The Spy Who Loves Me by Julie Kenner Page B

let someone else drive.” She turned and flashed him a smile, innocent with just a hint of mischief. “So long as he steers in my direction.”
    â€œBelieve me, sweetheart,” Finn said, finding the street he was looking for and turning onto it. “We’ve got the same destination in mind.”
    â€œThen why should I do anything but sit back and enjoy the ride?”
    Her voice, low and sultry, seemed to wash over Finn, finally settling in his cock. Only with supreme effort did he keep the car on the road, overcoming the urge to simply stop right there and go at it like teenagers. Instead, he managed to maneuver the car into the cul-de-sac and steer it into the middle of the vacant lot overlooking the beach.
    He put the car in park, killed the engine, and turned to her. The intensity of his desire was curious, though not at all unwelcome. He might be in charge at the moment, but she’d definitely set the wheels in motion, and the fact that she’d pursued him so single-mindedly was an undeniable turn-on.
    But it was the why that perplexed him. Women had come on to him before, and he couldn’t remember one instance where he’d turned a willing female down. But while he’d wanted those women, and while he’d enjoyed exploring their curves and sharing their beds, the hunger he felt for this woman was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
    He knew that part of her allure had to stem from the inherent mystery—why had she suddenly turned her sights, and her sex appeal, on him? But knowing didn’t lessen the lust one bit. He wanted her. Pure and simple. And Finn didn’t intend to deny himself. Or her.
    He reached out, his palm cupping the back of her neck as he turned his head. His lips met hers, his mouth swallowing up her little sigh of surprise. His tongue danced in her mouth, taking as much as he gave. His fingers twined in her hair, tilting her head to just the right angle.
    She went limp in his arms, and he wondered if that was a gift. This woman who had called the shots—who craved control—giving him free rein to explore every inch of her body.
    With his other hand, he cupped her breast, her nipple already tight and hard under her sweater and the thin material of her bra. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her chest rose and fell. He massaged her breast, kneading her soft curves, then dipping his head to suckle her even through the thin, striped sweater.
    She made a sound, something between an “oh” and a cry, and she raked her fingers through his hair, pulling him in tighter against her. Finn moaned, rock hard and ready.
    He wanted her. More than he could remember wanting any woman. He wanted her fast and furious, and then slow and easy. All night, all day, all week.
    â€œI’m not liking these bucket seats right now,” he said.
    â€œI can take care of that,” Amber said, her voice a low murmur. “Slide your seat all the way back.”
    He complied without question, and she climbed over the gear shift to straddle him, her back to the steering wheel, her fingers threaded through his hair. Her mouth closed over his, her hand inching down to stroke his erection.
    â€œAmber,” he said, the word little more than a groan. “You’re killing me.”
    â€œI should stop,” she said. “You’re no good to me dead.”
    â€œDon’t you dare,” he said. He cupped her ass in both hands, then slid his hand up to stroke her soft, warm back. With his other hand, he slipped her shirt up, exposing a flimsy lace bra. She arched her back, moaning as he closed his mouth over her hard nipple and the puckered, rosy areola.
    He wasn’t worried they’d be seen in the afternoon light. The cul-de-sac wasn’t inhabited; just four large lots waiting for buyers to build fabulous houses with views. But even if they’d been in the middle of a downtown street, Finn doubted he would have cared, and