Yoga instructor Kylie Roberts is the good twin. At least she was–until an accident forces Kylie to step into her twin’s sexy stilettos at a posh Hollywood “men’s club.” But nothing could’ve prepared Kylie for the dead body in the club’s parking lot or the ridiculously hot detective who insists the killer is targeting her regulars.
Detective Trevor McCade needs Kylie’s help to draw out the killer. It means long nights undercover and long dances where Kylie’s body tempts him with sensual promises. Dances that leave them both wanting more. But despite Kylie’s hidden identity and the danger lurking in the shadows, it’s only a matter of time before Kylie and Trevor take this undercover operation under the covers…
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Love Words between Trevor and Kylie
Kylie fumbled the button on her alarm clock to the off position before it sounded, but then eased back under the covers and gave herself another moment to snuggle into her big, warm bed next to her big, warm husband. Trevor murmured something unintelligible, and slung his arm across her waist. Those deft muscles tightened, hauling her against him. The move tucked her backside into the cradle of his lap. His nocturnal hard-on found a home along the cleft of her butt.
A needy moan rose in her throat but she bit it back. His slow, even breathing told her he was asleep, and she intended to keep it that way. The man needed rest. Life as an LAPD homicide detective involved working into the wee hours of the morning on occasion, and so far February qualified as one of those occasions.
Sadly, life as the owner of a yoga studio always involved a 5:30 a.m. class, which meant she and Detective McCade had enjoyed precious few opportunities over the last few weeks to put his impressive morning hard-ons to use.
Or any of his hard-ons a grumpy voice in her head noted as she dragged her neglected body out of bed. Trevor muttered something that sounded like, “Five more minutes,” and spread out onto his stomach in the space she’d vacated.
Rest, she reminded herself, no matter how sexy he looked, all rumbled hair and bare skin, negligently covered by the sheet draped low across his hips. They’d have time later. He’d requested tonight off, and one of the other yoga instructors had agreed to take the afternoon classes at the studio. She’d be home putting the finishing touches on brunch in bed by the time he woke up. And then, after she nourished him, she planned to exhaust him.
With that happy strategy sustaining her, she turned away and headed to the bathroom. Her morning routine didn’t take long. Dress in the yoga outfit she’d placed on the counter the night before, splash some water on her face, brush her hair and then pull it into a ponytail. Everything went smoothly until the ponytail part. She searched the drawer where she kept her ponytail holders, and came up empty.
Odd, but not a problem. She’d left one on her nightstand when she’d gone to bed last night. Alone. Not wanting to let her hormones dwell too long on that fact, she exited the bathroom. She’d just swing by her nightstand, and…
Hole. E. Crap.
Trevor stood in front of the mirrored closet doors, stunningly naked except for her narrow black ponytail holder around his wrist. The snug fit of it made the network of veins stretching from his thumb to his forearm stand in high relief, almost as strong-yet-vulnerable as the vessel arrowing across his chiseled thigh, or the one running the length of his cock.
“I—I was looking for my ponytail holder.”
A slow, but not the least bit sleepy, smile curved his lips as he tugged it off his wrist. Then he rolled the stretchy black band down his shaft. “Come get it.”
Her throat went dry. She had to swallow before answering. “The studio opens soon. I have to—”
His smile deepened. “You have to take your time. I bribed Jenna. She’s handling all the classes today. Oh. One rule. You can only use your mouth.”
She shivered. Her upstanding police detective had a devious side. A couple steps closed the distance between them. She bestowed a fleeting, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, just to show him he wasn’t the only one with a devious side, and then dropped to her knees.
It took some doing, but she got the ponytail holder. Then she got bent over their big, warm bed and re-introduced to his morning hard-on. The same instant she moaned her gratitude into the comforter, his voice rasped in her ear.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kylie.”
Happy Valentine’s Day from Trevor, Kylie and me! 😉
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California with her husband, their turbo-son, and two furry ninjas named Kitty and Frosty. When not writing fun, sexy, contemporary romances or lazing on her beach towel with her face snuggled to her Kindle, she searches for the perfect ten dollar cabernet to pair with Ambien.
Connect with Sam via her website at www.samanthebeck.com to check her progress on that never-ending quest, or to get the latest on her upcoming books.