Three years after Emma Sloane's wealthy fiance's mysterious death, she's finally ready to move on and pursue her own dreams. But her plans are derailed when she's attacked outside her New York City apartment in what she thinks is a random violent incident. Then other women who look just like her start turning up dead...
Homicide Detective Jake Quinn is haunted by the one case he couldn't solve. When he's put in charge of a new high-profile murder case, he interviews a victim who escaped a similar attack—and to his shock it's Emma, the former fiancée of his unsolved murder victim.
Neither expects the sparks of attraction between them. But the killer escalates, clearly targeting Emma, and Jake's job is on the line. Can he solve this case before it's too late for both of them?
“I’m telling you,” Jake said as they rode the elevator to Emma’s apartment, “if I’d known there’d be women grabbing my ass like that, I would’ve tried yoga years ago.”
Emma aimed a playful smack at his shoulder, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her close.
Something had clicked between them in that yoga studio. It wasn’t love, but whatever it was, she was eager to feel the connection again. In class…or out. But what if he hadn’t felt it, too? Or even if he had…how many times would he need to tell her there could never be anything between them?
She pushed the doubts away. “Just so you know, Detective, I’ll grab your ass like that whenever you want.” She reached behind him and gave him a squeeze, and he wrapped his arm around her.
His eyes locked with hers, but she broke away from him to step out of the elevator and into the hallway. He held her arm and turned her to face him again. He covered her mouth with his, and his tongue parted her lips with no apology, probing mercilessly.
He leaned away suddenly, staring down at her with hunger in his eyes. “Do you know how much of a turn on it was watching you in action for the last ninety minutes?” He groaned as he devoured her mouth again, stepping her backward until her shoulders pressed against the grasscloth wallpaper. “And then there’s these snug little yoga pants that I’m dying to get you out of.” He slid his hand down her thigh, hiking her leg up to his waist, pulling an anguished whimper from her lips. “Make me stop, Emma. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.”
She didn’t want him to stop, even if it would all go absolutely nowhere. She’d told him before this was what she wanted, and she would tell him again if he asked. She could do this.
“Let’s get inside,” he murmured against her lips.
They stumbled toward her apartment door until she turned to put the key in the lock and froze.
The door was already open.
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