deserve an Academy Award.”

“No holding,” ordered a firm voice from the corner of the room.

The interruption jolted her right out of her skin. Then recognition dawned and she almost wilted with relief. Benny. Good old Benny. She’d forgotten he was there, but could have kissed him on the mouth when his stoic instruction did the trick. Still watching her like a hawk, Trevor unhurriedly released her wrist. The disbelief on his face continued to challenge her assertion she’d been acting, but he said nothing more.

Get out, fast. She scrambled away and scanned the floor for her shirt. She found it easily enough and shrugged the garment on, but shaking hands made dealing with the buttons difficult.

“Need some help?”

The deliberate patience in Trevor’s voice bothered her almost as much as the feel of his maddeningly steady hands trailing along her shirtfront, deftly securing buttons. His movements caused the fabric to shift and rub. Under his miss-no-detail gaze, her nipples sprang to attention.