Sweet Spot

by Kimberly Kaye Terry

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Give Me More Gabrielle won't be played for a fool. When her lover cheats on her, she storms out looking for the best sex of her life. And she finds it, thanks to a man named Sweet. Tall, dark, and blessed with incredible sensual expertise, the nightclub owner knows exactly how to bring a woman to the peak of erotic ecstasy. . . How Much Do You Want? Beautiful women come and go at the Sweet Spot, but the sinfully gorgeous Gabrielle beats them all. He's ready to scorch the sheets and their sex is steamin', but when she discovers that Sweet is an undercover FBI agent investigating her, he wonders if she'll walk away forever or come back for much, much more. . . Praise for Kimberly Kaye Terry's Get Your Sexy On. . . "Delicious. . .scorching. . .with a true-to-life alpha hero." -- Romantic Times, 4 ½-star review "Terry skillfully mixes suspense, romance and sensual eroticism into a story that you won't be able to put down." -- Affaire de Coeur, 5-star review WARNING! THIS IS A REALLY HOT BOOK (Sexually Explicit)

Release date: August 25, 2009

Publisher: Aphrodisia

Print pages: 256

Sample

When he strolled into the Sweet Spot exuding confidence like other men sweat, looking all kind of ways good to her, Gabrielle Marlowe knew she was in trouble. Particularly in the emotional state currently holding her hostage.

His long, muscular frame was the picture of raw masculine perfection, wearing the hell out of a dark blue, finely striped, expensively cut suit that Gaby could tell, even from her distance away, was tailor made for his perfect form.

Despite the expensive cut, he wore the suit with a casual disregard.

As he sauntered closer to the bar, where she sat perched on one of the high-backed bar stools, she allowed her eyelids to drop low, knowing her lashes were long enough to hide the fact that she was checking every fine inch of him out.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

As soon as she thought it, she cringed. Yeah, she knew it was beyond clichéd, but that’s just what he was.

He didn’t have a typically handsome model’s face. No. His was much harsher, more sensual than anything that could be termed as tame as handsome.

There was a certain…wildness, a barely caged sensuality about him.

Gaby shivered.

He had to top six feet by several inches, and even though he was wearing a suit, Gaby could tell he had one hell of a body. She ran a discreet glance over him, again, top to bottom, as she sipped her drink.

His sable-colored hair had a slight wave and was cut low, tapering down in the back to nearly skin in a tight, almost militarytype fade, with the top long enough that several thick, wavy strands fell over his brow.

If not for the lock of hair that fell over one eye, he could have been a living, breathing, poster boy for a Marine Corps recruiting ad.

Semper Fi.

The Marines slogan popped into her mind.

Always Ready.

Damn.

Gaby blew out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

His jet-black, winged brows slashed over vivid greenish gold eyes, framed by sooty dark lashes so thick they seemed unreal.

The darkness of his eyebrows and lashes was at odds with his hair color, and Gaby thought perhaps he dyed his hair.

Although he didn’t strike her as the type to do that. He seemed too manly to do something so feminine.

She casually glanced over his broad shoulders and thickly muscled body.

No, he definitely didn’t seem the type of man who’d dye his hair.

A fine-boned, yet prominent hawkish nose, hard chiseled lips, the lower rim slightly fuller than the top, and a well-defined chin with a deep dimple completed the picture of a man who, with one look, could probably make any woman he wanted stop, drop, and strip.

Yeah, Gaby thought with an inward sigh of appreciation…he had it like that.

When he turned his head and glanced over at her, Gaby took another sip of her apple martini from the thin straw and hoped he couldn’t see how fast her heart was thumping beneath the thin silk blouse she wore.

Or that he noticed how her nipples pearled against her useless bra.

Or maybe she did want him to notice…

When she dared to peek up, it was to see he’d turned away and was giving his attention to the female bartender who had scurried his way as soon as he walked to the bar.

“Hey, Sweet. Haven’t seen much of you lately. Got me wondering if you forgot all about me,” the woman quipped, the wattage on her smile so bright, she could illuminate the entire club.

So this was Sweet.

She should have known.

Sweet was the owner of the Sweet Spot, as well as two other popular nightclubs. Besides the one in San Antonio, the other two were located in Austin and Dallas.

Since she and Adam had been coming to the club over the last three months, Gaby had learned they called the owner Sweet because rumor had it the man could sweet-talk a woman straight out of her panties with a few well-chosen words.

She turned her body slightly around in her chair and subtly hitched her skirt farther up her thighs. Just so he could get a nice visual of her naked pussy.

She usually wore panties when she went out. Usually.

But not tonight.

Not after what happened between her and her lover, Adam.

When Gaby came home early from a pharmaceutical convention to which the university where she taught had sent her, she’d found him in bed, where he and another woman were going at it like two rabid dogs in heat.

His secretary.

So clichéd. So damn clichéd.

In bed with his secretary…the least he could have done was be original.

Gaby clenched her teeth, her face tightening as she bit back feelings of anger and betrayal over what the bastard had done.

In her bed, no less.

She took another sip of her martini, eyeing tall, dark, and fine discreetly from beneath lowered lashes, thinking about what she was going to do next with the mess that was her life.

She’d come to rely on Adam for so much, particularly over the last months of their relationship.

She didn’t really know how she’d gotten into the situation she was now in. Didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it coming. Or how she was going to get out of it. She knew what she was doing, what she and Adam were doing, was wrong.

Damn. And now this.

Guess a nice set of big fake tits, overprocessed bleached hair, and a tight hoochie-mama dress made Adam forget all about his avowals of love for her.

So yeah. Gaby was definitely in a what the hell kind of mood.

She forced her thoughts away from Adam and his cheating behind and continued to sip her apple martini while listening to Sweet talk to the bartender.

“You sticking around long, this time around?” the woman asked him.

He accepted the glass and leaned against the bar, taking a drink. His strong throat worked as he swallowed, before he set the glass on the smoky gray glass bar counter.

“Haven’t been gone, just busy with other stuff. No plans to go anywhere, anytime soon. Except bed,” he said wearily, his voice a deep sexy rumble. “In fact, I think I’ll head up to the loft and get some shut-eye. I’m tired as hell.”

Gaby covertly ran her eyes over his face and saw the fine lines of fatigue that bracketed his wide, sensual mouth.

Just then he glanced her way and casually looked her over. She swiftly looked away, pretending nonchalance, subtly shifting her legs farther apart, in case he happened to glance down.

“Well, if you need anything—a drink, food, a pillow to rest your poor weary head on—you know where to find me,” the bartender told him and winked one big blue eye and smiled.

Gaby felt the overwhelming desire to throw her half-full glass of martini in the woman’s face, if for no other reason than she was the spitting image of the woman she’d caught screwing her man, hands bound behind her back, having the kind of sex that she never would have imagined Adam was into.

The type of sex that Gaby had secretly been intrigued by, but never had the nerve to engage in.

The woman’s cries of passion still rang in the echoes of her mind.

The bartender leaned down and lifted Sweet’s empty glass. As she did so, her ample breasts pressed against the starched white uniform shirt she was wearing. She had the top three buttons unfastened far enough so that the lacy edge of her demi-bra showed.

Gaby knew the woman wanted Sweet to see just what kind of pillow she was offering for him to lay his “poor weary head on.”

“I’m good. But I’ll keep the offer in mind, Sherri.” He winked back at her.

With one last lingering look at Sweet, the bartender sauntered down to the other end of the bar to serve a customer. Gaby watched Sweet as his eyes stayed glued to Sherri’s swinging hips as she left.

When he turned toward Gaby, she met his eyes.

He smiled and ran his gaze over her body and she knew the minute he saw her bared vulva.

His eyes flew to hers, his sensual lips stretching up into a lazy grin, and she knew she’d gotten his attention.

Pushing down the churning in her gut, Gaby wet her lips and smiled, her lips twitching in nervousness as she tried to maintain what she hoped passed as cool sophistication.

He pushed away from the counter and sauntered close to her.

Gaby kept her smile determinedly in place and maintained eye contact.

When he brushed past her, her heart sank and she felt like a damn fool.

She sighed glumly, turned around, clamped her legs together with a snap, and took another drink of her martini.

“Meet me upstairs, in my loft. Use the elevator near the kitchen entry, past the double doors,” a deep voice whispered against her ear.

Gaby spun around and caught herself before she flipped out of the chair.

“Wha-what?” she stuttered out the response.

“That is, if you’re serious about what you’re promising.”

His heated glance slid over her body like warm rain, his gaze settling between her legs, sending goose bumps to pepper her exposed arms and an ache of need to bubble in her stomach.

Her body reacted as though he’d actually touched her; her breath hitched in her throat and her heartbeat slammed against her chest.

“You’ll need this key to reach my loft. It’s my personal elevator. Past the swinging doors, down the hallway to the left.”

He placed a small brass key into her open hand, folding her fingers over it, pressing it into her palm. Without another word he turned around and walked away.

Just like that, he left, without waiting to see if she’d actually follow him. Assuming that all he needed to do was make the suggestion and she’d eagerly jump up and trail after him.

Gaby’s bemused gaze followed his slow ambling walk until he was out of sight before she turned back around.

When her eyes collided with the bartender—Sherri’s—she caught the woman staring at her with a bemused expression, giving Gaby the universal look women gave one another when a fine man chose one over the other.

A “What in the hell does he see in you?” type of look.

Gaby had been two seconds away from jumping up from her stool and hightailing it out of the bar, getting as far away as possible from the promise of what Sweet wanted to do to her, a promise that had been shining brightly in his golden eyes.

Instead, she gave the woman a triumphant grin and eased out of her chair.

Sedately, despite the butterflies churning in her gut, she slowly walked through the crowded club, following Sweet.

“She’s on her way up to my loft.”

There was a pause before the other man spoke. “You don’t waste any time. Do I want to know how you accomplished that so quickly?”

Demetri held his cell phone in one hand and used the other to pull off his jacket and shirt, carefully laying them over the small leather chair in the corner of the room. He then unbuttoned his slacks and shoved them, along with his boxers, down the length of his legs.

“Probably not.”

“Shit.”

He sat down on the chair with the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear and pulled off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks.

“Yeah, well, you wanted the job done. Do you give a shit how I accomplish it?” he asked.

“No, I guess not. As long as the job gets done.” Another pause before the other man continued, “You’ve decided to take the case, then?”

“Did I have a choice?” Demetri grunted, walking through the open loft.

“There’s always choices, Agent My—”

“Don’t call me that,” Demetri broke in, cutting the man off, mid-sentence.

“Once an agent, always an agent. You can’t escape your past. Can’t hide from it, either.”

“I was a pencil pusher. Before I left, I’d quit fieldwork. If you’re gonna pull the patriotic card, get it right,” Demetri walked, naked, across the room toward the bathroom. “I don’t have a lot of time for small talk, no disrespect, sir. Can we cut this short?”

“Do you have a plan?” The man asked after a pregnant pause.

Demetri loosened his watch and placed it on the bathroom counter, then removed a ring suspended on a gold chain from around his neck.

It was the only other piece of jewelry he wore, one that reminded him of the reasons he no longer felt any desire to reenter a world of deception and manipulation.

Did he have a plan?

Good question, Demetri thought with a grimace.

Just when he was getting his life back together, Nick Panin, his former commander, called and convinced him to fly out to D.C., dangling a carrot he knew Demetri wouldn’t be able to resist in front of his nose.

Completely disrupting the tranquility he’d worked so tenaciously to achieve over the last two years with an offer the son of a bitch knew he couldn’t refuse.

If Demetri agreed to help him on a case involving two con artists—Gabrielle Marlowe and Adam Quick—who were involved in a Medicaid and pharmaceutical fraud, his former commander would use all of his considerable power to find Demetri’s former partner.

He thought back to Siobhan and his time in the Bureau.

They’d been paired up as new recruits fresh out of the academy, assigned their first mission together. Over the course of five years as partners, they’d successfully helped bring down hundreds of con artists whose game had been so tight they’d escaped the long arm of justice for years.

Their cases usually involved criminals who preyed on the helpless, often scamming them out of their life savings. With each success, they’d gotten more and more accolades. It wasn’t long before they were recruited by a special division within the FBI, headed by Nicolai Panin, dealing with criminals higher up, or down, depending on one’s view, the food chain.

Their first case in the newly formed special ops team had been their last.

They’d taken months to set up a sting to infiltrate an underground BDSM cult to investigate the murder of one of their members, one they’d linked to other similar murders.

They’d first gone into “training” to learn the lifestyle. Unfortunately for Siobhan, Demetri hadn’t seen the psychological effects the training and months spent living that lifestyle had on her. When the time for the bust came, unknown to Demetri, Siobhan was no longer the same woman.

She’d turned on the agency. On Demetri.

She’d informed the cult’s leader, the man they believed to be the one responsible for the murders, and he’d gotten away, taking Von with him. And from all accounts, it appeared she’d gone willingly.

Demetri’s gaze settled on the ring on the bathroom counter.

Siobhan had left it in the “dungeon” area of the secret club they’d infiltrated, in a small five-by-five-foot steel-barred cage.

Along with the black leather, ruby-encrusted studded collar—the one he’d given her—and a note telling him not to look for her.

He fingered the ring.

It was the ring all the cadets received after graduating from the FBI Academy.

That was the last communication he’d had from her.

“Well?” Panin prompted him, jarring him out of his musings.

“I’m working on it. I’ll let you know when I have more to report,” was his gruff reply.

“Demetri…listen—”

“I’ll be in contact.”

Demetri pressed the end button on his cell and flung it, as well as the ring, on the counter. The ring spun and rolled, landing with a ting on the marble bathroom counter.

He’d been told Gabrielle and Adam frequented the Sweet Spot, which was one of the reasons his commander had come to him for help. Demetri thought there were more reasons he’d been brought into the investigation, but if there were, his former commander wasn’t telling. The most he would say was that if Demetri could bring them in, find out who else was involved, who was at the top, he’d put a special team out to find Siobhan.

For Demetri, that been reason enough for him to agree.

Upon his return home, he hadn’t had to wait long before he identified Adam Quick and Gabrielle Marlowe. Quick looked exactly as he did in the many photos Demetri’s former commander had given him. He was tall, with the type of muscular build that came from working out in a gym regularly.

He had what Demetri thought of as a “pretty boy” look. Women fell for that type hard.

Adam wore his dark blond, artificially highlighted hair swept back from a wide forehead, and in the photo he was smiling a lopsided, practiced grin.

With his light blue eyes, classic features, and no scars, nothing to mar his pretty-boy perfection, teamed with what most cons had in abundance, manipulativeness, women fell like a ton of bricks.

He’d dismissed the man in the photo and looked at the woman, his partner, Gabrielle Marlowe, wondering if she had been a victim of Quick’s charms or if she were the deadlier of the two.

In each photo they had of her, she’d been wearing variations on the same conservative boxy suit that did nothing for her body.

She was petite; her bio said she was only a few inches over five feet, no weight given, but from the picture and her clothing she appeared slightly thick, no curves, just straight lines in the bland suits she seemed to favor.

Her somber face stared back at him, unsmiling in the picture. Her large, widely set brown eyes were obscured behind a pair of old-fashioned round glasses that seem to dominate her small face. Although her deep golden brown complexion was flawless, that looked to be about the only thing attractive about her.

Then his eyes had gone to her mouth.

Despite the look of untouched innocence that seemed to cling to her, her mouth was pure decadence, ripe and full.

Even without smiling, her lips had a natural curve in the corners that made her otherwise bland appearance reach out and grab him by the balls.

Despite her average looks, he’d found himself drawn to the photograph over and over.

Then, he’d seen her in person.

Damn.

The photograph hadn’t come anywhere near to capturing her unique beauty. Although her skin in the photo appeared to be smooth, her features even, there was nothing unique about her, save that decadent mouth of hers.

But in person…

In person her skin glowed, shone like rich dark honey. Her eyes, which had been obscured by the old-fashioned glasses in the picture, were large, slightly slanted in the corners, and a deep chocolate brown. Bedroom eyes.

And then his gaze had rested on her lips…God. Her lips were so lush and full his imagination had taken flight, with images of suckling her full lower lip into his mouth playing hell with his libido.

Not to mention the woman was nothing but luscious curves.

The first time he’d seen her, she’d been with Adam Quick. It had been easy to spot the pair.

Nightly, at the same time that Nick told him surveillance had shown them coming to the club, he’d stationed himself in a prime position to observe them without being noticed, patiently waiting to get a visual on them since his return from D.C. and his meeting with Nick.

Like most crooks, they followed habitual routines, choosing the same booth when they came to the club, tucked away in a corner of the room.

With animation, the man did most of the talking, and although his tone was too low to hear, Demetri guessed he was talking mostly about his own interests.

Although she feigned attention, Demetri caught the woman’s eyes drifting away, usually toward the dance floor, with an almost wistful look on her gamine face.

With an irritated look, Quick would rudely snap his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, and the woman would smilingly murmur somethi. . .