Free Tempted by His Target by Jill Sorenson

of capture and torture. With a little effort, he could direct his mind elsewhere. But he didn’t. He stared at the hem of her towel, mesmerized. If he inhaled deeply enough, maybe he could catch a trace of her sweet female scent.
    “Your face looks better tonight,” she murmured.
    His eyes rose to meet hers, curious.
    “The bruises, I mean.”
    He touched the bandage at his temple.
    “I’ll leave that on another day. Unless it’s bothering you.”
    “No,” he said, dropping his hand.
    “Good.” She stepped forward, wielding a tray of dye and a little brush. “I have to do the edges first.”
    He sat still while she applied black gunk to his hairline. She was much too careful, as if worried about displeasing an important customer. Biting her lower lip in concentration, she brushed on the dye, making him tilt his head this way and that. When this first step was completed, she put on a pair of clear plastic gloves and got down to business. Grabbing a small handful of paste, she worked it into his hair.
    Brandon expected to have trouble with her proximity, but he hadn’t anticipated enjoying her touch so much. It felt like she was massaging his head, caressing him with circular motions. Tantalized by the fact that her body was naked under the towel, and her breasts mere inches from his face, he couldn’t control his response. She was standing between his open thighs, her legs bare all the way up to there . If her towel fell open a few inches…
    He groaned, clenching his hands into fists.
    “Does your head still hurt?” she asked, pausing in concern.
    “No.”
    She gentled her touch anyway, killing him softly. He couldn’t have been more aroused if she’d been stroking his erection. It was as though his scalp had a direct connection to his groin, and his entire body reacted, his gut tightening, spine tingling.
    Weakened by desire, he allowed the nearly nude photos of her to spring to the forefront of his mind. There was one picture in particular that stood out to him as painfully erotic. She’d been straddling a surfboard in a fishnet bikini. Her right hand was draped across her breasts, left cupped over her sex. Without their strategic placement, the photo could have been called pornographic.
    She finished the job and stepped back, studying her work. “Good thing your eyebrows are kind of dark.”
    His beard stubble came in dark, too, although it wasn’t anywhere near black. He might have to shave if the difference was glaring.
    Removing her gloves, she tossed the mess into the trash. After waiting a few minutes for the dye to set, she said, “Put your head in the sink.”
    He leaned over and let her rinse the excess dye from his hair. When he straightened, she rubbed a dry towel over his head and left it hanging around his shoulders. Then she retreated, giving him room to stand. “See how it looks.”
    “I don’t care how it looks.”
    She flinched at his gruff tone, totally unaware of the effect she had on him.
    His gaze wandered from her frowning mouth to the terry cloth knot between her breasts, analyzing the resistance of both barriers. Her confusion faded into understanding and she stilled, sucking in a sharp breath. He remained silent, letting her decide what to do about their predicament. She could walk away. He couldn’t even stand.
    Moistening her lips, she brought a trembling hand to her chest. For a quick, hot second, he thought she might let the towel drop. He pictured her untwisting the terry cloth and standing naked before him, offering herself. In the next heartbeat, he’d have her legs around his waist and her back against the wall.
    But she didn’t loosen her towel; she clutched it tight. “I can’t.”
    That made two of them. “Why not?”
    Her throat worked as she swallowed. “It’s complicated.”
    His raging hormones disagreed. They said it was as easy as unbuttoning his trousers and urging her down on his lap.
    “I like you—”
    “I like you, too.”
    Her eyes filled