They’d been partners for almost a decade, and the sight of Meridian—the light from the flames outlining his endless lines of muscle—still made his heart stutter.
An oversized jet-black Russian sable was draped over his bare shoulders like the night wrapped around perfection. Silkpajama pants rode low on his hips, exposing the dark trail of hair below his navel.
His lover wore the forty-thousand-dollar coat as if he didn’t give a damn if killing animals for clothes was morally wrong or not.
Ex had always been drawn to Meridian’s permanent scowl and eyes so dark they swallowed light instead of reflecting it, but the tension in his shoulders and the tightness at the base of his lover’s throat made unease stir in his stomach.
Meridian was a master at concealing his stress, but sometimes the weight of his authority, responsibility, and command of the Ravens couldn’t be hidden.
Meridian never told anyone, or the world, that he cared or loved, but he showed it by how viciously he fought for them.
He was about to drop the comforter and go to him when a sharp knock at their front door interrupted his thoughts.
Meridian didn’t move or even turn his head as he slipped one of his cigarettes between his lips and lit it.
Ex snorted. “Who have you pissed off now, lover?”
He opened the door, and Jo stood there—looking immaculate as always—flanked by two of her shadow operatives and her intelligence director.
Her long black hair was flowing down her back to the waistband of her tailored pinstriped skirt. The purple silk blouse didn’t have a speck or wrinkle despite the late hour.
“Where the hell is he?” she snapped.
Ex opened the door wider, and Jo’s gaze locked on Meridian’s silhouette beyond the glass doors.
She stalked across their Nero marble floor in her lavender stilettos.
She didn’t bother with a preamble before she went in.
“What the fuck were you thinking, sending Scar after a mark? He’s been here a grand total of five goddamn minutes. Hehad no recon, backup or a clean exit. You just sent him into the field bare-assed.”
Ex leaned against the wall, watching.
Fuck, Meridian looked good like that. Stoic and completely unbothered.
Midnight-black fur framing the golden skin over his throat. Expensive liquor and white smoke easing past his lips, with amber lighting licking over his chest.
“Well, he did retrieve the data,” one of the intel techs offered.
“Shut the fuck up, Feed!” Jo yelled. “That’s not the point.”
Meridian took another slow sip of his drink. “Scar is smarter and more resourceful than you think.”
“You’re going to get him killed before the rest of us can find that out,” she shot back. “Before he gets a chance to do any good with those smarts.”
Meridian leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees.
“If he can’t get into a sixty-five-year-old woman’s house and plant a drive without a handler and a ten-man field squad, then I can’t use him.”
“You mean I can’t use him,” Jo corrected.
Meridian exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “It may be your arena, Jo, but it’s my band.”
Jo paced, fury rolling off her in waves.
“Has Zorion taken Gage out yet?” Meridian asked her.
“They’ve been here one day!” she balked.
