Transgressions by Carolyn Faulkner (thriller books to read .TXT) 📗

evening, extremely attentive and very romantic. She had thought he'd take her to the most expensive place in town, but instead, they ended up at a small supper club with a live band and a big dance floor. The food was excellent, and he had her out on the floor, in his arms, practically the entire rest of the night.

Despite the fact that he was subtly trying to ply her with liquor—drinks before, wine with dinner, then champagne the few times they made it back to their table—Ally kept her drinking under control. She was already flirting with disaster just by being seen out with him and she didn't want to be drunk at the same time. It wasn't that she didn't trust him—but she didn't quite trust him.

The last time he allowed them off the dance floor, he suggested dessert, since they'd worked off every bit of the sumptuous meal they'd eaten.

"You know me entirely too well for my own comfort, you realize."

He gave her a look that she knew he meant to be innocent, a small, slightly lopsided smile combined with the fake surprise in his eyes, but she knew there wasn't an innocent bone in his body. "Little ole' me?"

Drunk or not drunk, that set her off—the idea of him trying to portray a southern belle—complete with the accent and wispy voice that he definitely couldn't pull off—had her practically howling.

He didn't even let her see the dessert menu, which was probably just as well. She was ravenous and would probably have ordered one of everything, but what appeared was exactly what she would have ordered—it was a slice of peanut butter pie, with a buttery graham cracker crust, a thin layer of chocolate fudge on the bottom, fluffy peanut butter filling that was just right sweet atop that, then another thin layer of chocolate fudge, miles of homemade whipped cream with fudge shavings flecking it.

After the waiter had placed the enormous confection in front of her and left, he leaned over. "I remembered that, as a kid, anyway, you loved peanut butter and chocolate anything. I hope you haven't developed an allergy."

Ally had already taken her first gigantic, gleeful spoonful, and answered him with some of it still melting in her mouth, "No!"

Then she hacked off a huge spoonful and offered it to him.

Enzo wasn't a sweets person—he was the opposite of her in a lot of ways. But he opened his mouth dutifully and let her feed him, catching her hand when she would have withdrawn it and turning it palm up to lick a spot of whipped cream off the side of her hand.

Suddenly, every bit of the playfulness she had felt fled her body to be replaced by a flood of memories of their lovemaking—standing, fully exposed, in front of that mirrored window, his head between her legs moments later on his big bed, the way he'd refused to let her control her own orgasm and how hot that had made her.

Enzo—who was more attuned to her than he'd ever been of any woman in his life—saw that look, the way her face paled just a bit then blushed furiously, how she was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes, shifting in her chair as if she was suddenly sitting uncomfortably.

And he hadn't even spanked her—yet.

He stood up and threw an enormous pile of money onto the table suddenly, taking a firm hold of her arm and guiding her out of the restaurant. She barely had time to grab the collar of her coat and drag it along behind her.

"What happened?" Ally asked, wondering if she had done something wrong.

They had reached her car, and he stopped her from trying to get into the passenger's door by pulling on her arm, slamming her up against him and claiming her mouth with his before she could get a word out and making her not care one bit about that.

His arm worked its way under her coat so that he was hugging her, not its bulk, holding her tightly enough against him that there was absolutely no mistaking either of the bulges she was feeling—not the one from the gun he had holstered beneath his jacket, keeping it strapped to his left side where it would be readily available, or the even more threatening one behind the zipper of his very expensive pants.

"Need you," he ground out against her lips. "Now."

Ally felt the same way—perhaps even a bit more keenly, but neither of them were seventeen, and she had less than no interest in having to maneuver her way around a stick shift in the front or trying to cram the two of them into her practically nonexistent back seat. "My house—it's right around the corner," she suggested, kissing him back for all she was worth.

"I knew there was a reason I chose this place," came his growled response.

They were there—what had been her childhood home that they both knew just about as well—in record time. Ally was very glad they hadn't been stopped for speeding—the angels must've been on the side of lust for once.

Chapter 5

She meant to take him upstairs to her bedroom—which had been her parents', although she had completely remodeled it, especially the bathroom off it, which had stayed the same as when they had bought the place in the fifties. Neither of her parents had been fond of change of any kind.

But they didn't quite make it there. They didn't make it anywhere near there, in fact. Once Enzo passed by the door to the big family room and spied the enormous sectional couch that sat invitingly in front of her big screen TV, that was all the invitation he needed.

He tumbled them down onto it, making sure that he was the one on the bottom to take the brunt of any shock, then rolled quickly to tuck her beneath him, hitching her skirt up frantically, then stopping to stare down at her.

Ally's eyes widened. "What?"

Enzo's hands remained at