Hot Shot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel)(#5) by Lynn Raye Harris

someone to take care of her every once in a while. She’d never been taken care of. From an early age, she’d been alone while her mother went out to bars and clubs. And then she’d been alone when her mother brought men home and spent time with them instead of her child.
    Only once could she recall being the center of her mother’s attention. She’d been staying at a friend’s house for days because her mother was partying and working, but she’d gotten sick at school and the nurse called her mother. Mom had come for her. She’d taken Gina home, tucked her up in bed, and spent two whole days feeding her soup, taking her temperature, and fussing the way a mother should.  
    It hadn’t lasted. But Gina remembered that time so vividly. She’d been cared for and loved, and the memory of it had kept her warm inside when she felt down. When she’d started to make money, she’d asked Mom to come live with her. But her mother hadn’t wanted to leave Bill or Bob or Dan—or whoever it had been then. That winter, she’d slipped on a patch of ice, hit her head on the pavement, and died when the bleeding on her brain hadn’t stopped.
    Gina felt Jack lean forward and then a box of Kleenex appeared in front of her nose. She took several. “Thanks.”
    She dabbed at her eyes, the tissues coming away black, and then she dabbed her nose with fresh ones. She turned to Jack. “Can you fix this mess? In case there are reporters still at the hotel.”
    He grabbed some tissues and held her chin firmly while he tenderly wiped away the makeup beneath her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him, but there was nowhere else to look while he tended to her.  
    He had a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw. His blue eyes were hot and piercing as he stared at her. Her heart bumped up as her gaze dropped to his mouth. He had beautiful lips, firm, and as she knew from experience, oh so kissable. He’d performed magic with that mouth. She’d worshipped that mouth.  
    In a fricking cave on an island. It was like a myth that had happened to someone else instead of her.
    Except she had Eli, and now Jack was here, dabbing away makeup and holding her chin with his fingers.
    “Best I can do,” he growled, leaning back away from her.
    “Thanks.”
    “What the hell is that dress made out of anyway? Rubber?”
    Gina blinked. What? “It’s polyester and spandex. It looks like leather, but breathable.”
    “Looks like rubber to me. And not much of it.”
    She glanced down at the dress. She was so accustomed to thinking of her costumes as just that, costumes, that she hadn’t paid much attention to this one once she’d left the stage. Gina Domenico was a sexual bombshell who projected sensuality and utter confidence in herself. This outfit was designed with that in mind. Her breasts mounded high and threatened to spill over while the hem had ridden up to nearly crotch level. It explained a lot when she thought back to Pete Gibson’s blushes. And maybe it explained a lot now. Her gaze dropped to Jack’s groin.
    And he was hard, the long, thick outline of his cock lying against his thigh. It made her stomach clench and her pussy throb with answering heat.  
    She shook herself mentally. Just because he got hard over a pair of boobs in his face didn’t mean anything. He’d told her nothing was happening between them ever again—and she’d told him he was an arrogant prick for thinking she cared if it did.
    “And here I didn’t think you were interested,” she purred, deciding to jab him while he was down.  
    “I’m not. But I noticed. Hell, every man who likes tits and ass noticed.”
    Her temper burned. He would never know how much thought and planning went into every little thing she did. And she didn’t give a fuck what he thought about it. “Sex sells, baby. Or haven’t you heard?”
    “Then you’re doing a fine job of selling it.”
    “You’re an asshole, you know that? You don’t get to judge me or make assumptions about