The Unlikely Bodyguard. Amy Fetzer J.Читать онлайн книгу.

      Two

      They rode in silence, the wind whipping at their clothes, dust curling behind the Harley. His arm tightened around her waist as he tipped the bike on a turn. The big machine vibrating between her legs had nothing to do with her quickening breath. It was him, all him. Tucked snugly behind her, his thighs encasing hers, she felt like she was wearing him. His band lay splayed across her stomach and she sensed every digit, his wide palm, his arm curling around her hip. Calli hadn’t experienced anything quite this powerful in her life and she closed her eyes, wishing she could control her reaction to him. But this was what she’d wanted. Risk. Danger.

      The wind friction did nothing to hide. the sound of his breathing in her ear. She didn’t try talking to him. But then his hand shifted as their speed increased, moving a fraction lower and with her legs spread, she experienced a sudden rush of heat. He must have sensed it, disliked it, for he immediately brought his hand to the steering grip. Then a moment later, he guided the bike into a parking lot. Her hotel again, she thought grimly as he pulled the Harley in front of her room. Above them neon lights flashed Vacancy.

      He shoved the kickstand down and shut off the motor. The blunted silence strained the taut wire between them and she didn’t turn to look at him, watching his hand flex on the grip before it lowered to remove the key.

      She felt him pocket the key and she shifted on the narrow seat, meeting his gaze. Something moved beneath those ice-green eyes before the look was shuttered to emptiness. He appeared relaxed, arms folded over his chest, his back braced on the bar, his legs spread. Her gaze followed the line from thigh to his flat stomach, then up to his face. His lips quirked. She stared him down, her chin lifting a bit. She could admire a good-looking man if she wanted, she thought petulantly. She might have been raised in a Catholic orphanage, but she was, by no means, a nun.

      She shifted between his legs, her buttocks brushing the insides of his thighs as she slid her leg over the bike. She stood and the ground rolled. How could one drink, hours ago, make her feel this dizzy?

      “You look a little pale.”

      Was that concern in his voice real? “Actually, I had only one drink around seven, but I feel like I’m going to wretch.”

      His brows furrowed for a split second. “Not on me.” He gave her a soft shove toward her room.

      She took a couple of steps, then cocked a look at him. He was admiring her behind and she’d caught him at it. So. He wasn’t as indifferent as he seemed.

      “Want to come in?” Careful, Calli.

      “And watch you get sick?”

      Her smile mocked. “What’sa matter, Angel, honey. Afraid?”

      “You should be.”

      “Of you?” Her brows lifted. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re as tame as they come under all that—” She waved loosely at the motorcycle and knew it was a lie.

      His expression didn’t change and she faced him fully, sauntering closer, so close she smelled the untouchable wildness surrounding him. He didn’t budge a muscle, only his gaze followed her. She laid her hand on his thigh and muscle tensed beneath. But still, he didn’t move.

      “Back off, Calli,” came the low rasp. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

      Her gaze challenged him. “What will you do, Angel? Chew me up and spit me out?” Her face neared his, the whisper of her breath on his lips. Her gaze never wavered, searching his and waiting for a reaction. But he was as lifeless as a granite statue. The temptation of his stillness, to make him respond, urged her on. She let her mouth hover over his, let him feel her nearness like an animal scents its prey.

      “What will you do, bad boy?” Her words moistened his lips.

      His gaze thinned, pale with a predatory gleam, and her bravado fled.

      She abruptly pulled back and walked briskly to her room. She inserted the key, turned the knob and opened the door.

      Suddenly he was there, behind her, one arm around her waist, the other hand slapping open the door. “See, little tigress?” he rasped in her ear. “You don’t know what danger is.” He twisted her around. “It was right behind you.”

      “Angel?” Panic swam in her voice as she stared into his fathomless eyes.

      A wound flickered across his features, then left.

      Suddenly he ducked, his mouth a hard slash across hers, his kiss heavy and demanding. Disillusionment ripped through her. She deserved this for teasing him, trusting him, and even as savage heat scored through her, she pushed at his shoulders, his chest, tried tearing her mouth away. But he followed, exacting a response. She tried not to give it, fighting the greedy feel of his mouth, his hands running over her body. Still he kissed her and kissed her, his advancing body urging her farther into the room, back against a short dresser. Bodies meshed, hard planes pushing to soft skin.

      His kiss was unrelenting and laced with dangerous consequences. Tempting.

      Calli’s body was already betraying her, her skin dampening, and even as she gripped his jacket to push him back, she fought a war inside herself between outrage and hurt—and the glorious pressure of his warm wet mouth on hers. It coupled with a strange hunger in his kiss, a tight restraint daring her to join him and, without warning, her lips softened beneath his, immediately eager.

      Angel jerked back, his potent glare clashing with hers. She met and matched it, all mutinous. You started this, her gaze challenged. Their breathing was labored, bodies aroused to unthinkable heights. And he pushed the limit.

      He grasped her hips and ground her to his hardness, his mouth to hers.

      Like Ike had tried. But this wasn’t the same. Nothing was. Galvanizing sensations pelted her again and again, nothing repulsive, all primitive and devouring. Calli knew she’d never experienced anything this forceful, domination of her body and mind. She thought she would go mad if she didn’t have more.

      Then he gave it, insinuating his knee between hers and maneuvering her onto the dresser. One hand dove into her hair, holding her for the burn of his kiss while his free hand slid heavily over her chest, pulling at her jacket zipper and spreading the leather. Beneath it, he found a shapely bustier and his fingertips made contact with bare skin as they closed over her breast. He squeezed, driving his thumb beneath the satiny fabric and wildly flicking her tender mpple.

      A trapped sound scraped her throat.

      He tore his mouth from hers and she heard his breath rush past her ear before he ground his lips to her neck, nippmg, licking, urging her head back. She clutched fistfuls of his jacket. Breath panted. He deliberately licked a path from her throat to the swells of her breasts. His big hands spanned her rib cage, covered it, then sank lower, molding over her hips to the edge of her skirt. He paused for a fraction, red stockings and flesh beneath his palms, and she tipped her head. Calli quaked, her entire body brimming with pure energy about to detonate. Her gaze drifted upward to meet pale, hooded eyes.

      Her fingers flexed on his shoulders.

      Her breath mingled damply with his.

      And he swallowed it, his mouth devouring hers, more sensual than consuming. More hunger than heat. She didn’t know which was more powerful. That, or his hands roaming upward beneath her skirt, fingertips curling behind and enveloping her buttocks.

      A dark groan sounded in his throat.

      She wore a thong and Gabe touched naked skin.

      It nearly destroyed him

      He could have her now, he thought. Any way he wanted. She was open, vulnerable—and innocent. He could take her