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Authors: Edge Of Fear
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off that bulky raincoat and the dark red sweatshirt beneath it. He wanted to drag the jeans free of her legs and bury his face against her stomach. Hell, he wanted to bury himself deep inside her.
But what he wanted was immaterial.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What he needed was a crack across the back of the head with a two-by-four. Then Shaw’s address.
Not necessarily in that order.
She wrapped both hands around her paper cup tightly enough to cause the plastic top to pop off. “Not that much to tell.” She concentrated on picking up the lid and moving it a few inches to the side. Then she placed it on the lid he’d discarded earlier. She was neat. No, Caleb thought, watching her movements.
She felt a need to control her environment. She also wanted something to do with her hands. Interesting.
He could suggest any number of things this woman could do with her hands. All of which involved his body.
“I’m twenty-seven, and I design and sell jewelry for a living.” She had the prettiest eyes, Caleb thought.
Not just the color, which was a clear, almost transparent brown/green, but large, intelligent, and interested. “How about you?”
“Thirty-three, single.” Under the table he stretched out his legs, accidentally brushing her leg with his foot. Only her eyes flinched. He kept his ankle against hers. She didn’t move away. “Had all my shots and I’m in sales.” He lifted his butt off the seat a few inches, yanked out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, dug a business card out, and handed it to her.
Caleb Edge, VP Sales and Marketing, Preda Enterprises. A Portland, Oregon, address. Preda could be anything the operative needed it to be. It worked well as a cover. The address was real. T-FLAC
maintained similar offices all over the world.
She glanced briefly at the card. “What do you sell?”
“Tractor parts. Not that interesting, but lucrative enough. Been with them going on eight years.”
“Do you live in the Bay Area, or in Oregon?” she asked, sticking his business card into her coat pocket.
Her eyes flickered to the door, then back to his face. Who was she waiting for? Caleb wondered.
“I’m here often enough, but no. The bank and I own a house in Portland.” Not true. He kept a condo in New York. One he rarely visited. “I always stay at the Indigo Hotel ’round the corner when I’m in town.” The cover would work for her. He was solid enough to own his own house, close Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
enough—almost—to be a local, and therefore not much of a threat. The shadow of fear in her eyes receded a little more.
Still, she wasn’t completely comfortable, he noticed. She started to pick at the side seam of her paper cup. Nerves. Tension. The same sexual awareness that he was feeling? Interesting how her tone conveyed confidence while her body language showed that she was anything but.
Caleb wasn’t a hand holder, but he took a chance and casually took her hand off the cup, lacing his fingers with hers on the tabletop. Her fingers looked ridiculously small engulfed by his. Her skin was soft, indicating to an extent her past privileged lifestyle, but her nails were short and unpainted, and she wore no jewelry, not even a watch.
“It’s only coffee.” He meant the event.
But it wasn’t “only coffee.” It was a razor-sharp mutual attraction that seared through him and made him want to grab her up and carry her off to his cave.
She gave a little start of surprise to find her hand in his, but didn’t pull away this time. “Right. Just coffee. The Indigo’s nice.”
Roadblock. “Yeah, I guess.” He traced the back of her fingers with his thumb and felt his own body echo the slight tremor transmitted from her hand to his. He found his attention focused on her mouth, which looked soft and silky and eminently kissable. He wanted to lean
But what he wanted was immaterial.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What he needed was a crack across the back of the head with a two-by-four. Then Shaw’s address.
Not necessarily in that order.
She wrapped both hands around her paper cup tightly enough to cause the plastic top to pop off. “Not that much to tell.” She concentrated on picking up the lid and moving it a few inches to the side. Then she placed it on the lid he’d discarded earlier. She was neat. No, Caleb thought, watching her movements.
She felt a need to control her environment. She also wanted something to do with her hands. Interesting.
He could suggest any number of things this woman could do with her hands. All of which involved his body.
“I’m twenty-seven, and I design and sell jewelry for a living.” She had the prettiest eyes, Caleb thought.
Not just the color, which was a clear, almost transparent brown/green, but large, intelligent, and interested. “How about you?”
“Thirty-three, single.” Under the table he stretched out his legs, accidentally brushing her leg with his foot. Only her eyes flinched. He kept his ankle against hers. She didn’t move away. “Had all my shots and I’m in sales.” He lifted his butt off the seat a few inches, yanked out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, dug a business card out, and handed it to her.
Caleb Edge, VP Sales and Marketing, Preda Enterprises. A Portland, Oregon, address. Preda could be anything the operative needed it to be. It worked well as a cover. The address was real. T-FLAC
maintained similar offices all over the world.
She glanced briefly at the card. “What do you sell?”
“Tractor parts. Not that interesting, but lucrative enough. Been with them going on eight years.”
“Do you live in the Bay Area, or in Oregon?” she asked, sticking his business card into her coat pocket.
Her eyes flickered to the door, then back to his face. Who was she waiting for? Caleb wondered.
“I’m here often enough, but no. The bank and I own a house in Portland.” Not true. He kept a condo in New York. One he rarely visited. “I always stay at the Indigo Hotel ’round the corner when I’m in town.” The cover would work for her. He was solid enough to own his own house, close Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
enough—almost—to be a local, and therefore not much of a threat. The shadow of fear in her eyes receded a little more.
Still, she wasn’t completely comfortable, he noticed. She started to pick at the side seam of her paper cup. Nerves. Tension. The same sexual awareness that he was feeling? Interesting how her tone conveyed confidence while her body language showed that she was anything but.
Caleb wasn’t a hand holder, but he took a chance and casually took her hand off the cup, lacing his fingers with hers on the tabletop. Her fingers looked ridiculously small engulfed by his. Her skin was soft, indicating to an extent her past privileged lifestyle, but her nails were short and unpainted, and she wore no jewelry, not even a watch.
“It’s only coffee.” He meant the event.
But it wasn’t “only coffee.” It was a razor-sharp mutual attraction that seared through him and made him want to grab her up and carry her off to his cave.
She gave a little start of surprise to find her hand in his, but didn’t pull away this time. “Right. Just coffee. The Indigo’s nice.”
Roadblock. “Yeah, I guess.” He traced the back of her fingers with his thumb and felt his own body echo the slight tremor transmitted from her hand to his. He found his attention focused on her mouth, which looked soft and silky and eminently kissable. He wanted to lean
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