Free Riding the Storm by Sydney Croft Page B

even remember, and she had no idea how to handle this kind of
close contact.
    Especially
close contact that fired off sparks in every nerve ending and made her want to
rub herself even more intimately against him.
    Creed
opened his mouth as if to say something—oh, please, something like, The
spirit is gone so you can let go of me now . Instead he took a deep,
shuddering breath and dragged his teeth over the tight cord in her neck.
    "That
had better be some sort of ghost-hunting technique, McCabe," she ground
out, sounding a lot tougher than she felt, because right now her hips were
undulating of their own accord, responding to the utter eroticism of his touch.
    "I'm
showing the spirit that it can't have either one of us."
    Uh-huh,
she was going to throw down the bullshit flag on that one, and she would have,
except that he'd thrust his leg between hers and now she was rocking on his
muscular thigh, nearly panting at the delicious pressure there against her
center.
    This
was shockingly arousing. Every tiny movement sent vibrations of pleasure surging
through her body. She could get off like this. Creed knew it, and he'd palmed
her ass to hold her firmly against him, used his strength to keep them both
upright.
    Fuck.
This was not going to happen. It was too dangerous.
    Besides,
she really hated Creed. Had ever since he'd turned her in for some stupid crap
on a mission two years ago.
    So it
wasn't fair, that he could get her so hot by doing nothing more than feeling
her up to fool the spirit .
    Yeah,
right.
    Slowly,
deliberately, he ran his tongue, firm and wet, along her jawline to her ear.
The ball piercing flicked over her ear-lobe, sending a current of desire
sizzling down from her ear to her clit. She groaned, wondering how that magic
ball would feel elsewhere.
    "Is
it gone yet?" Her voice was husky, too far gone with lust to pretend
otherwise.
    He
slid his thigh back and forth between her legs twice, taking her to the edge,
before answering. "Yes."
    "Bastard."
Her body screamed for release, but she pulled away, stood there glaring at him.
"For how long?"
    He
shrugged. "Long enough to know you weren't acting."
    God,
she wanted to light him up. Why couldn't she?
    Maybe
the strange pulses his own body sent out made him immune to her electricity. Or
maybe the spirit that had been attached to him, reportedly since birth,
protected him.
    Whatever
it was, Annika was annoyed.
    And
strangely excited, because what if… Nah. Despite what had just happened, Creed
didn't want her any more than she wanted him. He was just like everyone else at
ACRO, jealous of her relationship with Dev. Sure, no one came right out and
said it, but they all thought she and Dev were knocking boots, which wasn't
true, but encouraging the rumor kept everyone at a distance.
    "Are
we done? I need a shower. I have to get the ick of creep night off my
skin." Maybe she could wash away the feel of Creed too.
    "We're
done."
    She
marched down the hall toward her bedroom, and Creed followed, until she spun
around and slammed her hand into his chest. "What the hell are you
doing?"
    "I
don't want to leave you alone. The spirit likes your energy."
    "So
are you going to watch me shower, or what?"
    "Do
you want me to? Because I don't have a problem with that."
    "You're
such a jerk."
    But
she didn't say no, because if he wanted to watch, she could put on one hell of
a show. Of course, Creed McCabe, the man who'd turned her in for breaking
rules, would never spy on a naked woman in a shower. Too bad too, because she
was horny, in serious need of relief, and she intended to get it.

Chapter Six
    Haley
stood next to Remy, her glass of ice water in one palm and her handheld
barometer in the other. When nothing happened, she lowered the device until it
rested against his arm in the lightest of touches. Still nothing.
    Piss
him off or get him horny.
    Remy
stirred, and the blanket that had been tangled between his knees slid into a
puddle on the floor, the fly of his cargos