Hard Deal. Stefanie London

ground? Colour him impressed.

      He’d fantasised about getting her in this position many times. Admittedly, the circumstances had been a little different in his head.

      “Give it back,” she demanded, wriggling on top of him as he tried to fend her off. She had him pinned down, one small hand braced on the ground next to his head and the other trying to worm into the inner pocket of his jacket.

      Caleb grabbed her wrists and pulled them up by his head, forcing her to lean closer. Behind the elaborate mask, her olive green eyes were wide. Her ragged breathing caused her chest to rise and fall deeply, moving her breasts up and down against him. She straddled him, the full length of her dress bunched around her legs. Every last bit of blood in his body rushed south as she shifted, the sweet heat between her thighs brushing deliciously over his cock.

       Truly despicable.

      “Give me back my phone this second or I will scream blue murder,” she threatened. “Daniel—”

      He yanked her hands higher, bringing her face even closer. They were nose to nose or, in this case, mask to mask. Her breath puffed over his cheek, and the scent of her perfume—something vanilla-like and softly feminine—wound through him like a drug.

      He leaned forward, bringing his lips next to her ear. “Stop calling me that.”

      “What?”

      “My name isn’t Daniel.” With each word, his lips brushed over the shell of her ear. She stilled against him, her arms and legs going as rigid as steel. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

      “You’re lying.” But her words were tinged with doubt. “Don’t think you can bluff your way out of this.”

      “Do I sound like Daniel?” he asked. Would she place his voice or figure out that she’d made a mistake?

      Part of him wanted her to know who he was, to see if she’d push him away or if she’d lean in farther. Had she been stewing on the way he’d touched her in the dark? Had she gotten hot and horny thinking about it?

      “I...” She bit down on her lip. “I don’t know.”

      “So you were spying on me, taking photos of a private meeting between two friends, and now you’ve tackled me to the ground, and yet you don’t know if I sound like the man you’re after?” He let his voice take on a growl and a tiny shudder ran through her. She shifted, her body rubbing against his erection so perfectly Caleb had to stifle a moan.

      “But you’re wearing his mask,” she squeaked. “It’s one of a kind.”

      “Apparently not. Daniel was pretty pissed about it, too.” He grinned. “Said it was highway robbery what they charged considering the designs weren’t exclusive.”

      “Oh no,” she groaned. “That does sound like something he’d say.”

      She looked at him dead on, confusion flashing in her eyes. He probably should clear up the mystery, hand her phone over and send her on her way. But she had both spied on him and knocked him over. In the grand scheme of things, his sins were matched by hers.

       “She started it.” Really? Great justification, Allbrook. Totally solid.

      He ignored the sarcastic voice in his head and met her stare.

      “Do I know you?” she asked.

      Damn it. He obviously hadn’t been doing a good enough job of disguising his voice. “I don’t know. Do you?” He spoke slowly, trying to use a gravelly tone to throw her off.

      She huffed. “You’re impossible. Now let me go and give me back my phone. This is ridiculous.”

      “Ridiculous? You attacked me.”

      “I didn’t attack you.” She tried to pull her hands back, but he held her tight. “I attempted to retrieve stolen property. You’re a thief.”

      “And you’re a spy. Do you even have a ticket to this event?”

      Her olive green eyes blinked and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Well...of course I do.”

      Did Prim Miss Hargrove sneak into the Carmina Ball? The night was getting more and more interesting by the second. Her skin flushed pink and she stopped wriggling against him.

      “I call bullshit,” he said. “And there’s a quick way to find out if you’re telling the truth.”

      She swallowed, the delicate muscles in her neck pressing momentarily against her fair skin. “If you hand over my phone, I’ll leave now.”

      “I’m not so sure I want you to leave. I could get used to being manhandled by a gorgeous woman.”

      She rolled her eyes. “You can’t even see my face. Your flattery means nothing.”

      But she was no longer struggling against him—her arms were soft in his, not straining or pulling. Her lips were parted and her tongue darted out to moisten them. Caleb had to force himself not to rub up against her.

      “I don’t need to see your face,” he said. “Besides, it’s the whole package. I find feisty women incredibly attractive.”

      “You think I’m feisty?” She cocked her head.

      “Feisty, sexy. I bet you have men beating down your door.”

      She snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

      He would. Imogen might be a little—okay, a lot—tightly wound, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hotter than the gates of hell. Besides, today had proven there was a whole lot more to her than met the eye. And he was going to make it his mission to get to the bottom of this new side of her.

      “Still want your phone back?” he asked.

      “I do.”

      “What do I get out of it, huh?”

      She narrowed her eyes. “How about the opportunity to keep your man parts intact?”

      “Always appreciated.” He nodded. “But you’ve put me in a tight spot. I’m pretty confident that you’ve snuck into this ball, which isn’t allowed. People pay a lot of money to be here and if I let you go, I’m aiding and abetting a criminal.”