Deadly Sight by Cindy Dees

myself.”
    “It’s not like I got a tattoo,” she declared indignantly. “Now that’s something permanent and regrettable down the road.”
    He laughed. “You’re telling me the original wild child doesn’t have a tat or two tucked away somewhere on her person?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I may dress goth, but I like the skin I came in just the way it is. I never went for tramp stamps.”
    Frankly, that surprised him. He was careful to keep his expression neutral, however, and not reveal his thoughts. She certainly was an odd mixture of contrasts. Tough and demure, biker chick and church lady, occasionally sensible and often completely impulsive. She didn’t hesitate to change her eyesight radically, but she wouldn’t dream of marking her skin.
    Reflectively, he murmured, “Which version of you is the real one?”
    She tilted her head to stare at him. “Who says they’re not all me? I don’t have to be just one kind of person, do I? Surely you’re not always the same guy. In your work as a spy, I’ll bet you put on all kinds of personas—different jobs, lifestyles, income and educational levels. You just can’t pull off checkered-flannel shirts. But I could see you as a surfing bum or Wall Street banker about equally well.”
    “I do like to surf.”
    “See? Behind that ramrod-stiff demeanor, you’re a multidimensional guy, after all.”
    He wasn’t ramrod-stiff, thank you very much; he was organized. Logical. Rational. All qualities that had saved his life before and would no doubt do so again.
    He must have frowned because she reached up and smoothed her fingertips across his brow. “Live dangerously,” she murmured. “Embrace a little variety.”
    “I’m not that big a stick in the mud.”
    Sammie grinned. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
    He stepped forward until they stood chest to chest. There was one way to win this argument fast. It would certainly be living dangerously to kiss her into oblivion. Or rather, let her kiss him there. He started the journey gently by bending his head to hers. Exhaling lightly against her temple. Tilting her chin up with a fingertip. Just a light touch of lips to lips. A promise. A hint of more.
    He wasn’t sure how fragile she was feeling and he let her call the shots, let her lean in against him, let her kiss her way across his neck and toy with the short hair at the back of his neck. But at some point he wanted more. He slipped a hand under the warm weight of her hair and lifted her face to fit his mouth more closely against hers to taste her warmth and softness. He could sip at her all night like this. She was better than a fine wine on his tongue, more savory and complex. The bite of her personality lent just enough zing to keep her from becoming predictable. Oh, yes. She was a woman to be tasted time after time.
    She drew a sharp breath and rose on tiptoe, grabbing the back of his head without warning and imploding in his arms. “I’m not supposed to want another man yet,” she mumbled against his lips.
    “Why not?”
    “Two weeks mandatory man-hating, otherwise I risk a rebound relationship. I’m only one week post-breakup.”
    “Live dangerously, Sam. Embrace variety.”
    “Smart aleck. Shut up and kiss me.”
    That he could do. And shockingly, he wanted to do it. He didn’t stop to think or to question it. He merely stepped into her room, turning her until she pressed back against the wall. Her right leg crept up and wrapped around his hips. It was entirely natural to catch her waist, and as he supported her weight more fully, her left leg joined the right. She didn’t weigh much, not that he cared. He didn’t need to be able to lift a Jeep to hold her tight as she sucked his tonsils out of his throat.
    She kissed with as much gusto as she did everything, her exuberance for life flowing over him like a dancing and healing stream. How long had it been since he’d felt anything like that? It soothed him and washed his soul clean, and