Sex, Lies and DVDs Page 5

  Figures.

  And here she thought she’d been falling for the big jerk. She’d caught him in her office and on her computer going through her files as if he’d had a right. The guy probably would have turned into some sick stalker if she’d let things continue. Worse still was him lying about who he was that first night.

  So what if she’d done the same. She’d been a susceptible, naive virgin. Okay, maybe not so naive, but she’d been vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of that.

  Oh, but for a brief moment she’d found ecstasy. She’d experienced such mind blowing desire with Ryan. Memories of riding him, his erection thrusting inside her and those incredible, talented hands on her body sent a wave of longing rolling through her.

  Because of her loneliness and the asinine idea of doing something foolish one more time, she’d slept with him again. She’d craved a man’s touch, a man’s masculine presence for too many years, and really hadn’t known how much until Ryan had shown up at her door. A shiver raced across her flesh, even beneath the sun’s burning rays.

  Enough. She didn’t want to go there. And she particularly didn’t want to think of one Ryan White.

  At the sound of a door shutting, she glanced across the street. The new neighbor stepped from the house and walked toward his driveway. The way the morning light glinted off his hair caught Paige off guard. She stopped jerking at the cord. His lean, muscled body, erect posture and cleft chin yanked open Paige’s jaw in complete shock.

  Impossible.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  Of all people … the jerk himself.

  What was he doing across the street? She stared at the for sale sign staked on the front yard, a sold sign dangling at the bottom. All this time he’d been her new neighbor. One she hadn’t seen until now.

  Embarrassment scorched a path up to her face. She slapped a hand against her chest, only to feel the wild drum of her heart against her palm. Her other hand tightened on the cord as she backed away from the sight of Ryan, unlocking his car. At any moment, he’d see her in her skuzzy shorts, ripped and sweaty T-shirt and grass stained running shoes. No makeup, no perfumed and perfectly plucked body. Right now couldn’t get any worse. He couldn’t see her like this. She’d be mortified. He’d already humiliated her once. She’d be damned if she let him do it to her a second time.

  Knowing the front door wasn’t an option—he’d see her scuttle across the yard to get there—she glanced toward the side gate that led into the haven of her backyard and a far better escape route. Just maybe—maybe—she’d get out of here undetected. Then when she had her wits about her and cleaned herself up into something that didn’t smell, she’d march across that street and confront him.

  As she whirled around, her heel hit the cement slab that bordered the grass and landscaped rock causing her to stumble. Horrified, she backpedaled and stepped on a huge rock, which tossed her in the opposite direction. Face first, she dove into the bushes. A cry of pain ripped past her lips as branches scraped her arms and face and caught her hair. Twigs snapped, their jagged edges cutting into her skin as she thrust her hands out in front of her and tried to regain her balance.

  A hand seized her hip. Another grasped her elbow. No need guessing who they belonged to, but she’d be damned if she let him help her.

  She jerked away and smacked her brow on the brick wall. “Ouch!”

  Wincing, she started to lift a hand to cradle her head, but her wrist caught on another branch.

  “Will you stop?” Ryan grunted from behind as she landed an elbow into a soft part of his body. “You’re making matters worse. Hold still. Your hair’s caught on the branches.”

  Stilling, Paige blinked back tears of pain and humiliation. “Can you hurry?”

  A moment later, Ryan eased her away from the bushes. This time when she stumbled, she landed against a very hard and unyielding chest. Pivoting, she slapped at Ryan’s hands holding her arms. She struggled for dignity as she regained her footing and put several feet between them.

  “Are you all right?”

  That deep husky voice, the concern, the memories it generated cut as much as the branches. “Get away from me, you—” She swallowed down the tidal wave of fury that flooded her throat. “You, jerk!”

  So she was acting irrational and hostile. So what. She had reason. She knew that.

  But what drove Paige to new heights of mortification—his timing couldn’t be worse than if he’d outright planned it—was that she was smelly, sweaty, and bleeding all over the place. She probably looked like she’d stuck her tongue in a light socket before jumping inside a human blender. And she’d caught him in another lie. All this time, he’d been living across the street, probably making fun of her naiveté—more like stupidity.

  Okay. She’d also lied. She’d kept silent when she’d found out he couldn’t possibly be an escort. But that was different. Lying by omission didn’t count.

  Ryan plucked her off her feet and into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” Rigid with horror, she strained from the warmth and solid muscle of his chest.

  “Carrying you. What does it look like?”

  “Are you nuts?” Her voice rising two octaves, she gaped at him. The hard planes of his face, the thick sweep of his brow and those cool, cobalt eyes revealed nothing inside that crazy skull of his. “If you don’t put me down now, I’ll—I’ll—”

  “What? Call the police? That might be a little hard, seeing as you have no phone.” He hefted her higher against his body as he strode across her yard, into the street and toward his house.

  The blinds of a neighboring house shifted and a woman’s face appeared. “You’ve got witnesses now. You better let me down. Joan Edgar’s about to have a coronary. If not that, she’ll be the one that calls the police.”

  “She doesn’t need to.” Smiling, Ryan waved at the woman two houses down as he walked up his driveway. “I am the police.”

  His words flattened her lungs and her outrage. Mind reeling, it took a full thirty seconds to get any coherent words out of her mouth. “What do you mean? The police?”

  “I work for the U.S. Department of Justice. I’ve been investigating one of several internet piracy rings copying software, music, video games and movies. We’re doing a national sweep with our eye on Phoenix and several other cities. You’re one of several suspects in that ring.”

  His words drained whatever fight she had left in her as he opened the front door and swung it wide with a shoulder. Once inside, he closed the door and set her down.

  Legs feeling suspiciously like rubberized bone and muscle kept her upright, but only from the sheer will of keeping vertical. She placed a steadying hand on the foyer wall. “A suspect? Do you know how crazy that sounds? Me of all people?”

  Paige stared over Ryan’s shoulder. Computer equipment and three monitors rested on a desk. She recognized her living room, kitchen and bedroom on the screens. Her hand curled into a fist against the wall as understanding and its cold reality hit her. “That’s why you’re living across the street, isn’t it? You’ve been watching me? It all makes sense now. When you were on my computer, you weren’t checking my email. You were going through my files like I thought all along.”

  “I was doing my job. It’s what I do.” His gaze softened. “I’m just so damn sorry that I screwed everything up.”

  The crash of her heart against her chest didn’t slow. “Why tell me now?”

  “Because I can now that you’ve been cleared. We’ve found nothing remotely incriminating. You own a simple video store on the internet and nothing more.”

  “Well, I know that! You could have asked. I would have gladly given you any documents you needed.”

  “And if you’d been involved in a piracy scam? Do you think those files and documents wouldn’t have been doctored?”

  Paige couldn’t argue with such logic, but the idea of being taped, watched, her every action identified and documented by Ryan rattled her. H
e’d gone further than any decent, normal person had the right.

  Outrage crackled up her spine. All this time she’d been right. He was a jerk. “How could you?”

  The crack of flesh against flesh ricocheted into the room. The slap sent the sting of pain through the nerve endings in her hand and a red, dull imprint against Ryan’s cheek.

  He winced. “I deserved that.”

  Somehow she hadn’t expected him to concede so easily. The pressure of tears banded around her throat. Damn him. She was not going to cry over this jerk. “Do you always sleep with the women you investigate? You’re sick. Do you know that? How could you?”

  Self-loathing flashed across his face. “I honestly don’t know. When it comes to you, my common sense completely snaps. During the investigation, I grew obsessed with you. When I found out you’d hired an escort from a company suspected of prostitution and drug trafficking, I came over that night in hopes of sabotaging your meeting. I knew any association with Escorts R Us would get you in trouble.” He rubbed his creased forehead. “But all my plans collapsed when I walked through your front door. I forgot everything but your sexy blue eyes and your desire to have sex. I could have lost my job by sleeping with you. Do you understand? I risked everything. That’s how desperate I was to be with you.”

  Words. They were only words. But the emotion behind them, along with the longing in his gaze, whittled her icy resolve.

  “Don’t you see?” Ryan asked. “I had no choice. I had to keep quiet as to who I really was. My job is to protect and serve.”

  He took a step toward her and lifted a beseeching hand, but Paige quickly sidestepped his touch. If he put one part of his body on her, she was liable to crumble.

  She turned away and ran trembling fingers through her hair but winced when several strands sliced along a cut caused by one of the many branches she’d landed on.

  “You need to sit down before you keel over. That heat can be dangerous.”

  “No. I’m not about to—”

  “Please. Humor me.” He waved a hand toward the living room. “Let me check your cuts and get you a glass of water.”

  Knowing she was crazy to agree but unable to stop herself, she reluctantly nodded. Was she that much of masochist?

  He sighed in obvious relief and led her to the sofa. She sat on the edge of the cushion, back rigid, nerves unraveling at an alarming pace. Too soon, Ryan came back with antiseptic wipes and the promised water.

  As he dabbed at the cuts on her calves, silence descended into the room. She stared at his bent head. Light from the living room window gleamed off his thick, sandy hair. Her grip tightening on the glass, she fought the temptation to touch those silken strands again. Her other hand tightened on the seat cushion at her side.

  “You’re very gentle.” Paige wanted to groan at her unruly tongue, but she’d spoken the truth. She barely felt his hands whisper over her cuts.

  On one bended knee, he glanced up. His throat contracted with an audible swallow. “Paige. I apologize. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

  A tear tickled her as it slithered down her face. “But you did.”

  His callused hand cupped her cheek as he gazed at her with imploring eyes. A muscle flexed by the corner of his jaw, while the intensity in his expression kicked up her heartbeat to a wild, erratic tempo. “I’m sorry. I can’t take back what I did. But I can make up for it if you give me another shot.”

  “What do you mean?” she said in a guarded voice.

  “I’d like to start again. The two of us. Go on a date. Do something normal and see where this goes.” His gaze didn’t falter. “I risked my career to be with you. I want to find out if this crazy sexual attraction between us goes deeper.”

  She couldn’t look away from the naked vulnerability in his cobalt eyes.

  What did she say? What could she say? Did she let pride push him away? Or did she want to take a risk on a possible future with him?

  Too many years she’d cared for her sister, sheltered her from life’s hard edges, but in the process she’d sheltered herself. She’d buried herself inside her house, fearful of getting hurt, fearful of opening her heart and taking risks after the loss of her parents.

  Until she’d met Ryan, she’d never realized how that fear had crippled her, kept her from experiencing a kaleidoscope of wonderful experiences. Her life had grown stagnate, lifeless, and so damn dull. And she’d used her sister as an excuse.

  No longer.

  She couldn’t go back to that life. Not after tasting the passion, the wonder, the ecstasy in Ryan’s arms. All those years of not taking risks urged her to the only answer she was capable of.

  “Yes. I’d like to try again.” She turned her head until her mouth grazed his palm. She kissed his hand. At his quick intake of breath, she smiled. “Maybe we can start by giving that computer and monitor of yours something really exciting to record?”

  Also available

  Burn Baby Burn

  by

  Lynne Logan

  Marisa Carter wants to photograph Ethan for a local charity calendar of sexy firefighters. Ethan McCafferty wants something far different. Stripping his shirt off for a picture isn’t enough. He wants to take it all off and convince Marisa they’re perfect together—in and out of the sheets. But having been burned once, is Marisa willing to risk getting too close to the sexy fireman? After all, Ethan is her cheating ex-husband’s best friend.

  Chapter One

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Ethan McCafferty wanted to take off more than his shirt. He wanted to chuck his pants, walk across the room and fuck Marisa Carter until she cried—no screamed—his name as she orgasmed. He wanted to make her forget her shit-head of an ex, Andrew, forget everything but him.

  But wanting and acting were two different things. If he crossed the room, took that damn camera from her hands and tried to kiss her, she’d smack him across the face so hard he’d see stars for days.

  Hell. Six months ago, he’d been Andrew’s best friend.

  Marisa probably couldn’t stand the sight of him and only asked him to volunteer as a model, because she needed another firefighter to finish up her calendar for the local women’s shelter.

  With a sigh of resignation, Ethan shrugged out of his suspenders, pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Between lowered lashes, he watched Marisa’s reaction. Nothing so much as a flicker on her gorgeous face. Shit. Ever since she’d divorced Andrew’s cheating ass, he’d wanted her to notice him, but obviously stripping to his firefighter pants wasn’t going to work.

  “How would you like me?” he asked as he rocked back on his heels. He stood on a green velvet drop cloth that draped from the ceiling along the wall behind him and covered the floor beneath his bare feet.

  “Just move a little to the right and face the cabinet in the corner of the room.”

  He shifted and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his navy pants. “Like this?”

  She shook her head. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair gleamed gold against the light of her studio office and framed a smooth, unblemished face. Huge gray eyes rimmed with thick black lashes stared back at him. “Here. I’ll show you.”

  She walked over and placed her camera on a short Grecian column a couple of feet away. As she stopped in front of him, her scent drifted toward him. Something dark, musky and sensuous. Damn, but he loved her smell. Always had. He also loved the way she moved—graceful, confident, and with a tall, willowy figure that reached the top of his nose and was the perfect height for him. Then there was her ass, rounded and in perfect proportion with the rest of her.

  He watched it now as she tilted her knee forward and twisted at the waist, which he mimicked like a damn fool.

  She pivoted to face him. “Just tilt your pelvis a little forward.”

  He pressed his pockets down with his thumbs until his waistband lowered and exposed more skin. Then he angled his hips in such a way that made something flicker in the back of her
eyes. “How’s that? Or would you like me to thrust forward a little more?”

  “Umm. No. That’s fine.” She rubbed the nape of her neck and inched backward. “I also need you to undo the top button of your pants and lower your zipper a bit.”

  Ethan snapped open the top button. No reaction. Ever so slowly, he slid his zipper lower and pulled the corners of his pants wide enough to expose his white briefs. Color stained her cheeks, and she dragged in a ragged breath.

  Finally. Something.

  She wasn’t as immune as she pretended.

  “I’ll take a couple of shots, and then we’ll use the

  Santa hat.”

  Camera in hand, she sank down on one knee and took a rapid succession of pictures. An image flashed in Ethan’s mind of his pants down around his knees and her head bent at his hip, sucking his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip while her hands stroked his balls. He took in a shuddering breath and fought back a hard-on by imagining the festering sore he’d seen recently on his nephew’s knee and the pus oozing from it. When that didn’t work, he found a perfect image of his grandma’s hairy armpits.

  Marisa pulled the camera from her face and stared at him with a smile that looked more like a sneer. “So you and Andrew must be hitting the bars every night now since you’re both single.”

  “I’m not, and as to Andrew, I wouldn’t know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I haven’t seen Andrew in months.”

  Frowning, she stood and placed her camera back on the Grecian column. “Why’s that?”

  “I have my reasons.” Hell. He wasn’t going to tell her he’d been disgusted by Andrew’s behavior and broke off his friendship because of her. He did have a bit of pride. “I know he never wanted the divorce. He broke up with Becky not soon after.”

  What the hell was he doing? Getting them back together? Shit. That was the last thing he wanted.

  “Too bad.” She snatched a Santa hat from a hook against the wall. “You know what they say about making your bed and sleeping in it.”