Page 22 of Secret Mission

His eyes spark, some kind of risqué humor taking flight there. As if he wasn’t dangerous enough as is.

This suddenly feels like a dangerous game. The two of us squared off, dancing around, sexually-charged innuendos our weapons.

“I mean in my work,” I add. “It’s all about being slow and methodical. You can’t just tear into a sacred place and decimate it with brute force and sloppy enthusiasm.”

“Oh, really?” He lets the crackling energy of his gaze drop down me. “I think sloppy enthusiasm and brute force make for some of the best fucking that any two people can share.”

Gulp.

Okay. Innuendos gone. He looked at me like a meal and said the word fucking.

My fingers start to tingle at the thought of this potent chemistry growing until it flashes and destroys us both.

“Ha.”

I laugh aloud. One out of place, awkward as hell sound that bounces into the space between us like a dropped grenade.

The staring continues. From both of us. So long I don’t know what’s happening.

I’ve never had a sexual stare down with a man.

I don’t know how to get out of it with my life intact. Especially when it comes tohim.

How can I be so freaking attracted to this man? His ego is bigger than this damned boat.

Maybe the crocodile actually chomped on my head.

But my hand continues to clench from the memory of landing on the distinct shape of a gigantic, veiny cock. Thick. Long. And big enough to scare any sane woman.

That banana was like a pinky finger in comparison.

He hasn’t moved. Totally fixated on me. With the patience of a killer hiding in wait.

Those dark eyes zero in on the finger I’m licking clean of the sticky fruit juice absentmindedly, and I realize that I am a complete idiot.

I jerk my hand down and hide it behind my back. That’s when I realize…

The worst thing ever.

Holyhell. I’m wearinghisshirt and nothing else. After a few palpitations, I find my breath, but it’s vaporous and pathetic.

“Where are my clothes?” I squeak.

He glances right with a lazy roll of his shoulder.

There are my belongings, gently swaying in the light breeze. It looks like the clothesline of a cat burglar. My black cargo pants, my also black bra, my faded black T-shirt, all hang next to my black jacket. All of it is held up by a thin piece of line that stretches between the poles supporting the roof.

A thick, husky voice wraps around me and squeezes the breath right out of me.

“You didn’t have any panties on.”

Chapter Six

That’s right, sunshine. I know you have a little birthmark on the inside of your thigh…

Which is why my cock is twitching with the urge to follow through on the dangerous conversation about brute force and sloppy enthusiasm.

Some dark part of me wants to make the doe-eyed, sensible, smart archeologist lose her fucking mind. Something I’m fully capable of doing, even if it would be the worst goddamned idea ever.

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