Page 37 of Apollo

So yeah, they really needed to be done with words now.

And clothes.

The thought alone nearly blow-torched the last tatters of her self-control. She was helplessly, hopelessly on fire, newly fallen to the moment of accepting she had no escape yet embracing the inferno.

Maybe living was overrated.

There came the thought that didn’t get a second to catch flames. Not when an iceberg ran it over in the form of a crow’s fresh caw. On top of that, Quil’s unmistakable squall inside her head.

Boss!

The burnished beams in Apollo’s eyes disintegrated. The swollen rod between his thighs didn’t fade so quickly. Good or bad thing? She held off on the final call about that since the strident bird sounded ready to break in the bathroom’s door, ornate embellishments and all. Oh, no. Could she shield Apollo’s girth, not goliath but absolutely a credit to his kind, with only three seconds’ notice?

Yo, Big Man. Sorry, but I’m not here with extra pillow mints. It’s—uh—Quil, by the way. I didn’t dance off on Kaw or anything, but—

“Quil,” barked the man beneath her. But for all the volume of the shout, Apollo was still as hard as—she hated to connect it but did—a fraternity bro on half a handful of moonrocks. “Spare me the prologue. What’s going on?”

Click-Tap-Click. The corvid paced the space directly in front of the door, seemingly rethinking the goal to break it in. Thank God.

Still, Wen reluctantly returned to her feet. It was pure hell to force her gaze away from the male still sprawled before her. From the messy halo of his hair against the mirror to his spread thighs straining inside his dark pants, he redefined the term rock star decadence beyond what Rizon ever dreamed of achieving.

“It’s all good, Quil,” she called then, flinging a pacifying wink before Apollo threw one of his elbows over his face. What on earth—and heaven and hell, for that matter—did these poor birds do to cope when the big guy was grouchy with them before? At least she could spare Quil from that ops manual now. “We’ll be right out.” Hopefully. “Hang on.”

All righty. That’s, errr, pretty dandy. Sure, sure, sure. Though Kaw’s lieutenant, even with his typical jingo-rah-rah, didn’t concede half a second of his stressed strides. Because the other guys just reported in from their recon flights, and we have some interesting information about Miss Steed.

“Huh?” she volleyed. “But I’m right here.”

Before she finished, Apollo swept to his feet. Though he grimaced and readjusted himself, it didn’t stop him from gritting, “Shit. I think he means—”

The other Miss Steed.

She gasped, lunged to the door, and yanked it open. Quil stood in the center of the doorway, appearing prepared to salute if Apollo so ordered it. But if that was some kind of corvid corps protocol, Wen didn’t care. She hit the crow with the imperative in her stare first.

“Speak,” she ordered, making sure he understood her full emphasis by practically straddling him with her two new stomps. “Now.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Watching Quil squirm under Irowen’s scrutiny was, Apollo admitted, a guilty pleasure he didn’t know he’d been missing. Normally the bird reminded him more of a pirate’s swaggering parrot than Kaw’s go-to lieutenant, but if crows could flush, the corvid would be ten shades of crimson now.

Funnily enough—or not—he didn’t think Quil’s give-me-the-Xanax dance had anything to do with the luscious cleavage swaying over his head. But how long would that be the case? The little snarker probably had spent past lives on some buccaneers’ shoulders, enough that he’d appreciate a beautiful rack when he saw one. Especially when it was delivered on a platter of hot and heavy foreplay.

Fuck.

Quil better have brought some very vital intel about what was going on with Genny Steed.

Further, that would be the only juicy element about the report relay.

He vowed it so completely, his back teeth locked as he lunged a leg forward. Time to ensure her flak jacket got zipped back up; preferably all the way to her neck.

But his sharp little lizard whacked him away, mistaking his courtesy as intrusion. The green glass glare she sliced over her shoulder said as much. Inside another second, she cut the same look toward Quil.

“You did hear me, Lieutenant? Right?” she prompted with mocking sweetness. “Quil?”

He rocked his head up and down. Loud and clear, ma’am. Crystal as an acropolis bidet.

Not the metaphor the moment needed, but under the circumstances, Apollo allowed it. “All right, then,” he decreed. “Out with it. What have you learned?”

Before the bird could draw new breath for a reply, Irowen broke in as if telling him crows had feathers, “The recon team found the safe house, of course. Why else would he be here instead of helping Kaw to dump off Rizon?”