Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(70)

She preened in the mrror, dug for her lipstick. Freshened up with a glossy crimson that made her full lips even more seductive. Another pass with the mascara brush. She rearranged the bustier, propping up her cleavage. Fluffed her long, glossy chestnut hair.

Nadia stuck the two pills, using weak glue, beneath the false nails on her index fingers, perfect for discreet flicking into a drink. She peeled adhesive backs from the slap-on GPS tags for his vehicle. She got out of the car, sauntered past his vehicle. Stumbled, crouched to adjust the strap of her four-inch heels, lost her balance. Caught herself on the bumper of his Chevy. Oops! She rose gracefully to her feet. Performing to no one felt silly, but at least no one could accuse her of being sloppy.

Onward, to part two. She sashayed in a slow, hip-swinging walk into the place, letting her eyes adjust. The f*ck-me-please outfit was a double-edged sword. She had to get right to him, or she’d end up fending off every horny lout who wandered into the place.

Aaro sat at the end of the bar. Nadia weaved her way between jostling bodies and hot-eyed gazes. She slid into the seat next to his and fluttered her mascara-loaded lashes at him. She gave him her best slow, curving, just-imagine-what-I-can-do-with-theselips smile.

“Buy a girl a drink?” she murmured.

He glanced at her, gaze bouncing off and then, a half second later, sucked right back. She deepened the smile. Arched to accentuate the cleavage as his gaze dropped, checking out the whole picture.

“I’m on a budget,” he said.

Her smile froze. Fury rushed in. That rude, humorless dickhead.

She gestured at the bartender. “Gin and tonic, please,” she called. She turned back to Aaro. “I can buy my own.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Well, well. She might actually need the drugs wedged beneath her fingernails. But never let it be said that one of King’s operatives wasn’t up for a challenge. She propped her elbows on the bar, cupped her chin in her hands, gave the bastard a kittenish stare.

She liked what she saw, from a purely physical point of view. Aaro was tall, strong, muscular. She liked that as much as any girl. Thick shoulders, barrel chest, narrow waist, good ass. And his face intrigued her. Sharp, high, slanted cheekbones, caved in cheeks, heavy-lidded green eyes, the arrowing slash of his dark brows. His nose a craggy, bumpy hook that had seen some breakage. Long hair, dragged back into a cheap elastic band. A nondescript brown, but it was glossy and thick. His mouth a stern hyphen, cruelly flat. Dangerous. Very bad attitude. Hmmm.

This could be fun. Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure, if pleasure served her ends. And King’s. Of course.

She decided on blatant provocation. “You’re not too friendly,” she observed. “Makes a girl wonder why you’re here at all. You could sulk alone in the dark at home, if you wanted. It costs less.”

His mouth hardened. “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart. Whatever you’re looking for tonight, I don’t have any.”

Her gaze dropped to his black T-shirt, his faded jeans. The bulge at the crotch that hinted that just maybe, he might not be quite as unfriendly as his words suggested. “You have plenty,” she murmured.

He took a swallow of his whiskey and set the glass down with a sharp thud. “I don’t think so.” His voice was brusque.

“Aww.” She pursed her lips in an exaggerated, gleaming pout. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“Because I’m not what ladies like. I don’t call the next day, I don’t send flowers, I don’t want to meet your kid, I don’t want to fight with your husband. I just want a glass of f*cking bourbon.”

She put one of her crimson nails against his hand. He froze. “I don’t want flowers.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her nail. “I won’t give you my number. I don’t have kids. Let me tell you why I’m here tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m really not interested in—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I’m telling you anyway.”

After a moment, he jerked his chin at her to go on. Curious.

Nadia improvised on the spot. “I just met with a private investigator who I hired to follow my husband. He had pictures of my husband’s affair. With my sister. Graphic pictures.” She let her lip quiver, ever so slightly, then ruthlessly tightened them. Trying to be strong.

He shrugged. “That sucks. And this pertains to me . . . how?”

“I’ll tell you how.” Nadia let her voice harden. “I shouldn’t call or see either one of those shitheads tonight. I need distraction. You’d be doing a great service to humanity, and you would single-handedly decrease this year’s violent crime rate of the greater Portland metropolitan area if you provided me with that distraction.”

He gazed at her expressionlessly over the rim of his glass. “I’m not in the habit of putting myself at the service of humanity,” he said.

“Then put yourself at the service of something more basic.” She reached under the bar. He caught her before she could grab his crotch.

“Uh-uh,” he growled. “Don’t touch.”

“Let me.” She let her voice drop to a throaty whisper. “You look so strong. You could make me forget.”

His eyes were dilated, his cheekbones flushed. She almost had him, but he still shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re trouble.”