Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(2)

She pulled away and stared into his eyes. “What do you want my name to be?”

“Mine,” he replied. “Just say you’re mine for the night.”

“Still determined to f**k me.”

“Not determined, sugar. Convinced.”

He could swear fear flashed in her eyes for the briefest of seconds. But when he blinked it was gone, replaced by a sultry stare. Her lips twisted into a tempting pout. The kind that dared a man to taste them. He was never one to back down from a dare.

He hauled her against him, cupping her cheek in his palm. His lips found hers with a command to submit. She didn’t surrender right away, but he deepened the kiss, demanding access. Finally, her lips parted and he slid his tongue inside. He’d been dying to taste her, wondered if she tasted as exotic as she looked.

He wasn’t disappointed.

He scraped the tip of her tongue with his teeth, nibbling and sucking at her soft flesh. A groan worked from low in his throat. Forgotten for a moment was his curiosity over why she’d sought him out. He didn’t care as long as she let him take her out of here.

Her chest rose and fell as she panted against his mouth. Her small hands gripped his shirt, but he could feel her touch all the way through the material. Damn, but he wanted her hands on his naked skin. Why the hell were they f**king around in this human wasteland when they could be miles away enjoying each other? And maybe he could find out who the hell she was and why she was looking for him.

“Let’s get out of here, sugar.”

A myriad of expressions flew across her face before she slowly nodded. He didn’t waste any time waiting for her to change her mind. He took her hand and pulled her toward the exit.

A blast of hot, humid air hit him square in the face as he strode into the small alley that paralleled the club. By the time they made it to the sleek sports car parked a half block away, sweat dampened the T-shirt he wore.

He opened the passenger door for his lady then hurried around to slide behind the wheel. He keyed the ignition and revved the engine, the motor purring as he accelerated down the street.

She didn’t say much, another point in her favor. He could think of a dozen better uses for her mouth than talking. They drove the rest of the way in silence. A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking garage of a downtown apartment complex.

“Home sweet home, sugar.”

She turned her head, cocking an eyebrow. “Does that Southern boy charm work for you all the time?”

He flashed her a grin. “It worked on you.”

She eyed him evenly. “Your charm had little to do with it.”

She intrigued him. No two ways about it.

He got out of the car and started around to her door, but she slid out and met him halfway. As she moved closer to him, he started to curl his arm around her waist, but she shied away, keeping a foot of distance between them. He shrugged and walked into the building.

They took the elevator up, and a few seconds later, he unlocked the door to his apartment and ushered her inside where the welcoming blast of cooler air hit him in the face.

She walked into the small living room as he flipped on the lights. Her hands crept around her middle. As before in the bar, he sensed hesitancy on her part, but then she turned and let her arms fall to her sides. “Do you have something to drink?” she asked in a husky voice.

All he really wanted to do was get her into bed as fast as he could, but he supposed he could slow down and try to act a little civilized.

He walked over to the liquor cabinet and opened the beveled glass doors. “What would you like?”

She moved in beside him and laid her hand on his arm. “What would you like?”

Hell if that wasn’t a loaded question.

“To drink,” she said in an amused voice.

“Whatever you’re having, sugar.”

He stepped back and allowed her access to the cabinet. She pulled two glasses down then reached for the first bottle on the shelf. She didn’t seem particularly discerning when it came to her liquor.

He almost missed what she did next. Almost.

It was done so quickly and efficiently, he almost thought he’d imagined her making the dump into his drink with an expert swipe of her hand. Conniving little wench had spiked it. The question was whether she was trying to kill him or incapacitate him. Neither option was particularly enticing. Not when the alternative was spending the evening between her legs.

She turned with a smile and handed the glass to him. He took it and raised it to his lips, watching her as he did. A subtle spark of satisfaction and triumph lit her eyes.

As she tilted her own glass back to take a swallow, he lowered his and set it on the sideboard. She frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, sugar. I’m just not very thirsty. I find I’m craving something else altogether.”

To her credit, she didn’t let her thwarted attempt bother her. She set her drink down then sauntered over to him and slid her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. He sucked in all available breath when the tips delved into his underwear and scraped over the ridge of his dick.

Slowly, he squeezed the air back out of his lungs and gripped her wrist in his hand, gently pulling her away.

She raised that eyebrow again, an action that was starting to get on his nerves.

“What’s your hurry, sugar?” he asked.