Secret Seduction. Lori Wilde

smelled as enticing as she looked. A tropical combination of coconut, vanilla and lime.

      This attraction seemed surreal. He hadn’t felt the slightest interest in a woman in four long years.

      Oddly enough, he resented Vanessa for stirring his dormant desires. It didn’t feel right; he felt as if he was cheating on Maria.

      His desire tasted like wine. Oaken and loamy and lingering and more real than the taste of the beer he’d been drinking. One sip of sin and the daydream started—of long summer nights and sweaty flesh pressed hotly together.

      Vanessa walked backward, swishing her hips, leading him out onto the patio-sized dance floor that was empty except for a young couple wrapped in the throes of a passionate embrace. The couple wasn’t even bothering to dance. They just rhythmically groped each other in time to the music.

      Reluctant to draw her too near to him, Tanner draped one arm around her shoulder instead of her waist as he would have done if they were intimate. He had to do something to moderate his escalating temperature or he’d have no control over his natural masculine response.

      But the maneuver didn’t work because her dark hair was swinging provocatively at the level of those fabulous breasts as she swayed her hot little fanny to the bouncy beat. She had the moves of a total pro and every gaze in the place was glued to her.

      “You don’t have to dance so far away, big man,” she murmured, her eyes bright and direct.

      She wasn’t shy about expressing what she wanted. Tanner liked that about her, but he wasn’t eager to hold her soft feminine curves against his body. He didn’t trust this unexpected surge of testosterone blistering through him.

      Didn’t trust it and didn’t want it.

      But the feeling wasn’t fleeting.

      She wriggled closer, forcing him to drop his hand from her shoulder to the middle of her back. He could feel the outline of her bra and experienced curiosity, longing and annoyance with himself.

      “I was right,” she said.

      “About what?”

      “You are a good dancer.”

      “I’m out of practice,” he said.

      “So am I.”

      “You don’t come here often?”

      She shook her head. “You?”

      “First time,” he admitted.

      “I thought you looked out of your element.”

      “You, on the other hand, look like you own the place,” he said. “But then again, I bet you look like that wherever you go.”

      “Not hardly,” she said.

      He could tell by the faint smile playing at the corners of her lips that he’d pleased her. He hadn’t been trying to flatter—he’d merely spoken the truth as he saw it—but it delighted him to know she was charmed.

      The band morphed into a slower tune. More people drifted onto the dance floor, pushing them closer together.

      Their hips touched.

      Tanner heard her sudden, sharp intake of breath. The trumpet player wailed a mournful note that slid right down his spine and lodged in the center of his chest. The resonant vibrations throbbed through him, pounding rhythmically with each beat of his heart.

      The yeasty flavor of beer lay on his tongue, mixed with the pungency of his desire. It tasted as taboo as this closeness felt. His eyes fixed on Vanessa’s raspberry-colored mouth and he found himself wondering what she tasted like. Tequila and lime, for sure, but beyond that he had the unfathomable notion she also tasted of piquant mystery and salty pathos.

      A light sheen of perspiration dewed her forehead.

      He had a snapshot image of her tangled in his bedsheets, her head cradled on his pillow, hair fanned out like an inky pool as she gazed up at him with the same glistening gleam slicking her brow. He imagined her lips puckered in a playful pout, her long legs drawn up beneath her, the pink of her perky nipples peeping at him above the covers. The vision was startling, unexpected and erotic.

      He shook his head, dispelling the picture. It was bad enough he was dancing with her; he wasn’t going to give in to sexual fantasies.

      But it had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms. Felt the sweet curve of soft female flesh. Smelled the scent of freshly shampooed feminine hair. Tasted lust this strong on his tongue.

      And it was a damned shame because she was out of his reach even if she was nestled in the crook of his arm. He felt like a kid with his nose pressed up against the front windowpane of a locked toy store, yearning for what lay beyond, but unable to get inside.

      “What’s your name?” Tanner asked, figuring that was what a regular guy would do under the circumstances. But he wasn’t a regular guy. He was her bodyguard. Even if she didn’t know it. “My name is—”

      “Shh.” She pressed her index finger against her lips. “No names. Let’s not ruin the fantasy. I just want to dance.”

      Good enough. The more Tanner said, the more likely he was to reveal his reason for being there.

      He spun her across the dance floor, carrying her away on the moment, the music. They moved as one unit. Gliding and swaying. Sliding and twirling.

      This whole thing was strange, surreal, seductive.

      Tanner understood that he was making a big mistake, that by just dancing with her something inside of him was changing, but he couldn’t think of a graceful way to bow out. Didn’t know how to stop.

      She leaned her head against his shoulder and his heart jumped.

      He made a strangled noise, half groan, half sigh.

      She tilted her chin, angling her head to give him a sideways glance. The movement, languid and curious, was identical to the way Maria used to look at him when she was in a romantic mood.

      Tanner’s gut twisted and he suppressed a panicky urge to turn and flee.

      A strand of midnight-black hair fell across her face and she tucked it behind her ear, studded with a ruby earring that matched the color of her dress. She smelled like sophistication from the way she held herself to her perfectly manicured nails to her cologne that smelled of forbidden secrets and starlit tropical nights.

      The deal was he knew she was a fake. Knew the sophistication was all an act, something she’d developed rather than been born with. He admired her ability to pull it off with such smooth cool.

      The song the band was playing was so slow in tempo that he and Vanessa were barely moving. He tightened his hand around her waist, breathed in the scent of her. All he could hear was the sound of his blood rushing pell-mell through his ears.

      He peered into her eyes and caught a glimpse of it. The raw fear. The utter vulnerability. The real reason she was here.

      In that instant the sophistication was completely gone. It didn’t matter than she had a Mensa IQ or that she had learned to navigate the world of the rich and powerful successfully. She was still that scared kid who’d been forever marked by a very rocky early life.

      That naked, vulnerable expression told him she was trying to blot out the awful news she must have gotten today. The same news that had spurred Tanner’s employer to hire him, the news that must have rattled her secure little world.

      Carlo Vega, the man who’d vowed to get even with Vanessa Rodriquez for testifying against him fourteen years earlier, had been paroled from prison.

      The woman was hurting.

      And was using Tanner to blunt her pain.

      He understood. His protective instincts kicked into overdrive. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right. That she wasn’t alone. That he was here now and no one would ever hurt her again.