Free Undercover Heat by Tami Lund

palms on his chest. Then she took control of the situation, and he was lost, lost in the sensations, lost in the moment, lost to everything except the way she felt, the way she made him feel.
    She made a sexy little squeaking noise as her inner muscles squeezed and then she climaxed, and he roared through his own orgasm, his hands clutching her hips as he thrust desperately and urgently until he finally collapsed back onto the bed, his heart racing, breathing as heavily as he’d expected.
    He spared a thought to hoping this really, truly would not be the only time, and then he slept like the dead.
    • • •
    “Quinn. Quinn, your phone’s ringing.”
    He woke to the sound of a woman calling his name, to the feel of someone nudging his arm. Kyra. He blinked to open his eyes and noticed that dusk had fallen. He was in bed in the master bedroom, and Kyra was lying next to him.
    “I have voicemail,” he mumbled, because he was not quite ready to burst whatever bubble they were still living in. He rolled to the side, intent on wrapping his arm around her and pulling her snuggly against his body. Could he persuade her to go another round? He didn’t feel drunk anymore, but hopefully that wouldn’t matter.
    But she was gone, already up and off the bed and pulling his cell phone out of the pocket of the pants lying on the floor. She looked at the screen and then thrust the phone at him, a stricken look on her face.
    “It’s the Jackson Prison,” she blurted, and he cursed as he pulled the phone out of her hand and accepted the call, rolling away from her as he did so.
    “Heard you’re working on a hot new case,” his father’s gravelly voice commented.
    “How the hell do you have access to that sort of information?” Quinn demanded.
    His father chuckled. “When you’re as good as I am, you have ways.”
    “Not that good,” Quinn said automatically. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be behind bars.”
    “A tactical error,” Larry Daniels replied. “Thanks to your good-for-nothing mother and a son who confused his loyalties.”
    “My loyalties have never been confused. I’m loyal to the law. Period.”
    “Blood should be thicker than that stupid shiny badge on your belt,” Larry snapped.
    Quinn tried to shrug Kyra’s hands off his back, but she persisted, and began massaging his shoulders. It felt damn good and admittedly helped pull away the tension that always resulted from a call with his father.
    “What do you want?” Quinn asked abruptly, wanting to end the call. It was clear by Kyra’s actions at the moment that she wasn’t quite ready to leave their little bubble either. He needed to shift his focus to her, before she lost interest.
    “You’re never going to solve this one, boy. Trust me on this.”
    “I stopped caring about what you thought a long time ago, and I’ve never trusted you a day in my life. If that’s all you have to say, I have to go. I have better things to do at the moment.” Like Kyra, whose massage was turning erotic.
    His father started to speak again, but Quinn disconnected the call and tossed the phone to the side as he rolled over onto his back, allowing Kyra better access to that part of his body she seemed determined to massage.
    “Who was that?” she asked casually, as her hands stroked his very attentive erection.
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said on a gasp, and then he groaned, “Oh yeah,” when she dipped her head and proceeded to massage him—with her mouth.
    The doorbell rang. Kyra’s head shot up.
    “Ignore it,” he commanded, and he tried to push her head down again.
    She batted his arm away and climbed off the bed. “No way. It might be Whitney.”
    They heard the knock on the door, through the open window.
    “That’s the back door,” Kyra said as she began pulling on clothing. “It’s her, I’m sure of it.”
    “I don’t give a flying fuck about the case right now. Come back to bed. She’ll still be there tomorrow.”
    She shot him