WICKED GAME by Jeri Smith-Ready
“I don’t want this campaign to come between us.”
A high-pitched “Us?” pops out before I can stop myself from sounding like an eighth grader. “There’s an ‘us’?”
“I’d like there to be.” He looks at me—really looks at me—for the first time tonight. His gaze drops to my thigh, sparking a flame at the base of my spine. He clears his throat. “How’s your leg now?”
I wait for him to look me in the eye again before saying, “It’s better.”
He swallows. “All better?”
I shift on the desk, keeping my legs crossed but now at the ankle instead of the knee. “All better.”
The office seems to shrink as Shane takes another step toward me. “In spite of the spectacle, I was looking forward to seeing you tonight.” He moves close enough to touch, his smile turning ironic in the green light from the banker’s lamp. “But this makeup, it’s not you.”
“I look more like a clown than a vampire, don’t I? Just say it.”
He leans in and inhales, his face close to mine. “It covers your scent.”
Plus it itches like a poison ivy facial. I tilt up my chin. “Then take it off.”
He peels off his short-sleeved T-shirt, the brown one he’s wearing over a white T-shirt with long, frayed sleeves.
“Let’s start with this.” He wipes the shirt across my lips, slowly. I close my eyes. He wipes again.
“Is it working?”
“No,” he whispers. “Too dry.”
His mouth brushes mine, just the barest edge. His tongue flicks over my upper lip, tasting, moistening. A little moan escapes my throat. He does the same to my lower lip. My ankles uncross.
He pulls away a few inches and draws the shirt across my mouth. “There. Red is better.” He leans in to kiss me again.
“We really should get out to the bar.” This definitely no longer counts as a work-related activity. “I told Franklin I’d be right back.”
“We can leave if you want.” His thumb grazes my shoulder, then slips under the thin black strap of my top. My skin comes alive, every nerve begging for another touch.
“Then again, I’ve been working all day.” I slide my arms around his neck. “I think there’s some OSHA rule that says I get a break every eight hours.”
“Wouldn’t want to get David in trouble with the feds.” His eyes turn serious again as they stare into mine. “I know you’re not what you seem. You’ve probably got a hundred different layers under there.” His fingertips glide across my makeup-caked cheek, then into my hair. “I want to peel them all back until I find the real Ciara.” He insinuates his body between my thighs. “I want to get inside you.”
The heat of his skin radiates against me, so much warmer than the last time I held him. I need to feel it within me.
I lock my legs around his. He gives a low growl and brings his mouth to mine.
The velvet shock of his tongue makes my back arch. I pull him tight against me with all my limbs, though it feels like it can’t be close enough. As our kiss deepens and our bodies strain against each other, I hear only the rasp of our breaths, the creak of my leather skirt, and the roar of my own blood.
“Lock the door,” I manage to gasp.
“Uh-uh.” He scrapes his human teeth over my neck. “I want you to feel safe from me.”
I get it: he bites, I scream, him and all his friends—dusted. “Then hurry.”
Buy It link:: http://www.amazon.com/Wicked-Game-Jeri-Smith-Ready/dp/141655176X?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1189724444&sr=8-4
Publisher:: Pocket Books
Release Month: May 2008
This post was submitted by Jeri Smith-Ready.
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