Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch

this man had on her. He was pure hell on her defenses.

      “Turnabout is fair play, I always say. My cousins told me that you grilled them for information about me today.”

      Miranda took offense. “I most certainly did not! They spilled their guts with no encouragement from me. They talked and I listened.”

      He narrowed his eyes at her. “Answer the question.”

      “No, there’s no man waiting in the wings or anywhere else for that matter. I’ve focused entirely on my career.”

      He nodded thoughtfully. “I figure that a girl raised by a family of cops will turn out one of two ways. Either she’ll run wild in rebellious defiance or she’ll try to live up to her family’s noble calling and become the personification of excellence.” He stared her straight in the eye. “You’d be the do-it-right rule-follower, correct?”

      “What is this? Your countrified version of the Spanish Inquisition?” she asked huffily. “Look, I’m tired and I can’t deal with you when I’m not at my best. You require too much energy and mental attention. Can we call it a night?”

      He smiled at her defensive tone. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you. But there’s just one more thing, Calamity Jane.”

      Her breath clogged in her throat when he made her mouth the focus of his profound concentration. Oh, God, she couldn’t deal with the sensuality that radiated off him in tidal waves, especially when she was weary and vulnerable. She might slip off this righteous pedestal her family designed for her. It would be so easy to fall—for him.

      Miranda fidgeted nervously when his eyes, like hypnotic obsidian flames, bore down on her from beneath that thick fringe of long lashes. “You aren’t going to do something stupid, like kiss me, are you?” she asked, her voice wavering with the internal conflict of wanting and not wanting.

      “Darlin’,” he said with a killer smile, “stupidity became my middle name when I met you. I haven’t been the same since.”

      And then he was hoisting her from her chair and wrapping those sinewy arms around her like a warm cocoon. The instant her body came into full contact with his muscular length her hormones leaped into full-scale riot—and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. He just kept staring at her with those eyes that were as dark and shiny as the devil’s own temptation. Apparently he was waiting for her to pitch a fit if she didn’t want to be kissed. The choice, it seemed, was hers to make.

      She really should object, should push him back into his own space. Or better yet, give him the benefit of her self-defense techniques by breaking his hold. But like an idiot she just focused her curious attention on that tempting mouth and wondered if he’d give her a hit-and-run kiss or suck her into the vortex of sensuality that went by the name of Vance Ryder.

      Hit-and-run would’ve been much easier on her senses, she decided after his mouth slanted over hers in gentle possession. But in less than a heartbeat the tenderness melted beneath an eruption of desire that Miranda had tried to pretend didn’t exist between them. But there it was, right in her face, burning in the pit of her stomach, channeling in all directions at once, making her crave the forbidden.

      Suddenly she was arching into him and he was pressing her hips against his as his tongue delved deeper to taste her completely. The world wobbled on its axis and her brain short-circuited. Sensation after fiery sensation blazed through her weary body, regenerating energy and heat that fed on themselves until the intensity of it set her aflame. Wow! Kissing Vance was like being caught in a thermonuclear blast!

      She was kissing him back with frantic desperation, clawing at the pearl snaps on his Western shirt, needing to explore the hard muscled wall of his chest. In response, he tugged the hem of her shirt from her slacks and skimmed his hands over her waist—without breaking the fervent kiss.

      Someone moaned in helpless surrender. She prayed that it wasn’t her. She’d never caved in like this before, never wanted to gobble a man alive the way she wanted to feast her hands and lips on Vance.

      Before she realized it she was sitting in the empty foam box of food and wearing his birthday cake on her butt. But it didn’t matter because his skillful hands were gliding up her rib cage and skimming across her bra to arouse her nipples to hard, aching peaks. And then he dragged his mouth from hers and dipped his head to suckle her through the flimsy fabric of her bra. The nearly intolerable burning sensations got even worse.

      He raised his head and said, “Damn, woman, I knew you set me off, but not quite like this.”

      He delivered another lip-blistering kiss as he wedged his hips between her legs and pressed closer. He was hard as stone and she was hot and aching and craving the intimate contact like a hopeless addict. Sweet mercy! Who was this woman who was climbing all over this gorgeous hunk of cowboy and begging for more? This turbocharged male was gunning down her usual inhibitions like crumbling clay pigeons at a trap shoot. She’d been the farthest thing from a pushover—until Vance Ryder invaded her world and introduced her to combustible desire.

      Miranda couldn’t breathe without inhaling the scent of him, couldn’t think past the web of pleasure he weaved around her like a sorcerer’s spell. Her head fell back as his hot, moist lips glided down the column of her neck and his roaming hands slid upward to cup her breasts. She gasped when she felt his mouth against one bare nipple then the other. He flicked at her with his tongue and she whimpered in aroused torment.

      The room spun in dizzying circles as his lips scorched a fiery path up her throat and over her flushed cheeks to reclaim her mouth. His kiss was so demanding and possessive that she felt as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her—just like this morning, only a zillion times worse. When he pressed his hips precisely into the cradle of her thighs she arched helplessly against him. Then she kissed him as if there was no tomorrow—and he was her last request.

      Miranda was shocked by the intense feelings of wild desperation and desire that hammered at her. Shocked but powerless to defend against sensations of overwhelming need that rocked her. Then, when she felt so completely out of control that she was on the verge of screaming: Take me—now—because I can’t stand not knowing what it would be like to be swept away by you, he lifted his head and stepped away.

      Vance gasped for air and willed his shaky legs not to fold up beneath him. He stared at the enticing sight of her partially bared body and felt another blast of unholy desire rip through him. She’d braced her elbows on the table where he’d deposited her. Her long shapely legs were still spread to accommodate him when he’d eased himself against her because not being as close as he could get—even while fully clothed—had not been an acceptable option.

      Holy kamoley! he thought as he stared into her wide green eyes and watched her breasts heave in attempt to draw breath. Nothing had ever hit Vance this hard so fast and just kept coming at him like bullets spitting from a howitzer. Damn, there was nothing leisurely or casual about his desire for Randi and the intensity of these feelings shocked him.

      As birthday kisses went, this one took the cake. Literally. Thanks to him, she was sitting in it.

      Dazed by his wild, instantaneous reaction to her, burning from this obsessive need to have her, right here, right now, Vance stumbled back a step. He told himself to breathe, to clear his head and not to look at her for another second or he’d lose control all over again.

      He wheeled around and stared at the door while his body throbbed with unappeased desire. “Thanks for throwing me the party,” he croaked. “That was…uh…mighty…uh…nice of you.” He cleared his throat. “See ya tomorrow.”

      And then he was outta there. Running for his life, to be more accurate. He was afraid to stand still too long for fear the unleashed emotions she incited would overtake him and send him racing back inside her apartment to finish what he never should have started.

      Damnation, he’d known she was intensely passionate about her job, but he hadn’t expected to be dragged into that turbulent undercurrent of emotion he’d tapped into. She’d set him on fire and he was very much afraid that he couldn’t run fast