Free Face of Danger by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

mouth over Lang’s glorious, masculine, pulsing erection, Vivi was so turned on she was shaking harder than he was.
    So she sucked, the size and sweetness of his hard-on making her head light. For the first time—for the very first time—she felt the ecstasy of making this man helpless with desire.
    For the first time, sex didn’t threaten her, it thrilled her. That was why she couldn’t stop. That and the fact that she’d secretly fantasized about kissing, touching, devouring Lang with her mouth. She was a starved, starved woman and Colton Cautious Lang was a ten-course gourmet meal.
    He climaxed viciously, warm liquid filling her mouth as he grunted and groaned, gripping the armrests, giving in to her completely. He swore, he moaned, he took afew heavenly deities’ names in vain, but he didn’t say
her
name.
    If that didn’t prove to prying eyes and hidden microphones that she was willing to do whatever it took to convince anyone that she was Cara Ferrari, then nothing would.
    Way in the back of her sex-addled brain, she had to remember that was the reason for this reckless behavior.
    She could hear his strained breathing, her pounding pulse, and the cry of the engines just behind them.
    She kept her mouth on his hard-on, unable to let go, even after his juices slid down her throat. Part of her didn’t want to release him. Part of her didn’t want to
face
him.
    Why the hell was he here, anyway? Was there a real threat to Cara or was he just the lucky lotto winner of the FBI babysitting job? That was unlikely, considering his level in the Bureau.
    She’d find out. And when she did, she’d also explain why she’d chosen sex to silence him. He was an FBI agent, and he should understand doing “whatever it takes” when undercover.
    She had to keep him quiet, and that, she continued to rationalize, was the
only reason
she had stripped and sucked him to an orgasm.
    The only reason?
Ignore that, St. Peter.
    His hands threaded into her hair. If he felt thoroughly enough, he’d find the extensions. If he looked long enough at her face, he’d see the little piece of porcelain that fixed her chipped tooth and the makeup that covered her nose piercing and the padding at the bottom of the bra that took her into C-cup land.
    All the trappings that made this act, well, an act. None of this was real.
    Except the salty sweet taste of his release, the sound of his strangled breaths, the smell of sweat and leather and Lang, and, holy hell, the hot knot of need between her legs. All that was very real.
    Slowly, she lifted her head, used her extra-long acrylic tips to wipe gently under her lips, the move clearly killing him as he grunted and dropped his head back helplessly.
    He still couldn’t talk, fighting to calm his breathing and his heart, a sheen of sweat all over his face. She pulled herself up and put her mouth near his ear, hoping anyone watching through a camera would imagine this was the secret whispering of pillow talk.
    “You owe me now.” She breathed the words so only he could hear.
    He tried to shake his head.
    “Yes, you do. I need a promise. I need your word. Don’t say my name for the duration of this flight and we’ll call it even. Don’t accuse me of being a fake, don’t try to trick me, don’t do anything until we are somewhere entirely private.”
    “You mean we’re not?” He whispered the question, but the briefest note of horror came through.
    “I don’t know. And, Lang, everything that ever mattered in the whole world to me or my family is resting on this.” She was certain no microphone, no matter how close, could pick up the words she whispered. “Do you understand?”
    She finally drew back, trusting him to follow the instructions.
    “I don’t understand anything right now.”
    She smiled at the admission, not something she’d hear often from Lang. “Then maybe you should go in the bathroom and clean up. You know, take a shower.” When hefrowned she returned to his ear. “Make