The Specialist (Norcross #3) - Anna Hackett Page 0,31
in a very long time. He was most often driven to do, to move, but right now, he was happy to just watch a barefoot Harlow in his house.
Safe. Alive. In his domain.
She stared out to the shadowed Bay. Lights twinkled on the Golden Gate Bridge, and part of San Francisco lay before them, glimmering softly in the night.
“Must be nice to wake up to this,” she said.
“It is.”
Then she shivered.
He took her hand and led her to the outdoor couch. A blanket was folded over the back and he grabbed it, then draped it around her shoulders.
She sat and he reached for the bottle of cognac and glasses he’d left there earlier.
He poured two glasses and handed her one.
She eyed the amber fluid. “What is this?”
“Cognac.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Does it cost a gazillion dollars a bottle?”
“No.” He decided not to mention that it was closer to ten thousand.
She set her shoulders back, one hand gripping the blanket, then she tossed the drink down in one quick gulp. She swallowed and set the glass down on the table with a click. Then she sucked in a few breaths. “Yikes.”
Easton sipped his. “Feeling better?”
“Not really. Thank you for getting me out. Rhoda Pierce is…scary. Although she’s afraid of Vander.”
Easton set his own drink down and took her hand. “You shouldn’t have been taken at all.”
“Is Rome okay?”
“Beating himself up. He takes his job seriously.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“I said I’d protect you—”
“It’s not your fault either. You’ve done nothing but help me. My father on the other hand…” She scowled. “I’m so mad at him right now.”
Easton was just fucking glad she was safe.
“He gambled and lost more money.” She threw her arm out, her cheeks flushed. “Then he stole. What was he thinking?”
“He’s not. He’s afraid, desperate, and fucking up.”
She deflated. “What am I going to do?”
“Your father needs to find a solution. Return Pierce’s property, and then broker a deal to pay back his debts.”
Harlow rubbed her forehead, then looked at him, her gaze running down his arms and lingering on his ink.
“What are you doing with me Easton?” She shook her head. “You should run. Save yourself from this mess. You’re lucky that Antoine and Rhoda are wary of the Norcross name, or they’d be looking at you for my dad’s debts.”
“I’d pay.”
She gasped. “No. No way! I’m not taking a cent of your money. God.”
Desire ignited in his gut. It’d been a slow simmer for weeks, but now it was a five-alarm blaze.
His need for her was a constant gnaw.
“I don’t want to talk about money, or debts, or my dad tonight,” she declared.
“You finished?”
She nodded. “My brain just needs to shut down.”
“Would you like another drink?”
She obviously detected something in his voice. Her gaze flicked to his face, then dropped to his lips. “No.”
Easton turned toward her on the couch, resting his hands on her bare knees.
Her breath hitched.
He slid his hands up to the hem of her dress.
“What would you like to do, Ms. Carlson?”
Her lips parted. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Norcross?”
Fuck. When she called him that, his cock pulsed, hard. He tugged her closer and pulled her onto his lap.
Then he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and she tilted her head, a faint moan escaping her.
“Why don’t I show you?” he murmured.
“Yes, Mr. Norcross,” she breathed.
Easton’s pulse picked up the pace, his heart thumping. He pulled her face to his and took her mouth.
Her hands drove into his hair. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but it turned rougher, close to brutal.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her lips.
Heat rolled through him, need a vicious fist in his gut.
“Easton.” She shifted against him, her round ass rubbing over his rock-hard cock. “Touch me.”
Chapter Eleven
Harlow didn’t want to think or question, she just wanted to feel.
And Easton made her feel so much.
And want more. So much more.
His mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting deep. The kiss was hot and fierce, and ignited fire in her veins.
She moaned and squirmed on his lap. One of his hands slid under the skirt of her dress, skimming up her inner thigh.
“This is probably a mistake,” she panted, then bit his bottom lip. “A sexy, breathtaking mistake.”
His fingers teased the edge of her panties.
“Yes. I want your hands on me. Touch me, Easton.”
“I am,” he growled.
“Harder,” she begged.
He made a hungry, masculine sound, then his fingers shoved her panties aside, and he found her clit.
Harlow wrenched her mouth free and gasped. He rubbed her clit, and