Read Online The French Detective's Woman by Nina Bruhns - Free Book Online Page B

you’re past thirty. And I could never be ashamed of you, mon ange .”
    His fingers sought the last buttons on her camisole. He opened them and brushed his hand over her yearning flesh. For a moment war raged within her: desire versus wisdom. She wasn’t wrong. But he seemed so...sincere.
    She knew what she’d have to do if she had sex with him again. Hell, even if she didn’t. The moment she’d seen him standing at her apartment door she’d known what she’d be forced to do.
    So what would it matter if she surrendered now? Gave in to the sheer insanity of this incredible, impossible attraction?
    “We’re not different, Ciara,” he murmured, sliding the camisole off her shoulders completely. Taking her in his arms. Holding her. Wanting her . “I’m not who you think I am.”
    She sighed as he kissed her neck, melting into the pure joy of being with this man who was so wrong for her. Accepting that, despite everything, at this moment he was exactly right for her. For today, anyway. Until he realized what a monumental mistake he’d made....
    “I’m not who you think I am, either, Jean-Marc,” she whispered, letting down her guard completely. “But for now, I’ll try to be just who you want me to be.”
    ♥♥♥
     
    Jean-Marc gathered Ciara in his arms. He took her mouth with his and plundered, using his lips and tongue, thrusting deep. Tasting bliss.
    He groaned softly. He was sunk, and he knew it. It was as though all the pent-up emotional need he’d suppressed for five years had busted loose at one time. Inconvenient. But probably past due.
    She wrapped her leg around his knee, met his tongue with hers, opening to him completely, yielding her sweet favors to his demands. Her eagerness made him dizzy with desire; he wanted to feel her luscious body under him, to hilt his cock deep inside her.
    Dieu . No wonder he was feeling obsessed about this woman. What was it about her that had him crawling out of his skin to have her? Was it because he recognized her on some visceral, elemental level as being so much like himself? A fish out of water. Basically, thoroughly, insecure. Striving to be something he was not.
    A fake.
    But the emotions he was feeling right now were not false. And in her naked passion for him at least, he sensed she was being honest.
    He backed her up to the bed and reached for her zipper. In two seconds he’d peeled off her skirt. Two more, and her panties were on the floor.
    She groped for his shirt buttons as he tumbled her down onto the mattress.
    “ Non ,” he growled, and tore his mouth from hers. He grasped her wrists in one hand, pulling them above her head as he pushed her thighs apart and lowered himself between them. He savored the sight of her nude body below. He’d wanted her like this last night, and now he had her exactly as he’d craved. Naked and panting under him. Open. Willing. Needy. And in his complete power.
    He took her mouth again, hard, and skimmed his hand down her body. Relishing the silken feel of her warm, undulating flesh, the taste of her tongue on his lips, the smell of her desire for him filling his nostrils.
    Si bon . So good. So different from the counterfeit passion he’d grown used to. What had he possibly seen in the cool indifference?
    “Take...your clothes...off,” she moaned between eating kisses.
    “Later.” He liked being fully clothed, his shoulder holster in place, while she was so vulnerable.
    He let her wrists go and slid down so he could feast on her breasts—another fantasy from last night. She cried out as he took one nipple into his mouth and sucked fiercely. Her body bowed in a crescent and her fingers tunneled in his hair.
    “Please, Jean-Marc,” she moaned. “Oh, God.”
    He fought for self-control. He’d never been with a more responsive woman. Every touch, every lick, every nip he gave her made her moan and writhe and plead with him to come inside her. But he had no intention of ending the pleasure so quickly. He wanted