Page 82 of A Labor of Hate
“He wants it by the middle of June,” ButtFace growled.“I don’t care whatLe Chimistesaid.”
My stomach sank.If he was referring to what I feared he was, then Charles’ next cocktail would hit the streets two weeks sooner than we’d anticipated.Which meant two weeks less to stop it.
“He claims he’s working as fast as he can,” another voice replied.“You’re not the only one with skin in the game here.”
“Maybe if he spent less time dancing and more time working on it, he’d be done by now,” ButtFace grumbled.
“Don’t need to tellmethat,” the other guard snapped.“I don’t wanna babysit any more than you do, but if he?—”
A toilet flushed inside one of the restrooms, and the guard cut off immediately.There was one agonizing second of silence and then, to my horror, the scuffle of rapidly approaching footsteps.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
A MYRIAD OFfour-letter words came to mind as adrenaline flooded my system.I knew three things with alarming clarity.
One: we didn’t have enough time to escape the hallway before the guards rounded the corner.
Two: the guards wouldn’t believe the Gautheirs’ convenient new friends both had to use the bathroom togetherright now, when they’d been discussing business.
And three: we needed a fantastic excuse for loitering in this hallway together.Stat.
So, eyes wide and mind spinning, I whispered the first thing that came to mind.
“Kiss me.”
Colt’s brows shot up.“Wha?—”
“We don’t have time for anything else,” I hissed, my pulse ratcheting faster and faster as the footsteps neared.Four feet from the corner.Now three.“Colt, for the love—kiss me!”
His eyes flicked toward the hall, and, apparently coming to the same conclusion, he obliged.
Oh, how he obliged.
In a flash, he had me against the wall, his hands in mine as he pinned them over my head.A short gasp escaped me before his mouth slanted over mine, swallowing my surprise.Electricity arced between us, in us, through us.Melting my inhibitions and melding us together until I didn’t know where he ended and I began.He was the lightning to my thunder, lethal and precise and beautiful.So different from each other yet destined to go together.
His lips explored mine in much the same way he did everything—meticulously and thoroughly.There wasn’t an inch of them he didn’t taste, a dip or swell he didn’t savor and sanctify into a prayer fit for only the most pious devotee.
Worship.
That’s what he’d promised when he’d backed me against a wall weeks ago, and it was exactly what he delivered.
But I didn’t want worship.I wanted surrender.
I wanted his tightly leashed control to snap, for him to lose himself in the euphoria.To want that enough—to feel safe enough—to allow himself to let go.And I’d do whatever I could to encourage that.
I arched into him as much as the belly would allow and freed my hands, only to comb them through his hair.He melted at the touch.And when I sank my nails in just enough to prick without maiming, he shuddered and groaned.His hands found the nape of my neck and the small of my back, his deft fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure to light up each nerve ending as I curved into him.
He’d just shifted to trail kisses down my neck when someone cleared their throat.Loudly.
We tensed simultaneously, the reminder of our situation plowing into us like a herd of hormone-addled oxen.Even so, Colt’s lips lingered against me, his final kiss deliciously slow and his teeth grazing my skin as he pulled away.I couldn’t stop the moaning gasp that escaped, even if I’d tried.
Dazed and breathing heavily, we turned to locate the source of the interruption.Oddly enough, it wasn’t either of the bodyguards, but a middle-aged woman in a hot pink tracksuit scowling at us from the end of the hall.
“Do you mind?”she griped, gesturing vaguely around her.“This is a public place, not your bedroom.”
Colt offered his charming grin, reserved solely for people who wouldn’t know him well enough to be wary of it.“My apologies.I just learned how to dance the tango with my wife, and, well, you know how it is.”He ran his thumb along his swollen bottom lip.“It isn’t called the ‘dance of love’ for nothing.”
My wife.
