Page 20 of Thorn

“Well, you and the people she works with. She’s discreet. I’m assuming you were with ‘the bear’ and ‘the brain’ today. She calls you ‘Thor.’”

“Because…?”Thor for Thorn?

“Mmmm.” Brigitte licked her top lip and stalked forward. “I think it’s because you’re built like a Viking. Broad shoulders.” She moved her hands to his arms. “Your biceps.” She slid her hands over his pecs. “Your chest. Maybe these yummy waves in your blond hair.” She reached up and spun her fingers into his hair.

He put his hands on her shoulders and left them there, holding her at a distance. “How well do you know Margot?” Brigitte could have made this up spur of the moment. She did have Margot’s name right. Though, Margot’s association with Panther Force was less well known.

“She’s one of my oldest friends. Margot grew up next door to me in Paris. When we were babies, we would take baths together and played in the same playpen.” Again, with that secret smile. “Then she moved to the U.S. when she was ten. Still don’t believe me?” She tipped her head and raised an eyebrow. “She’s allergic to strawberries, rabbit fur, and the color pink.”

True. She hated pink. Thorn didn’t know about the other two. “You could get that off Facebook.”

“No one at Iniquus is allowed on social media even under a pseudonym.”

“Not convinced.”

“She has a scar on her palm of her left hand shaped like a C. I was there when she got that scar.”

Thorn knew about the scar and knew that Margot decided to leave the field because of that event, and now she did team support. That was all he knew about it. Margot had gotten that scar when she was with the CIA. So Brigitte and Margot hadn’t just had a childhood connection. They’d been connected out in the field. Okay. Thorn was starting to believe, not because of her words, but because of the tremor that moved through Brigitte’s body when she gave up that piece of information. Involuntary. And telling. “And what did Margot say about me, exactly?” he asked.

Brigitte shifted away from that memory and back to seduction mode. Or whatever the hell she thought she was doing. “That you’ve got a cool head in a hot situation. Keen mind.” She opened her mouth then shut it again, yet another cat-with-cream smile. “That you’ve got stamina in spades. You take your pleasures when and where you can. Sometimes, it’s about opening the valve to let the pressure off. ‘Blow off some steam,’ I believe is the phrase.” She stopped for a reaction.

Thorn offered her nothing in return.

She lifted her brow and let it drop, then tilted her head, sliding her hands down to his waist. “Relationships to you aren’t a place of comfort. They’re stressful. You have enough stress with your job. Some men drink. You prefer more physically exertive ways to release. The gym. Between the sheets.” Her gaze shifted to the king-sized bed, then back to him. “Or wherever the mood strikes.” Her breath had become shallow. Her eyes dilated almost black. Her face flushed, and her lips parted as that secret smile of hers tickled over her lips.

Cat and cream.

It was provocative all right. Thorn wanted to strip her bare of her secrets.

His body had picked up on her cues and was responding in kind.

Her hand rested over his heart, and he knew she could feel the beats pumping blood through his body, hard.

“Word has it that a woman can feel safe with you.” Her hands swept down to his belt, and she worked to loosen the buckle. “While you have a bad boy reputation, you’re a gentleman about your conquests. And, according to Margot, you find these kinds of opportunities rather abundantly.”

She was right about that. This situation wasn’t unusual for Thorn. Women in this line of work were liberated by the life-or-death calculations of their jobs, and like him, they took what pleasures they could when they could.

He was down for that.

He’d watched enough death and destruction to know life was short. No guarantees. Sweat equity balanced by some sweaty fun helped to even the equation.

“Margot said that a relationship would have you missing out when an unexpected piece of pie was offered up.” She yanked his belt, and it slid from the loops like a whip.

Yup. In Iniquus Headquarters − where it would be impossible to plant a bug − Thorn had had the pie conversation with Margot. He’d told her it was a bad idea for him to go out with one of her friends she was trying to set him up with. Margot must have repeated that conversation.

Brigitte tipped her head, let her lashes slowly shut, slowly open again. The move was luxurious somehow. “Savoring” was the word that came to mind, maybe “decadent.”

“I could be your unexpected piece of pie if you felt hungry.” She unbuttoned the top of his pants. “Today.” She slowly slid his zipper down. “Now.”

Brigitte stepped back. When she peeled off her sweater, the cami-shirt underneath had an under-arm conceal holster. The butt of her gun was starkly black against the white. Starkly hard against the soft swell of her breast.

“Small world – those who play the ops game,” he said.

Her smile changed at the gruffness in his voice. She knew she was going to get what she wanted.

Iniquus had a firm keep-your-pants-zipped policy when it came to clients. Certainly, when it came to dealing with enemies. But there were no rules against engagement when it came to allied operatives.

Next off was that little form fitting cami. She set it down on the low boy. The weight of the gun made a muffledthunk. She ran her hands over her breasts and lifted them like ripened fruit. “You like?” she asked.

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