“We will.” The words came out with certainty she hadn’t felt since this whole thing started. “We’re going to find him. And we’re going to end this.” She shook a fist at the air. “I will end this.”
Wolf’s mouth curved. Just slightly. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to change your call sign to Fury.”
The words hit like a match to gasoline. “Are you seriously joking about that right now?”
His bemused expression didn’t falter.
Claire shook her fist again, this time directed at him. “You’re joking about my call sign when there’s a woman dead in Blackridge and?—”
“There it is.” Wolf’s almost-smile widened. “That’s the fire I need to see.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She shoved his chest. Hard. “You push me to get angry, then you mock me?—”
“I’m not mocking. Fury suits you better than Paperclip.”
“I’ll show you fury.” She shoved him again. “You arrogant, manipulative?—”
He caught her wrists. “Say it. You’re furious with me right now. Admit it.”
“Of course I’m furious with you!” She tried to pull away. Failed. “You’re standing here smirking while?—”
“While you’re finally feeling something other than guilt.” His voice was rough now. Intense. “While you’re alive and fighting instead of breaking. While you’re being the woman who’s going to help me catch this bastard.”
They were too close, his hands still around her wrists, gentle but firm. His eyes locked on hers. The air between them was charged with something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the tension that had been building since the moment they met.
“Wolf?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I—”
She didn’t finish. Couldn’t. Because her mouth was on his, and every thought in her head evaporated.
He froze momentarily, then it was as if a switch had been flipped.
His hands released her wrists, slid to her waist, and pulled her closer. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning. The kiss was hard and desperate and real.
He tasted like coffee and something darker. Something dangerous. His stubble scraped her skin. His body was solid against hers—muscle and heat and barely controlled strength.
Claire pressed closer, needing more. Needing this. Needing him.
His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back. The kiss deepened. Hungrier. More urgent. She met it eagerly, as if her grief and rage and loneliness had finally found an outlet.
His other hand moved to the small of her back, fingers splaying possessively. She gasped against his mouth. He took advantage, his tongue sweeping in, claiming her.
This was insane. Unprofessional. Reckless.
Claire didn’t care. She kissed him back with everything she had. All the fear. All the fury. All the need she’d been suppressing since the moment she met him.
Wolf made a sound low in his throat. He backed her toward the desk, his hips pinning hers. She could feel every hard line of him. Could feel exactly how much he wanted this.
Her hands slid under his shirt. Warm skin. Raised scars. The body of a man who’d been to war and survived.
“Claire,” he murmured, her name rough.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
“I should?—”
