Flirting with Disaster. Victoria Dahl

those gorgeous breasts were pressed against him, and her mouth drew him deeper, and if he just pressed his hips a little tighter...

      He groaned into the kiss as he eased away. “I can’t get distracted right now. I’m sorry.”

      “Oh. Am I distracting you?” Her smile told him she knew the answer, even before she pulled his hips into hers.

      “You know you are.”

      “Well, I wasn’t sure until just now.” She pressed snug against him.

      Tom laughed, loving her boldness and the challenge in her eyes. “Thank God you’re not still uncertain.”

      “No,” she said, pressing her hips tighter. “Not at all.” She raised one hand to slide it up his stomach to his chest, watching her hand explore until it disappeared beneath his suit jacket. “You feel really good.”

      It had been a slow build before, starting with the sight of her, then her teasing, her taste, her curves. But this...this frank appreciation for his body? His heart thundered in his chest, and his cock was suddenly painfully hard. He wanted that hand of hers to slide lower. He wanted it to unzip his pants and curl around him and tighten. And he wanted her telling him how good it all was. So damn good.

      “Isabelle,” he said, and just that, just her name, reminded him that he shouldn’t do this. “Stop trying to make me crazy.”

      That husky laugh burst from her, and she gave him a friendly shove. “Fine. But only because you’re being cute.”

      He didn’t feel cute. He felt bereft and a little betrayed that she wasn’t keeping his cock warm anymore. But that was what he’d requested, wasn’t it?

      “As you can see,” she said as if normal conversation wasn’t difficult after that kiss, “everything around here is fine. You can get back to work.”

      He frowned and looked around in confusion for a moment, not quite recalling what he’d meant to do. “I know how you are about your privacy, but if Veronica is going to be here for a few hours, would you let me take a closer look? Windows, doors, that sort of thing? There was a threat against the family. In fact—” he rubbed a hand over his face “—maybe it’d be better if you disinvited her.”

      “No way,” Isabelle said immediately. “That girl needs a night out. Look at whatever you need to.” Her eyes narrowed just a little. “I don’t have anything to hide, Marshal.”

      Damned if she didn’t lie almost as well as she kissed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

      HE STILL SEEMED slightly out of sorts. She liked that look on him. The big, tall lawman confused by a simple little kiss.

      Okay, so it hadn’t been little. Or simple. She’d been turned on before he’d even pressed his mouth to hers. And judging by the lovely size of his cock, he’d been pretty excited, too.

      She’d found him attractive before, but now she knew how firm that stomach was and how his hard chest curved up so nicely into his shoulders. She looked him up and down, and her mouth watered.

      “Stop it,” he muttered, taking another step back.

      God, he really was adorable. “You don’t have to stand here and let me ogle you. Go on. Look around.”

      He glanced past her toward the studio doors. “I’d rather you come with me.”

      “You’re not seriously scared of my paintings, are you?”

      “No, I’m scared of the photographs.”

      It took her a moment to recognize the dry humor in his voice. “I’ll protect you. Try to think of them as part of a case file.”

      “I want you to come with me because I know your privacy is important to you.”

      She drew back a little in surprise that he even cared. “Okay,” she agreed and followed him back to the living room, where he spent a lot of time checking her window locks.

      “Living here alone, you might want to invest in some pin locks. They slide into the frame of the window.”

      “I’m too isolated to worry much about that. Anyone who wants in can just break the glass. Even Jill wouldn’t hear that.”

      He grunted, not looking pleased. “You’ve got a dead bolt on the door, at least.”

      “It was here when I moved in.”

      “Any weapons?” he asked.

      She hesitated long enough for him to stop his inspection of the door and look at her. “Yes. I’ve got a 9 millimeter.”

      “Legal?” he asked, clearly wondering if that was why she’d hesitated.

      “Yes.” But the Luger wasn’t. Tom didn’t need to know anything about that. Her father had given it to her. She didn’t even have ammunition for it. Still, she assumed it was illegal in more ways than one.

      “Well,” he finally said, “don’t shoot any of my people if you see them poking around on girls’ night.”

      “Deal.”

      His eyes swept over the living room one more time before he moved on to the garage and laundry room and finally the kitchen.

      “You don’t have any family?” he asked as he did a quick check of the window above her kitchen sink. She hesitated again. She could feel herself doing it and couldn’t stop it.

      “I don’t see any photos,” he added.

      “They’re all gone,” she said, and that was true enough. Her father was gone for good, whether he was alive or not.

      “No pictures, even though they’re gone? I guess you weren’t close?”

      “It’s complicated.”

      “Yeah?” he pressed.

      “Yeah.”

      “So you don’t want to talk about your family.”

      She set her jaw, preparing to lie or tell him off for prying or...something. She should never have kissed him. This was not a man whose curiosity could be easily brushed aside. But while she was chastising herself, he became distracted, staring down the double doors to her studio as if he were steeling himself.

      “Come on,” she said. “The easel lights are off. It’s not so bad.”

      He rolled his eyes as if he hadn’t been watching the doors as if they’d burst open and zombies would come shuffling out. She noticed he waited for her to open them.

      “Don’t you have nightmares?” he asked as soon as he stepped in.

      “Of course not.” Not because of her work, anyway.

      He took a breath and moved quickly past the first few easels to the two-story wall of windows. “This is the weakest point in your security,” he said, testing the lock on the French doors that led out to a small deck. “But at least you have a slide lock here.”

      He engaged the lock at the top of the door, pushing it into the frame. “Where does this lead?” he asked, flipping the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened.

      “Sorry. It’s burnt out.”

      “Could you replace the bulb tomorrow?”

      “Sure. There’s a deck out there.”

      He pressed his hand to the glass to see past the lights of the room. “Stairs?”

      “Yes.”

      “If it’s—” Something slammed against the glass. Before Isabelle could even yelp, Tom had shoved her behind his back and drawn his weapon. “Out of the room!”

      “It’s