Wanton. Lori Foster

his own stool, and that brief touch felt electric, making her jump in surprise. She struggled to moderate her accelerated breathing. He was looking at her; she felt the burning heat of his gaze as strongly as a firm stroke of flesh on flesh.

      Mentally rehearsing the speech she’d prepared, she turned to face him, her smile planted as she leaned slightly forward to display as much cleavage as possible, given her small size. Her gaze slowly lifted, met his, and she froze in horror. “Oh no.”

      “Hello, Celia.” The low, barely audible words were said in a familiar growl through clenched, white teeth.

      “Oh no.”

      His smile wasn’t a nice thing and sent gooseflesh racing up and down her spine. His eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her look away, and his lips barely moved when he spoke. “Close your mouth, honey, or you’re going to blow your own cover. And I don’t feel like fighting my way out of here tonight. But then again, seeing you in that dress, a fight might be just what I need.”

      She snapped her mouth shut, but it wasn’t easy. The eyes looking at her weren’t blue, weren’t admiring, and didn’t belong to the man she was investigating, the man still sitting a good distance away, now watching curiously. These eyes were too familiar, a cold, hard black, and at that moment they reflected undiluted masculine fury.

      Her heart raced even faster, urged on by new emotions, new sensations. She felt nearly faint, and collected her thoughts with an effort.

      Forcing a shaky smile that actually hurt, Celia whispered, “Just what are you doing here, Alec?” She tried to make it look as if they were merely conversing, getting to know each other. She needed to maintain her camouflage, damn him, and Alec knew it.

      Rather than offer an answer, he tossed back a handful of peanuts from the bar and watched her. His black hair—taken to curling toward the ends—hung loose tonight to touch his wide shoulders and reflected the glimmer of colored bar lights. Those same lights shone brightly in his narrowed eyes, eyes that made many a man back up in nervousness without a single word being spoken. His sharply cut, ruthless features seemed etched in stone, accurately reflecting his mood. He even smelled of danger, a hot, spicy, masculine scent that appealed to the senses, even as it amplified her nervousness.

      Everyone in the bar seemed to be looking at them, waiting, but then Alec often got that reaction. He exuded menace, and people picked up on the silent threat quickly. He was a man who wore his tiny gold hoop earring and tattoo without artifice; the small decorations merely seemed a part of the overall man. His requisite jeans, scuffed boots and black T-shirt weren’t exactly appropriate dress for the upscale bar, but Celia doubted anyone would be brave enough to ask him to leave.

      She was brave enough. “Look, Alec—”

      His dark, devilish gaze did a slow burn down the length of her body, effectively stifling her protest. He paused on her small breasts as they rose above the neckline of the dress, thanks to the wonders of the push-up bra. She shifted uneasily.

      He smiled, not a reassuring sight, and his attention snagged again on her tummy. She felt that look inside herself, then more so as his intense scrutiny lingered on her exposed thigh.

      She wanted to smack him for rattling her so, but then she always wanted to smack Alec. He confounded her and angered her more than any man she’d ever met. But worst of all, he made her feel the undeniable reactions of a woman just by his mere presence, and she resented it. She didn’t want to want him, not when something inside her was a little afraid of him. He wasn’t an easy man, wasn’t domestic in the sense of the average male in today’s society. When he looked at her, when his black eyes met her own, she sensed a certain degree of savage wildness, of primal masculinity that couldn’t be tamed. She always hesitated to push him too far, and that angered her more than anything.

      “Answer me, Alec.”

      His smile was again more taunting than comforting. “I suppose I’m here to save your stubborn little behind, though to tell you the truth, that’s not my first inclination. At least, not where your posterior is concerned.”

      She sucked in a startled breath as heat flooded through her. What in the world did he mean by that? She couldn’t quite tell if it was a threat of physical punishment, which she could easily ignore, or a sensual promise, which would be impossible to ignore. Alec did that all the time, made those suspicious little comments that stirred feelings she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her one liaison of a romantic nature had ended in tragedy, and made her determined to ignore her baser instincts. They had overruled her common sense once, but never again would she put the people she loved in danger. Now she wanted to help protect women from bastards like her ex-fiancé. But her experiences with him, while making her wiser, hadn’t in any way prepared her for a man like Alec Sharpe.

      When they’d first met, he’d made his interest in an affair, and his disinterest in marriage, well known. Celia wasn’t inclined to indulge either one, so she’d done her best to disregard his attentions—not at all an easy feat considering Alec was an impossible man to disregard on any level. But then she’d left her family’s company and joined her brother’s private investigations firm where Alec worked. He’d had a fit, appointing himself as her bodyguard, dogging her every step. Nothing had been the same since. Especially not after she’d gotten him shot a couple of weeks ago.

      Celia winced, her guilt still keen. “Uh, should you be out and about on your leg already?”

      His eyes narrowed, the obsidian depths almost hidden by long, sooty lashes that she envied every time she looked at him. “That’s right, this is the first time I’ve gotten to see you face to face since that bullet hit my leg. Were you worried about me, sweetheart?”

      That purring undertone had her defenses rising. Alec ruthlessly used every available opportunity to wear her down, to point out her shortcomings. She shook her head and feigned a casual interest in the bar. “Not at all. Your hide is as tough as nails and Dane said it was only a flesh wound.”

      “Yet you’ve still been avoiding me.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just been…busy.”

      Alec reached out and caught her chin, bringing her face around so she had no choice but to witness the seriousness of his gaze. Her heart tripped, her senses coming alive with the simple touch. “That bullet was meant for you,” he said, his tone low and rough, rubbing along her raw nerve endings. “If I hadn’t been there, you would have been shot. I thought you might have learned your lesson then, but obviously you’re not as bright as I first figured, considering you’re here now.”

      That was an insult she couldn’t let pass. She started to jerk away, then remembered her audience. She desperately wanted this case, wanted to prove she could handle herself while helping others, and if she got into an argument with Alec now, her cover would be blown. Dane had taught her that was the most important thing, the strongest safety measure. She had to remember to stay in character or she put not only herself at risk, but also the client and the other agents—in this case, Alec.

      So she leaned toward him instead, seeing his nostrils flare and hearing his indrawn breath as her lips came within a millimeter of his own. Her heart thumped heavily with her daring, but she was getting sick and tired of him playing caretaker, constantly checking up on her. She still thought it was mostly his own fault for getting shot. He’d distracted her by his unexpected presence, otherwise she would have seen the threat before it became a reality.

      She felt his incredible heat, smelled his musky, male scent, and felt his breath brush her parted lips. She stared into his dark eyes point-blank and a sense of sheer feminine daring filled her, almost obliterating her nervousness. It was like facing down a wild beast, exhilarating but also terrifying, making mush of her insides.

      Against his mouth, she whispered, “I’m smart enough to know you have no say over what I do or don’t do, Alec Sharpe. So why don’t you just pretend you’re not interested in me tonight, and head on back wherever you came from so I can get on with my business?”

      Rather than backing off in anger as she expected, his long