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against her forearms, sending a little jolt of damp electricity into the pit of her belly and she bit back a curse. How was it possible this one mortal male made her so horny? “I really can’t explain it all to you,” she snapped, irked by her body’s irrational response and Patrick Watkins’ not-so-irrational agitation. “Just know Peabody is in a much more deserving place now he’s gone.”
    Patrick cocked an eyebrow. “So, what? You’re a vigilante?”
    Fred ground her teeth. “As I’ve already said, I can’t explain it.”
    “Try. Before I call the cops.”
    Fred couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing. “The cops?”
    Black anger flashed across Patrick’s face. “Look, love, you’ve got exactly twenty seconds to give me an answer, or I’ll knock you on your arse, tie you to the bed and let the authorities deal with you when they get here.”
    A hot, wet wave of sinful pleasure rolled through Fred at the idea of Patrick Watkins tying her to the bed. Damn. She’d never gone down that path of sexual gratification before, but the Australian lifeguard made her body fantasize about all sorts of things it hadn’t before. All of them very, very wicked. “Patrick Watkins,” she said, unable to stop her gaze roaming over his naked body. “I would like nothing more than to see you try.”
    Another wave of fury—and something else far more primitive—charged his expression. “Okay. If that’s the way it’s going to be.”
    He moved. Much quicker than Fred expected. Much quicker than any human should. One moment he stood glaring at her from beside his bedroom door, the next he was slamming her against the wall, his fingers locked around her wrists, his hips rammed into hers.
    Immediate and absolute pleasure tore through her. Dark, intoxicating, submissive pleasure. Her sex constricted, her breath caught in her throat. She’d never been handled so. Even her Roman had treated her with kid gloves, like he’d been too scared of her to truly show how much she’d aroused him. Patrick Watkins however, knew no reason to be scared of her. And it made her sex flood with cream.
    By the Powers, she wanted to fuck him and be fucked by him.
    The licentious thought whipped through her head and, before she knew what was going on, her jeans, boots and t-shirt vanished. Leaving her just as naked as the man pressing her against the wall with his hard body.
    He froze, his fingers digging into her wrists, his cock grounding against her belly. “What. The fuck. Is going on?”
     
    Christ, she felt amazing. Even as Patrick’s mind struggled to process the unreal shit currently tormenting it, his body reveled in the firm but lush softness of the woman pressed against it. Whoever Fred was, whatever Fred was, she felt like sin.
    And as a result, he felt on fire.
    He stared at her, stared into eyes the color of blue ice. Without the concealing sunglasses, her eyes were almost hypnotic, framed by thick black lashes and a face almost impishly beautiful. She was undeniably, incredibly sensual in a mysterious, exotic way and his cock grew stiffer. It liked what it saw—and felt—a lot.
    His erection nudged her belly and a soft moan slipped from between her lips. She licked them, flicking the tip of her tongue over the soft, full swell of her bottom one before catching it with white, even teeth. He watched, enrapt. A surge of heat flooded his balls at the simple seductive action and his cock twitched again, growing longer and harder. It pushed against the firm flatness of her stomach, insistent. Eager.
    Jesus, Patrick. What’s wrong with you?
    The woman’s eyelids fluttered closed for a second, another moan—softer and longer—sounding in her throat before those arresting eyes of hers returned to his again, holding his stare as she pushed her hips forward.
    Her smooth thighs slid against his, the curve of her sex rubbing the root of his shaft. The thick ebony curtain of her hair tumbled over her bare shoulders as she