Page 25 of Remington’s Mate

“Close,” he said. “Colt has his mate’s name tattooed on his belly. With hearts. It’s enough to make you barf. I, on the other hand, am a plain-bellied Sneetch.” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch at the Dr. Seuss reference, and added, “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t pin my hand to the table like a dead tarantula.”

She lessened the pressure, but the tip of her knife blade was still tickling his skin. She drew little circles with it, the delicate and dangerous touch sending erotic shivers up his spine.

He’d grown up with some deadly women, but he’d never quite realized how hot they were.

“Uh huh.” She was still caressing his skin with the tip of her knife. “If it’s true you’re not the mated one, then maybe I’ll forgive you for flirting with me.” She made a quick motion, and the knife disappeared up her sleeve again. “But I’m still not impressed.”

Like so often happened to Colt, Remy’s mouth just kept moving, stupid stuff spilling out.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my underwear. You’d be impressed then.”

She picked up her straws and licked them again, which was giving him a boner. “Doubtful,” she drawled. “Takes something pretty big to impress me.”

Yeah, well. It was getting bigger all the time. Luckily she couldn’t see that, with the table in the way. He was suddenly grateful she wasn’t a wolf—she would scent his arousal in a heartbeat, which would be even more embarrassing.

He gathered his shit together with difficulty. She smelled good enough to eat, and he could feel the heat wherever they touched, as if they were skin to skin.

He cleared his throat and took a long swallow of his drink. “Okay. Can we go back to the mission?”

She sat back. “I never left it. Don’t know what the fuck you were doing.”

Falling in lust, that’s what he was doing. He had to stop.

“Right. Um, I talked to Brandon this afternoon. He wants to know if you’d be willing to help us nail Sutcliffe, and find out how many compromised structures they’ve built. I know it’s a big ask—especially seeing what Sutcliffe did to Martin. But having someone on the inside could be the edge we need.”

She put her straws back in her drink, changing from flirtatious to serious with stunning suddenness. “If they’re hurting innocent people, I’m in. Especially if they’re doing it for profit.”

He might not be impressing her, but she was sure as hell impressing him. “You don’t want to think about it? This could be dangerous.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t grow up in a pack of Enforcers for nothing, my friend. You don’t let people get away with this shit.” The knife appeared in her hand again, and then disappeared. “And they’re not the only ones who are dangerous.”

He believed her.

“Okay. Good. Hopefully none of Sutcliffe’s people followed you over here tonight—”

“They did.” She jerked her chin towards the mirror over the bar. He shifted so he could see what it reflected. Two guys whose look screamed ‘Private Security’, talking to the bartender.

“Those guys are part of Sutcliffe’s personal security detail,” she said. “The bulky one is Smith, and the wiry one is Jones.”

“Smith and Jones? Seriously? People buy that?”

“Apparently.”

“Shit,” Remy said. “Didn’t your Enforcer dad teach you how to lose a tail?”

“Didn’t matter,” she said serenely. “This was our cover, remember? I was unable to resist your epic hotness and got myself all dressed up in my shortest skirt to seduce you. This—” she pointed her straws at him and then at herself—“is about nothing but dirty steamy sex.”

He wished so much that it was.

She glanced up at the mirror again, then leaned against him. “Incoming,” she murmured. “Make it good.”

He should have had all his attention on the approaching enemy, but all he could see was her dark-lashed blue eyes, like pools of twilight sky. Her scent was hot and delicate at the same time, and he felt like he was surrounded in it.

She licked her lips, and he was gone. He tilted his head and kissed the whiskey off her lips. One kiss, two, a touch of his tongue along her lower lip because she tasted so damn good.

He felt almost drunk from just that—her taste and her scent and the feel of her lips. He angled his head, sliding his mouth over hers and cupping the back of her neck with one hand.

He couldn’t stop—it was like an instant addiction, a need to have more and more and more of her. He lost track of time, and was only brought back to consciousness by the very loud noise of someone clearing their throat right next to him.