Indecent Suggestion by Elizabeth Bevarly Read Free Book Online

You’re looking at me kind of funny.”
    “Well, I don’t know why. I don’t feel funny.”
    “How do you feel?”
    Oooh, not a question she wanted to answer right now. She needed a diversion. Quick. So she strode across the room to where she had slung her purse over the back of achair, rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for, then shamelessly withdrew a limp, bent, God-only-knows-how-long-it’s-been-in-there cigarette, plus her lighter, and strode back over to Turner.
    “Hey,” he objected. “You can’t smoke today.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because we have a bet, that’s why.”
    “ I didn’t make any bet,” she pointed out as she tucked the cigarette between her lips. “You did. I can smoke if I want to.”
    He gaped at her. “But that’s not fair!”
    She smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
    “But…but…but…”
    She withdrew the cigarette from her mouth and extended it toward him. “Would you rather have it yourself?” she asked sweetly.
    For some reason, it suddenly seemed imperative that she get him to smoke. Not just because she needed him to lose the bet in order to accompany her to the hypnotherapist, but because the sooner he lit up, the sooner she could win the bet and vacate the premises. Then, in the privacy and safety of her own home, she could wonder just why the hell she suddenly felt so weird around Turner. So she moved the cigarette closer, rolling it between her fingers in an effort to free the sweet aroma of unsmoked tobacco, a fragrance she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.
    “C’mon,” she taunted him. “You know you want to. Can’t you smell it?” she cooed in the sexiest siren voice she could muster. She took another step closer, until her body was almost flush with his, then pushed the cigarette even closer to his face. “Smell how good it smells,” she entreated him seductively.
    But Turner glanced away, silently declining her offer. She frowned at the rebuff, feeling strangely rejected. So she lifted her free hand to his face, cupping his jaw in her palm until she could turn his head toward the cigarette again.
    “Look at it, Turner,” she said softly.
    “I don’t want to look at it,” he replied, turning his head away again.
    So Becca cupped his jaw more firmly and urged his face to where she’d held it before. “Look at it,” she instructed him more forcefully, her voice sounding throatier now, though she couldn’t recall making a conscious effort to have it do that. “Look how smooth and round it is.”
    He did as she told him to, glancing down at the cigarette, then hastily back up at her face. “Yeah. So?”
    “Don’t you want to touch it?” she whispered, arching one brow.
    He shook his head slowly, but his gaze flittered back down to the cigarette she held out to him. “No,” he told her roughly. “I don’t want to touch it.”
    “Of course you want to touch it,” she said sweetly. She threaded her fingers intimately into his hair. “You want to touch it sooooo bad.”
    “No, I don’t,” he declared.
    “Yes, you do,” she insisted. “You want to caress it, and stroke it and hold it in your hand. You want to run your fingers over it, up and down and around and around. Then you want to put it between your thumb and forefinger and roll it back and forth. It feels so good to do that, doesn’t it? I love how that feels.”
    Becca lifted the cigarette to her mouth, and Turner’s gaze followed. Instead of tucking it between her lips, however, she raked the cigarette slowly across her mouth. “Butas good as it feels to touch it, there’s nothing like putting it in your mouth, is there?”
    “Becca…” he said, the warning in his voice unequivocal.
    “You want to feel it against your lips,” she murmured. “Taste it on your tongue. You want it in your mouth, don’t you, Turner?”
    “No. I don’t.” But his words were quiet, uncertain.
    “Yes. You do,” she said. “You want your mouth on it, sucking hard. Don’t