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“Officers, I’ll take it from here,” Isabel said as she flashed her Europol badge. Giving Rusty’s shoulder an almost playful shrug, she told him sternly and with what he teasingly called her authority voice, began to recite as she pulled his hands around to the small of his back removing the handcuffs from her purse, “Robert Charles Ryan, you do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” he asked from the corner of his mouth, keeping his voice low as his eyes danced with amusement, twisting his head to throw her a sidelong glance.
“You’re the one who called me a bad actress,” she reminded him in a whisper as she propelled him toward the elevator.
“No!” He frowned exaggeratedly. “I think what I said was, ‘keep it real,’ that you have trouble sticking to character. You giggled last time.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her full mouth. “Only because you tickled me,” she reminded him, keeping her hand folded in the crook of his arm as they stood side by side in the elevator; she pushed the button for the garage level.
He grinned roguishly. “That’s true. In my defense, you’re very tickle-able.” She shrugged, cocking her head to the side in concession. “You know I like the red leather,” he added, referring to her tight fitting skirt suit, appreciating especially the view from the rear.
“Europol agents wear red leather,” she pointed out matter-of-factly, though her smile gave her pleasure away. The elevator doors slid open gracefully and she guided him by the arm to a large and luxurious gleaming black Porsche sedan.
“Nice ride,” he commented, impressed. “A requisition?” She nodded without modesty. “Your forging skills are improving.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she opened the door to the plush, leather backseat and gave him a small shove. Grinning, with an inclination of his head, he climbed inside. “Improving?” she questioned dryly as she leaned casually against the opened door. “Danny called my talent ‘near professional,’” she reminded him.
“Well, yeah,” he said with a chuckle, rolling her broad shoulders. “Near.”
Her eyebrow climbed further, her mouth twisting into a smirk as she stepped back and slammed the door shut. She slipped smoothly into the driver’s seat. “You forgot the handcuffs,” he reminded her, sitting back against the seat and shifting to find a comfortable position with his hands still secured just above his backside.
“Did I?” she said with casual indifference as she pulled the car from the garage. The drove a moment in silence and at last she pulled over into a dark little alleyway, turning the key in the ignition until the engine died. With a feline grace, she climbed between the two front seats and straddled his waist with her long, lithe legs. Her hands, nimble, long fingers, worked their way into his shirt, the tips of her manicured nails tickling the brawn of his chest, her fingertips thrilled by the feel of the crisp golden hair dusting his hot flesh.
It grew silkier and more abundant the further south her caress wandered. “I thought we’d leave the handcuffs on for a little,” she cooed playfully in his ear, her warm breath raising gooseflesh against the rough skin of his neck. The solid feel of him pressing into the cradle of her thighs from beneath where she was perched on his groin told her that he agreed.
He didn’t mention that he’d already worked the clasp in the lock of the cuffs free.