Excerpt of Breaking Point by Pamela Clare

Natalie took a sip of coffee, studying Zach over the top of
her porcelain cup as he devoured what was left of his
breakfast. Most of the time when she interviewed someone,
she had a good sense of whether that person was telling her
the truth. Today, however, her intuition seemed to be
taking a vacation.

Maybe the stakes were too high this time. Maybe she was too
caught up in her own emotions and too close to the
situation to focus clearly. Or maybe Zach was just harder
to read than most people.

If only he would put on a shirt!

It wasn’t right for any man to be so dangerous and so sexy
at the same time. Her adrenal glands and her ovaries were
locked in a shouting match now, the former insisting she
needed to run away fast, the latter wishing he’d kiss her
again.

She set her cup down. “How did you get shot? I’ve seen the
scar.”

“A man aimed an AK-47 at my back and fired.” He shoveled
the last bite of hash browns into his mouth and chewed.

Okay, so he wasn’t going to answer that one.

“What’s your last name?”

He set down his fork and napkin. “Smith. No, Jones. No,
wait — it’s Black. I like that better. Zach Black. It
rhymes.”

He wasn’t going to answer that one either.

“If you didn’t steal the cocaine, Zach Black, why didn’t
you just tell me that right away? Why let me believe you’re
some kind of criminal if you’re not?”

“I was afraid you’d start asking a lot of questions, like
you always do, and we both had more important things to
deal with.” His plate clean, he reached for his coffee,
then leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out
in front of him, his pants riding low enough on his hips to
expose a trail of dark hair that disappeared behind his
zipper. “Besides, it’s not like you were going to
say, ‘Please leave me with the Zetas.’”

He took a sip.

“Why did the Zetas think you’d stolen the drugs if you
didn’t?”

He seemed to think about this, as if deciding whether or
not to answer. “The person I believe stole the shipment
drugged me, then handed me over to them and told them I’d
stolen it, making me the scapegoat for her actions.”

He nodded. “She called, asked me to meet her at a bar in
Juárez, and the next thing I knew, I was a guest in Hotel
Zeta.”

More like Hell on Earth.

Natalie couldn’t fathom how he could make light about his
captivity after what he’d been through. “Didn’t she care
what they would do to you?”

“I guess she cared more about money.” He took another sip.

“That’s terrible.”

Proof of how much he’d suffered was still visible on his
body—from the dark purple bruise on his ribcage to the
faint pink electrical burns on his chest and belly to the
gauze bandages on his raw, blistered wrists. If what he’d
said was true, this person had turned him over to the
Zetas, knowing full well he would be tortured and killed.

How could any woman be so heartless?

The next question that popped out of Natalie’s mouth was
not the one she’d been about to ask. “Was she your lover?”

Zach didn’t answer right away, his lips curving in a
smile. “Now why, oh, why would you ask me that, Ms. Benoit?”

“No reason.” She felt herself blush. “Just curious.”

“Ah, I see.” He set his coffee cup down on the tray, the
amused expression on his face telling her that he did see—
right through her. “No, she wasn’t my lover—though not for
lack of trying on her part.”

So Zach didn’t sleep with every woman who threw herself at
him. That was good to hear. “Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Natalie couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Divorced?”

“No!”

“Gay?”

He came face to face with her in one smooth motion, so
close that she could see flecks of gold in the gray of his
irises, the spicy-clean scent of his skin filling her
lungs. “Oh, angel, I think you know the answer to that one,
but if you need proof… ”

A big hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her
skull, angling her face upward. Pulse tripping, she found
herself looking into his eyes, wondering if he would was
really going to do it, if he was really going to kiss her.

Slowly.

He brushed his lips over hers, the mere whisper of a touch
sending shudders through her, making her breath catch. Then
he slipped his other arm around her and drew her against
his bare chest, the hard feel of his body making her go
weak. But still he didn’t kiss her full on, teasing her
mouth with his, nipping her lips, tracing their outline
with his tongue, until her lips tingled and ached and she
was trembling.

She shouldn’t let him do this. Zach was a dangerous man, a
killer. She knew next to nothing about him, not even his
last name. All she had was his promise that he wasn’t a
criminal. But it had been so long since a man had touched
her, so long since she’d wanted a man to touch her.

She slid her arms around his neck, arched into him,
desperate for more.

He groaned, and the hand in her hair became a fist. And in
a heartbeat the kiss transformed, his lips pressing hard
and hot against hers, his tongue thrusting deep.

Heat lanced through her, striking deep in her belly. With a
whimper, she kissed him back, welcoming his tongue with her
own, breathing in the male scent of him, her insides going
liquid as his hand moved slowly down her spine.