Page 34 of Cold Mercy

“Even if I was, what’s it to you?” she fires back.

What is it to me? It's fucking everything.

I shouldn't care this much. I shouldn't give a single damn.

But just the thought of her stepping into a warehouse with three gang runners inside makes something sharp and furious twist in my chest. Her stubbornness irritates me. But her fearlessness… does something entirely different.

I tighten my grip, pulse hammering.

“What the hell were you thinking? We’re supposed to be working together.”

She jabs a finger into my chest, unbothered that I’m still half-holding her against the wall.

“How did you know I was here?” she snaps. “Were you following me?”

A smirk touches my lips. “What if I was?” I fire back, leaning closer until my voice is a low growl in her ear. “Does it matter? I just saved your life. A 'thank you' would be more appropriate than your attitude, princess.”

She closes the distance, stepping into my space until her body is flush against mine. Tilting her head up, her eyes dark and impossibly calm, she lets her lips hover a centimeter from my own.

“You want a 'thank you?’” she whispers, her voice a low, deliberate caress. “The only thing I'm ever going to give you, Thomas, is a 'fuck you.'”

Fuck. The words, delivered with that icy calm, that complete lack of fear, are a thousand times more potent than a scream would have been. She isn't just throwing an insult. She's making a promise, looking me dead in the eye and daring me to take what she's offering, knowing full well I want to. The thought of her, looking at me with this exact expression while she's pinned under me, breathless and broken, hits me so hard my dick strains against my jeans.

So yeah. I'll take that 'fuck you.' And I'll collect on it. Soon.

We’re inches apart, both too angry to breathe properly, the tension so thick it vibrates between us. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see movement.

One of the men inside is walking toward the door. If he sees her, she’s screwed.

I open my mouth to give an order, but I don’t get the chance.

Sophia grabs the front of my shirt, yanks me toward her, slides both hands up to my face, and…kisses me.

With no warning, no hesitation. Just her mouth on mine, hot and fucking demanding.

At first, I freeze. My hands hover, my mind screaming that this is a mistake, that she is still a target. But then she deepens it. Her fingers slide into my hair, nails scraping my scalp, pulling me closer. And I break.

Reason goes out the window. I groan against her mouth, a low, rough sound I can’t hold back. Her lips part against mine, hungry and reckless, tasting like anger and trouble. It’s a collision.

My hands find her waist on instinct, gripping her tight enough to bruise, pulling her flush against me until I can feel every curve of her body imprinted on mine.

I forget where the hell we are. All I know is the taste of her, the heat of her skin, and that if she doesn't stop in the next three seconds, I’m going to ruin us both right here in this alley.

A voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey!”

Some guy stands in the doorway, staring at us like we’re a couple of horny idiots making out in a back alley. He waves his hand irritably.

“Take that somewhere else, yeah? This isn’t a motel.”

Sophia breaks the kiss, but only barely. Her breath ghosts against my wet lips, and she looks into my eyes for a single charged second. She looks completely wrecked, her pupils blown wide with the chaos of our kiss. The sight of her undoing feeds a hungry part of me that wants to see her even more broken, completely unraveled, and begging for me.

Then she takes my hand, turning her back to the man with a casual arrogance that makes my head spin.

“Come on, baby,” she purrs. “Let’s get out of here. Guy’s a creep.”

Baby? Jesus Christ.