Johan’s lips twitch. “No.”
“And who are you?” Her haughty tone is all mafia princess. I love it. I love her. I’m ready to make this happen.
My best friend cants his head, the action sending his thick black hair into his eyes. He adjusts his dark-rimmed glasses on his nose, ignoring the unruly mop on his head. “Johan.”
Aurora stares at him like she’s waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, she folds her arms and asks, “Are you an assassin as well?”
Johan looks around her at me. “You told her you’re an assassin?”
“Nope.” I shrug. “She must just assume I’m good with my hands.” I step closer to her so I can whisper in her ear as I add, “Which I am, by the way.Verygood with my hands, I mean.”
She shivers and steps away from me. But it’s not fast enough to mask the fresh wave of her alluring scent.
My little bee is aroused.
Does that mean Johan is a scent match, too? Is she even close enough to tell?
Granted, the entire jet smells like a bookstore cafe that specializes in mixing expensive chocolate into its coffee drinks. That’s a combination of Johan and Laz, something I’m sure our omega has picked up on by now.
That could explain the subtle shivers teasing the hairs along her exposed skin. I admire the reaction, enjoying the way her body is naturally responding to ours. It makes me want to wrap an arm around her waist and bury my face in her nape. Lick that throbbing pulse point on her neck.Bite.
A growl threatens to rumble free from my chest. But I swallow it, needing to tamp down my rutting instincts.
She has to consent.
No. More than that. She has tobeg.
“Who are you?” she whispers, looking back at me and then at Johan again. “Something isn’t right here.”
“A comment I made roughly ten years ago when reviewing my account finances,” Laz says as he steps into the cabin.
Ohhh, the show is about to begin.
I move to block the exit, eager to watch the fireworks. If only I had some popcorn. It would go so nicely with the moment.
Our little bee buzzes to life, stumbling backward as her pretty eyes widen. “Lazarus.”
Laz arches a dark brow as he slips his phone into his pocket, his expression taking on what I joyfully call “arrogant don” mode.
Here we go, I purr inside, eager to clap. Because I fully expect our bumblebee to sting in response to whatever Laz is about to say to her.
Hopefully, that sting will present itself as a gun.
Go on, little bee, make my night…
“Most omegas refer to me assirorMr. Ferraro. Omegas that have stolen from me, well, I think the formality should be accompanied by a bow. Perhaps a plea for me to spare one’s life. Show mercy. Entice me perhaps… with an offer?”
And there goes the buzzing.
She’s practically vibrating.
Ready to pounce.
I’m about to grin, to cheer her on, when I realize that the vibrating isn’t driven by anger, but by another emotion entirely. She’strembling.
And a sour note tinges the air.
One I… I don’t like.
