Tracy Sumner

“Their truce didn't last for long.”

“Being held by him, kissed and mastered, taken under and swept away, enthralled her in a way she—an independent woman if nothing else in this life—could not have understood until forced to understand. From the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, finally, a man's strength dominated her.Suddenly, she understood why women wanted so deeply. Why they wanted him. If they sensed even one-tenth of his passion, his power, his vitality, they would break his door down to get to him.And this, she learned as quickly as any pupil could, was what had been missing before: Zachariah Garrett's full participation. In all fairness to the dare, she locked her arms around his neck and consented to a draw.He murmured something low and unintelligible, his wine glass dropping to the grass with a soft thump. The arm around her waist tightened, the other climbing, his fingers delving into her loose chignon and tilting her head as he deepened the kiss, drawing down on her bottom lip and sucking. Instinct had her following his lead, shifting to better accommodate, parrying each thrust of his tongue with her own, rising on the tips of her toes to better sink into him, to gorge herself in vast, voracious gulps. The frantic nature of their joining melted her stiff posture and her cocksure bearing, rolling through her in a languid, glorious wave of sensation and recognition. It was a peculiar time to realize she had built her sense of self around an erroneous ideal.She was no different than other women.”

“Are you willing?"Through the shadows, he found her gleaming eyes, her slightly curved mouth. "No, it's too reckless. Too irresponsible.""You're sounding like a father. Or a constable, Constable.""I'm both, Miss Connor."He watched her lips tilt and flow into a glorious smile. "Rory's in bed, safe and sound. Most of the town is in bed, safe and sound. And you're here, with a pragmatic woman who can take care of herself. Two adults and one magnificent challenge.""More like a dare," he said and drained his glass.She took a step closer, until her skirt brushed his knee. "Call it a dare if you like.""No." His resolve slipped a notch when she crouched before him, the pleasing angles of her face flooding into view. She was much, much too tempting."I'll do it all. You don't have to participate. That should be enough to prove my case.""I wasn't serious when I said that. I'm sure you're not, hell, frigid."She leaned in, her hands sliding along the arms of the chair, her face fading out of view as it closed in on his. A scent, provocative and earthy, stole in with his stuttered breath. "You see, Constable, I'm always serious." He watched her moisten her lips, so near he could almost taste her. "Close your eyes. I've heard that's the way it's done.”

“Yes. Kissing. Overrated.""I could change your mind," Zach said, surprising the hell out of them both. Why would he take something as simple as this banter as a challenge? "I don't know that I want to, but I feel right sure I could.""How arrogant. How typically male.""I suppose." He shrugged and reached for the wine bottle. "More?"She nodded, frowning now. "How do you know you could change my mind? It's been a long time since you... well—""Over two years." The pain was there, an ache in his chest he imagined he would feel every time he thought of Hannah.And he thought of her every day. Dreamed of her about as often. But lately, maybe only in the past week, he'd begun to realize that his life had not ended with his wife's.He either had to die or start living again.”

“Watching him, his hands buried in his pockets—to keep from circling her neck she supposed—she couldn't help but marvel at the curious mix of Southern courtesy and male arrogance, the natural assumption he shouldered of being lawfully in control. "Engaging in a moral battle isn't always hazardous to one's health, you know.""Doesn't look like it's doing wonders for yours.""Saints be praised, it can actually be rewarding."Looking over his shoulder, he halted in the middle of the room. "Irish.""I beg your pardon?""You. Irish. The green eyes, the tiny bit of red in your hair. Is Connor your real name?""Yes, why..." she said, stammering. Bloody hell. "Of course.""Liar."She felt the slow, hot roll of color cross her cheeks. "What could that possibly have to do with anything?""I don't know, but I have a feeling it means something. It's the first I've heard come out of that sassy mouth of yours that didn't sound like some damned speech." He tapped his head, starting to pace again. "What I wonder is, where are you in there?”