Out of Control. Julie Miller

sure?”

      “I’m fine.” He exhaled slowly, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her neck. A riot of goose bumps rose on her skin, despite the heat from his jacket and body. “Now. If I set you down, nice and easy, will you tell me your name?”

      No. No name. Alexandra Morgan was a failure when it came to men. And she was feeling something, wanting something so badly with this man that she didn’t want to blow it. Maybe anonymity would give her a safety net, confidence she normally lacked. And maybe a man with no preconceived notions of who she was, a man who saw her as a desirable woman and nothing more or less, could give Alex what she wanted—a chance to be a normal, sexual, cherished woman.

      Even if it was only for one night. Or one hour.

      Or one kiss.

      “Just like you said, Detective,” she finally answered. “It’s Trouble.”

      “I believe that. Okay, so no names. Are you flirting with me, Miss Trouble?”

      “Would that be a crime?”

      “Depends on if you’re playing me or if this is really going somewhere.”

      Alex breathed out the last of her doubts. She might not know exactly what she was doing, but she understood exactly what she wanted. “I don’t like playing games.”

      “Then this is definitely going somewhere.” He let go with one arm to feather his fingers into her hair and lift the curling strands to his nose. “You smell so good. Like gardenias carried on a distant breeze.”

      Alex’s breath locked in her throat as the atmosphere around them grew heavy. This man could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy in that voice. A compliment like that was pure poetry.

      “You…smell good, too,” she whispered. Ugh. Not so poetic. What was she supposed to say?

      But the words didn’t matter. He angled his head and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss against the nape of her neck.

      Her startled gasp tensed through her body. But when she exhaled, any surprise flowed away and settled with a purr of contentment in her throat. “That was…nice. Better than nice. I didn’t know there was a bundle of nerves back there.”

      “You like that?” he whispered, warming the same spot with his tongue.

      She trembled. Nodded.

      “You want me to stop?”

      They were strangers. She was needy. He was willing. And he was being so…patient. Such a gentleman. And yet, this gentleman’s erection was nestled in the seam of her bottom, telling her she wasn’t the only one interested in exploring whatever was happening between them. It was damn crazy to want a man so badly. A stranger, no less. But when had an opportunity like this ever landed in her lap? Or rather, when had she ever landed in Detective Opportunity’s lap?

      “Don’t stop.”

      He nibbled the sensitive spot on her neck gently, making her jerk in his arms. Then he worked his way down her spine to the collar of his jacket, discovering nerve after nerve that leaped to life beneath his warm, moist touch.

      Alex squirmed between the man and truck, trying to free her hands to grab on to something to steady herself—to try to take part in the embrace. But all she managed to do was work her dress up even higher—exposing more bottom, more damp, slick heat that desperately wanted to feel the press of his leg again.

      “Careful,” he warned. His arm constricted around her ribcage. His fingers clenched in her hair, pulling slightly at her scalp. But the pinpricks of pain quickly blended in with the pleasure of his moan vibrating against her skin, his teeth nipping at the taut muscle where her neck and shoulder joined. His thumb inched higher, testing the weight of one breast, hooking around the taut nipple that strained against the band of her dress. He flicked the tender nub once, twice, a third time, forcing Alex’s mouth open in a gasp of need and want that matched his own. “I’m not getting my signals mixed up, am I, Trouble? Tell me what you want. It’s yours. Or tell me to stop.”

      She’d come to Nashville, expecting to learn a thing or two about this man-woman mystery that other women her age seemed to enjoy. She was looking for the good part of sexual experience that had been frightened out of her by a cruel act, denied her by a small town that would never let her forget her mistake. She’d thought she’d failed in her quest.

      Maybe she’d just been looking for that experience with the wrong man.

      “I want you to kiss me again. Really kiss me.”

      Her request seemed to open up a throttle, turbocharging the leisurely, languid connection between them. Without ever letting her feet hit the ground, he turned her—using the truck and the friction of her curves bunching against his harder angles to keep her suspended in the air and aligned against him in a way that was sending every red blood cell in her body charging hard into the tips of her aching breasts and down to her full, weeping center. And then he kissed her. And kissed her. His kisses consumed her.

      His jacket fell away from her shoulders as her fingers crept around his neck, then raked up the back of his head, tugging his short, silky hair into her greedy grasp. His tongue reached into her mouth, caught hers in a twist and pulled it between his lips for a light nip between his teeth.

      Alex returned the bold move, his groan of approval matching the restless cries in her throat. There was nothing soft about this meeting of lips, nothing reticient about the deep, ragged breaths that moved their bodies against each other. He slid one hand down to her bottom, slipped his fingers beneath the elastic band of the cotton and squeezed, branding her, skin to skin. Alex hooked her heel behind his thigh, instinctively opening her body to the hard, thrusting need of his. The truck rocked as he pushed his body closer, drove his tongue deeper.

      A wolfish whistle from the entrance to the alley was the first glitch in Alex’s mindless need to fulfill tonight’s quest. A familiar panic button tried to break through the haze of passion. She should reconsider this impulsive encounter.

      But the dectective had other ideas.

      “Stay with me, sweetheart.” He kissed away her doubts, turned and carried her to the cab of his truck. With an unceremonious shifting of grips and digging into pockets, he unlocked the door, opened it and dumped her inside. “Move over,” he commanded. As soon as Alex scooted backward across the bench seat, he started the engine and took off. “We need some privacy.”

      His growly pronouncement spoke not only of his need, but reassured a bone-deep fear inside Alex that this was a good choice. That he was a good choice. This man would save the night—he’d save her lovelife—for her.

      Alex held on tight as they jerked around corners and sped on a straightaway. Then they squealed through a parking lot and swerved into an alley where the neon lights and music and crowds of Broadway couldn’t reach. About the time she’d worked her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and had pulled her dress down to a relatively modest level, he stomped on the brake, killed the engine and turned to her.

      “You still game?” he asked. The glow from the dashboard shadowed the rugged lines of his face, but his eyes reflected a need, an intent, that rivaled her own.

      Alex reached for him. “Yes.”

      As he wrapped his arm behind her back and laid her down on the seat, the truck plunged into darkness.

      Perfect.

      For a brief moment, his shadow loomed over her. But Alex felt excitement, not fear. She felt his palms on her thighs, his thumbs sliding up beneath the elastic of her panties. The heady weight of his body pressed her down into the upholstery as he sought out her bruised, swollen mouth for a tender kiss. “I can’t believe I’m making out in my truck like some kind of randy teenager.” His beard stubble abraded the underside of her chin. His kiss followed. He blazed a trail down her neck, arousing, soothing. “God, I need this, sweetheart. I need this.”

      And