The P.I. Who Loved Her. Tori Carrington

arousal heating her insides and a thrill of awareness tingling across every inch of her skin, exposed or otherwise. His hands caressed her arms and she shivered.

      “I…I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she whispered, overly interested in the nearness of his mouth.

      “Do what?”

      “Kiss me.”

      A maddening grin played on his all-too-tempting lips. “Then stop me.”

      He made the inches separating them disappear, pressing the solid muscles of his thighs against her legs, the scrape of rough denim against her tender skin excitingly erotic. His mouth stopped a hairbreadth away from hers, his minty breath fanning her heated cheeks, his eyes inviting her to finish what he had begun. She swallowed hard, incapable of stopping him…incapable of stopping herself. She groaned.

      Oh, how she’d missed the feel of him against her.

      Thrusting her fingers into his thick brown hair, she drew him the rest of the way, crushing his lips against hers, challenging him to a duel of tongues, an exchange of pleasure she’d never felt as powerfully with anyone else. He responded with consummate flair, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth and gently biting down on it, then claiming her in a way she remembered all too well. Liz’s entire body caught fire. She restlessly, instinctively sought closer contact. A low whimper caught in her throat as the ridge of his arousal pressed provocatively against the cradle of her thighs.

      Her hands were suddenly all over him. In his hair, tugging his T-shirt from his jeans, sculpting his firm backside. She couldn’t seem to touch him nearly enough. From rough denim to velvety hot skin to the thick strands of his hair, her hands sought something she couldn’t hope to define…not until his fingers found the skin over her rib cage.

      She caught her breath, her mouth stilling beneath his, her eyes locking with his half-lidded ones. Touch me, she silently pleaded. Her nipples strained painfully against the thin cotton of her shirt. Her chest rose and fell as she regained her breath and dragged in precious air. Irrationally, she thought she’d die if he didn’t touch her.

      His fingers slid up, gently cupping the underside of her breasts. Heat, sure and swift, swept over her in dizzying waves. Liz nearly collapsed to the floor in a puddle of shimmering need. One callused thumb moved over her right nipple. She moaned.

      “Ohh,” she whispered, tugging her mouth from his, trying to catch her breath, calm the thick pulsing of her heart.

      Mitch suddenly jerked back, taking his warmth with him. Liz propped her hands against her knees, filled with the sudden urge to laugh.

      The picture really was quite ludicrous. Yesterday she had been about to marry another man. Now she was practically devouring Mitch.

      This didn’t make any sense at all.

      “Why don’t we continue this conversation another time?” she asked, dragging the back of her knuckles across her swollen lips. “I have a lot of things I need to do today, and your kissing me isn’t going to help get them done.”

      His grin was decidedly devilish, despite the questioning glint in his eyes. “I didn’t kiss you, Liz. You kissed me. Remember?”

      Oh, yeah, she remembered all right. And if he didn’t leave now, she was going to pin him to the table.

      “Answer my question and I’ll be happy to let you get on with your list of chores.”

      Liz straightened. “Well, then, I think you oughta just strip and let’s get on with it.”

      He stumbled backward as if she had physically pushed him. The edge of the table stopped his progress. “What?”

      “That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it, Mitch?” There was something wonderfully delicious about the expression on his face. “You came to get what you couldn’t have seven years ago.”