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What? More unsettled than the way Damon Hunt and William Bradley make you feel? Is that even possible?
Yeah, but that unsettled had nothing to do with an inexplicable discomfort and everything to do with two tall, dark, sarcastic and alpha-to-the-extreme men awakening sexual longings she couldn’t deny no matter how hard she tried.
A shiver rippled up her spine and before she could shut it out, a flash of memory blinded her…
William’s towering form, buck naked and completely aroused, his dark blond hair a tousled mess, his eyes glinting with hunger as Damon impaled her on his equally impressive cock. Damon’s full lips traveling over her throat, his strong hands squeezing her backside, her moans of rapture a familiar soundtrack to a weekend spent—
“Better go write the report—”
“Can I walk you to the—”
“Time I hit the road—”
Phoebe blinked, the cacophony of voices jerking her from the wholly unsettling memory. Her heart pounding too hard for her liking, she looked at Sami, for the moment needing to focus on one thing, one speaker—and her best friend was the least…vexing. “You’re going?”
Sami pulled a face. “Yeah, I know. I suck. But I have a photo shoot with Inside Motor-Sport magazine this afternoon and a meeting with my agent in less than three hours.”
Phoebe shot her watch a quick glance. With the way her best friend rode the classic Ducati she loved like a…well, a lover, Sami would make it back to Sydney with time to spare, as long as she wasn’t arrested for speeding.
“Okay,” Phoebe grumbled, turning completely to the Amazonian blonde to give her a hug. “Next time come up for longer than just a night.”
Sami squeezed her back. “Hey, if some prick hadn’t burned your studio down I’d be mooching off you for brekkie and you’d be wishing I’d hurry the hell up and go home.”
Phoebe chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Sami flashed the kind of grin that made her the darling of the motocross world—cheeky, sexy and very, very devilish. “Of course I am. Say g’day to Damon and Will for me.”
Phoebe’s belly flip-flopped. “Bugger off with you, Charlton.”
With another squeeze, this one a tad gentler, Sami turned on her heel and strode from the blackened mess of Phoebe’s studio, hips swaying. “Better still,” she tossed over her shoulder, swinging her helmet beside her leg like a schoolgirl swings her school bag, “give them both a kiss.”
“A kiss?” Captain Kilgour’s voice sounded mortified.
Phoebe bit back a sigh and, turning from the sight of her friend’s departing leather-clad form, gave the firefighter a placating smile. “She’s kidding.”
Harvey laughed, slapping his dad on the back. “Of course she is, Dad. Why would Phoebe want to kiss the arson investigators?”
Warmth crept up Phoebe’s neck and over her cheeks and, unable to stop herself, she pressed her thighs together, the sudden flush of tension tickling her labia, making her want to groan. Why would she want to kiss the arson investigators? She wouldn’t. Especially when those two men were Damon Hunt and William Bradley.
Yeah, right.
* * * *
“Head’s up, Tiny, we’ve got a job.”
William Bradley spun on his desk stool to glare at the tall man crossing the room toward him. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Tiny?”
Damon laughed, dropping into the low, beat-up couch sitting in the middle of their cramped office. “Well, seeing as it’s been eight years now since I first met you, I’m guessin’…” he affected a pensive expression, crossing his ankles on the cluttered coffee table and lacing his fingers behind his head, “a lot. Besides, you’re a short-arse. What else am I going to call you?”
Will shook his head and rolled his eyes, giving
his partner an exasperated look. “I’m two inches shorter than you.”
Damon held out a hand. “There you go. Short-arse.”
“You’re six foot three!”
Damon grinned. “My point exactly.”
