Page 32 of Explosive Vengeance

She paused directly in front of him, waiting a moment before bending at the waist to place her hands on either side of him on the couch. It took an act of will not to reach for her, his hands flexing on his thighs.

Her face was inches from his, the fruity scent of shampoo and a hint of mint filling his nose as her avid gaze dipped to his mouth. Heath’s heart pumped faster. He shouldn’t be contemplating this, didn’t want any more complications in his life, but damned if he could turn away.

She inched forward, drawing the moment out, until every single heartbeat drummed in his ears. Her lips brushed his. Once. Twice, then lingered.

An electric current arced between them. Heat punched through him, along with a shocking burst of possessiveness.

Her lips were so damn soft and pliant, the slow, sensual kiss the opposite of what he’d expected from her. He was dying to grab her. Hold her close and deepen the kiss so he could taste her. Claim her in some way, and she was teasing him with the promise of what he could have if he was willing to cross the invisible line they were flirting with.

His control snapped.

Coiling one arm around her hips, he plunged his free hand into that thick, soft hair and pulled her to him, absorbing her gasp with his mouth as she ended up straddling his lap. Keeping a firm grip on her hair, he locked her body to him, those tight, firm breasts pressed to his chest, her ass snuggled against the length of his erection trapped under his fly as he kissed her. A slow, thorough kiss meant to turn her inside out.

He nibbled and sucked at her lips, stroked his tongue across them before delving inside to touch hers. Mint. She tasted like mint and bold, tempting sin.

Her quiet hum of enjoyment shot more blood to his groin, and the way she eagerly kissed him back threatened to turn him inside out in return.

Bold as he’d expected, but twice as erotic. She kept it slow, matching his pace as she caressed his tongue with hers. She didn’t fight his dominant grip, if anything seemed to enjoy it, her soft murmur making him so hard he ached.

Releasing his hold on her waist, Heath slid his hand up the length of her back, pulling her breasts harder into his chest.

Chloe lifted her head to look down at him, her pretty brown eyes a little dazed as she slid her tongue across her lower lip. “Hmm, maybe not such a Boy Scout after all,” she murmured in approval, and leaned back in to brush a teasing kiss across his mouth. “I like it,” she whispered against his lips.

Before he could pull her back down for more she pushed at his chest, eased off his lap and rose with a smile, her cheeks flushed and her nipples beaded tight against the fabric of her shirt. “Good night.”

He smothered a protest. At least one of them had the sense to stop this before it got totally out of hand. She went to his head like a drug, muddled his thoughts and destroyed his control. “Night.” He mentally groaned at the sight of that shapely ass walking away from him in those short, tight shorts, leaving him hard and aching.

One kiss. One kiss and she had him strung taut as a tripwire.

Heath ran a hand over his face. Yeah, there was no way he was leaving her undefended if he could help it, even if it might cost him in the end.

For the first time in his life he was operating without a mission plan, and he didn’t even care.

Chapter Eleven

Guillaume woke up early Friday morning on the leather sofa in his office when his eldest daughter shook him lightly, sunlight shining through the window above him.

“Time to get up, Papa. You have to get ready for the funeral.”

“Of course. Thank you, sweetheart.”

The morning passed in a blur, and then he and his family drove to the church. When he stepped out of his car the blast of a pipe organ came from inside the gothic cathedral and the pallbearers were gathered behind the hearse carrying Dom’s body.

Keeping himself numb so the grief wouldn’t overwhelm him, he greeted the guests, accepted condolences and walked into the church. He stopped to dip his fingers in the holy water to make the sign of the cross.

The priest met him at the entrance to the nave. “Monsieur Dubois, my sincere condolences on the loss of your brother.”

Loss? It was more than a fuckingloss. Dom had been bound, possibly tortured, and then murdered in his own home.

Keeping his civilized veneer firmly in place, Guillaume buried the rage down deep and forced a polite smile. “Thank you, Father. It’s been a trying time for us.”

The priest nodded. “May God comfort you and your family at this difficult time.”

He escorted his wife and daughters to the front pew. The inspector was seated behind him, offered his condolences again. All Guillaume could think about were his words last night.

Be patient.

The funeral mass seemed to take forever, and the trip to the cemetery where he endured the terrible ordeal of watching his brother being lowered into the ground almost shattered his control.

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