Mountain Blizzard. Cassie Miles

bedside table and sat on the edge of her bed.

      Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Has it stopped snowing?”

      He nodded.

      “Have you changed your mind?”

      “Have you?”

      She wiggled around until she was sitting up, still keeping the comforter wrapped around her like a droopy cocoon. Fumbling in the nearly dark room, she turned on her bedside lamp and reached for the coffee. “I’d like a nip of caffeine before we start arguing again.”

      “No need to argue. I want to help with your investigation.”

      “I’d be a fool to turn you down.”

      Damn right, you would. His qualifications were outstanding. In addition to the FBI training at Quantico, he’d taken several workshops and classes on profiling. When he first signed on, his goal was to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. But that was not to be. His psych tests showed that his traits were better suited to a different position. He was a natural for undercover work; namely, he had an innate ability to lie convincingly.

      “Plus, I’m offering the services of my brother, the computer genius and hacker.”

      Suspicion flickered in her greenish-blue eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but what’s the quid pro quo?”

      “Listen to you.” He grinned. “Awake for only a couple of minutes and already speaking Latin.”

      She turned to look at the clock and then groaned. “Five-fifteen in the morning. Why so early?”

      “Couldn’t sleep.”

      “So you thought you’d just march in here and make sure I didn’t get a full eight hours.”

      “As if you need that much.”

      The way he remembered, she seldom got more than five hours. He often woke up to find her in the middle of some project or another. Emily was one of those people who bounced out of bed and was fully functional before she brushed her teeth.

      “It’s going to be a long day.” She drank her coffee and dramatically rolled her eyes. “Plane rides can be so very exhausting.”

      “Here’s the deal,” he said. “There aren’t any direct flights from Aspen to San Francisco. You’ll be routed through Denver first.”

      Watching him over the rim of her mug, she nodded agreement.

      “Since we’re already there, let’s make a scheduled stop in Denver, spend the night and talk to Dylan. We’ll still be investigating. Didn’t you say you were looking for documents about imports and exports? He could hack in to Wynter Corp.”

      “Information obtained through illegal hacking can’t be used for evidence.”

      “But you’re not a cop,” he said. “You don’t have to follow legal protocols.”

      “True, and a hack could point me in the right direction. Dylan could also check company memos mentioning the murder victim. And, oh my God, accounting records.” She came to an abrupt halt, set down her coffee and stared at him. “Why are you making this offer?”

      “I want to help you with your new career.”

      Though he truly wished her well, helping her investigation wasn’t the primary reason he’d suggested a stop in Denver. Sean wanted to derail her trip to San Francisco and keep her out of danger. As far as he was concerned, the world had enough investigative journalists. But there was only one Emily Peterson.

      Her gaze narrowed. “Are you lying?”

      He scoffed. “Why would I lie?”

      “Turning my question into a different question isn’t an answer.” A slow smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “It’s a technique that liars use.”

      “Believe whatever you want.” He rose from her bed and placed his half-empty coffee mug on the bedside table. “I’m suggesting that you use Dylan because he’s skilled, he has high-level contacts and he won’t get caught.”

      She threw off the covers and went up on her knees. An overlarge plaid flannel top fell from her shoulders and hung all the way to her knees. The shirt looked familiar. He reached over and stroked the sleeve that she’d rolled up to the elbow. “Is this mine?”

      “The top?” Unlike him, she was a terrible liar. “Why would I wear your jammies?”

      “Supersoft flannel, gray Stewart plaid from L.L.Bean,” he said. “I’m glad you kept it.”

      “I hardly ever wear flannel. But I was coming to Colorado and figured I might want something warm.” She tossed her head, flipping her hair. “I forgot this belonged to you.”

      Another lie. He wondered if she’d been thinking of him when she packed her suitcase for this trip. Did she miss him? When she wore his clothing to bed, did she imagine his embrace?

      He stepped up close to the bed and glided his arms around her, feeling the softness of the flannel plaid and her natural, sweet warmth. She’d been cozy in bed, wrapped in his pajamas that were way too big for her.

      She cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”

      “I’m holding you so you won’t get cold.”

      He stroked her back, following the curve of her spine and the flare of her hips. With his hands still on the outside of the fabric, he cupped her full, round ass. Her body was incredible. She hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart. If anything, she was better, more firm and toned. He lifted her toward him, and she collapsed against his chest, gasping as though she’d been holding her breath.

      “Ground rules,” she choked out. “This is where we really need rules.”

      He lifted her chin, gazed into her face and waited until she opened her eyes. “You’re supposed to be the spontaneous one, Emily. Let yourself go—follow your desires.”

      “I can’t.”

      The note of desperation in her voice held him back. Though he longed to peel off the flannel top and drag her under the covers, he didn’t want to hurt her. If she wanted a more controlled approach, he would comply.

      “One kiss,” he said, “on the mouth.”

      “Only one.”

      “And another on the neck, and another on your breast, and one more on...”

      “Forget it! I should know better than to negotiate with you. There will be no kissing.” She wriggled to get away from his grasp, but he wasn’t letting go. “No touching. No hugging. No physical intimacy at all.”

      “You promised one,” he reminded her.

      “Fine.”

      She squinted her eyes closed and turned her face up to his. Her lips were stiff. And she was probably gritting her teeth. He’d still take the kiss. He knew what was behind her barriers. She still had feelings for him.

      His kiss was slow and tender, almost chaste, until he began to nibble and suck on the fullness of her lower lip. His fingers unbuttoned the pajama top, and his hand slid inside. He traced a winding path across her torso with his fingertips, and when he reached the underside of her breast, she moaned.

      “Oh, Sean.” A shudder went through her. “I can’t.”

      His hand stilled, but his mouth took full advantage of her parted lips. His tongue plunged into the hot, slick interior of her mouth.

      She spoke again. “Don’t stop.”

      She kissed him back. Her hand guided his to her nipples, inviting him to fondle. Her longing was fierce, unstoppable. Her body pressed hard against his.

      And then it was over. She fell backward on the bed and buried herself, even her face, under the covers. He loved the way he affected her.