Free The Naked Detective by Vivi Andrews

around?
    Ciara caught his arm and tugged him away from the table, carrying a small stack of plastic money against her chest. “I can kiss him,” she gushed.
    “That doesn’t mean you should,” he heard himself snap.
    Ciara paused beside an abandoned craps table and tipped her face up to him, a feline smile curving her lips. “Why, Agent Smith. Are you jealous?”
    “Of course not.”
    She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’re a much better kisser, you know. Joe Jersey over there has an excessive amount of saliva. It was very…moist.”
    “Good to know.”
    “It is good to know. I can kiss moist men. I’ve cracked the code, Nate. I can touch people again. Not just you, people . Do you know what this means?”
    “No.” He was still playing catch up on the she’s-not-a-thief-and-she-kisses-like-a-siren front. The implications of the touching stuff were beyond him.
    “It means I don’t have to live like a hermit anymore. It means I’m not a freak. It means I can finally have a life .” Ciara closed her eyes and shook her head sharply. “God, I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve been. All the time I’ve wasted just because I didn’t try. Just because I didn’t listen .” Her eyes popped open, their black depths sparkling wetly. “That’s all it took. All I had to do was stop fighting my own abilities, stop bracing myself for every attack and just accept it. If I didn’t want to waste even one more second on regret, I’d be so angry with myself right now.”
    She didn’t look angry. She looked a breath away from laughter or tears, but not angry.
    Ciara had been a vibrant force from the second he laid eyes on her, but now it was like the life in her was amplified, like a raw diamond cut and perfectly set to show off every sparkling facet. Before she had been beautiful, now she shone .
    And there was quite a lot to show.
    “What the hell are you wearing?”
    Ciara laughed and twirled. “You like? Not bad, eh?”
    Not bad. Sweet Jesus. She looked like temptation incarnate in that red dress. It was short and tight and the color of a luscious apple. Eve didn’t need a piece of fruit. All she needed was a dress like that.
    Ciara clutched her winnings against her ribs, her arm pressing her breasts up like offerings above the low neckline. Nate placed a finger against one narrow strap at her shoulder. He traced the strap down until he brushed the warm upper curve of her breast. Her breath caught, her inky eyes locked on his.
    “I like,” he murmured. He fixated on her mouth—the smooth curve of it. He’d never noticed before, but her mouth was a little lopsided, quirking up on the right. He wanted to kiss that up-tilted edge, nip the full lower curve and suck it into his mouth.
    She stared at his lips, caught in the same moment he was, as the noise in the casino seemed to recede. He leaned down, hypnotized as her tongue snuck out to trace her lips. She rested her free hand on his chest and stretched up to meet him.
    A slot machine erupted ten feet away from them, bells and whistles shrieking merrily as some lucky bastard hit the jackpot. Nate didn’t even glance in that direction. He was too focused on his own jackpot. But Ciara’s eyes flicked over. She gasped. Her spine stiffened.
    “Nate,” she whispered urgently. “Nate, look. That woman over there. In the pink.”
    “Is she the woman in pink?” He reluctantly gave up on his own payday and straightened, turning to look. At first he just saw the middle-aged couple in matching sweatsuits clapping and jumping next to the slot machine. Then he saw the woman. She was pretty damn hard to miss. She looked like an Austin Powers Bimbot who’d been dunked in Pepto-Bismol. Pink brassiere, pink hot pants, black fishnets and sky-high boots. Her blonde hair was poofed up in a platinum bouffant and silver fake eyelashes sparkled in the flashing lights from the slot machine.
    “No,” Ciara drawled slowly, “no, that isn’t her. But she’s