Free Lure of the Wicked by Karina Cooper Page A

mostly bare feet.
    Swinging wildly, the ends of her ponytail lashed at her sweaty shoulders like black silk. It clung to her skin. To silver glinting at the base of her neck.
    Phin’s mouth went suddenly dry.
    A barbell; two small, delicate beads. They gleamed like stars centered at the gentle flare where her neck met her shoulders, winked wickedly, maddeningly.
    A piercing. A hidden, secret jewel he never would have expected. Not from the stunning heiress with the Japanese name. Not from any woman he’d ever known.
    Lust curled like a live wire in his gut, tightened an already attentive erection to a violent, painful squeeze. Phin must have made some move, some raw, strangled sound, because she turned.
    Her cheeks glowed pink with exertion, eyes bright. Breathing hard, she took much longer than Phin liked before she dropped her guarded hands and eased her stance into something less vigilant.
    Only somewhat less threatening.
    But he couldn’t see the damn barbell anymore. Scraping the melted fragments of his mind back together, Phin followed the direction of her eyes. Helpfully he picked up the green water bottle she’d left on a bench beside him.
    “Having a good workout?” Phin handed it over, bottom first.
    She filled her mouth with the cool liquid, drank greedily, her throat working as he watched. He wanted to run his tongue down every inch of that sweaty curve where her shoulder met her neck. Jesus . Trouble.
    “Yeah,” she finally said. Wiping at her mouth with the back of her arm, she added huskily, “Nice equipment.”
    “Thanks.” He managed calm, even as a slow flush climbed up his neck. She wasn’t talking about him. At least he didn’t think so. She meant the gym equipment, not the dangerously sensitive pulse knocking around in his crotch.
    But not thinking about it wasn’t working. Not while she stood there. Watched him.
    Hell, breathed.
    The top, he decided, didn’t do her figure any justice. Made for sports, it pressed her breasts nearly flat, banded her tightly in a way he knew was necessary for the kind of workout she liked.
    But it was hardly fair.
    His gaze trailed over that taut, turquoise curve, slid over the sweaty gleam of her neck. Her reddened cheeks. It centered on her nose, and the slash across it that looked somehow less aggressively uneven. Smoother.
    Familiar.
    A corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’ve met my mother.”
    “What?” When he gestured to his nose in mirrored indication, Naomi winced. She raised her fingers, but didn’t touch the slash. “She put something on it. It feels better.”
    Yes, that was Gemma all over. Unable to help herself. Phin’s smile widened. “It looks better, too. You’re supposed to be finishing up a massage right now, aren’t you?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “So the schedule tells me.” Naomi turned, seized the still-swinging bag with both hands.
    Smooth. Too smooth. Phin hoped she didn’t catch his small, rough sound of amusement. Of hunger. “Do you have something against massage?”
    “Is that going to be a problem?” The cool pitch of her too-casual voice warned him off.
    That glinting silver jewelry at the back of her neck made him want to beat on his chest and throw her over his shoulder. He rubbed at his forehead, black edges of humor creeping in through a haze of lust. “Not at all.”
    “You’re not going to run back to my people and tell them?”
    He met her appraisal directly and matched the sharp ends of her mockery with a forthright, easy smile. “You’re the one staying here, Naomi, not them. It’s your money and your call.”
    Her lower lip worked, pulling to the side in a way that made Phin wonder if she had a habit of biting the inside of her lip. Telling. She had a lot of tells, he realized.
    A lot of signals.
    All designed to drive him crazy.
    “Hmm.” It wasn’t a thank-you, but he’d take it. Watching him, wary, she raised the underside of her taped forearm to her mouth and caught at the layers with her