Page 15 of Covert

“I’ve been working you too hard, haven’t I?”

To her amazement, he reached out to her, laid his hands on her upper arms, and turned her around to face him.

“No,” she muttered, as her skin burned beneath his touch.

Though he hadn’t stroked or caressed, the nerve endings in her body had taken on a life of their own beneath his scorching hands and were firing all sorts of mixed messages to her overheated imagination.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

If he only knew.

“I’m fine, Dylan. How did the dinner party go?”

She had to move onto safer ground, grasping for any topic that would wrench her mind away from the reaction of her treacherous body to his touch.

He lowered his hands, leaving her hankering for more. Though she knew she shouldn’t harbour erotic yearnings for her boss, she wished he’d slide his hands around her, haul her close, and kiss her senseless.

“The dinner party was a usual get together with old friends. Fine food, fine wine, boring small talk.”

“Really? Seems like you and Monique would have loads to talk about. Sharing childhood anecdotes, making plans for the future…”

He stared at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not. She seems to be the perfect woman for you.”

“And how would you know that?”

The twitching had broadened to a smirk and she wished her attention wouldn’t keep focussing on his lips.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “Call it intuition.”

He took a step closer, invading her personal space again and sending her pulse racing.

“Monique is not my type.”

He had to be baiting her. She shouldn’t ask the next question. However, with his dark eyes boring into hers and his body standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off it, she went ahead and did it anyway.

“What is your type?” She asked, soft and breathy, flicking her tongue out to moisten her top lip.

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, his head descended with infinite slowness, before his lips brushed hers in the barest of kisses.

A kiss designed to tease, to question, to give her a chance to stop this madness before it began.

Instead, she sighed and melded to him, his muscled chest crushing her breasts, setting her body alight.

She considering resisting, a fleeing thought quickly discarded as his mouth closed over hers and she moaned. His tongue taunted hers, his expertise leaving her breathless, clinging to him, yearning for more.

He tasted of the finest port aperitif—rich and sweet—and she longed to prolong the kiss, the moment, for as long as possible.

Because this was no ordinary kiss.

Sam knew it the moment his lips touched hers. The fiery reaction of her body, the urge to take this to the next level so quickly, the total loss of self-consciousness, had everything to do with this man and his toe-curling kiss of a lifetime.

She’d never experienced anything like it.

If Dylan kissed like this, how good would the sex be?

She’s never thrown caution to the wind when it came to men. So with great reluctance she eased her lips from his and pulled away, needing to refocus before she lost control and dragged him into the bedroom.

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