Page 64 of Cruel Kiss

Ronan doesn't turn his head. "I know. She came in two minutes after us."

"You noticed and didn't tell me?"

"You were busy pretending to concentrate on my shoes, remember?"

Before I can decide whether to be annoyed or impressed, a figure detaches from the crowd and strides toward Mercer with the loose, unbothered walk of a man who has decided the whole evening is a joke and he's the only one in on it. Dark suit, dark hair, a grin already loaded.

"She's Navi's concern tonight," Ronan adds with a chuckle. "I'm not sure which of them has their hands more full."

"Should we be concerned?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," he agrees. "But for whom?" Ronan's mouth twitches. "Watch this."

Navi has planted himself directly in Mercer's sightline, blocking her view of us. Whatever he's saying is making a tense vein in her forehead do jumping jacks. She says something back, short, clipped. Navi laughs and pats her shoulder. She recoils with a wrinkled nose.

"He's running interference," I realize.

"He's enjoying the thrill of pissing off a woman who is quite literally paid to despise him. There's a difference, but not much of one, in Navi's case."

We drift closer because I want to hear. By the time we're within range, Navi is leaning one elbow on the bar, entirely too comfortable with the whole setup, and Mercer has turned to face him. I get the sense it's only because she wouldn't dare turn her back on such a man.

"—federal agent at a lawyers' party," Navi is saying. "That's like a shark showing up to a fish's birthday. You could at least try to blend in."

"I am blending in."

"Agree to disagree. You're drinking water and glaring. Half these men have already asked me if you're a bitter ex-wife."

Mercer sneers. "And what did you tell them?"

"That you're way worse than that.”

The agent's mouth flattens, but I've been trained, brutally, by weeks of living with Ronan Akov, to read the difference between a flat mouth and a genuinely angry one, and this is not the second variety. This one is fighting something. There's a light in her eyes that has nothing to do with the report she's writing.

Dare I say that Mercer finds Navi Akov a wee bit intriguing?!

"You're the cousin," she says. "Navi Akov. You've been very hard to schedule a conversation with."

"That's on purpose."

"I figured."

"You want to schedule a conversation, Agent Mercer, you'll have to bring a subpoena like a big girl."

"I don't need a subpoena just to talk to you."

"No," he agrees, and his grin sharpens, "but you'd need one to get me to say anything. Otherwise, I'll just talk. I can talk for hours. My cousin will tell you. It's my worst quality."

"I doubt that's your worst quality."

"See, now you're flirting."

"I am absolutely not."

"You are. It's fine. It happens. I have that effect on women."

Mercer takes a slow sip of her water. Over the rim of the glass, her eyes flick to me and Ronan, and then back to Navi. "Here's what I know about you," she drawls. "You're a glorified errand boy. You do the things that the big boss doesn't want on his own hands. You've got a passport with more stamps than sense and a habit of being in the wrong country at exactly the wrong time.And you think this—" She waves the glass in a small circle that takes in the chandeliers, the tuxedos, the whole gilded room, "—all of it, is beneath you."

Navi's grin broadens. "That's a lot of homework for a woman who says she doesn't need a subpoena."