Hot for His Hostage Read Online Free PDF

her neck— “unless you ask me not to be.”
    There was a rebuff in her brain for that. Somewhere. But as he emphasized his point
     by sifting his fingers into her hair and pulling by the tiniest degrees, all she could
     do was gasp. The sound trumpeted what he’d just done to the sensitive nerves between
     her thighs.
    “Damn,” the man whispered.
    Zoe straightened with a jerk. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’d I do wrong?”
    “Wrong? Not a damn thing, beautiful.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck
     too. “As a matter of fact, if you do things any more right, I’ll be bugging out of
     the Hilton on three legs.”
    She surrendered to a nervous laugh. At the renewed curiosity in his golden silk eyes,
     she explained, “You sure you’re just a mild-mannered businessman, Mr. Burnett?”
    “Define ‘mild-mannered.’” He kneaded his neck harder. “Why’d you ask?”
    She settled her back against the cab’s door and regarded him for a long moment. “Because
     you talk just like the army sergeant who’s going to be my brother-in-law come New
     Year’s Eve.”
    His expression didn’t change. But if it was true what the New-Agers said about a person’s
     energy having a color, his just amped from focused purple to alarmed crimson. Before
     she could discern why, he flashed an extra-smooth smile and countered, “You know,
     I’m tempted to boomerang that at you.”
    What was this? A hint at playful? The switch-up gave her hope of gaining back some
     composure. “Is that so?”
    The man leaned forward, matching the angle of his head to hers. “Are you sure you’re
     just a mild-mannered dancer, Miss Chestain?”
    She arched a brow. “You’re asking that of a Las Vegas backup dancer, mister. They
     make us check our ‘mild-mannered’ cards at the door.”
    “Ahhh, yes. That’s right. A dancer for a ‘hot’ Sin City show.”
    “Did Brynn and El tell you that?”
    “They supplied the ‘hot’ part. The rest is original material.”
    She tossed her head the other way, giving the move some spunk. The man was comfortable
     to talk to when she stopped fantasizing about him with a paddle in his grip or his
     hand on her ass. “You know ‘Sin City’ isn’t exactly new, right?”
    She raised a hand to put the cliché into air quotes but lowered it when he straightened
     his head, zapping her with the full, delicious effect of his darkening stare. “Sin
     itself isn’t original, little dancer. But what one does with it can redefine a man.”
     He jolted her anew when scooping up her hand, rotating it over, then dipping his lips
     to the center of her palm. “Or a woman.”
    So much for comfortable.
    Or any semblance of rational.
    Do it again. Oh God, please do it again .
    Fortunately, her brain was more cooperative than her libido. One second of clarity
     later, she successfully yanked her hand back. “You’re a naughty man, Mr. Burnett.”
    She didn’t have any strength—or motivation—to add humor. That didn’t stop the guy
     from smirking again, looking like a Survivor player who’d found the immunity idol. “Nah,” he drawled. “Just a grunt doing my job,
     ma’am.”
    She narrowed her gaze. “Who really likes doing it with a shitload of those cute military words.”
    For a second, long enough for her to notice, his smile wavered. “Some of my best friends
     are ground pounders,” he supplied. “That probably explains it.”
    “Hmmm.”
    She didn’t alter her gaze. He maintained his, too.
    “You don’t believe me,” he finally asserted.
    Zoe bit the inside of her bottom lip. “Actually,” she murmured, “I do. But that’s
     the trouble.”
    He propped his head on a tripod of the fingers that just been on her skin. “Why?”
    She had an answer. But the best way to phrase it? Caramba . Thankfully, her confusion lasted for all of two seconds. “What the hell. It’s not
     like we’re going to see each other again.” She squared her shoulders.