Free Devil Without a Cause by Terri Garey Page B

made for sin , whispered an amused voice, faintly, in the back of his mind.
    Go away , he ordered it, tightening his hand over the girl’s. I don’t need or want any chaos tonight.

Chapter Eight
    S he could feel the ring beneath her thumb as he gripped her hand. He stood up, drawing her with him. “Come with me.”
    She did as he asked, choosing to focus on him , not her problems. It wasn’t hard—she was very conscious of how very male his fingers felt, the sculpted strength of his wrist and forearm, the firm bulge of his biceps. He led her to the couch overlooking the Atlanta skyline and settled her where she had the best view, but she barely noticed, her attention taken by something infinitely more interesting, directly in her line of sight.
    Finn gave her a knowing smile, not troubling to hide his erection. Then he moved away, toward the bar. “Wait right there,” he said. “Enjoy the view.”
    She swallowed hard, enjoying the view very much.
    Finn poured them both another splash of scotch and came back to the couch, taking a seat next to her. His knee was touching her thigh. “To no regrets,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. They both drank, and the burn of the scotch as it worked its way down steadied her.
    So much so that when he lowered his glass, she leaned in and kissed him. Gently, slowly, as though they had all the time in the world. Moving her lips over his, breathing his breath and letting him breathe hers, the merest brush of their tongues, mingled with the tang of scotch and the first stirrings of desire.
    One night; that’s all they had.
    She hardly heard the clink of his glass as he put it on the table, vaguely felt him take hers and do the same. All her senses were focused on the taste and the feel of his lips, and sensations she’d forgotten existed.
    He shifted, slipping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. The kiss changed, deepening. She was against his chest, and he smelled wonderful; she could barely keep herself from groaning aloud at the scent, the feel of him. Her hand was on his arm, her palm against his bicep, skimming upward over the muscled curve of his shoulder.
    He leaned back into the couch, taking her with him. The hard length between his legs left no doubt of his arousal, and Faith felt an answering throb between her own. One broad hand slid up her ribs to cup her breast, and she made an involuntary noise low in her throat, shocked at how good his palm felt against her nipple, even through her clothes.
    Suddenly, regrets or no regrets, she couldn’t wait to get naked.
    There was a slow tug at her waistband, and she helped him pull her blouse free, never moving too far from his lips. Finn’s fingers—the ones that could make a guitar sing like an angel—deftly undid the buttons, and then smoothed the fabric from her shoulder. His hand was warm on her skin, sliding down her arm, freeing it from her sleeve; firm on her hip, squeezing her thigh and bottom as though learning the terrain. She brushed his cock with her hand, unable to help herself, and felt it throb in response.
    His lips left hers, and then she was drowning in the feel of them on her neck, his breath in the hollow beneath her ear.
    “Oh . . .”
    She was moaning aloud, and didn’t care.
    His fingers were at her waist again, this time unzipping her skirt.
    “Too many clothes,” he murmured, and she couldn’t agree more. She pulled back, intending to help, but he forestalled her by cupping one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing and stroking through the fabric of her bra. She caught her breath, gazing down at him, seeing the evidence of her fingers in the wild state of his hair, his lips, smudged with lipstick from her kisses. Without thinking, she reached out to thumb it away, but as soon as she touched him there, he opened his mouth and caught her thumb in his teeth, giving it a gentle nip.
    His eyes were a vivid shade of green, hungry and intent, and his hand was still on her