Read Online Face of Danger by Roxanne St. Claire - Free Book Online

long hair—a purposeful shimmy behind her shoulders so it couldn’t block an inch of her nearly naked torso.
    “What are you doing?” he asked, his throat surprisingly dry.
    “I told you.” As she reached behind her, in a move that jutted out her breasts even more, a zipper scraped and the skirt loosened. She waited a beat, almost as if she wanted the dramatic effect, then slowly maneuvered the material over her hips, inching it down to reveal a taut, flat belly, an adorable inny navel, and the skinniest scrap of more white lace between her legs. “I’m changing.”
    The skirt hit the floor, and his pulse tripled. Her legs were forever long, muscular, sleek, and—holy shit—she had a tattoo on her inner thigh, three-quarters of the way up, a palm’s-width from the patch of white lace.
    Wordlessly, she pivoted, and as if the front weren’t stupefying enough, she offered a shot of her ass: tight, high, round, and bare but for a thong strap that nestled between her cheeks and rested just under the dimples of her lower back.
    Vivi?
    He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Of course. All blood necessary for brain function had cascaded south, already gathering in one about-to-be-obvious place.
    A suitcase had been delivered while he’d waited on theplane, and it lay on the bed. She leaned over to open it, propping her ass a little higher, spreading her legs a little wider, killing his ability to think a little more.
    She unzipped the bag and pulled out something yellow, which she threw on the floor. Then she dug around and dragged out one long, shiny black boot, then the other.
    She wouldn’t put those on. She wouldn’t.
    Would she?
    Still unable to talk or breathe, he slowly set the dog down, letting her scamper away toward the en suite bathroom. Colt leaned back against the door, crossed his arms, and did the only thing a red-blooded human male could do. He watched.
    She stepped away from the bed, her back still to him, as shockingly at ease with her body as any woman he’d ever seen. She lifted one knee and pointed her toe, slowly sliding it into the boot. She eased it up to her thigh, then folded practically in half, the hat staying pinned in place. With her knees locked, ass up, tits visible from between her legs, nearly falling out of the bra as she held the position, she speared him with a look of pure sex from between her legs.
    Could Vivi even think of something like that? Doubt shadowed his mind.
    She slowly zipped up the boot, standing as she finished.
    “Everybody loves these on me,” she said, her voice kind of like Vivi’s, but kind of not. “Reminds them of—you know—that movie.”
    He nodded. Maybe. He thought about nodding. “Yeah.”
    She started on the other boot. “You like your job, FBI Man?”
    “Most of the time.” Right now he loved it.
    “You look like you’d be good at it.” Still the little throaty sound of Vivi, but her diction was perfect, the trace of a Boston accent was gone, and—
    Jesus Christ, it
was
Vivi, wasn’t it?
    For the first time since the woman had gotten on the plane he seriously wondered if maybe he was wrong. Maybe this really was Cara Ferrari. Maybe Vivi, was right about the resemblance.
    She bent over again, pole-dancer style, her hair draping on the floor, but the hat must have been pinned in place.
    But what about that hair? If that was a wig wouldn’t it come off? Was Vivi Angelino even able to move like that? Look like sin in leather and lace? Vivi, who favored cargo pants and shapeless T-shirts?
    When she finished the zipping, she turned to him, hand on one hip, head tilted flirtatiously. “If you want, I’ll skip the dress, but it does kind of complete the outfit.”
    A speaker crackled and she visibly startled, glancing side to side for the source of the sound.
    “Ms. Ferrari, this is Captain Wahl. We’re just about ready to taxi out of here, so if you and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lang would be kind enough to buckle up