A Little Bit of Tina
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Evelyn Starr
Word Count :65000
Publication Date :2010-08-19
Series : Wooden Indian#2
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-55410-030-9
Tina Farrin takes in a homeless man, determined to 'save' him…
When Tina Farrin finds a homeless man loitering in the doorway next door to her exclusive dress shop, apparently ready to make his home there, she's incensed. And when the police can or will do nothing about him, she takes matters into her own hands. Determined to "save" him, she sets him to work in her shop, and is instantly aware that all is not as it should be.
Because little does Tina know a diamond smuggling ring is operating out of the semi-deserted antique shop across the street. And little does she realize Gage Prescott's part in it is even bigger than she imagines…
At the moment, preoccupied as Gage was with things he had no business being preoccupied with, he could think of nothing but the female beneath him. The one who'd begun to breathe in short, hard gasps as his fingers found their way into her, as they parted the silken-velvet folds of her flesh almost without him knowing they'd been going to do it. Nothing but the way she'd started to whimper softly, deep in her throat, with urgently needful little sounds and the way she stared up at him, a flutter of bright red feathers obscuring most of her face, and the way she'd renewed her efforts to lift herself onto his stroking and not-quite-probing fingers.
Her body moved in slow and sultry waves, undulating as she escaped the grip of his free hand at last. Held only by his hips now, her thighs and legs spread and still pinned firmly to the feather-strewn floor, the upper half of her seemed almost to ripple, seemed almost dream-like as it tensed and relaxed, lifted and receded, always trying to capture more of him…all of him.
Hell. Surely he could spare a minute…two minutes…
Plunging once more, plunging his two fingers as deep into her as he could manage, Gage opened them slowly. He spread them apart, and with them he spread her as well. Pulling, tugging gently, pressing insistently, he urged her to open for him. To ready herself for the invasion he could safely say lay well into the future. For he meant to take his time. Meant to stir in her the same kind of hard and knotted longing for release that was already making a living misery of his own existence. Meant to stir in her a heat at least equal to his own or maybe, preferably, a heat so immense and so overriding it would render his own scorched agony inconsequential and unimportant.
He spread his fingers and then he held them that way, delighting in the taut straining of muscle and tissue as her body adjusted itself to accommodate him. Delighted, too, in the low murmur of sound that broke from her throat, a silken feline growl of warning entangled with promise.
Slowly, slowly, not quite experimentally as before, Gage moved his hand again. This time he rotated it. varying the pressure he exerted on flesh that instantly, insanely grew wetter and softer until he closed his fingers again and waited. Just to see what she would do. Just to see if she would back away, if she would slip free of the digits that no longer impaled her, as he was giving her every chance to slip free and back away.