All of the calm that settled over me once I’d realized there was an intruder in my home dissipated when I learned the identity of that intruder.

My heart beat furiously in my throat, and I stayed frozen like that for another handful of seconds before I turned around.

Karson was standing in my living room, staring at me. Despite it being the middle of the night, he was still wearing his impeccably tailored black suit, obsidian hair artfully mussed and eyes alert, alight.

Then again, he couldn’t exactly break into my house in the middle of the night naked, could he?

The thought of him naked, what scars and ridges of muscle I might find underneath his clothes, sent warmth to the core of me.

Then I blinked, reminding myself that I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking the man who was able to surpass a serious security system in order to break into my house in the middle of the night. Then again, I’d broken into his house. Turnabout was fair play and all that.

My eyes narrowed as his words penetrated.

He knew that there was a gun in the drawer beside my sofa. How could he know that? No one knew that. It was underneath the drawer itself, in a secret compartment only I knew about.

I had a handful of weapons in such places around my home. It would surprise many people, the amount of firearms I had in my possession. On the surface, I was a pretty, liberal, happy, rich girl… The make love, not war girl.

I was that girl.

Woman.

But if I was forced to go to war, I’d make sure I was armed accordingly.

Though I had the feeling, staring into Karson’s eyes, that I was on the precipice of war, one I had no idea how to fight.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, louder than I’d intended. But I couldn’t whisper over the sound of my thundering heart.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked smile that I felt between my legs. He didn’t answer me, didn’t need to.

The question itself was rather stupid. He didn’t answer because he didn’t need to answer. I knew how he got in here. Knew that it was his job to know how to circumvent security systems, knew that his job meant he was dressed in a sleek suit at three in the morning.

This was the middle of his workday, I guessed.

I was wearing a nightgown. Silk. Skimpy. It barely covered my ass, clung to all of my curves, and my nipples were pebbled against the delicate silk.

Karson’s eyes did not flicker down my body, though, they stayed on mine as he walked slowly, purposefully toward me.

I was so paralyzed by shock, desire and a sprinkling of fear that I didn’t move. I just watched Karson advance.

His steps echoed delicately through my home, his darkness a sharp contrast against the shades of white I had decorated my home in.

“I don’t play games,” he said, standing close enough that his scent enveloped me, consumed me, but so we weren’t actually touching. Every nerve ending in my body cried out. My breaths were shallow and rapid, and my hands were clenched at my sides.

I wasn’t afraid. I should’ve been. Karson was some kind of dangerous criminal, and he’d broken into my house in the middle of the night. Yes, I likely should’ve been afraid.

But I wasn’t really a woman who reacted the way one should in high pressure situations, or any situation.

I tilted my head and regarded Karson, the texture of his skin, the sharpness of his jaw and the electricity in his eyes. My heart thundered, and I worked hard to school my expression.

“Really?” I asked, my voice husky, my breath blowing into his face. “Because I think breaking into my house in the middle of the night, presumably for sex, seems remarkably close to a game, if not, certainly a felony,” I added, my eyes never leaving his.

Karson’s eyes flared, but his expression stayed the same. Stoic, almost rigid. Cold on the surface. But now that I was closer, now that I could smell him, feel his presence, I understood there was a fire inside of me that was singeing my skin with its nearness.

He didn’t take the bait that I was dangling in front of his face. I half expected him to. Though I was nowhere near an expert on the details of his chosen profession or life in general—I barely knew this man—I thought he might be prone to conflict. And the idea of engaging in battle with this man had my pussy pulsating with need.

Karson didn’t give me the fight I was so craving. He didn’t give me anything, in fact. He just stood there, staring, suit just brushing against my nightgown, the heat of his body lighting mine on fire.

The air was thick, pulsating. It was a living thing between us. There was a low roar in my ears, and my stomach swirled with unease and arousal.

Tags: Anne Malcom Dark
Source: readsnovelonline.net