Killer Focus by Fiona Brand

Killer Focus by Fiona Brand

Author:Fiona Brand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-11-11T16:00:00+00:00


When she woke, it was still raining and the wind was gusting powerfully enough to make the windows shake. Light from the sitting room filtered down the hall, dimly illuminating the room, although she didn’t need light to know that Fischer—Steve—was awake.

Her palm slid over his chest, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and damp skin. His hand closed over hers. Her eyes flipped open and she logged the fact that he was watching her.

“So what made you notice me? Up until a few days ago I was the invisible man.”

She smothered a yawn. With light gleaming off broad shoulders, a five-o’clock shadow roughening his jaw, she wondered that she had ever not noticed him. “Your truck.”

“If I’d known that I would have taken it to work earlier.”

She propped herself up on one elbow. “You can tell what people are really like by the vehicle they drive. For example, Dane looks great—the tan, the ponytail—but he drives a hatchback.”

His expression was bemused. “What’s wrong with hatchbacks?”

“They’re short. Cut off.”

Fischer wound a finger in her hair and tugged. “Back to the truck.”

She shifted closer, her thigh sliding between his. “If anyone had asked me, I would have had you pegged for a station wagon or an SUV. Something manly but practical.” She ran a finger down his chest. “Instead you had a four-wheel-drive muscle truck with mud spattered on the wheel arches.”

“The mud counted?”

She smothered a yawn. “It meant you went off road.”

“You are kidding.”

“Nope.”

He pulled her close, his fingers sliding through her hair. “You drive an SUV. What does that mean?”

“The SUV doesn’t count.”

“Because it goes with the new identity.” His teeth closed over one lobe and a shiver went down her spine.

She let out a breath, the tension in the pit of her stomach growing. “That’s right.”

“What if my truck was a cover?”

She slid a hand beneath the sheet, found his penis and gently squeezed. “Trust me, it isn’t.”



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