“Jäger?” I spit, glancing at Mercy, who has abandoned her beer and swiveled to face me, utterly flabbergasted—cheeks pink, chest heaving, lips parted. My fists clench with the need to fucking throttle someone for daring to bring her harm. “Jäger upsets her stomach. I get her goddamn drinks!”
One of the brothers mutters an apology as I keep him in my peripheral vision, but my focus is lasered on Mercy. She sees it—that I’m contemplating killing them over buying her a shot, that I’ve finally lost my fucking mind over her. And I don’t think she hates it.
Which is why when the bartender hands me my drink, I grip her chin with my demand. “Open.”
Her pupils blow wide, her jaw falls slack, and the whole damn bar fades away as I swill my French 75 cocktail, lean over her, and spit it into her mouth. Her lips instinctually start to close so she can swallow, but I’m on her too fast.
My hand on her throat, my tongue licking into her mouth, my legs caging her petite frame between my body and the bar top.
I set the flute aside and twine that hand into her hair, wrenching her neck to the side so I have better access. And she kisses me back with all she’s got. The champagne bubbles dance with every swipe of our tongues, the bite of the liquor coaxing us into another taste, the tang of the lemon refreshing everything that we once were into something more.
Her hands clutch my suit jacket, tugging me closer. Her mouth moves in rhythm with mine. And she purrs.
She fucking purrs.
“Cognac,” she whispers against my mouth, which makes me chuckle as I press back into her, nipping her lower lip.
My tongue gathers a champagne dribble off her chin from the French 75 that is far more than a cocktail—it’s the embodiment of what we’re meant to be. “Only degenerates use gin.”
She arches into me, her peaked nipples grazing my chest and her pulse thrashing against my palm—proof that she’s in this, that the same current zapping through me is surging in her. Which is why I can’t cut this off, not even to kill that asshole. My mouth collides with hers again, an all-consuming fusion, devouring all the shit she’s put me through. None of it matters if it ends with her in my arms.
She smiles into the kiss, and those irresistible brown eyes—with depths of green and gold and honey-coated memories—pop open. “Filthy gin joints.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, relishing her sentimental response. “You’re perfect. My Viper.”
A heavy beat passes between us, crashing through the intimacy.
“Ryker?” she questions, her voice a raspy siren song, but that’s all she says. My witty girl is at a loss for words.
It was the nickname. One slip too many. I showed all my cards. And that’s the second the tethering I waited two decades for morphs into a union she still can’t offer.
After one more taste, one more quick peck, I pull back and glare at the Floros brothers, who wisely chosenotto scatter like a guilty party. “I spared your lives tonight. This probably goes without saying, but your Magie Noire request is afuck no. And if you ever eventhinkabout what’s mine again, I’ll know, and I’ll end you.” I peer around at the audience that’s gathered, decidingit’s a decent time to ward off any repeat occurrences. “New rule. No one comes near her without me present. Don’t fucking test me.”
MERCY
Everything about that was overkill.
But also … so damn hot.
He snapped. Based on a misunderstanding of epic proportions.
At first, I thought it was simply some domineering Noire posturing, and I did agree to let him say I was his with this fake engagement ruse. So, I went with it. Confused but enjoying the serendipitous detour more than I could have fathomed.
He ogled me with so much hunger, but before I could analyze that to death, his mouth was on mine. With a champagne toast above all freaking toasts.
Ryker is at his best when he’s unhinged. Most of the world would balk at that, but it’s what I’ve always admired about him. He doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t waffle. He doesn’t hide. When he makes a decision—crazy as those are at times—he’s all in.
There’s something beautiful and authentic about a person who isn’t afraid to feel whatever they’re feeling. I’ve never been great at that. Maybe because I struggle with clarity in my own mind. Everything is always muddled for me.
The past week or so of him conducting himself with so much restraint has been unnerving. So, this was unexpected. But not unwelcome.
Until …Viper.
Reaching for Ryker’s hand once his homicidal threat has concluded, I garner his attention as our palms clasp together.
“Let’s go,” he demands.
Knowing better than to protest, I dab the leftover French 75 droplets from my mouth and chin, grab my crossbody purse, and rise to meet him. But since there is some vital information missing from this shit show, I lean into him and keep my voice low. “On the other side of Vander is his brother Everett, whom I believe you know. He’ll be getting a tattoo tonight. And beside him is Wade, whom you also know, with his new girlfriend, Nancy.Theywere hoping to check out Magie Noire later.AfterI finished my drink with Amy and went back to the penthouse.”
