Free Silk Confessions by Joanne Rock

picture of sensual distress.
    When she finally opened her mouth to speak, she murmured a quiet, “What the hell?” before she moved closer. Her hands landed on his waist to skim around his back. “Maybe I just need to feel for myself.”
    Heat flashed through him like a thunderbolt. His arms banded around her, dragging her into him. Her mouthopened beneath his, soft and warm and so damn inviting. He cupped her head to find the perfect angle, fingers stroking through her thick curls until he found the vulnerable stretch of her neck.
    She arched into him, generous curves pressing against him. He wanted his hands everywhere at once, hungry to know the feel of her. Her dress swirled around his calves, clinging to the fabric of his jeans. A blend of soft textures assailed his senses—her hair, her skin, that dress of hers all begged to be touched. Everything about Tempest drew him closer, invited him to linger.
    “Wes.”
    The sound of his name reached his ears, the only discernible word amid breathy sighs and the gentle smack of their lips.
    Easing back, he peered down at her in the halo of light emitted by the computer screen, her apartment grown dark in late afternoon thanks to the short winter day.
    “Too fast?” He hadn’t meant to spin the kiss out, make it so important. But his good intentions had fled when she stared at him with those dark, hungry eyes of hers, and then once he’d kissed her—his body seemed to remember exactly how long it had been since he’d kissed anyone like he meant it.
    “No.” Shaking her head, her curls bounced restlessly. “Yes. Maybe. I just—”
    Prying himself further away, he skimmed his hands up to the safer terrain of her shoulders. “You tasted so good, and it’s been a long time for me. Sorry if I rushed you.”
    “It’s not that.” Her fingers alighted on his chest briefly, then skittered away again. “I welcomed the kiss and the ah—view.”
    He resisted a juvenile urge to flex for her. “My pleasure.”
    “But I don’t think you realize what you’d be getting yourself into if we…continue in that vein.”
    “On the contrary, I think I know exactly what I’d be getting myself into, and after the fireworks of one kiss, I can say with some assurance that anything more than that would rock my whole damn universe.” No sense denying the obvious—he wanted her.
    “I don’t mean that.” She reached to flick on a desk lamp, bathing them in dim light. “I know that part would be great, but getting involved with me could be messy.”
    “I’ve already learned not to tattoo names on my wrist. What more do I need to know?”
    “Every relationship I’ve ever had has been splashed all over the newspapers. Even taking in a movie with the coffee shop guy turned into a major ordeal, and you found out from him firsthand that it meant less than nothing.” Huffing out a sigh, she blew a curl away from her eyes. “I just needed to warn you that hanging out with me will probably only lead to a big headache.”
    “We could keep things quiet.” He traced the golden chain around her neck with his finger. “Private.”
    “Trust me, I’ve tried it. I couldn’t even keep the results of my college final exams secret. My scores are still available on the Internet if you’re interested, by the way.”
    Finally, Wes’s brain began thinking again. Reason returned as he thought about his privacy vanishing the moment he started something with Tempest.
    Could he afford to have his life served up for public consumption? Especially when he had a killer to catch?
    “So you’re willing to back away just because of the potential for a media splash?” Maybe she’d been thinking of him and trying to protect his private life. But what if she didn’t want her well-known name linked with average Joe police detective?
    He’d be willing to bet he wasn’t the kind of man the Boucher family had envisioned for their daughter, even for something short-term. They were megamillionaires