Free HIS By Design -Coveting Claire by Helen Karol Page A

It's
never all the details of my true assignment. She treats each of my
new cases as her own personal romp. In this latest adventure, she
thinks I'm undercover investigating the recent rash of sorority
hazing. She has no idea that my real target is Leo Gold.
    My ability to consistently pull men over ten
years younger, is proving useful with that assignment. At thirty,
Leo Gold has entered a later decade than any of the men I‘ve hooked
up with over the past five years. He also has this uncanny ability
to make me feel as if I'm the much younger one. Not to mention that
his seductive combination of dominant sexuality and sensual
tenderness is making it harder and harder for me to resist him.
    I swallow, watching while he excuses himself
from the group he's with and moves across the room towards me. I
look down, but it’s no use. I'm achingly aware of him throughout
the whole interminable time it takes him to slowly make his way
over to stand in front of the bar. I ignore him for several minutes
and he says nothing. Finally, I look up into his classically
sculpted features, unable not to. God, I hate that I'm unable not
to.
    He smiles, slowly, wickedly satisfied that
his patience works and he's able to make me raise my head without a
word. I try not to notice how luscious he looks. He's so close that
his 6’ 2” height and proportionate breadth block out my view of the
room and the deep charcoal suit against the silk grey of his dress
shirt echoes the dark, smoky hue of his eyes. The silk gold of his
loosened, slightly askew tie highlights his thick, dark gold hair
and enhances the effect of the myriad gold flecks in his dark
pupils. Those spooky, highly unusual eyes fascinate me and in some
of my dreams he's a were lion and he simply carries me off to his
lair.
    I shake myself. Resist. Resist. I chide.
    He moves to the side of the bar and holds out
his hand in invitation. I look away and shake my head not trusting
myself to speak, not sure my mouth is in tune with my brain. When I
fail to take his hand, I sense his exasperation. He growls my name
under his breath. A sound that has the humiliating effect of making
me instantly wet.
    The growl deepens. “Dance with me,
Raisa.”
    When I defy him, he takes my hand and places
his other hand on my hip to firmly command my obedience. I don’t
resist. I can’t risk a scene and he knows it.
    He leads me ahead of him to the dance floor.
The heat of his hand in mine and on my hip makes me tremble. I'm
glad that his strong body is firm behind me, supporting me,
stopping me from stumbling. I panic because in seconds, he'll hold
me close in his arms. With every new encounter, each new time he
holds me, the temperature between us increases and I'm terrified
that this time I just might combust.
    He senses my panic and gathers me softly
against him. It's a slow, jazzy piece, the kind where you just sway
in each other’s arms. His hand is at my nape, firm against me, a
pulsing heat filtering through from his touch to my moist skin,
despite the thickness of my hair. Even in five-inch heels, I only
reach the top of his chest and he cradles me against him, soothing
me with his fingertips moving in slow, sensual circles over my
back. It's okay I tell myself. I can handle this. Until he places a
soft kiss on the top of my head.
    It's then I remember. Then I want to call
triumphantly across to Terri. “See. See. This is why. This is why
we’re resisting him.” Not because the age gap unnerves me. Not
because he's my undercover target in an investigation by a federal
special task force. Not even because he makes me sopping wet with
simply the sound of his voice. No. None of those is the reason.
There is only one reason and it's quite simply that I'm petrified
that if I allow myself to get any closer to this man, I may melt
deep, deep into him and very probably disappear.
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