Read Crossing Lines for Free Online Page B

as she pressed her mouth to his chest and ran her tongue over his nipple.
    “Are we doing this here, on the kitchen table?” Lizbeth purred. “Or are you taking me to a proper bed?”
    His cock jerked in response, anxious to get on with things, regardless of the location. Given the extent of pent-up energy he needed to expel, this would to take a while. The kitchen table, while hot and accommodating under the right circumstances, would eventually become uncomfortable. Switching positions was fine; stopping to change locations wasn’t.
    In a voice roughened by sexual desire and self-recrimination, he said, “Bed. Now.”
    * * *
    After tucking Michy into bed, Sam spent the next fifteen minutes scanning channels with the remote. Nothing captured, let alone held, her attention, so she grabbed a fresh beer, her pen and notepad, and broke out the Vanguard Subdivision file—the reason she was late picking up Michy.
    She’d been in her car, pulling out of the lot, when she decided to go back and grab the Vanguard files. Experience proved options were limited in cases like this, but she did have practice, as well as the hardheaded resolve to figure out a reasonable solution.
    An hour and a half later, she had several scenarios mapped out for Mazze and Wade to discuss at their Monday morning breakfast. She noted what she could do to move the process along, and even though it wasn’t much, cutting off a week was better than standing still.
    She gave the TV one last chance, but after another disappointing round of five-hundred-and-nothing, she chucked the remote and went to bed.
    Alone in the dark, she contemplated the paradox of craving daytime solitude while dreading the quiet at night. Being home alone during the day, while Michy was at daycare, seemed naughty and taboo, and she cherished every minute of the tranquility. Home alone in the evening, lying on the couch, watching TV or reading, was plain lonely.
    Crawling into a cold, empty bed was hell.
    She reached for one of the flannel-covered pillows she kept as a snuggle buddy and tucked it close to her side. Even though the covering was warm, the pillow didn’t ruffle her hair while breathing, nor did it return the hug.
    From the nightstand, she picked up the business card she’d found in her pocket while undressing. She stroked her fingers over the raised print, tracing the numbers of Mazze’s cell phone, and wondered, again, how he spent his Friday nights?
    He said he’d be in Riverside tonight, but did he have a local hangout where he normally spent his evenings? If she ever went out, might she run into him?
    Did he drink, and if yes, did he prefer whiskey or beer? Would the taste linger on his lips, acting as fuel to her fire when they kissed?
    She closed her eyes and pictured his full bottom lip, so damned tempting and perfect for sucking and tasting.
    And, Lord, his eyes… When he hovered over her, taking her, would they be hot and hungry, or soften with tenderness?
    What kind of lover would he be?
    She laughed into the dark, cavernous room.
    He emitted a powerful, raw magnetism and moved with such a confident prowess, she knew he’d be amazing.
    Her nipples hardened as she imagined him touching… teasing… stroking… pleasing.
    She deflated into the mattress as Michael’s words pushed through the barrier of her subconscious. She closed her eyes and gripped the pillow close to her chest, trying to stifle the expanding ache that always accompanied the memory. Still reeling from her father’s sudden death, his words cut so deeply, the only way to survive had been to shut down.
    As weeks turned into months, the numbness gave way to overwhelming grief, and she plummeted to the bottom of an emotional well. She spent countless days rehashing the night she walked into his office and found his secretary bent over his desk, him fucking her from behind, the picture of Sam and Michaela staring her in the face. Given everything, it was odd to think about, but Sam