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Just as he started to lower his head, a ripple moved through her. She shoved a hand against his shoulder. “Don’t think that I always break protocol like this.”
“I don’t care if you do.” He ripped his shirt out of his pants and whipped it over his head, revealing miles of tanned muscles and skin.
“You’re taking off your clothes.” Not the smartest thing she’d ever said, but it was out there and she couldn’t snatch it back.
“You’re the boss, remember?”
A shot of regret nearly knocked her over. Not at making the pass but at wanting him this much in the first place. Here and now, when her mind should be on the assignment, not on his chest.
She’d buried this part of herself for so long under a pile of work and professionalism that bringing it out now made her twitchy. “This isn’t—­”
His hands went to her arms, and he brushed those palms up and down, soothing her. “Do you want me?”
She couldn’t lie. He had to feel it in the tremor shaking through her. “Yes.”
“Then stop justifying not working this very second and enjoy. It won’t make you less of a professional.”
That was exactly what she needed to hear. “Okay.”
His hands stopped at her elbows, and he dragged her in closer, until the heat of his body radiated against her. “You’re a stunning woman, and we’ve been circling each other for days. Honestly, your ability to handle weapons only makes you hotter in my eyes.”
The words spun through her. They felt so good. So right. “Not the way I would say it, but okay.”
“You want me. I sure as hell want you. We need to lie low until it gets dark and we can hide our movements better.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile filled with promise. “And, for the record, there is nothing sexier than a woman who goes after what she wants.”
He meant it. She knew it with every cell inside her.
Screw being safe.
An Excerpt from
SINFUL REWARDS 1
A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
by Cynthia Sax
Belinda “Bee” Carter is a good girl; at least, that’s what she tells herself. And a good girl deserves a nice guy—­just like the gorgeous and moody billionaire Nicolas Rainer. Or so she thinks, until she takes a look through her telescope and sees a naked, tattooed man on the balcony across the courtyard. He has been watching her, and that makes him all the more enticing. But when a mysterious and anonymous text message dares her to do something bad, she must decide if she is really the good girl she has always claimed to be, or if she’s willing to risk everything for her secret fantasy of being watched.
An Avon Red Novella
I’D TOLD CYNDI I’d never use it, that it was an instrument purchased by perverts to spy on their neighbors. She’d laughed and called me a prude, not knowing that I was one of those perverts, that I secretly yearned to watch and be watched, to care and be cared for.
If I’m cautious, and I’m always cautious, she’ll never realize I used her telescope this morning. I swing the tube toward the bench and adjust the knob, bringing the mysterious object into focus.
It’s a phone. Nicolas’s phone. I bounce on the balls of my feet. This is a sign, another declaration from fate that we belong together. I’ll return Nicolas’s much-­needed device to him. As a thank you, he’ll invite me to dinner. We’ll talk. He’ll realize how perfect I am for him, fall in love with me, marry me.
Cyndi will find a fiancé also—­everyone loves her—­and we’ll have a double wedding, as sisters of the heart often do. It’ll be the first wedding my family has had in generations.
Everyone will watch us as we walk down the aisle. I’ll wear a strapless white Vera Wang mermaid gown with organza and lace details, crystal and pearl embroidery accents, the bodice fitted, and the skirt hemmed for my shorter height. My hair will be swept up. My shoes—­
Voices murmur outside the condo’s door, the sound piercing my delightful daydream. I swing the telescope upward, not wanting to be caught using it. The snippets of conversation drift away.
I don’t relax. If the telescope isn’t positioned in the same way as it was last night, Cyndi will realize I’ve been using it. She’ll tease me about being a fellow pervert, sharing the story, embellished for dramatic effect, with her stern, serious dad—­or, worse, with Angel, that snobby friend of hers.
I’ll die. It’ll be worse than being the butt of jokes in high school because that ridicule was about my clothes and this will center on the part of my soul I’ve always kept hidden. It’ll also be the truth, and I won’t be able to deny it. I am a pervert.
I have to return the telescope to its original position. This is the only acceptable solution. I tap the metal tube.