#KissesandCrimesTWO has a title:

What happens when a long-awaited lust and a rogue love goes UP IN SMOKE?

Exclusive Excerpt from Up in Smoke: A Kisses and Crimes novel

(RELEASING FEBRUARY 2017)


JACKSON

I had to figure something the fuck out.

And that’s when it happened. She crossed my mind. She always did at the weirdest fucking times. This just happened to be one of my most reasonable ones. Because, well, she was a lawyer… and technically, I had one heated cabbie who wanted to sue my ass.

But, speaking of asses…

I got up from my desk, strolling over to my open front door before closing the soundproof wood quickly.

I settled back in my seat, stressed, and let my mind play with the one stress reliever that never disappointed.

It had been fifteen years, and she was still my go-to, a fact that should have bothered me, but never did.

She was soft, firm in all the right places, and the skin I had once caressed had only gotten softer with time. Teenage muscle had melded into tight, delicate curves, sloping lines that flared out enticingly at the ass and hips.

Sinewy arches had turned into handfuls that I could sink my fingertips into. She was a runner. Always had been. And her body had shown the marks of her hard work.

That mouth, lush and scathing, was another beast when it was opened in the ways I liked most. When it was receptive. Receiving whatever I had to give…

I unzipped my black slacks.

Her kiss was as intense as everything else about her. Her attitude. Her passion. Her love-making.

I released myself from the unzipped hole, gripping my growing cock with a tightening fist. I stroked.

Her hair, strawberry-colored and cool to the touch, had strands that were made for pulling, and pulling is exactly what the fuck I did. As often and as hard as I could to let her know one thing.

That she was mine.

Versions of her—young and older—flashed through my mind. Swapping places. Switching faces. And every one of them was beautiful.

Fifteen years ago. Four years ago. Two months. It was all the same to me… because hers was a rejection I never forgot.

I wanted to hate her, love her, fuck her and then repeat.

And in my mind, I could. So that’s what I did. Pumping my dick into a fist that had magically become her tight center.

And it shouldn’t have been happening. I should have been imagining bending over a newly-single Mrs. Dozzier, the coffee girl at the local shop, any-fucking-body but her.

I was insane. You weren’t supposed to dwell on women you had been with a decade and a half before; you were supposed to forget them. I’d been with more women than I could count, using them to scrub the memory of her from my body, and it never fucking worked.

I still couldn’t get fucking rid of her.

She had worked her way under my skin and I tried to convince myself that the passion I felt for her was only disdain.

That goddamned Penelope. Warm—soft in all of the places that mattered. Her New York resolve meant nothing in my bedroom. In there, her tenacity melted. She melted… and I remembered what it was like to test and feel every wet inch.

I stroked so hard I thought I might explode.

And when that drop of moisture appeared at my tip, signaling the intensity of my arousal, I took my thumb and rubbed it around the head. Now slick around the tip, my cock slid smoothly between my fingers, pulsing as it prepared to reach its well-earned peak.

I felt Penelope’s name on the edge of my lips… and I didn’t hold it back.

And just when I felt myself begin to come, just when my climax threatened to crash and ruin me, that fucking office phone rang.

I growled so deep that it was animalistic. Enraged, I snatched the black oblong headpiece from my office phone off the receiver.

I had to tell myself to take it easy on the Chinese delivery man.

“Man, I’m telling you, Wu… my lunch better be piping fucking hot.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Sadly, darling… This isn’t Wu and, even more sadly, this isn’t lunch. But I don’t think you’ll mind in a few minutes.”

Surprise stole my voice. For the first time in a long while, I faltered for words.

A feminine voice—breathy and genteel—spoke on the other line. It definitely wasn’t Wu, and I didn’t recognize it. But I did recognize the immediate reaction it gave me.

It was something about that voice.

Maybe it was the intonation—proper and regal. It spoke of power, barely-concealed patience and a smugness that I knew all too well. The woman on the line had a smokiness in her voice that reminded me of Mable… and a latent threat that could only be the working of a Bureaucrat.

The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle.

This was the type of voice I’d been used to… back when I was in “the Agency.” And I didn’t need another Fed fucking up my life. Hell, I wasn’t even going to let one fuck up my afternoon, let alone delay my next order of General Tso’s Chicken.

My reply was as short as I could make it.

“Ahhh, another agent. Well, you’ll pardon my French, ma’am, but I’ve already spoken to you boys—and girls—enough now. I don’t know anything about what happened to Bishop. So, you’ll appreciate my frankness when I suggest that you and the Bureau quite literally suck a cock. I have nothing else to say to anyone.”

She laughed. It was a warm, curious sound, surprisingly without snootiness. I prepared to hang up the phone, but as soon as I begin to replace its receiver, she called out.

Her next words shocked me. In fact, they were downright chilling.

“You’re still a southern gentleman, aren’t you, Mr. Reed? Sixteen years removed from Georgia, and, still, you call me ‘ma’am’ while you’re insulting me. Amazing. But this call isn’t about Mister Bishop, Mr. Reed. I’m not interested in fugitives. I’m interested in you.”

I balked, narrowing my eyes at nothing in particular. What did this woman know? And why did I have this overwhelming feeling that she already had the upper hand?

“What about me?” I gritted.

.

.

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17

 

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