“I’m not drunk,” Carter said. “Only bold.”
“Bold?” Tori swallowed, half afraid she was tempting fate by asking, and half afraid that she wasn’t.
“Bold enough to do this.” His arm slipped around her waist, and he pulled her close. The loofah ended up pressed tight between them, and he shifted against it, his chuckle soft against her ear. “Hang on to that, sweetheart. Maybe later we can find an interesting use for it.”
“I can think of a few,” she said. Tori heard her own voice, soft and sultry, and the sound pulled her back to reality. Closing her eyes, she backed away. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I want to, but I can’t.”
He pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Yes, babe, you can.” He dropped the shirt, now soaked, to the floor of the tub. “Sex camp, remember? Intimacy. Young lovers with an amazing sex life looking to spice it up.”
“I think I already proved that we can fake it just fine.”
He unbuttoned his shorts, then started to tug at the zipper. “Is that what you do? Fake it?”
She bit back a smile, determined not to give in. “I’ve faked it once or twice.”
The shorts came off, dropping into the tub with a wet splat. “Not with me you haven’t….”
Also available
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NOBODY DOES IT BETTER
MOONSTRUCK
NIGHT MOVES
MAKING WAVES
UNDERCOVER LOVERS
Undercover Lovers
J. Kenner
MILLS & BOON
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J. KENNER has always loved stories—reading them, watching them on television and on the silver screen, and making them up herself. She studied film before attending law school, but knew that her real vocation lay in writing the kind of books she loves to read. She lives in Texas with her husband, two daughters and several cats.
To Richard and Shelley. Congrats!
And thanks for “buying every one of them.”
Love you guys!
Contents
1
CARTER SINCLAIR shifted in the leather chair and pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face. Damn, but he longed for a haircut and a shower. For three harrowing years he’d been knee-deep in murderous, sleazebag scum, and he was nearing the end of his rope. Just hours ago, he’d been pulled off of his current undercover gig, and he could only hope the reason was the change of assignment he’d put in for.
Across from him, Assistant Director Evan Kincaid put down the phone, then flipped open a manila file folder on his desk. Carter recognized his personnel file. Hell, he’d seen it enough recently.
Kincaid peered at him over the rims of his half glasses, a portrait of the President and the FBI seal on the wall behind him. “I understand you’re looking for a new assignment.”
“Yes, sir. I’d like a permanent assignment to a field office. I’m hoping to go in as the special agent in charge.”
“Why?”
“It’s all there in my file, sir.”
Kincaid leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Humor me.”
Carter suppressed a snort. He’d been through a whole battery of psych exams, and still he had to prove himself. “I’m looking for a change in lifestyle, sir. Chasing drug dealers doesn’t hold the appeal it once did.”
“Understandable. You’ve been deep undercover for a long time.”
Carter sat up a little straighter as Kincaid continued to flip through his file. After four requests for a transfer, that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. When he’d left the Waxahachie, Texas, police department to join the Bureau, he’d longed for the chance to hunt down the criminals that preyed on ordinary folks. He’d gotten the chance, and he’d helped put away more hardened criminals than he had fingers and toes to count.
But now Carter was just plain tired. Emotionally, physically. Hell, he was so tired his fingernails ached. He either needed a new assignment or a new job. But Carter loved the Bureau, and that’s why he’d spent the last two months trying to push through this request.
He cleared his throat, and Kincaid looked up from the folder. “Does that mean the Bureau’s going to facilitate my request?” Carter asked.
Kincaid pushed back from his desk. “That depends on you.”
“Sir?”