Baby I'm Yours (Angel Sands 5)

He could smell her perfume again, floral and sweet.

“I’m being really indiscreet,” she told him, smiling into his eyes. “I blame the whiskey.”

“In that case we should get another.” A lock of her hair had escaped from the pins. He reached out to push it back behind her ear, his finger trailing down her neck.

She breathed in, her chest rising up, her eyes gazing into his. He was still touching her. Couldn’t bring himself to pull away. She was too warm, too soft. Too full of everything he wanted.

“I have a room,” she said softly, closing her eyes for a moment. He immediately missed looking into them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

Her hesitance was so damn sexy it kicked him where it mattered. H

e reached out to cup her cheek, desire shooting through him like a bolt of lightning.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, as he inclined his head toward hers, the flat of his brow pressing against her own.

How long had it been since he’d felt another woman’s face against his? Forever. Another world, another life.

He shouldn’t be doing it now, he knew that. Shouldn’t be feeling his body throb to the beat of the music like he was an instrument being played. He traced her collarbone with the tip of his finger and swallowed a smile when her breath caught in her throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, his voice low and thick. He slid his finger across her bottom lip, gratified at the way her mouth parted at his touch.

It was as though his body was on autopilot, ignoring every warning his brain tried to shock him back to reality with. He didn’t care if it was the whiskey, or the hotel, or whatever else it was that made him act this way. He had to have her or die trying.

He lifted his hand to cup her face once more, swallowing hard at the way she was staring at him. Sometimes you had to ignore the warnings and just do it. Even if you knew you’d regret it in the morning. A smile quirked the corner of his lips as he took her hand and helped her down from her stool.

“Show me your room.”

4

Harper didn’t do this kind of thing. Except here she was, bringing this hot, sharp-jawed, dark-eyed man back to the little bungalow facing the sea.

Of course she knew the risks. She also knew there were panic buttons throughout the bungalow, gleefully pointed out by Caitie as she took Harper on the tour of the place earlier.

She also knew her own gut. And yeah, you could argue that so did the people Ted Bundy managed to drag into his VW Bug, but it had never steered her wrong before.

Still, she found herself typing out a quick message to Caitie as the two of them left the bar, taking the back exit leading straight to the accommodation to avoid the ballroom and terrace full of revelers.

“I’m just telling my friend I’m leaving,” she told him, staring up at his warm brown eyes. “In case you’re some kind of axe murderer or something.”

“Very sensible.” He nodded. “Should I tell a friend, too?” He reached out to touch her bare shoulder, as though he couldn’t stand not to. She loved the way it sent shivers down her spine.

“Probably.” She laughed. “I’ve watched enough movies to know the villain’s always the one you least expect. For all you know I could be some kind of deviant.”

“Is it wrong that I hope you are?” His eyes softened as he stared back at her. God his lips looked delicious. “What kind of name would you have? Jane the Ripper? The Preying Mantis?”

Her chuckle cut through the warm night air. “Aren’t those the insects who kill their mates after sex?”

“Yep. I can’t imagine any insect dies happier than that.”

She looked up at him again, and their eyes met, sending another delicious shockwave through her. His hand was still curled around her shoulder as they walked, protective and warm. She could smell his cologne, deep and woody, and see the dark shadows where his beard was beginning to win the battle against his razor.

“I don’t even know your name,” she murmured, reaching out to trace his jaw.

“I don’t know yours.”

“Call me Grace,” she said, referring to how he’d described her earlier. “And I’ll call you Frank.”

“As in Sinatra?”