Misplaced Hands: 4 (Foreign Affairs) Read Online Free PDF Page B

doing—looking away. It was only polite. But he couldn’t. Harper Shaw’s body held him prisoner.
    Her legs were long and toned, her pubic area trimmed to a narrow rectangle, her stomach flat with that subtle, shallow line running from her navel to just below her ribs that spoke of many sit-ups and ab exercises. Her breasts were full and round, each tipped with a dusky nipple so puckered he imagined they would be hard to the touch.
    Something throbbed deep within him. Something carnal.
    Saliva filled his mouth. His pulse beat faster.
    And then something soft smashed into the side of his head and he blinked, the hypnotic spell of Harper’s nudity destroyed. “For fuck’s sake, Thomo,” Keith muttered, “look away.”
    Marc dropped his stare to his feet, his cheeks on fire. A pillow rested on the toe of his right boot, no doubt the weapon of distraction Keith had hurled at him. “Sorry, miss,” he said, wishing to hell the urge to raise his head and devour Harper with his eyes would just go away.
    “It’s okay,” Harper said, the softest chuckle in her voice.
    The sound of cotton rasping over flesh singed his nerves, and—unable to stop himself, no matter how hard he tried—he peeked up from under the brim of his hat at the naked American standing but a few feet away.
    She was no longer naked, the towel now wrapped about her, clinging to her curves as only a wet towel could. “Really,” she said, her accent making Marc’s head spin.
    Or maybe that was the way she looked.
    Or both.
    “It’s okay.”
    She smiled, and Marc couldn’t help but notice how different she looked without makeup. How lushly pink her lips were, how creamy her skin. Her hair tumbled around her face and bare shoulders in a tangle of damp strands, more than a few brushing at her eyes, which were a shade of blue deeper than either his or Keith’s.
    He lifted his head completely and gave her a wide smile back. If she wasn’t stressed about the whole thing, he wasn’t. Hell if he wasn’t one for going with the flow. It was how he lived his life, after all. “Did you enjoy your tour of the homestead?” he asked, noting how her nipples strained at the pink cotton of the towel.
    Beside him, Keith bit back some kind of mutter. From the corner of Marc’s eye, he saw his mate was still facing the bed.
    Harper dipped her head. “I did.”
    “Did you meet Hunter? Annie?”
    She nodded again, the corners of her mouth curling.
    “She’s from New York,” he went on, wanting her to speak. Her accent was different from Annie’s in some subtle way he couldn’t discern. It was…intriguing. “And you’re from…”
    “Chicago,” Harper supplied.
    Silence stretched for a second, and for some stupid reason Marc’s stomach decided to churn. As though he was…what? Nervous? He flicked a sideward glance at Keith, who seemed to be completely entranced with the handle of Harper’s suitcase.
    “I’ve heard all about you two.” Harper’s voice jerked Marc’s stare away from Keith and he grinned at the American.
    “Really?” He cocked an eyebrow. “From who?”
    “Ronnie.”
    Marc smirked. “Ahh. None of it good, I bet.”
    A faint pink tinged her cheeks. She shifted her feet, her gaze moving between him and Keith. Her teeth caught her bottom lip.
    Marc continued, “Don’t believe everything you hear, Ms. Shaw. We’re not that—”
    “So who’s going to try to kiss me first?”
    “That’ll be me.” Keith’s voice cut through Marc’s shock at Harper’s unexpected question.
    Before Marc could utter a word, Keith spun on his heel, destroyed the distance between the foot of the bed and the American, wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled her against his body.
    He cupped her jaw in his free hand, traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and then, as Harper gazed up at him—an expression close to amazement on her face—lowered his head and claimed her mouth.
    Raw lust detonated in Marc at the sight of his best mate