Illicit Read Online Free Page A

shoulder, gaze darting around the room. After a moment, she gave in and sat.
    “Worried about what the locals might think?” he asked, sinking down in the chair across from her.
    Under the table, their legs brushed. Neither made any move to separate. Maybe she was just as desperate for human contact as he was.
    “I’m not stupid; like James said, and don’t pretend you weren’t listening because I could practically see your ears twitching, ‘It’s never just a drink.’ A man brings a woman to a shadowed booth for only one reason: To get into her pants.” She heaved in a deep breath, tried to smile and failed. “I suppose wondering if I’m going to let you fuck me or not will give the townspeople something other than Greg to gossip about.”
    Peter, who’d taken a mouthful of whiskey, coughed at her unexpected words, drew in a breath and choked like an idiot. A wide, self-satisfied grin spread across her face, and it was all too easy to imagine waking up next to her, watching her smile light up the room when the sun couldn’t.
    “I kind of like it when you use the word fuck,” he said as he struggled to salvage his composure.
    Eva shook her head. “You’re such a man.”
    She took a tentative sip of whiskey, eyes immediately widening. Swallowing, she coughed and then sputtered, much as he had. Her open hand slapped the table until she regained the ability to breathe.
    His laughter was automatic and, to his surprise, genuine. The murderous glare she shot him ramped up his arousal. Oh yeah. He wanted her.
    “What the hell is this stuff? Poison?” she asked.
    “For your liver? Yes.” He took a healthy swig, shoved the glass she’d pushed away back in front of her. “The second sip won’t be so bad. After a few, it’ll hardly burn. Don’t be a baby.”
    “Are you trying to get me drunk? Where’s the sportsmanship in that?”
    As he leaned across the table, the glass he clasped in both his hands bumped over the scuffed wood. The scraping sound lifted the hair on the back of his neck. Peter stopped short of touching her. He left just enough space between his knuckles and hers to make her wonder if, or when, he’d close the gap.
    “Sportsmanship only counts when trying to acquire trophies. You don’t strike me as the type who wants to be ‘won.’”
    “I’m no one’s trophy,” she said firmly.
    He tried his charm on her again, gave her a lopsided grin and hoped the whiskey had eroded a few holes in her armor. “As for getting you liquored up, that all depends on what kind of a drunk you are.”
    Eva eyed him, sipped. Nope. Still immune.
    “Oh, this should be good. Why don’t you guess?” she suggested.
    He thought for a moment. “You’re a happy drunk. No, not given the circumstances. Emotional? Nah, too easy. How about violent?” He shook his head. “I think I got it.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her neck. He traced the graceful line of her throat, thought about sinking his canines into her flesh, and dropped his sights to her breasts. Quite obviously, he ogled her assets. She had nice tits. Not too big, not too small. Looking up, he said, “I bet you’re a horny drunk.”
    Eva bit her lower lip, suppressed a chuckle for all of about two seconds before a lilting laugh left her. “Oh my God.” She wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eyes. “That was, hands down, the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Horny? Really? Peter, I want you to look around you. These men in their plaid finery have been hitting on me since I hit legal age, some even before that. Do you know how many marriage proposals I get in a week?”
    She slid a little closer over the table until he was the one left wondering if, or when, she’d touch him. The look on her face was soft, friendly, dare he say inviting? As if a soft light shone from above, her skin appeared to glow. She went from being a looker to knock-down, drag-out gorgeous. Men would sell their souls for a piece of her.
    The leopard,