Free Girl Gear 6: Indiscreet by Alison Kent Page A

pockets to cover hers, which were resting over his midsection. The simple gesture brought enormous relief.
    “Guess the haircut didn’t do much for my civility.”
    A little bird told her that this was not the time for that conversation. Instead, she tightened her hold. “No, but it’s done plenty for your sex appeal.”
    “Yeah?” he asked, and she felt his cocky grin.
    She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t have to. His entire body relaxed, as if accepting her forgiveness of his transgression.
    “So,” he began in that rich voice that rumbled through her, holding him as she was. “If I’m so sexy, why aren’t you busy jumping my bones?”
    This time she was the one who grinned. “You really do have a one-track mind.”
    “Yeah, but at least that’s one thing about me you don’t hate.”
    If only things were that simple. “There are more than a few things about you that I don’t…hate.” Didn’t he know? The breath he obviously held said he needed to hear the words. “I do not hate your kitchen skills.”
    He huffed.
    “Or your passion. I certainly do not hate your wit, your intelligence or your ability to take yourself lightly, though you need to work on doing that more often. And I do appreciate that you don’t hold a grudge against those who aren’t sure what to make of you.”
    He huffed again and growled. “I’m more interested in what you make of me.”
    She sighed, doing no more than enjoying this moment of holding him close. An enjoyment that took on a heightened sense of pleasure when he grasped her handsand moved them from his midsection to the fly of his jeans. Very impressive.
    “Okay,” she admitted. “You’re very hard to resist.”
    “ Too hard to resist, I hope.”
    “Hmm. I don’t know.” She pressed her palm to the length of his growing erection and squeezed. “Ah, now it’s getting harder.”
    “You like flirting with danger, don’t you? I can feel your smile on my back.”
    “You could feel it much better if you’d pull off your shirt.”
    He wasn’t two seconds in taking her up on the suggestion. He unbuttoned his jeans while he was at it, then braced both hands on the window frame and leaned his weight into his arms, silently inviting her to have her way.
    Ah, the responsibility of his surrender. She thrilled to the fact that he trusted her as far as he did, and wished that he trusted her fully. Or perhaps it was himself he still wasn’t ready to trust.
    She supposed that should have frightened her a bit. Had she not lived the life she had, that might well have been her reaction. But she was beyond being intimidated by a man who denied his own suffering.
    She pulled her hands away from their tactile enjoyment of the bulge behind denim and soft cotton and pressed her palms to his sides, to his rib cage, just above the slack waistband of his jeans.
    The smoothness of his skin never failed to amaze her. With all that he’d lived through, she always expected to find him as hard and coarse as his outlook. But he was a beautiful male specimen, and she slid her hands from his ribs to his armpits, enjoying the shudder that rattled through him.
    When she moved her fingertips to his chest, circling his flat nipples embedded in the hard muscles of his pecs, and tugging on the one silver ring, his shudder grew stronger. This time she shuddered, too, and released him just long enough to skim off her silk sweater and bra.
    Oh, yes. So much better, feeling his skin with her own, on her own. He stiffened and then slowly relaxed, as if easing into the contact and knowing she was in no hurry to complete what they’d begun.
    That was one thing she enjoyed most about this man. She was seven years older, and she saw the age difference in his cocky playfulness, yet never in bed. He was mature as a lover, patient, taking care of her pleasure, savoring their time and allowing nothing to intrude.
    With her breasts pressed to the center of his back, she turned her head and placed