Page 45 of Covert Temptation

She flicked her gaze to his. “That’s right.”

“How many boyfriends are in your past?”

“Are you asking so you can research them and see if they have any ties to that software on my phone?”

“No. I want to know your body count.” His jaw flexed.

She blinked at his words. “I’ve never killed anyone, Dante.”

His eyes slipped shut, and he huffed in amusement. “I know. I meant sex partners.”

Her lips formed an O. She wanted to be transparent with Dante.

“Three.” She dipped her head.

His eyes did that hazy, sexy thing again, irises wrought with electricity that gave her chills and had her stomach doing backflips.

“Including you,” she added.

“Fuck.” He didn’t even pause—he strode back to her.

It only took seven steps to reach her.

It would have taken her six running ones.

Her legs moved on their own, and she pushed to a stand, looking around for escape. But he was right—she’d never be able to run anywhere that he wouldn’t find her.

Her eyes flared wide as he reached out. Clamping one hand on her waist and the other curling around her nape, he pulled her against him, hauling her into his arms.

A coo of want escaped her, but he silenced it by slamming his mouth over hers. She whimpered, pushing closer to his body, fisting his shirt as she parted her lips for the hot sweep of his tongue.

Oh god, this man could kiss. He plundered her, angling his head and delving into her mouth again and again and again. She trembled for more, her hand roaming over his chest and shoulder, feeling the swell of strong muscle.

He slipped his hand from her waist to her hip, and she automatically hiked her leg around his thigh, opening to him in every way.

As her pussy rubbed against his stiff length, he issued a roughened groan. She rocked forward, pressing into what she craved—and threw them both off balance.

They toppled to the floor in a crash. She fell across his chest, whooshing all the air from her lungs.

“Ooph!”

The sound of wood splintering brought her out of her daze. Sprawled over Dante, she lifted her head and met his equally confused gaze.

“The coffee table,” she rasped. “We broke it.”

“Damn the table.” His rough fingers eased under her hair, hooking around her nape and drawing her lips back to his.

Her insides tightened, began to pulse with a tight thread of need that thickened with each pass of his tongue across hers.

Passion flowed between them, hot, hotter. He gripped her hips and rolled her to the side, out of the rubble that was the old coffee table. When he flipped her beneath him, he stared down into her eyes.

“Three,” he gritted out.

It took a moment for her fogged mind to catch up. He was talking about the number of lovers she’d had, including him.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Christ, Kennedy. I can’t stop myself from wanting you.”

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