Free Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) by Angela Smith Page A

whispered against his ear, the flirty bite of sexual chemistry erupting in her loins. Her face felt splotchy, her body shaking with a fervor that left her vulnerable to insecurities she wouldn’t reveal.
    He straightened. The look he gave her sent a burning trail of fire through her limbs. She moved away, stopping on the other side of the table, across from him. Leaning her elbows against the table, she rested her chin in her hands.
    He struck the ball, and it skipped across the table to the floor.
    A man fetched the ball and handed it to Garret. “Where are your panties, boy?” he asked as he glanced at Reagan.
    Garret slapped the man on his back. “Yeah, yeah,” he said as he accepted the cue ball and planted it on the table. “Your turn,” he told her.
    Completely out of sorts after his friend’s comment, she stared at the cue ball and willed it to go anywhere but on the ground. Uptight and edgy, she hoped she wouldn’t make a pocket. That only meant she’d have to do it again and with Garret watching her, she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle it.
    If she was like Naomi, she would have wriggled her hips as she leaned over the table, but self-consciousness triumphed in a room filled with testosterone.
    “You don’t have her beat yet?” Naomi asked as she stopped beside Reagan and handed her a drink. Reagan gratefully took it and gulped the drink, praying it would help relax her.
    “She lied and said she couldn’t play.”
    Naomi’s voice fluttered around a soft, flirty laugh. Reagan wanted to slug her, but had no right to be jealous. She must be stressed. It was perfectly logical that stress could make her muscles tense and her palms sweat. Stress was the only reason she wanted to rake her claws down Naomi’s face when she smiled at Garret. She hadn’t had enough rest since her arrival. She’d met a hot guy on her second night here, went sledding with said hot guy, and hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep from thinking and wondering about the hot guy.
    Leaning over the pool table, she wiggled her hips. The room spun in a pleasant, orderly way and her inhibitions slipped. She felt possessive over a man she barely knew and wasn’t going to let Naomi have the floor tonight.
    Or Garret’s bed.
    • • •
    He was a dead man.
    No, dead men didn’t have hard-ons burning a hole through their jeans as he did. His heart raced so fast it could win Olympic gold.
    For a girl he’d known barely a day. A girl he wanted to dislike in order for his job to be easier. A girl who blushed when he looked at her but could pose nude for Playboy and make millions. Only, she didn’t know it.
    He’d faced deadly opponents in his job, yet this woman was killing him.
    If she’d been what he expected her to be — a flirt and a tease, like Naomi — he would have found it easier to dislike her. But the smile that lit her face when she “accidentally” struck a ball into the pocket was natural.
    He wished she’d strike his ball in.
    A woman with her body, with her curves, had every right to sidle up to any man, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and gain exactly what she craved.
    Reagan didn’t even try.
    Okay, so she flirted a little, leaning low so her gorgeous red sweater would hint of what hid underneath. Whispering words full of heat in his ear, her cool breath raking coals down his spine.
    He had to remind himself she was an assignment. He also had to remind himself her coyness was just as dangerous. Possibly an act. She was, after all, involved with a dirty cop slash cop killer slash jewel thief slash whatever the hell else her boyfriend could be named.
    She wore simple diamond earrings. No rings embellished those long, slender fingers. No necklace enhanced that slim, graceful neck. Didn’t matter. Didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the luxuries the Mass family could provide.
    “Your turn,” Chayton said as he punched him in the arm. Garret had been standing near their table, using his pool stick as a crutch to