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The one man a stubborn private investigator can’t handle is the only one who can save her life in this fan-favorite tale from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster
PI Celia Carter has learned the hard way that when it comes to men, her judgment is almost fatally flawed. Determined to bury the past and never repeat the same mistake again, she throws herself into an undercover assignment that might be the riskiest of her career.
Dark, dangerous and hell-bent on seduction, Alec Sharpe has had Celia in his sights for a long time…but when she willingly puts herself in jeopardy, he knows it’s time to take action. So he gives her two choices: back off the case, or accept his help to continue it. Either way, it’s time for Celia to face the heat between them—but as their passion rages out of control, can he convince Celia to trust him before the enemy closes in?
Wanton
Lori Foster
To Ashley Carter.
What a wonderful, sweet and very beautiful young lady you are. I’m so glad you’re a part of our lives! Love ya, Lori
CONTENTS
CELIA BIT HER LIP. She felt naked in the tight, flesh-toned dress, too made-up with the cosmetics that had spent more time in her drawer lately than on her face. She was very aware of her bare thighs, of her exposed arms and cleavage. Though the air-conditioning hummed, she felt warm with embarrassment.
Heads turned appropriately as she sauntered through the dim interior and took a direct path to the bar. She didn’t want to look too closely, but she was sure Mr. Jacobs, the slime, was here. She had his description and knew this was his prime picking ground. This was where he chose the women. Hopefully, he’d choose her as well.
Slowly sliding onto a bar stool, she worked to gain his attention. Her heart pattered rapidly. Though she couldn’t deny the underlying fear she felt, she also relished the excitement, the anticipation…the end satisfaction. It had been laughably easy to leave her old proper life behind, though her relatives were still having a hard time accepting it. They expected her to show up at the company office any day, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly tucked away in a functional, professional style, begging for her old job back. Ha.
It didn’t matter that no one thought she could do this. All she had to do was prove to herself that she was capable, that she wasn’t too pristine or squeamish to see the job through. That she could make a difference in some other woman’s life. She’d do that tonight.
It was a nice enough bar, she thought, smiling at the bartender as he took her order. They made idle small talk, and she slipped in the fact that she was a woman alone, new to town, without relatives or friends in the area. He lingered, subtly, politely, asking her more questions. How long would she be in town, did she have a job. He cautioned her to be careful, and she almost laughed. He worked with Jacobs, she was sure of it.
Sipping at the drink she didn’t really want, she watched him walk away. Cool air from a ceiling fan brushed her bare thigh where her dress had parted at the side slit. Ever since they’d locked her fiancé away for crimes too horrific to think about, she’d done all she could to forget her carnal appetites, to deny an overly sensual nature. Yet here she was, prepared to do her damnedest to get a man’s attention by using her body.
Surreptitiously, she glanced down the length of the bar to the small round table located there, situated in the far shadows. The man occupying the table, blond and very good-looking, perfectly matched the description she had been given. It was easy to recognize Jacobs; he had the same classic, refined, golden-boy appearance as her ex-fiancé, a look she now recognized as slick and phoney.
It took all her control to keep from reacting as he surveyed her through narrow, contemplative eyes. His gaze skimmed over her from her loose tousled hair down to her high-heeled sandals. Not wanting to be too obvious, to look too anxious, she turned her head away and flipped her hair over her mostly bare shoulder.
Seconds later her pulse jumped, then raced wildly as she sensed the approach of a man. She didn’t turn to look but she could feel the tingling awareness of him, could detect his male scent, not in the least subtle. Yes! He was going to take the bait. Her palms began to sweat in nervousness but she ignored it. She felt him brush against her while taking 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,
