Page 33 of Secret Mission

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Doctor. Westerly.”

No. That’s even worse! Slow, sexy as hell.

Truck's voice has to be registered as a dangerous weapon. Combine it with the riot of hunger in his gaze and he is a one-man force of destruction.

“Look at me.”

“I am.” Not going to look at his face again. Ever.

I’m not strong enough.

This man dragged me off a cliff, he’s taking me away from where I need to be on a probably-stolen boat.

I am not having sex with him.

Petulant, I refuse to look up. Instead, I focus on the small pale scar on his beautiful chest.

He’s infinitely interesting.

A tight swallow moves up and down in my throat.

Being so close to him is not good. No human can reason when all of your senses are under attack.

“Back off, Truck.”

“Shhh, now, Doc.”

Then he touches me. Like a man who knows what he wants.

I’m so in trouble here because Truck takes a firm grip of my face, with one calloused hand, his long fingers reaching all the way along my jaw.

The pressure of that warm, utterly-masculine grip locks my breath, causes a gush of warmth to rush south, making my pussy clench violently.

My next swallow is loud enough for both of us to hear.

“Well, look who's quiet now,” he murmurs, as he uses his other hand to capture every bit of my hair.

We breathe at each other as he forces my face to tip up.

The heat builds around us like we’re standing in a campfire.

No.

No, don’t do it.

I beg him silently with my eyes, but my lips part and my tongue slips across my lower lip. Desperate to quench the tingles. Hungry for his taste.

His throat rumbles, those irises receding, and his pupils take over.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful.”

Watching him devour my features makes my entire body tremble.

The columns of his throat work, his voice turning huskier. “I have to taste you.”

In true Truck style, he crashes his mouth into mine in a clash of lips and teeth.

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