After Happily Ever Afte- Astrid Ohletz Page 0,25
down and viciously flicked the woman’s bloodied nose. “Vienna.” Flick. “Philharmonic.” Flick. “Orchestra.” Flick. She gave her a withering look. “Anyone around here could tell you that.”
“I don’t think so.” The woman’s laugh was light, sounding genuine despite the blood soaking her swelling nose.
Requiem studied her in confusion. Her face had to be hurting like hell, yet she was still smiling.
“Well, you’re not just that, are you?” the woman continued. “I know you killed dozens of underworld scum before you ran off here.”
“Last chance.” Requiem yanked the towel in her hands so taut that her sculpted biceps, honed by two-hour workouts every day, stood out in sharp relief. Her voice became terrifyingly soft. “Now—Who. Are. You?”
The smile widened. “A recruiter.”
Requiem threw the towel to the floor and squatted in front of her. She wrenched the upper half of the woman’s kimono apart with force. Beneath the garment she wore a simple white bra, and Requiem rapidly inspected her for surveillance wires, running her fingers under the bra and around to her back. She felt lower, patting down her groin, thighs, and calves. Finding nothing, she slid her fingers up into the woman’s long black hair, pausing behind her ears. Still nothing.
In annoyance, Requiem pushed her away so hard that the woman fell back in a sprawl. Then she pounced.
“Now, let’s start again,” she said coldly, bracketing the woman’s knees with her thighs. “Who the hell are you, and why are you here, invading my space?”
Rather than answer, a slow gaze raked Requiem’s body. Something familiar about the way she studied her niggled at Requiem. When the woman finally spoke, her voice was breathless.
“Invading your space? Says the naked assassin with her cunt in my lap?” An elegant finger traced across Requiem’s muscled stomach, swirling across a small scar above her hip. She arched an eyebrow.
Requiem glanced down at her nude state, then at the finger. “Distracted, are we?”
They both watched the finger drop a little lower, edging towards her neatly trimmed dark hair, and Requiem hissed in a breath of surprise. It had been so long since she’d played with her prey. And even longer still since one of them had the temerity to toy with her back. She’d forgotten how heady it could be.
Arousal shot through her when the dancing digit slid a little lower—merely a fingertip, a fingernail, away from her clit. A prickling sensation shot down Requiem’s spine, a warning as sharp as a knife’s blade, and Requiem wrenched the hand away and jumped to her feet. She picked up her clothes and said with a growl, “Fine. You have your space. Now talk.”
Even with distance from the woman, Requiem’s heart thudded in awareness, her body tightly strung. The base, raw emotions were almost overwhelming. This was what she used to do. This was the real game. The absolute power. Her body ached to feel it again. Requiem’s mounting excitement in her lower gut told her just how close that wandering finger had come. How close the woman would have been to discovering the effect she’d had on Requiem. And that would not do.
The woman sat up casually and leaned back on one arm, a picture of relaxation. Like one of those perfect specimens on the cover of a yoga DVD, all poised class and easy beauty. “I am someone who needs your unique skills, and who understands that you’re available and most likely ready for a change.”
“Not interested.” Requiem slipped on her bra and slid her black boy shorts up her legs.
The woman teasingly began to fiddle with her own robe, widening it. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”
“Still not interested.” Requiem pulled her pants up with sharp, snapping actions, and almost groaned when the seam hit her groin and shot a bolt of arousal through her. She reached for her shirt, casting her intruder a withering glare. “No pitch can win me over.”
“Really? You’ve been based, or should I say, tied down, in Vienna for three years, I believe. You must be bored by now. Are your little concerts enough? Do you still feel the thrill in your blood, the need to hunt? What if I said the targets were exceptionally vicious and you’d be doing society a favour? These men are the worst of the worst. The challenge of just getting to them would be exciting. Can you honestly tell me what you do now is satisfying enough? Or have they tamed you, Requiem?”
As she spoke, the woman shifted to allow a view of