Free Undercover Lover by Tibby Armstrong Page B

popular, yet slower tune came over the sound system.
    She nodded and he pulled her around the pole to the dance floor. She stumbled and he caught her.
    She frowned and he could see her assessing her inebriated state for the first time. “I think I had too much.”
    He folded her in his arms, telling himself his actions had nothing to do with how she made him feel and everything to do with holding her upright. “You’ll be all right,” he said in her ear and she shivered against him.
    The deejay drew out the song, remixing it with a thumping backbeat that mimicked Günter’s cock as it pulsed against his jeans. Just watching her walk to class made him hard. This—holding her, feeling her breasts pressed against him, the sway of her bottom just below his palms at the small of her back—would kill him.
    As they danced he remained aware of his plan to move them closer and closer to the door. The words to the sultry tune whispered through his brain. Tonight, in his dreams, he didn’t have to imagine her looking up at him, pouting her candy-pink lips in invitation at the song’s suggestion—kiss me—because this time, in this dream, that’s exactly what she did.
    His subconscious mind crossed the line his conscious self had drawn in the sand that long-ago night. Arms tightening, he drew her up along his front and moaned into her mouth. Her answering mewl had him imagining an accompanying gush of wetness between her thighs and his legs trembled with the effort to hold them both upright.
    To hell with propriety. To hell with his job. This woman was his and he was going to take her right here. Right now. The dance floor melted away. The crowd disappeared. All that remained was the support pole in the middle of the floor.
    Slipping his hands under her minidress, he palmed her backside and lifted her until she rested against the steel beam. The feel of her heated cheeks, bare around her thong, had him gasping out her name as she bucked against him.
    “Careful, love,” he said, afraid he’d drop her as he fumbled with his fly.
    Then the heat of her pussy lips cradled his cock. As slick as he’d hoped, as warm as he’d dreamed, she slid against him in a rhythmic motion that had him forgetting all about careful . Poised on the tip of his cock she paused to look in his eyes.
    “We’ve received clearance to land at Kidlington,” she said in Simon’s voice.
    “Shh,” Günter said, seriously disturbed at his second’s voice coming out of Jenny’s mouth.
    “Wake up,” she said, again in Simon’s American drone.
     
    Günter groaned, not wanting the moment to end, but it was too late. Jenny melted away. He was awake. He rolled over and opened one eye. God, he hoped he hadn’t been moaning in his sleep. His briefs felt sticky and he nearly blushed. He hadn’t had a wet dream like that since his early twenties.
    He cleared his throat. “Are they ready for us?”
    “Appears so.” Simon eyed him over the rim of his glasses. “You okay?”
    Rolling to a sitting position, Günter felt as if the plane mimicked his motion. “I’m getting too old for this,” he said.
    Time was he could survive on two hours of sleep in seventy-two. Now after four in forty-eight he felt as if he’d been kicked in the head. “Get me a water?” he asked.
    “Sure.” Simon grabbed a bottle from the mini-fridge and tossed it to Günter who caught it neatly.
    At least his reflexes weren’t going yet. He stretched and grimaced at a twinge from a blooming bruise along his ribs. Speaking of reflexes… “Is she up yet?”
    “Sleeping like the dead. You could probably get her into that body bag now if you want.”
    “Save the comedy routine for amateur hour and go wake her up.”
    Simon shook his head emphatically. “Oh no. No way. I saw that kick she landed on you. I’m not going to be the first thing she sees when she remembers we practically kidnapped her.”
    “Sissy,” Günter said on a jaw-popping yawn.
    When he entered the