The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(79)

“You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

“I have no contraband on me. I swear.”

He gave her his nastiest, most intimidating snarl. “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I— I guess not.” She set her palms against the rough boards but kept her legs together.

He kicked them apart. “Don’t play ignorant. You know the drill.” His breath ruffled the hair brushing her ears, and his voice was a soft rasp. “I don’t like it any better than you.”

Not much, you don’t.

Her eyes drifted shut as he slid his hands along her sides, from her armpits to her thighs. “I told you,” she said. “I’m clean.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He reached around her, his hands stopping just under her collarbone. And then he lowered his palms and cupped her breasts.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Don’t say what you said last time.”

“What was that?” He nuzzled her ear.

“You said, ‘There’s nothing here.’”

He smiled, slipped his thumbs inside her bra cups, and found her nipples. “I was so wrong.”

By the time he stopped tormenting her breasts and moved to new territory, her knees were weak and her skin hot. He made a play of running his hands over her hips and thighs before he found his prime target. “I think I feel something.”

He wasn’t the only one. “This is illegal,” she said, wiggling her hips.

“Resisting arrest.” His hands tugged at the zipper on her shorts. “Now I’ll have to do a body cavity search.”

“Oh, no. Not that.” She couldn’t have sounded less convincing.

“You brought it on yourself.” He kneed her legs together and tugged off her tight shorts along with her panties.

“I try to be a good person, but it’s hard.”

“You have no idea.” He pressed against her to make his point.

It was amazing how many places he found to explore. Enough for her to offer a weak protest. “A candy bar would never fit there.”

“Always a first time,” he said hoarsely, his breath coming as fast as her own.

“Police brutality,” she managed as he fumbled with the front of his shorts.

“This will only hurt for a minute.”

It wouldn’t hurt at all. As for the “minute …” Not likely. Panda had enormous staying power.

“Brace yourself.” He tilted her hips.

“Wait …”

“Too late.” He took her from behind.

His groan drowned out her gasp. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. She pushed against him as he braced her body in his big hands. Surrounded by the dust and debris of other people’s lives, they played their game, their bodies locked as they used each other, gave, used again. It was primitive sex. Raw and raunchy. Bad-girl sex. Exactly the way she wanted it.



“DON’T LOOK AT MY STOMACH,” she said as she pulled her panties back on.

He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Because?”

“It’s round.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t have to say it like that.” She shoved her legs in her shorts, sucked in her stomach, and zipped them. She’d started the whole strip-search thing when she’d dragged him into the garage after he’d made a quick trip into town. She’d told him she’d gotten a tip that he was trying to smuggle Slim Jims. He said there was nothing slim about his Jim. She’d backed him against the wall and said that was for her to decide. Eventually she had to concede he was right.

“It’s your fault I’m gaining weight,” she said. “Having nothing but diet f*cking food in the house makes me crazy.”

His eyebrow gave a gratifying lift, but he didn’t comment on her obscenity. “What about all that crap I feed you every night in the boat?”

“Exactly,” she said. “If I had decent food, I wouldn’t be gorging myself on your junk food stash.”

“You’re right. It is my fault. I promise. No more chips. No more licorice whips. I’m cleaning up my act.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms, as if he wanted to kiss her. But they only kissed when they were in bed—deep tongue kisses that mimicked what was happening with their bodies. Sex with Panda was like being in a porno movie but without a third party involved. He let her go and wandered over to inspect a pile of junk. His restlessness had returned. Unlike herself, the island’s enforced confinement was chafing at him. He wanted action.

She slipped back into her platform flip-flops as he studied a mirror framed in broken seashells and asked, “Didn’t this used to be in the downstairs bathroom?”

“No.” She loved lying. It was a whole new experience.

“Bull. This was there yesterday.”

“Really, Panda, you have lousy powers of observation for a cop.”

“Hell I do. Stop rearranging my house. And stop messing with my pig.”

“You didn’t like the eye patch? I think it’s—” She broke off as she saw Panda pick up a folded piece of yellow notepad paper from the grubby garage floor. She hurried toward him, hand extended. “Must have fallen out of my pocket when you ripped my shorts off.”