Must Love Hellhounds

stalking and surveillance.” She shook her head, smiling. “To someone like me, that’s either a precursor to killing someone . . . or to sleeping with them. So I think we’ll work out fine.”
    He was still laughing when she bent forward and eased her mouth over his. Last time, she’d surprised him. It had been just a press of lips, her hands through his hair. Now she took her time, explored his taste, sought more of him to touch.
    His hands at her hips pulled her closer, and he was warm, hot, would burn her alive.
    Her pulse raced when she pulled away. “Not here,” she panted. “I can’t here.”
    His large hand cupped her cheek. He kissed her again, then nodded. And she felt his disappointment when he let her go.
    She walked past him, into the bathroom, and closed the door. A wall panel, when she slid it aside, revealed the one mirror in the house. He would see her there. She would lean back against the door, and he would lift her, and watch her face as she welcomed him in.
    And it would be hard the first time, and rough, because she cared so much she knew that she’d be a little careless.
    But it wouldn’t be her employer’s bed. She cracked the door open again and called out softly, “Mr. Blake?”