LITMIR.BIZ

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quite believe he’d just kissed.

      Nope, she sighed, as a slash of hurt ripped her heart once again. Nothing quite so dramatic. Just an ordinary exotic dancer…make that stripper… from the wrong side of the tracks.

       Way to go, Mancuso.

      He revved the engine, and the car leaped forward. It took about three excruciating minutes to reach her gated apartment complex, where he zoomed into the underground garage and squealed into her parking spot. She was still too flustered and mortified to wonder how he’d known her address—or which slot was hers. He’d only opened his mouth again to confirm that she still lived with Darla. He shut off the engine and the headlights. The dim overhead garage fluorescents flickered and hummed.

      She struggled to get the seat belt unfastened but naturally her fingers refused to work. Mentally she scrambled to prepare her Don’t-Worry-I’ve-Already-Forgotten-It-Happened speech when he came around, reached in and unsnapped the belt. Then once again she was swept up in his arms.

      “Conner!” she squeaked, clutching her bag of belongings to her chest uncertainly. “I can walk by myself!”

      “Not with those ridiculous shoes, you can’t. Pure instruments of torture.” He looked down at her, an inscrutable look on his face. “Believe it or not, I am a gentleman.”

      His tempting, downturned mouth was dangerously close.

      No.

      No.

       No.

      The man had horrified himself by kissing her. Clearly, he didn’t want her. She was so not going to embarrass herself even further.

      He saved her the decision by looking away. And strode through the dark garage toward the lighted elevator without giving her a chance to protest. Her dress billowed. Her heart thundered. He didn’t look like he wanted to seduce her. He looked like he wanted to devour her alive. And not in a good way.

      The elevator whooshed open, and he carried her into it. He pressed the correct button for her floor—the penthouse, of course. Nothing but the best for Darla.

      Darla, who wouldn’t be home to run interference for her tonight. Was that why he’d asked?

      Oh, great.

      She was all on her own. To fend off this overpowering attraction for the most inappropriate man alive. Or…to let him in to break her heart.

      She had to get a grip. Fast.

      She was just under some weird, arrest-induced erotic spell. This wasn’t like her. Not at all. She didn’t do flings, or men she’d just met. She didn’t even do men she knew well. How could she consider making such a fool of herself over this one who obviously didn’t—

      “Key,” he broke into her chaotic thoughts before they reached the top floor. You couldn’t get off at the penthouse without a special key. Naturally, he’d know that.

      She juggled her purse out from the bag. Except—

      “This isn’t my purse. It’s Darla’s.” Her sister must have grabbed the wrong one in her haste to get out of the club.

      “Does she have a key?” he asked, his voice deep and dark. Something in his tone sent a shiver tripping down her spine.

      She looked up at him. His eyes were smoldering. She faltered and dropped the belongings bag, but managed to hang on to the purse. What was going on here?

      “Yes,” she stammered, fumbling through its contents. “I—I th-think so.”

      “Let me have it.”

      Her pulse jumped a mile. “Conner,” she managed, digging out the key and handing it to him. “You’re not planning to come in, are you?”

      “What do you think?”

      He really didn’t want to know what she was thinking…

      “Please. This is really not a good idea.”

      “No damn kidding,” he shot back. But then his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t turn him away if her life depended on it. She moaned in surprise, opening herself to him, and wound her arms around his neck. This was so not a good idea. He swung her down so she was sitting on his forearm, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

      The elevator doors opened, and they kissed madly, all the way across the square marble foyer to the penthouse entrance. Her back slammed up against it, and a moment later the door swung open and he followed the solid wood around with her, keeping her back pressed up to it as he devoured her mouth.

      The sound of Velcro ripping apart was followed by a whoosh of cool air on her legs and bottom. A billow of white floated to the floor. Another rip and her breakaway top joined it. He groaned, pulling away to look at her spilling out of her lace corset, then his hands found her bare flesh.

      They kissed and kissed, and he touched her everywhere. They ground their bodies together in a frenzy of desire. His fingers slid between her legs and parted her blossoming folds. She cried out as he found the center of her need and touched her there.

      “That’s right, give it to me,” he whispered into her mouth. His fingers circled, driving a moan from her. “I want it all.”

      “Conner,” she cried. “Please, I—Nhh…”

      It was no use. He was too skilled, too perfect, and she was too aroused to stop the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over her. She arched, her body shuddering over the edge, and surrendered to the sensation.

      He drew it out as long as it would go, playing her flesh like a professional gambler caressed his cards.

      By the time he let her slide to her feet, she was trembling so hard she could hardly see straight. So at first she didn’t even notice.

      But when he demanded huskily, “Where’s your bedroom?” and they turned into the living room, both of them halted dead in their tracks.

      The place was in a complete shambles.

      “Omigod,” she whispered, barely catching her breath.

      Someone had broken in. And ransacked the apartment.

      On the wall, big sloppy letters had been scrawled in bright red paint.

      GIVE IT BACK BITCH OR YOU’LL DIE NEXT.

       Chapter 6

      Conner took one look at the destruction in front of him and instantly visions of Candace’s murder scene slammed through his brain. The wreckage. Her pale face lying in a stain of blood.

      Oh, no, please not another victim.

      He grabbed Vera and whisked her back out the door and pushed her against the foyer wall.

      “Don’t move,” he admonished as he whipped out his cell phone and Lex Duncan’s card from his pocket. “Someone may still be in there.” Like Darla. Sprawled dead on the floor as Candace had been. Though he hadn’t seen any blood or body in the quick visual scan he’d done. Thank God.

      Vera looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Someone like who?” she asked in a strangled croak, grasping his suit jacket sleeve with both hands.

      “Whoever did this,” he answered, punching buttons on the phone and trying not to think about what he’d just done with those same fingers. What he’d been about to do with them. Damn.

      “Duncan.”

      “It’s Conner Rothchild. Vera and Darla’s place has been broken into,” he told the FBI agent. “It looks bad.”

      Duncan swore. “Darla?”

      “Not here that I could see.”

      “Exit the apartment and wait for

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