He nodded slowly.
“Did you—was it you who undressed me?”
Another slow nod. Flynn’s hand moved up my arms to my neck and then cradled my face. Heat suffused my face.
“You scared the shit out of me, Barrett.”
My tongue darted out to touch my suddenly dry lips. His hands tightened ever so slightly as his thumbs stroked my jaw.
My hands grabbed the front of Flynn’s shirt, and I hauled him to me, our mouths mere centimeters apart. “Kiss me,” I whispered, taunting, daring.
He growled. Animal.
One of his hands left my face to cup a breast through my shirt. He grazed his thumb over my nipple, and it hardened immediately.
“Your body wants more than a kiss, aye?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. I shivered as his lips finally met mine, his mouth insistent but soft. He dragged me close, his hand skimming down the curve of my back.
I pressed into his body, feeling the hard length of him through his trousers. I wanted him, and I was done denying him. Done denying myself.
I clawed at his shirt, tearing at it, wanting—needing—to feel his skin. Our breaths were ragged, and when his possessive hand skated up my body to grip my hip, I cried out, wanting more. Wanting all of him.
Flynn’s cell phone ringing jarred me out of my lust-induced craze. Flynn tore his lips from mine and groaned at our interruption. Our gazes locked on one another, loaded with promises of passion yet to be unleashed.
If it hadn’t been for the phone…
Cursing, Flynn took a step back and went to the coffee table to answer his cell. “Aye?” he gritted out. “Fine. We’ll be there in an hour. Aye, an hour. She has to eat.”
I watched him hang up. “Who was it?”
“Brad. Seems we have the guy who drugged you on camera.”
My reality came crashing back to me. Desire fled, replaced by exhaustion and confusion. All I wanted to do was climb back into bed and sleep off my night. Was it too much to hope that Flynn would join me?
“That’s good,” I said, forcing bravado I didn’t feel.
“It is,” he said, reaching for the landline.
“Chelsea,” I blurted out, remembering what I had wanted to tell him. The young cocktail waitress was responsible for selling drugs in Flynn’s club and she’d disappeared. Only she hadn’t.
He frowned. “What about Chelsea?”
“She found me in the park while I was running.”
“What? When?”
“The day you left for your business trip.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell Brad?” he demanded.
“Because I wanted to tell you first, and it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone.”
He sighed. “Go on.”
“She warned me away from you. She said I would get hurt if I stayed close to you.”
“She threatened you?”
I shook my head and then winced when it hurt. “No. It wasn’t a threat—it was a warning.”
