Devilishly Wicked by Kathy Love Read Free Book Online Page A

again, then back to him. “Really? This doesn’t seem like your style.”
    Tristan didn’t respond; instead, he slid out of the car and came around to open her door.
    “Isn’t it time to admit that maybe you don’t really know my style?” he said, offering her a hand.
    She ignored it, using the car door to lever herself out of the low-slung seat. The action wasn’t easy and required her to hike up her tight skirt a bit more than she would have liked, if her reddened cheeks were any indication. But she did manage to pull herself upright without any aid from him. Of course, not before revealing a healthy glimpse of her thigh-high stockings and the bare, creamy skin above them.
    Tristan held back a groan. He couldn’t hold back his arousal though, and just hoped his suit coat hid that fact.
    Embarrassedly, she adjusted her skirt, and then shot Tristan a glance. His eyes locked with hers, and he knew he hadn’t managed to hide his desire for her. But instead of saying anything, he held out a hand, gesturing to the building’s doorway.
    “Right this way.”
    She hesitated for a moment, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of his lustful look or the looks of the establishment. He decided to assume it was Willie’s and not him.
    “I know it doesn’t look like much, but this place has the very best heroes in New York. And killer onion rings and fries, too. Not to mention, excellent ice-cold beer.”
    “Heroes?” she said, picking her way carefully over the uneven and cracked asphalt. Tristan automatically moved his hand to the small of her back to steady her. He felt her stiffen slightly as she had the other times he’d touched her, but as before, she didn’t move away. He was glad about that.
    He looked down at the potholed pavement, making sure she didn’t accidently step into one of the gaps, only to find himself admiring how her shoe straps looked circling her dainty ankles.
    And the curve of her calves. Which led up to those creamy thighs. Damn.
    “Heroes?” she repeated, shooting him a quick quizzical look before returning her attention to the ground.
    “Sandwiches,” he said rather absently, trying to get control of his lust. “You know, subs.”
    “Oh,” she said, shooting him another look, this one sheepish with a slight smile. “I guess I should know that term, huh?”
    “You’ve never heard of heroes?”
    “I guess maybe I have,” she said, sounding a little vague herself. Like she was distracted, too. By him? He hoped so. He shouldn’t have to suffer through this desperate longing alone. “But we just call them subs in Ohio.”
    They reached the door, and he opened it for her. “You are from Ohio? I thought you were from Georgia.”
    “Nooo,” she said, and then laughed. “Georgia is just my name, not my name and location.”
    “You have a great laugh.”
    Georgia stumbled as she took a step over the threshold, and his hand curled around her waist to steady her.
    “See, klutz,” she said after a moment, her voice a little breathless and her pale skin pink again.
    Damn, he wondered if her voice would sound that way in bed, if her skin would get flushed with desire rather than embarrassment. Pink all over. With darker pink around her nipples and dusky pink, moist skin between her thighs.
    This time he did groan.
    “Oh, no,” she said, pulling out of his hold. “Did I hurt you?”
    “Hardly,” he said, his tone wry, which he could see confused her. Could she really not know the effect she had on him?
    She studied him briefly, and then turned her attention to the restaurant. She walked ahead of him into the large, warehouse-style room. One side was set up as a bar with neon lights, tall round bar tables, a long shiny wooden bar, stools, and three pool tables.
    The other side was partitioned off by a half wall and frosted panes of glass, where people could sit down to eat.
    Tristan’s hand returned to her back, because he had to touch her again, even innocuously. He steered