He knotted a hand in her hair, held her to him, and devoured her. The press of her silken flesh made him hunger for more. His breathing deteriorated into a desperate rasp of torture. With each inhalation, he smelled, tasted, and consumed feminine beauty. This angel was a vixen in disguise, and God help him, he wanted her.

Her small hands wrapped into his T-shirt, then she stroked his stomach, flexing her fingertips against the fabric and straining against him. He dropped his lips to her neck, and she moaned. That perfect purr fanned his desperation. Her goose bumps flashed under his tongue’s caress, and she shuddered with each whipping kiss.

She tasted of sweat and tear gas, of soft woman, and carnal ambition. There wasn’t a timid thing about Mia. Who was he to assume what she wanted? To think she needed soothing and caring? It seemed all she needed was him. Hard. Tough. Possessive.

Her grip on him flexed again against his taut muscles. She looked so fragile, but good God almighty was he wrong. She strained to spread her legs. Their position on the front seat didn’t give them a lot of room, but he was all over her, making the most of their confinement. Her head dropped back with a deep gasp, leaving her neck open for his teeth to rake against the delectable skin.

After forging a path up her neck, he ate at her lips again. She pushed toward each rough kiss, begging more of him. He leaned into her, hungering for the sweetness of her flesh. His swollen cock pushed into his pants zipper. And the hell of it was she knew it. Little Miss Khaki-and-Cardigan, the same one who looked like a preppy librarian, wanted him and wasn’t keeping it to herself.

Her hand dropped from his abs, slow and deliberate, to his hard-on, rubbing him through his pants. A rumble escaped his throat. Her nipples peaked harder, pressing through the fabric to tease him in the pale moonlight. He’d die to pluck at them, to thumb each in seductive agony until she cried out for more.

He tugged at the shoulder of her shirt with his teeth, pushing the bra strap down a delicate slope. Slow lashes of his tongue blazed toward her firm breast. Exquisite and supple.

Sharp lights flooded the interior of their pickup truck. Bright like a warning beacon. A car exited on their ramp. It sped too fast, nearing them too quick. With one deft move, Winters dropped her down to the bench, beneath the exterior line of sight, and held her in place. He heard the harsh intake of her unsuspecting gasp and felt her body go rigid under his palm. Winters narrowed his eyes to study the car as it passed. Nothing suspicious. Just the cockblock timing of a lead-footed driver.

Hell. What if it had been trouble? Here he was pawing at a woman he should protect. Some shithead wanted the package he was responsible for securing. And he wanted the woman who was now also his responsibility. Winters ran his hands from the heavy stubble on his face into his shaggy hair. Danger had never before been a powerful aphrodisiac. Why was it driving him to the edge now?