“Your minutes last for a long time, Jazz,” she reminded him, achingly aware of his fingers lifting the hem of her top.

“As long as I can make them last, darlin’. As long as I can make them last.”

He wasn’t playing anymore.

If she’d thought his kisses were dominant, experienced before, then they were catastrophically so now. Slanting over hers as he laid her back along the couch, his hard body coming over her, he taught her the meaning of pure, aching hunger. With each deep, penetrating kiss, each lick of his tongue. With each touch of his fingers he drew her farther into a whirlwind of pleasure she didn’t have a hope of resisting.

She didn’t want to resist.

She needed him. Needed to taste him as he tasted her, touch him, hold this memory to wrap around her during the long, lonely nights to come.

Tugging at the material of his T-shirt, she pulled at it until her hands were stroking his sides, over his back. She gloried in the feel of his muscles tightening at her touch. When her nails raked against his flesh, a muttered groan rumbled from his chest, rough and hewn with male lust.

He pulled back, his shirt gone in less time than it took her to realize he’d actually jerked it off. Then his lips were at the side of her neck, his teeth scraping, his tongue flickering over sensitive flesh until she arched to him with a desperate cry of pleasure. Sharp, hot kisses ran down her neck, the buttons of her blouse released, the sides falling away from the lacy material of her bra.

The front catch was no obstacle. Flicked open, the cups pushed aside, and Jazz’s marauding lips were given free rein.

His teeth gripped one nipple, tugged at it until she opened her eyes to stare back at him in dazed fascination. His eyes were so blue, such a startling dark hue, she felt mesmerized for a moment. Then her gaze was caught by his teeth surrounding the cherry-red nipple. He released it, extended his tongue, and licked over it like a treat he’d long awaited.

“Sensitive?” he asked softly as the lick had her flexing involuntarily.

“Yes.” And she couldn’t help but arch closer for more.

“Get ready then,” he warned her. “Because I think I could spend hours just pleasuring your pretty nipples.”

His lips parted, covered a peak, then sucked it into his mouth with greedy lust.

Sensation spiked in the tip, slammed through her, struck at her womb, and dragged a desperate cry from her lips as it started all over again. Like electricity, zapping crazily from her nipple to her lower stomach then to her clit. She could feel the slick heat of her response spilling from her vagina to dampen her thighs. Her clit swelled, throbbed, and tormented her with its need to be touched as well.

As her hips arched Jazz pushed his knee between her thighs, wedging it against the aching center of her body as he gripped her hip with one hand. Her thighs tightened on the pressure, hips lifting, stroking against the denim-covered muscle of his thigh as his lips moved to her other nipple.

Sparks flew across her vision when his mouth consumed the tight point. Tightening on it, suckling it as his tongue raked across it. Sensation upon sensation. His teeth gripped it, then he sucked it in his mouth again as his fingers captured the damp tip of the nipple he’d pleasured first.

Gripping it between his thumb and forefinger he applied just enough pressure …

“Oh God, Jazz…” She couldn’t bear it. It was too much sensation, a mix of such pleasure and pain, and yet her body couldn’t get enough of either sensation.

Her hips worked against his thigh, rolled and pressed, thrust and arched as her clit scraped against the material of her panties. Each arch against the hard muscle of his thigh applied a pressure that stroked the hard little kernel to such a blaze of need, she felt tortured by it.

“Ah, darlin’, how sweet you are,” he groaned, his lips lifting from her nipple, moving back to her neck, then to her lips once again.

And she couldn’t get enough of his kisses. Especially when his fingers continued to caress her nipples with sharp, hot flares of sensation. His thigh pressed and rubbed against her, tormenting the bud of her clit as her vagina wept with need.

She was ready to weep with need.

Her hands were in his hair, her head tilted back on the couch as his lips and tongue moved down her neck once more, spreading those stinging little kisses back to her breasts.

“I told you we should have knocked.”

“Yeah, so we should have.”

At the sound of the two amused, feminine voices, Jazz was moving. Before the third word was out of the first woman’s lips he had her behind him and a lethal black handgun trained on the speakers.

Not that it seemed to faze them.

Hurriedly fixing her clothes behind the shield of Jazz’s broad back, she heard his muttered curse and looked up to see the two women watching them curiously. She expected raving beauties. What she saw instead were two women who were quite pretty, but weren’t the model beauties she would have expected.

The identical twins stood just inside the entryway to the family room. Dressed in denim, hiking boots, matching tank tops, and matching holstered handguns clipped to the low-slung band of their jeans, they looked like teenagers playing cops and robbers.

Long black hair was pulled into ponytails that trailed down their backs while dark sunglasses were pushed to the tops of their heads. The only difference between the two women was the thin white scar that marred one suntanned face.

Both watched her and Jazz with violet eyes surrounded by thick inky-black lashes and reflecting both amusement and steely determination.

And Kenni had no idea who they were, or what they were doing there. If they were Jazz’s ex-lovers there would be problems.

She wasn’t the only one unsettled by their appearance, either.

The two adult Rottweilers stood in front of their puppies, low growls rumbling in their throats while glancing at Jazz every few seconds for direction.

“Why aren’t Marcus and Essie biting them?” Kenni muttered.

The two women might not be raving beauties, but they obviously knew Jazz really well.

Flicking her a look from the corner of his eyes, Jazz shook his head before jerking his T-shirt from the floor and pulling it back on with quick, obviously frustrated movements.

As the material covered his hard abs Marcus gave a low, warning growl.

“He wants to bite them,” she said behind him, keeping her voice low.

“Sugar, I can hear you,” the one with the scar informed her with mocking sweetness.

“Sugar, do I seem like I care?” Before she could stop herself she jabbed her fist against Jazz’s ribs. “Sugar? Is she for real?”

His head jerked around, surprise in his blue eyes as they met hers.

Essie growled, the low rumble of a concerned momma, a dangerous sound.

“Ease up,” Jazz ordered the animals firmly, resignation filling his voice as he replaced the handgun beneath the couch and sat up slowly, glancing back at her for just a second.

Frustration filled his brilliant-blue eyes, but if she wasn’t mistaken there was also a hint of anger there. He wasn’t happy with the interruption.

“Annie, meet Kate and Lara Blanchard,” he breathed out heavily. “They’re friends as well as business associates.”

“Hmm.” Propping her elbow on the cushion behind her, Kenni’s eyes narrowed on the back of his head before turning to the two women once again.

“Hey Annie,” Kate, the one without the scar, greeted her with uplifted brows. “Could we borrow Jazz just for a minute? There’s a problem with a job we’re working on and we need to talk to him about it.”

They were kidding, right?

Lara gave a soft, knowing laugh. “Now, don’t be so suspicious, sugar,” she advised. “We really are friends. I swear, neither of us introduced ourselves in the Biblical sense to Casanova here. And we just need to chit-chat, I swear.”