Page 63 of Burning Justice

She leaned down to whisper, “It’s just as well. This probably would have been a really, really bad mistake. The worst,” she added for emphasis.

His eyes opened, and he grabbed her, hauling her on top of him and nearly making her scream in surprise. “Did you know that some of the best things in life started out as mistakes?”

“Like what?” she asked, wriggling futilely in his grasp and realizing he’d gone completely hard beneath her.

“Chocolate lava cake. My favorite dessert.” He cupped her bottom, then began maneuvering her until she straddled his chest. “A chef mistakenly underbaked a cake, then served it to a customer, who loved the molten, runny center. It became a thing.”

He began stroking her spine, up and down, down and up, sending delicious shivers shooting across her skin. She shut her eyes, savoring the feel of his big hands on her body. “A thing, huh?”

“Yeah. A thing.” Again, he cupped her bottom, lifting her up and forward at the same time. His warm breath tickled her thighs, as he slowly, teasingly, lowered her until she was directly over his face. “A very tasty thing.”

Oh wow. Was he really about to do what she thought he was?

He flicked out his tongue, spearing her core and sending the sharpest, most wonderful zinging sensation to her belly. Oh yesss. He was indeed.

As if someone had snapped their fingers, any residual ache from her injuries…gone. All she could feel now was Brett.

His tongue was probing, hot, as he licked and sucked at her sensitive nub, making her writhe against his mouth. Pleasure fanned outward from her core, gradually, at first, like ripples from a stone thrown in the water. As his tongue flicked faster and deeper, those tiny ripples morphed into full-blown waves crashing against the shoreline.

Tension built in her body like an electrical power station on overload. For balance, she smacked her hands on the wall over the mattress. Soon, she could barely keep her eyes open and threw her head back, her chest heaving as she sucked in breaths faster, bucking and writhing.

The sensations were becoming too intense. If she didn’t find release, she’d explode one way or the other.

When she tried pulling away, Brett curled his hands over the tops of her thighs, holding her tighter to his mouth. That did it.

The air around them seemed to crackle with energy. A bolt of something lit in her core, right where Brett’s mouth was, spiraling upward until it seemed to blast out the top of her head. Gemma cried out, her body shattering again and again until she went limp.

Her breaths came fast, as if she’d just run up the steep hill that led to Green Mountain. Then she was floating. Vaguely, she realized Brett had lowered her to his chest.

She opened her eyes to find him grinning up at her.

“As mistakes go, how was it?” he asked.

“Not bad, G-man.” She bit her lip. That was the absolute truth, but she didn’t dare speak the rest of what was on her mind.

She didn’t want to like Brett Tanner, let alone feel something more for him. But she did.

Unfortunately, most of the men she’d liked in her life had never wanted her in the same way. So yeah, not only was this still a mistake, now it was a whole lot bigger.

If she let this—whatever this was—continue, she could be in for a whole lot of heartache. He might never steal a case file from her, but she was in desperate danger of him stealing her heart.

Chapter Eighteen

As the last tremor of her orgasm had rolled through her, the taste on Brett’s tongue was sweeter than anything he’d tasted before. If passion had a flavor, it would taste like Gemma.

“How’s your head?” he asked as she scooted off his chest to straddle his hips.

Smooth. Real smooth, Tanner. Here he was in bed, technically, on a mattress, with a beautiful woman, and that was the best he could come up with. Pleasuring her had been his goal, and judging by her body’s responses, he’d been successful. He could easily do this—and so much more—all night, but with her injuries, he needed to be gentle.

“My what?” Gemma asked between gasps.

“Your head.” Her eyes were bright and clear, but he took his nursing duties seriously. “Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“I feel fine.” She touched two fingers to her head, then her neck. “How do I look?”

The skin peeking out from beneath the white strips on her forehead was pink, and the marks on her neck had deepened in color, beginning to turn purple. The protective urges welling up inside him so fiercely astounded him. “Beautiful.” To him, she was.

She swatted his shoulder. “You’re just saying that.”