Out-Foxxed. Debra Webb
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The dim glow from the lamp on the bedside table provided just enough illumination for her to appreciate his numerous assets. Her gaze slid over his tight buttocks and along his long legs. No. She didn’t need a husband or even a steady boyfriend. But sex, well, that was another story. She’d forgotten just how much she enjoyed it.
It had been too long.
The image of another man loomed in her head and she pushed it aside. She told herself her long abstinence had nothing to do with him, but she wasn’t entirely convincing. But he was in the past, over, gone. She wasn’t one to dwell in the past.
She tipped her glass and emptied it in one long swallow. Sleep tugged at her, but she ignored it and poured herself another glass of wine. She intended to have at least two more before she let herself sleep. Otherwise she was sure to dream about that past she so badly wanted to forget.
Maybe that was what tonight’s desperate lovemaking had been about.
No, she argued. Tonight with David hadn’t been about the past. Tonight had been about her needs as a woman. Nothing else.
The telephone rang. She heard the annoying clatter from the living room. She’d long ago turned off the ringer to the bedside extension. If work called, they used her cell phone, not her landline.
She stood, grabbed the bottle of wine and trudged off to the living room to answer the call. If it was Veronica, then Sabrina might just have to kill her.
After a long swallow directly from the bottle, Sabrina grabbed the receiver. “This better be good,” she threatened.
Silence.
Well, hell. “Hello?”
More of that thick silence.
She hated when this happened. When she started to hang up, she head the sound…a whisper of air as if someone had taken a breath.
Dammit.
“I know you’re there. If you don’t want me to hear you, then hold your breath.” She waited three more beats before she hung up.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicions. 3:30 a.m. The call came at that same hour every time.
And she knew it was him. She couldn’t prove it, of course. But she knew.
Damn him.
Eric Drake. The Dragon.
The mere thought of his name sent shivers chasing one another over her skin.
She had worked hard to put him behind her, to get over him, but the wound had never completely closed. She’d let him so deep inside her that she wasn’t sure it was humanly possible to completely evict him.
He’d been her Interpol counterpart, her lover, her everything…and that had been a mistake.
One she would never make again.
She headed back to bed, sleep and the effects of the wine clawing at her now. She surrendered to it, let it push thoughts of him from her mind.
The shrill ring of the phone split the air once more.
Swearing, she rolled over and snatched up the receiver. “What?” If this was him… Why the hell did he do this? Why didn’t he just leave her alone?
“Sabrina?”
Oh, hell. Her sister.
“Leslie, sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” Then she remembered the time. She sat bolt upright, the haze of sleep and wine dissolving instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mom. You need to meet me at the hospital.”
And just like that Sabrina’s great night was over.
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