the regular newspapers opined. As Aunt Cat had said before, the tabloids contended it was Honor herself whom her father had offered to Dylan.
"He has offered me the position of head of security in his company," Dylan said shortly. "Among other things."
Kitty let the "other things" lie, not sure she wanted to know how much truth there was to the tabloid rumors. The idea of Dylan and another woman still made her feel betrayed. Sure, it was unfair, but it was still true. She cleared her throat. "Are you going to accept the job?"
He lowered his brows again. "Don't try to change the subject, Kitty."
"I'm just wondering if you're burned out with the FBI. When I did the research for that bio, I couldn't help but notice that for several years you've been involved in very tense, very high-profile cases back-to-back."
"That's the nature of the job." Then he let go a humorless laugh. "And if it's the truth you want, I'm effing sick of the FBI."
Kitty blinked, stunned by the unexpected confession. "Then you're going to take Warren Witherspoon's offer." And maybe his daughter too? Another pang of jealousy stabbed her heart.
"No." He rattled the paper ominously. "What I'm going to do is find some special kind of torture designed to pay you back for circulating these."
His gaze raked over her, and he suddenly stilled, the atmosphere in the room just as instantly changing. The heat in the air jacked up several degrees - and its source didn't seem to be Dylan's temper. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, the anger in them having somehow converted to an emotion distinctly more ... carnal. "Kitty," he said, his voice raspy and notes lower than before.
Nerves pinging in alarm, Kitty swallowed. "What?"
"Maybe not a torture after all," he said softly, cat-footing closer. "But a trade."
"What kind of trade?" Kitty edged backward, her knees catching in the long skirt of her costume.
He let out a soft groan, his gaze glued to her breasts. "You're killing me."
Kitty looked down. Her blue dress was as low-cut as the others, but in this position her knees were pulling the bodice lower. Indecently lower. The top rise of her breasts was completely exposed and the outer rim of her right nipple was peeking over the lace.
She should move. Pull up the dress. Stand. Something. But the expression on his face paralyzed her. His nostrils flared again and his cheekbones appeared to be pushing against his tanned skin. As had happened before, those dangerous cravings ignited inside her, growing all at once to a greedy, physical hunger to touch him, taste him, know him.
On the wall over his shoulder, a hand-lettered sign proclaiming "Satisfaction Guaranteed" reminded her of all that had happened in this room. Men had come here, full of passion and sexual excitement. Night after night, satisfaction guaranteed, they'd been at the mercy of Kitty's foremothers, ready to pay whatever it took to experience a woman's touch.
She wanted that power for herself.
The idea shocked her, rocked her with its seductive force. But it didn't shake the sudden conviction that she could regain some control of her life, of her desires, by taking charge. Right here. Right now.
Sinking back against her calves, she licked her lips. "Maybe I don't want to trade," she said, her voice hoarse now.
His glance flicked up to her eyes.
"Maybe I want to torture you."
A pulse in his jaw jumped. "You're doing that already."
"Poor baby." She swallowed, trying to keep up her courage. "What could I do to make it better?"
"Let me see your breasts."
A shiver coursed through her. "It seems to me you're looking at them."
His voice was guttural. "All of them."
She shivered again, liquid heat rushing between her thighs. The idea that he appeared desperate to see body parts that she'd always dismissed as inadequate not only excited her but gave another boost to her feminine confidence. Wetting her mouth with her tongue, she lifted her hands and took just a moment to tug down the neckline of the dress and lift one breast free. Then the other.
They sat on the shelf of the bunched bodice, the nipples hard and turning brighter pink under his unblinking stare. They trembled with every beat of her heart, and his breath turned loud and rasping in the quiet of the room.
"Come here," he choked out.
She nearly obeyed, but then halted. This was about her power, her desires, her needs. She shook her head. "You come to me."
His