Without warning, he covered her mouth with a gentle teasing kiss.
Laurel’s eyes flew open, and she saw Russ watching her with arrogant, knowing eyes, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
“Can I do that again?” he asked, looking sure of her response.
She nodded, and before the motion was completed, he had pulled her head forward so their mouths collided. This kiss wasn’t light, sweet, questing. This one was hot, with urgent passion and desperate groping hands; his tongue sliding along her bottom lip, seeking entrance.
Laurel moaned. Everything inside her ached and burned, and she slid her hands to his neck, kneading the thick, knotted muscles there. Her chest was pressed to his, her breasts heavy, nipples taut and yearning, and she lost all sense of balance and proportion. She wanted everything he could give her, right then and there, and when his hot tongue touched hers, Laurel dropped her hands to the loops of his jeans and brought their bodies together, hard.
Novels by Erin McCarthy
YOU DON’T KNOW JACK
HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM
SMART MOUTH
Erin’s stories have appeared in the following anthologies
BAD BOYS OF SUMMER
WHEN GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO BAD BOYS
MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABY
BAD BOYS ONLINE
PERFECT FOR THE BEACH
MOUTH TO MOUTH
Erin McCarthy
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“He’s not going to show.”
Russ Evans didn’t even spare fellow detective Jerry Anders a glance, eyes trained on the coffee shop and the woman inside sitting alone. “Ten more minutes.”
Jerry didn’t protest, but Russ felt him shift in agitation, the heels of his shoes crunching in the hard-packed snow. Russ knew Jerry was cold, because he was, too. Hell, cold was an understatement. His nuts were completely numb. January winds were creeping in under his nylon jacket, and his fingers were stiff wrapped around the binoculars he was using to watch the door of the coffee shop.
But discomfort was part of the job, and he wasn’t going to be hanging his badge up anytime soon. In fact, he loved being in Special Operations, got a kick from the watching and the waiting and the thinking—cold nuts or not—because in the end there was nothing like slapping the cuffs on slimeballs.
“He’s standing her up.”
Thoughtful, Russ scanned the nearly deserted parking lot. Nothing. Their target, petty con artist and first-class bastard, Trevor Dean, was nowhere to be found and it didn’t add up. There was no reason to think Dean had figured out the cops were waiting for him, but it wasn’t like Dean to pass up a chance to meet a woman.
Women were Dean’s source of income, and he liked to live well beyond his means.
“Not his usual type, is she?” Russ took another hard stare at the petite woman sitting in the shop with a cup of coffee in her hand, a thick pink scarf wrapped around her neck. The view of her face was obscured by the glass, the coffee steam, and the rich blond hair that fell over her cheek, but Russ could see enough to feel the prickles of intuition tripping up his spine. Something was off here.
“You mean she’s not butt-ugly?” Jerry cupped his hands and blew into them.
Russ laughed. “No. Look for yourself.” He handed over the binoculars. “And Dean’s women aren’t ugly, they’re just…plain.”
“Just plain ugly, maybe.” Jerry studied the blonde. “But this one’s not bad. Good hair, tight sweater—I’m liking it. Hey, she just licked her lips, did a little nervous tongue thing. Do that again, honey.”
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Russ stamped up and down a little to get the blood flowing in his legs.
“Well, my pants are warmer anyway.”
“But don’t you think it’s strange that this woman looks so different? I don’t like it when a con changes a pattern without reason. He’s been going after plain women, earning their trust. Letting them think he’s in love with them, then stealing everything they’ve got—and it’s been working. That we know of, he’s hauled off a hundred thousand bucks so far. And there’s probably been more. So why do anything different?”
Binoculars still stuck to his eyes, Jerry murmured, “Maybe this one isn’t for business. Maybe this one is just for pleasure.”
Russ hauled himself off the brick wall of the bookstore across the street and pitched the cigarette he’d been holding down into a snowdrift, where it sizzled. He’d been hanging onto the thing just in case they were spotted. It would look less suspicious, like he’d just stepped outside the store for a smoke. He dug a cinnamon disk out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
Crunching on his candy, Russ said, “Like a girlfriend, huh? A real one?” He bent over and picked the butt back up once it stopped
