Dry. Baking. Sucking the moisture from her flesh before it could bead as perspiration. It turned the light cotton tank-top and worn denim jeans she wore to a prickling overcoat. She fidgeted, hitching her tote bag higher up on her shoulder. Australia was hot in summer, but not like this. This felt like she’d stepped into Hell. She cast a look around herself. On second thoughts, Hell probably didn’t have as many beautiful people, looking divine and smouldering sensuality. She scowled, feeling dowdy and jet-lagged. Damn, she should have packed some make-up along with her cuffs. She pictured locking them around The Mouse’s wrists and a squirming sensation unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Okay, in the junction of her thighs actually. She huffed at her bangs. Getting turned on about arresting a jewel thief? She needed a holiday. The irony of the thought made Katrina snort. Here she was in a city that, as far as she could tell, rivalled Las Vegas for glitz, glamour and escapism, and she was thinking about having a holiday when she left it?
