Free Out Of Control by Desiree Holt Page B

until he was only inches away from her. “It means, you’re so
uptight, if I flicked my fingernail against you, you’d vibrate like piano wire.
I’ve seen people teetering on the edge of a nervous collapse before, and you
give a pretty good imitation. So how about that cold drink and a little
conversation about the real reason you chose the High Ridge crimes to write
about?”
    Dana
nearly dropped the BlackBerry. She curled her fingers tightly around it and
schooled her features into as blank an expression as possible. But not blank
enough. Because Cole was looking at her as if he could see right into her center,
right into the workings of her mind.
    Dana
shivered. This was so not good. Not to mention the dream…
    “I
can offer you a cold drink,” she said, giving herself a mental shake. “I don’t
know about the conversation.”
    With
an effort of will, she made her feet move toward the kitchen, dropping the BlackBerry
into her briefcase as she passed it. Yanking two bottles of soda out of the
fridge, she turned to head back into the living room, only to find a solid wall
of muscle in her way.
    Dana
froze. She suddenly felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her kitchen
and replaced by this man and images from the dream. Tiny drops of perspiration
beaded her forehead, and her heartbeat felt like a bass drum against her ribs.
    She
had no idea how to handle the unexpected feelings running riot in her body. She
certainly couldn’t let him know how he affected her. Literally shoving one of
the bottles at him, she slid sideways past him into the living room.
    “Thanks.”
His deep voice resonated through her as he followed close behind.
    She
deliberately took the big armchair, leaving him the couch. As if he read her
mind, one corner of his mouth quirked, but he folded his body into one end of
the couch, stretched out his long legs, and tilted the bottle to his lips.
    Dana
could barely tear her eyes off him as the muscles in his throat worked to
swallow the soda. The pulse in her pussy beat heavily, a totally foreign
sensation. Her nerves felt as if someone had removed all the protective
coverings and exposed them to the sensuality of this man. Could he see the thudding
of the pulse beat at her throat? Was her face unnaturally flushed? She had a
feeling that somehow, in those eyes that revealed nothing, he knew her darkest
secrets.
    If
all of this was a deliberate attempt to put her off balance she didn’t dare let
him know how well it was working.
    He
locked gazes with her again.
    “So
how about it, Miss Moretti? I’m not looking for social discourse, just an
explanation. What’s your real angle here?”
    Cole
wanted to slap his head and kick his brain back into gear. Coming here had to
be the dumbest fucking thing he’d done all year. But the shock of seeing his
water nymph from the night before—the vision of his intensely erotic dream—walk
boldly into his office this morning, as if he’d conjured her from his dream,
still hadn’t worn off. Maintaining his composure had been hard.
    It
wasn’t enough that she’d popped up out of nowhere to rake open the muck of a
case everyone had buried as deep as they could. The hard-on he got the minute
he laid eyes on her today was killing his concentration.
    There
was nothing sexy about the way she dressed, and her personality could freeze
Hell. But he’d taken one look at her slender, shapely body, her soft mouth and
thick, shining blonde hair that reflected the lights, and his dick had stood up
and whacked him. Just like last night.
    Wonderful.
Just what he needed. A stiff dick for a nosy, uptight, and from what he could
tell, slightly frigid writer. What the hell was he thinking? He’d given himself
a mental shake and dismissed all possibility of her from his mind for about
half a heartbeat.
    Then
he’d stupidly taken another look and seen hazel eyes flecked with green but so
bruised he couldn’t imagine what hell they’d seen. Looking at her now,