Free True Lies by Ingrid Weaver Page B

of his lips. Later she would worry about the sheer madness of this moment, but right now she wanted to lose herself in this simple, basic contact of flesh on flesh. What he looked like, where they were, and what she would have to do tomorrow could be forgotten as long as he was giving her this kiss.
    Sweet, Bruce thought as he closed his eyes and tasted her lips. Not the cloying sweetness of sugared candy, but the rich flavor of a full-bodied wine. And just as dangerously intoxicating.
    What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? Prendergast might have sat beside her and offered his comfort, but that persona never would have folded her in a tender embrace. And he sure wouldn’t be kissing her. Kissing her wasn’t going to get him any of the answers he wanted. It wouldn’t help him wrap up this case any sooner. It was insane.
    But Prendergast’s hat and sunglasses lay discarded on the rough wood of the dock. She had yanked them off and thrown them away, turning the tables on him, probing his secrets with the lethal swiftness that he had hoped to use on her own.
    Her fingers fluttered over his cheek and slid upward to thrust into his hair, and a soft sound of satisfaction rose from her throat.
    Bruce parted his lips and took the sound into his mouth. He was glad that she’d knocked off his hat and that she found pleasure in touching his hair. He was glad that he hadn’t bothered to pad his cheeks with gauze today and that she liked what her fingers had traced. The cop in him should be worried about losing the props of his disguise, but the man in him rejoiced. Increasing the pressure of the kiss, he cradled her face in his palms.
    She returned everything he gave her. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she opened them readily. Unable to stop himself, he plunged into her warmth and his senses reeled. Had he thought she tasted like wine? She was nectar, a pungent, heady mixture of sensuality and strength.
    If her mouth tasted like this, what would the rest of her be like? What would it feel like to graze his lips down her throat and part the loose blouse that molded her curves? How would her breasts weigh in his palms, and how would they look if he bared them to the sunlight and the gentle breeze?
    The primitiveness of his response startled him. His hands tightened on her cheeks as his entire body trembled with tension. He wanted her. In broad daylight, on these rough wooden boards, beside the plane that had probably been filled with cocaine an hour ago.
    Cocaine smuggled into the country by her brother.
    Or maybe even by her.
    Sanity belatedly filtered through the desire that dulled his brain. She had lied to the sheriff last night. She was Emmaline Duprey, she had been arrested for assault. He was supposed to establish a useful friendship with the woman, not seduce her. And he wasn’t even sure which one of them was being seduced.
    Her fingers slid through his hair and curled around the back of his neck.
    He lifted a hand to catch her wrist before she could learn the broadness of his shoulders.
    She nipped at his lower lip and moved her free hand to his arm.
    Letting go of her face, he grabbed her other wrist before she could feel the hard muscle beneath his loose sleeve.
    Close. He couldn’t believe how close he had just come. Ruthlessly he attempted to rein in the desire that shook him. Emma pulled against his grip on her wrists, but he held her firmly, bringing her hands between them. He tried to ease his mouth from hers.
    With a whimper, she followed him as he withdrew. She shifted to her knees and leaned toward him, refusing to let him end the kiss.
    He didn’t waste energy on cataloging all the “if only’s.” There was no changing the cruel and ironic reality of their situation by wishful thinking. Somehow he found the strength to wrench his mouth free.
    They were both struggling for air as much as for control. The sound of their ragged breathing was as loud as the pulse that hammered in his ears.