Read Swept Away for Free Online

it?”
    She turned to glare at him. “I can’t seem to find it, you jerk.”
    He sighed. “Okay, never mind, I give up on the phone. How about a boat—do you have a boat?”
    “Of course I have a boat.”
    “Great. You have to drive me to shore—now.” He was looking at her chest again. “And as much as I enjoy you running around topless, kitten, you might want to put something on for the ride.”
    God, why hadn’t she done that yet? For the moment, her arms would have to do—she crossed them over herself and tried to look more angry than sheepish.

    “Give me the keys to the boat,” he demanded, “tell me where to find it, and I’ll get it running. Put on some clothes and meet me there.”
    She hesitated as a hint of distrust rippled through her. “You won’t leave me here? Without transportation?”
    “Not if you hurry.” He held his hand out. “Now, the keys. And directions.”
    This seemed like a bad idea, but she was finding it hard to refuse him. He was so bossy. He’d claimed something was at stake. What if that was true and she stood in the way? Grabbing her sparkly flower key chain up off the bed, she thrust it at him, trying to cover both breasts with one arm. “Go to the left—there’s a path through a wooded area that leads to the dock.”
    “Got it.” He started toward the door, then, to her surprise, stopped and looked back. “Thanks, kitten.”
    She meant to nod—but instead only swallowed, hard. Because his eyes still dripped with all that was hot and sexual, and even given all the weirdness currently surrounding them, his gaze still possessed the ability to make the juncture of her thighs pulse.
    “Hurry,” he reminded her on the way out the door—and she wished she’d brought more actual clothes.
    Kind of.

Brock jogged along the trail through junglelike woods. Nearing the water, he peered ahead through lush greenery to catch sight of a sexy little Stingray speedboat that had “kitten” written all over it, right down to the candy-apple red color that reminded him of that Miata she’d once had.
    Jesus, he couldn’t believe stumbling upon her like that. After all these years. She didn’t look much different, just more grown-up, her long chestnut hair slightly lighter, her body more mature, curvier. And with those beautiful breasts on display, too—just as pretty as he remembered. Talk about distraction Katrina Spencer could be a way worse distraction than those chicks on the boat—but that didn’t matter because in half an hour she’d drop him off on the mainland and they’d go their separate ways. A hint of something like regret niggled inside him at the thought, yet he ignored it—no choice at the moment.
    He bounded into the clearing above a lagoon that sported a small but serviceable dock, lifted his eyes—and found the Morales brothers’ big white yacht floating quietly in his direction, the engine cut as the boat glided toward land.
    Damn it. He’d have sworn he’d made a clean getaway, but they must have either seen him swimming to shore or found him missing quickly enough to figure out where he’d gone. He’d been in a rush to contact the Bureau and get someone else on the brothers’ trail before the whole mission was lost, but this stopped him dead in his tracks. Both brothers stood on the bow staring back at him, and Francisco was pointing his big bad-ass gun in Brock’s direction.
    He could run, but he knew and they knew that they couldn’t let him live—he was an FBI agent and he had too much information. If he ran, they’d just come onto the island, and then Kat would be involved, and they’d probably kill her, too, before it was over.
    “Kiss your double-crossing ass good-bye, fed!” Francisco yelled, sounding too maniacal for comfort.
    Brock had a split second to react, but no reaction to make that would solve anything.
    So when Francisco pulled the trigger and the deafening shot blasted through the hot air, Brock followed a whim—he