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Legacy of Lies by Jillian David

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Garrison Taggart’s Wyoming ranch is being sabotaged and his supernatural ability to tell when someone is lying hasn’t been a lick of help. Now sweet schoolteacher Sara Lopez informs him that his son is having trouble at school, yet Sara’s recent breakup with Garrison’s rival puts her in an uncomfortable position, despite her attraction to her student’s father. But when the boy goes missing, Sara and Garrison must risk their deepest secrets and their lives to save him.

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He moved forward until his body heat reached her exposed face and neck. The scent of good food, leather, and hardworking man blended in a heady mixture.
“It’s been a while, so I may be rusty.” His low voice sent jolts of anticipation down her spine.
Her lips waited, just a few cruel inches away from his mouth…was this some kind of evil torture? Would she have to wait, a millimeter from heaven, while she froze to death?
No thank you.
Never let it be said that Sara couldn’t take charge of an iffy situation when the chips were down.
Or help knock some rust off a fellow.
She grabbed his sheepskin and leather jacket lapels, yanking him toward her as she stood on tiptoes.
When their lips met, a zap of holy wow shot clear to her feet, then returned to settle in her pelvis, swirling in the most delightful way. The heat from his mouth flowed like warm liqueur through her body. After a moment, her calves protested the height difference, and she staggered back a step. Her hands remained clamped onto his jacket.
She licked her lips, her taste buds instantly craving more of his spicy male essence. A comparison between the taste of his lips and the rest of his body would be fine, too. “Yes, well. So there you go, no more rust. Like riding a bike,” she babbled.
With difficulty, she unclenched her hands from the crushed jacket lapels, then smoothed the worn leather, like it was a suit coat. A flash of desire hit her. Oh, baby Jesus, what would this man look like in a suit? With those shoulders?
When he leaned down, his stubble brushed her cheek, sending ticklish, delicious sparks skimming over her skin. “I might need more practice.” His breath slid up her jaw and drifted over her ear.
He wrapped his leather-clad arms around her upper back and waist and pulled her close again, this time dictating the timing and pressure of the kiss. Had she thought his mouth hard and cruel before? Because right now, his strong and soft lips sent flickers of excitement right into her own mouth.
When he tugged her flush against him, even through their coats, she sensed the iron muscles of his torso, flexing as he adjusted his stance. She melted against him. Despite their differences in height, they fit perfectly.
Moving his mouth into a fabulous new angle, he stroked with his tongue until her lips tingled.
In the name of the Holy Spirit, amen. This guy kissed like a pro, his kisses a perfect mixture of gentle and possessive.
Rusty? Out of practice? She’d love to bear witness to his expertise when he regained proficiency. Kisses any better than these could kill a woman. Dead.
She floated for what seemed like hours, cocooned in his steady arms, and savored the sensations that arose beneath his ever-changing lips. Just when she got used to one angle, he shifted and nudged her mouth open for more. The confident strokes of his tongue and nips of his teeth made her toes tingle.
When one of his hands snaked up into her hair and massaged her scalp, every muscle in her body short-circuited. For the first time in her life, her knees nearly gave out on her. Amazing.
After minutes—hours? days?—he pulled back. “Wow,” he said. Vapor from his breaths created puffs in the winter air.
Was he breathing as quickly as she was?
“Well. This has to be the best parent-teacher meeting, ever,” she said.

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