She moaned involuntarily, no longer feeling the chill of the night air.
Jason froze, his breath hot against her bare skin.
“What?” she asked in a low voice. Had the men spotted them?
“Jesus, Emma,” he said, his voice muffled against her neck. “I…Fuck.” With a tortured groan, he lifted his head and kissed her full on the mouth.
She turned to molten lava at the soft, urgent press of his lips, the questing slide of his tongue. Desire bit her hard. She angled her head to give herself better access, to let him all the way in as her hands roved over the hard muscles of his chest. His kiss was a high like the purest mountain air, the sweetest of desserts. How would she ever get enough? Why would she ever stop?
Low voices rumbled with laughter, passing several feet away, but she ignored them. If it was the goons sent to find her, acting like obsessed, unaware lovers was probably the best of disguises. Anyone else didn’t matter.
Jason’s muscles tensed beneath her fingers, but he didn’t stop the drugging kisses. Instead, he shifted sideways and moved closer, his body surrounding her like a protective shell.
He’d been good at this in college, but they clicked together in a new way now. Equally good, maybe better. She wanted to shed her sweater—hell, everything. Including the pain of their past and the reality of their present.
Metal slammed on metal with a loud bang that startled them apart with nervous laughter. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful. She and Jason had come to a truce, but she was still going after Byron and Blue Bear.
Falling under Jason’s spell again would only make what she had to do harder. She ignored the voice in her head that said it was too late.
He sounded slightly winded as he glanced behind her surreptitiously. “Wagner’s shutting down for the night.”
She wasn’t exactly steady herself as she surveyed the side of the park visible from her vantage point. It had mostly cleared out, but there were a few other couples further down the steps and nestled between bushes on the low sea wall. On the grass, a group of five or so forty-somethings sat near a statue of two muscular men wrestling.
The fairy lights blinked out, but streetlights around the perimeter of the park cast deep shadows into the trees.
“Are those men still hanging around?” she asked, feeling jittery as Jason slowly released her and scooted several inches away.
“I don’t see them, but I wouldn’t assume they’re gone,” Jason said. “All the paths eventually lead to one of two exits, right?”
“Yes. One road runs south of the university by the marina, the other goes north of the university by the cultural center.”
“There’s still the water,” Jason said. “But even with all of my training learning how to not drown, that’s an absolute last resort. Unless we can snag a boat.”
One of the men sitting on the grass laughed loudly.
“Actually,” Emma said, “I have an idea.”
Jason’s pulse pounded wildly as Emma stood and dusted off the seat of her pants, slinging her heavy bag over one shoulder. He could still feel her on his lips, taste her skin on his tongue. She was more addictive than sugar, and he was already craving another hit.
Giving himself several seconds to get his body’s reaction to her under control, he focused on the danger they were in, the mystery of Viktor’s death, his brother’s possible involvement.
That did it.
Standing, he took her hand and followed her lead as they crossed the park toward a rather violent sculpture of two nearly naked men wrestling, one of them being held around the neck and shoulders with his feet up in the air.
At the base of the sculpture, half a dozen people a few years older than Jason sat in a circle laughing and talking. They sounded American or Canadian.
“Go, Wildcats!” Emma called out with a huge smile as she and Jason neared the group.
A white guy with receding brown hair, and wearing an Arizona sweatshirt, smiled back. “Ah, a fellow alum?”
“Yes. Poli sci, 2009.” She gave just enough of the truth to make the lie stick. And having grown up in Tucson, she probably knew enough details not to be caught out.
“Nice. We’re all class of ’98.” He stood. “I’m PJ.”
“Emily,” she said with a smile, shaking the man’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Jackson.” She gestured to Jason with an adoring look.
Damn, she was good. It was almost scary how easily she made up details on the spot and ingratiated herself to the group. Within minutes the two of them had been invited to “join the fun,” and the other three couples had widened their circle to make space for him and Emma.
