Murphy's Law

“Well, that's true enough.”

“I mean, it's not like I told you.”

“That's also true. Which brings up an interesting question. Why didn't you tell me the truth right away?”

“Would you have believed me if I had?”

Murphy hesitated. “Darn it, Garrett Thayer. Are you always right?”

“Wait and find out.”

It was a cryptic response. One that not only suggested they would get out of this car alive, but that they would see each other again once they did.

Murphy wasn't sure how she felt about that. While part of her tingled with pleasure, another, larger part said she had more than enough problems in her life right now; this man would only complicate things.

She shifted, and glanced up at him.

He shifted, and glanced down at her.

Their gazes met and locked.

His attention dipped, skimming her lips, which immediately burned under the scrutiny. Her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing shallowed. The muscles in her abdomen tightened in anticipation when she saw him angle his head, their lips now separated by a scant, breath-vapored inch of space. His eyes had darkened to midnight blue.

Murphy shivered.

The grin that curled over Garrett's lips made her breath catch. “Cold?”

She wanted to say no. But couldn't. Her voice had deserted her…right along with her common sense. The sweet, sizzling memory of his kiss had never entirely left her. Always, it had been rumbling around in the back of her mind. Now, she found herself aching to taste him again, to feel the hot, magical way his mouth moved over hers…

Oh, no, she wasn't at all cold. Just the opposite. Thoughts of this man's mouth on hers made her feel decidedly hot. So why did she nod in response?

“Come closer,” he said. “Let me warm you up.”

“I don't think it's possible to get any closer,” she replied, her voice a breathless rush of misty air. His chest was against her shoulder, their hips were wedged together.

Slowly, his right hand skirted her shoulder, buried itself in her hair. He tugged her mouth a fraction closer. His lips brushed hers when he said huskily, “It's possible. Trust me, sweetheart, if you want it bad enough, anything is possible.”

Garrett groaned, low and deep in his throat, when his mouth slanted over hers. This kiss, unlike the first two, was ravenous, draining, desperate. On both their parts.

He groaned again when Murphy met each thrust and parry of his tongue measure for sensuous measure.

She curled her arms around his neck and melted into him. His body was hot with fever; she could feel the heat of him burning through the thickness of her coat and sweater, caressing the flesh beneath in fiery waves of awareness.

Ten minutes ago, she'd wanted to know everything there was to know about Garrett. The instant his lips touched hers, her goal transformed into something more basic. Now she wanted only to touch him, all of him, without the barrier of cloth separating her warm, hungry flesh from his.

And she wanted him to touch her.

Everywhere.

Now.

It was crazy. Murphy McKenna had never been the sort who allowed passion to overrule good sense. Maybe that was because she'd never felt passion to this degree?

Until now.

She was unprepared to deal with the sharp pang of desire that carved through her, leaving her breathless and wanting and shaky. As her fingers tangled in Garrett's silky hair, and she arched her upper body into his, she blamed the hopeless situation they were in, the knowledge they may very well never leave this car alive, for her uninhibited response. Surely that was why she suddenly couldn't taste or feel enough of him. Wasn't it?

She didn't know. And when he deepened the kiss, she suddenly didn't care. Whatever the reason, she wanted, needed his closeness in a way she'd never wanted or needed anything in her life. In a way she had a feeling she may never want or need anything again.