Page 10 of Last Shot

‘Would have thought at your age you’d know what an erection is and the most common events that can—’

‘Enough,’ he hissed, bracketing her against the wall – he wasn’t touching her, but her skin buzzed like live wires beneath his frame. His arms were either side of her; there was nothing but his gaze, his voice and the knowledge that if she ran, he’d catch her with his body or a bullet, pinning her to the remnants of the trellis.

As his eyes traced a burning graze down her skin, she remembered with a jolt that she was wearing nothing but her lacy black bra and matching G-string.

It felt vaguely like a dismembering. On one hand, she was thankful it was her nicest set of lingerie and not the maternity underwear she’d bought by accident once and now wore most of the time. When she’d walked into Semperdom six months ago, the new black-lace set she knew she wouldn’t be wearing inside had given her the tiniest shot of courage.

On the other hand:Dear. God. Why?

They were both panting. Max tried to steady her own breath under the invisible weight and heat of him. God, if only she was wearing clothes ...

‘You tried to kill him,’ he said. His eyes, to his credit, were resolutely on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I found this in your clothes.’ He took her pocketknife from his chinos. They were definitely the same ones he’d been wearing last night, as she remembered the stain on his left pocket that looked like Barbarani Sangue but could just as arguably be blood. Holy hell, he really had been waiting by the door all night.

An ember sparked inside her. ‘Give that back!’ She launched at her knife, but he pulled it back, out of her reach. She clawed at his fist like a demonic child, her fingers scraping uselessly down the thick ropes of muscle wrapping his forearms. ‘That’s my property!’

‘And you are currently trespassing on Barbarani property.’ He sidestepped her as she lunged at him again, her fists connecting with a wall of muscle. If she’d thought Luca was ripped, then this shadow of his gave a whole new definition to the word.

And goddamn, it was a good definition.

‘How can I be trespassing when you drove. Me. In?’ She jumped for her knife with each word.

He didn’t even move.

Enough.

She’d forgotten who she was.

Max feigned another jump, and as he lazily flicked his wrist out of her grasp, she kicked out.You don’t go for the knee. You go for the sack above it.Crippling with a metal baton, more of a mild shock with a bare foot. But enough.

He stumbled forward, hands breaking his fall against the wall, his chest now flush with hers, her knife still clenched in his fist. Surprise glittered in his furious brown eyes.

But it soon shattered into something worse.

His eyes trained to her hip. The memory of her ghostly grab for the weapon that was no longer there flashed in her mind.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘I’m Max.’ She had a stitch. She tried to inhale to loosen it, but all that did was push her breasts into him. She’d just have to hold her breath until she lost consciousness.

‘You better start learning to talk in full sentences. I’ll have the cops ...’

‘Too late.’ She forced herself to smile, even though he probably had no idea what one looked like; the line of his mouth seemed like it had never angled up past 180 degrees. ‘I am the cops.’

It landed like the grenade she’d hoped it would.

His eyes tracked her arms. Every tattoo he clocked seemed to narrow them further. Her neck, the small scar on her chin, the scratches across her throat where she’d skimmed against the wall. Her bra ... Nope. Back up again.

His conclusion:yeah fucking right.

‘Don’t see a badge.’

‘I don’t have it with me.’

‘Convenient. Every cop I know takes theirs to bed with them.’

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