Prologue
Her skin was tan from the sun, and her lips were ruby red. Her shoulder-length inky black hair was the same color as the thin silk camisole she wore to stave off the heat. When its spaghetti strap slid off her shoulder, Dutch couldn’t help but wind it around his finger and pull it just a little lower, causing her to try to shrug away and shoot him a look of confusion.
Up until five o’clock today, he wouldn’t have laid a hand on her. Now, all bets were off. He was no longer Special Agent Malin “Starling” Kilbourne’s boss. In fact, he no longer worked for the CIA at all, which meant he intended to start fulfilling every fantasy he’d had about the woman who made his blood run hot.
Malin covered his hand with hers. “What are you doing?”
Dutch smiled. “Peeking.”
He watched as she looked past him, searching the crowded outdoor patio for the rest of the team that had gone out to celebrate both the end of a mission and Dutch’s leaving the agency. When her gaze settled on him and she moved her hand away, Dutch took the opportunity to walk her backwards a few short steps until she rested against the cool stone wall of the building.
Her look challenged more than questioned, and when he leaned in to run his tongue over her shoulder, sweet Miss Malin gasped and closed her eyes.
Was she surprised? Had she not seen this coming? Hadn’t she felt how the air around them crackled when he got within a foot of her?
Dutch was done denying himself the knowledge of how her naked body would feel under his. He pulled the camisole a little lower until he could see the tip of her dusty-rose nipple.
—:—
It wasn’t just the heat and humidity of the summer night that made it hard for her to breathe; Thomas “Dutch” Miller, her former boss as of a few short hours ago and star of every fantasy she’d had as a woman, had his hands on her. Not just his hands, his lips and tongue too.
She was used to seeing him in the dark suits he wore to work every day along with a crisp, white button-down shirt and a conservative tie. Tonight, he wore a faded blue t-shirt that was the perfect size to show off the muscles she knew he worked hard to maintain and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. His blond hair was cropped close, but she’d heard him say he intended to grow it long now that he was retiring—at least from working directly for the agency. She’d heard that he planned to join a private firm owned by several former agency operatives.
As much as she wanted to watch as he bent his head and laved the nipple he’d just exposed, her eyes drifted closed. With one hand, she clutched his arm, not to stop him, but in an attempt to hang on for dear life as the man set her already overheated body on fire.
She was disappointed when he drew the strap of her camisole back up to her shoulder, but groaned with equal intensity when he pulled her arm away from her body and studied the tattoo on the soft skin covering her tricep. He leaned forward again and ran the hard tip of his tongue over the right arrow, the one with the shaft piercing a diamond. That one symbolized invincibility. He moved to the left, tracing the feathered arrow that represented liberty, triumph, and independence.
“I like these,” he murmured, raising his head so his lips were close enough to hers to touch. “I like them on your skin.”
If Malin could speak, she wouldn’t know what to say. The man had equally intimidated and excited her since the day the CIA’s human resource officer led her into his office.
“You’re mine now, Kilbourne,” Dutch had said that day, but not meaning it in the way she’d wanted him to even after a few minutes in his presence.
Part of her had considered asking for a different assignment, but she didn’t. Doing so would’ve been more of a career-killer than lusting after her first boss.
Malin put both hands under his shirt and rested her palms just above the waist of his shorts. His skin was hot to the touch while hers alternated between scorching and covered in chill bumps depending on where he ran his tongue.
“You’re mine now, Malin,” he murmured, his words fulfilling the first fantasy she’d had of what it would be like to be seduced by him. “Let’s get out of here.”
He took her hand and led her out the back gate of the bar’s patio and to his car. He pushed her up against the passenger door and rested his rock-hard body flush with hers.
“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.
“I do,” she breathed right before he took her mouth with his in a kiss that was more incendiary than the hottest flame. She knew it would burn; she only hoped she could withstand the pain he’d inevitably cause her.
Everyone knew Dutch Miller was already in love, and it wasn’t with her.
1