But though there was a thrill and a power that came from knowing that these men desired me, their interest didn’t have the same impact on me. I wasn’t dancing for them. It wasn’t these men who made me want to put on a show.

For that, I had to imagine Tyler.

Tyler, sitting in the dark.

Tyler, watching me as I slowly peeled my clothes off, and getting harder and hotter as each garment was removed.

He wasn’t really there—not yet. I knew, because every few minutes I let my gaze sweep the place. And with each look, I grew more disappointed. I wanted him to see me up here. Wanted him to know that I was doing this for him as much as for the job.

So help me, the man had truly gotten to me. He’d gotten under my skin, and this was as much punishment as it was tease. Except he wasn’t there to see any of it.

It frustrated me that I cared—that I wanted. That all I had to do was think of him to feel my body flush. Tyler Sharp was like a flame that heated me all the way through, making me weak. Making me melt.

I was a fool to toy with that man. He was dangerous. Distracting me, when I wasn’t the kind of woman who put up with distractions. Tempting me, when I wasn’t the kind of woman who was tempted.

He was everything I shouldn’t want and couldn’t have, and yet right then there was no denying that he was exactly what I needed. Tyler Sharp in my head, in my memories, in my imagination.

Don’t Miss Any of the Books in the Most Wanted Series
		Coming Aug. 26