Page 17 of Fury

A rush of heat shot between her legs as the heavy insinuation of his words coursed over her. Sex on a stick had always sounded like a cliché until now. This man had that. In spades.

She pulled her attention from him and walked over to the car. Talk about needing space. And they were about to get inside a car, where they had to breathe the same air.

Fortunately for her, he broke the spell.

"So what are the odds you'll tell me what color panties you're wearing after I get a few drinks in you?"

She groaned. The frat boy had returned.

Oh joy.

She mentally shrugged. Oh well, that only made it easier for her to get her mind back on the job and off his...

"Slim to none," she said, forcing certain thoughts out of her head. Penelope climbed into the car, ignoring the mock pained look he shot her, and they silently cruised across the bridge.

"So you can call me island boy, but I can't find out about your panties?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She bit her lips to keep from smiling and shrugged her shoulders as she pointed her car off the island. The lines between agent and victim were blurring into just man and woman, and by all rights that should make her immensely uncomfortable.

Except for some reason it didn’t. Her mind reeled with the possibilities of why that was. There was so damned much she needed to think about and analyze when it came to today’s visit.

She shook her head. That would have to wait until she got back to her room. For now, she had a drink waiting somewhere with her name on it. A stiff one.

---