"You needn't play with me, Mercury," she told him, aware she couldn't cover that small hint of sadness that slipped free. "I do my job. No matter the temptation not to."
And he could tempt her. He could be her downfall.
CHAPTER 3
He watched her. That ridiculous bun her hair had been twisted into at the nape of her neck was trying to unravel. When she glanced at him, her brown eyes, almost the color of dark chocolate, were irritated. Her softly rounded, creamy face and stubborn chin were intriguing. But there were other parts of her making him crazy.
If she kept twitching her ass like that, he was going to f**k it. So help him God, he was going to take her to her knees, hike that plain brown skirt to her hips, and show her the folly of teasing a fully grown, hungry male Lion Breed.
Mercury Warrant leaned against the wall of the small office Gloria "please call me Ria" Rodriquez was using, and fought to maintain the same cool facade he'd held over the past month.
It wasn't easy. Especially when she moved from the desk to the table set up across from it to go through the files stacked there. She would lean over, sometimes studying each file's contents before choosing one, and the ugly brown skirt would mold to her ass like a loving hand.
Like his hand wanted to mold to it, clench it, separate the full globes as he watched his erection slide into the moist, silky heat below.
He was a walking hard-on, and after four weeks of it, it was starting to piss him off. He jacked off to the thought of her, the image of her face and her naked body straddling him. The days he spent with her only fueled that desire until it was starting to pinch at his balls in hunger.
He wanted the little plain Jane. He wanted to throw her to the bed and rut in her until the need was obliterated and his mind was free of her.
"You were the mechanical specialist before you became part of Mr. Wyatt's team?" She turned her head, gazing at him through sharp, brown eyes. "You were the one who set the specifications of the dirt bikes we shipped here?"
The "we" in question meaning Vanderale Industries, Sanctuary's more than generous benefactor.
He nodded shortly.
"Your lab files didn't hint at mechanical knowledge. Your specialty there was recon and weapons with a significant talent in assassination and torture."
He lifted a brow. "You make it sound like college."
She stared back at him silently, her expression unchanging.
"The ability wasn't listed because there was no chance to develop the talent." He finally shrugged. "When I came here, there were some old cycles in one of the sheds. I spent my time fixing them."
Jonas had said to cooperate with her. Fine, he'd cooperate. And he had to admit he liked that little flare of interest in her eyes whenever he gave her what she wanted. He'd like to give her a whole lot more than what she was asking for.
"So you found the talent while you were recuperating?" She straightened and turned toward him, her hands sliding into the pockets of her slim skirt as she leaned a hip against the table.
Recuperating. Now there was a word for it.
He nodded. It was hard to talk to her when all he wanted to do was growl with lust. He could feel the urge rising in his throat and fought it back. Damn, he must have been too long without a woman. Maybe he should find one. Fast. Or he was going to end up in bed with a potential disaster. Vanderale's emissary was no one to screw around with. Literally.
"You requested six more of the cycles, with advanced electronics, weapons and power. Did you come up with the specifications?" she asked.
He nodded again. Those cycles would be a terror in the mountains the government had ceded to the Breeds.
The cycles were stripped down to only necessary weight to allow for the small, mounted gun barrels and ammunition. GPS and advanced satellite links were contained in bulletproof shields on the bikes, and the engines themselves were modified for a vast increase in power.
"And what would be the consequences if the cycles weren't approved?"
That question threw him. They needed those cycles.
"More Breeds will die," he answered her. "Keeping up with the tricks the Supremacists use to get into the protected area is paramount. Those cycles will aid the teams that have to patrol the perimeters, which have grown in the past few years."
"The advancements you're asking for raise the price of the machines by several tens of thousands of dollars per cycle," she pointed out. "Not to mention ammunition and satellite time they'll be using. At this rate, Vanderale will need to place a satellite in orbit for Sanctuary alone. Do you know the cost of that?"
"Vanderale profits as well," he reminded her. "How many of our people do you already have working security for the new facilities you've placed in the Middle East?"
"People we pay an excellent wage," she argued. "There's no exchange of favors, Mercury."