Page 36 of Cold Mercy

She's already turning her back on me. I should get in my car, leave, and go home to stare at the ceiling while I remind myself that she is the job and nothing else. But right now, I want to do this job.

“And Sophia?” I smirk.

She pauses but doesn't turn.

“You make a habit of kissing random men in alleyways and don't even invite them for a cup of tea?”

Tea? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m standing here with my blood on fire, adrenaline wrecking my system, and that’s the best I’ve got? She’s making me lose my damn mind.

She looks over her shoulder.

“Seriously? Tea? How...civilized of you, Reed. But if I let you inside, can you promise you'll behave yourself? Her tone is sarcastic, prickly, but she’s smiling. “Or is 'tea' just code for something else?”

Fuck, yes. She has no idea who she's playing with. My mind is already inside, pinning her against the wall, my hand sliding up her thigh as I whisper against her mouth, ‘Let's find out what 'something else' feels like, princess.’

The fantasy is so vivid I can almost taste her. I force it down, letting a slow, dangerous smile curve my lips.

“You're right,” I say, my voice a low murmur. “It's probably best if I don't test that theory tonight. I should go.”

I’m halfway to my car when I hear her voice.

“Reed?”

I turn.

“I’m not making you tea,” she says, lips twitching, “but I can pour you a drink. Might help… loosen the weird tension between us.”

I want to stand in her space, breathe her air, and remind her with every look that she's already mine, even if she doesn't know it yet.

“Sure,” I manage, keeping my voice steady. “Sounds good.”

She smiles, and we both head toward the house. I hang my jacket, take off my boots, and follow her into the living room. She pours two glasses of whiskey and hands me one.

“Sit.” I sit because the way she commands the room does something visceral to me, and I want to see exactly how far she’ll push it.

She doesn’t waste a second.

“Since you barged into my life with dirty boots, I want to hear something real about you. You already know almost everything about me.”

She’s right, and I’m trapped in a net I walked straight into. I take a slow sip of the whiskey.

“Planning to get me drunk and interrogate me?” I ask. “Or get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

Her eyes widen, feigning offense, but her lips twitch.

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy. If I wanted you, you’d know.”

God, I hate when she calls me that.

Actually, that’s a lie. I hate that I like it. I hate that when she says it with that dismissive, arrogant tone, my blood runs a little hotter. It’s a challenge. And I’ve never been good at walking away from a fight.

I open my mouth to answer, but she beats me to it.

“And for the record… I’m sorry. I crossed a line tonight. It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t intimate for me. I just needed not to be recognized. I don’t want it to be weird between us.”

Wasn't intimate? Bullshit. There’s a lie hiding behind the words because the kiss wasn’t just a tactic. Not fully. I felt it, and she did too. Her taste is going to fucking haunt me, without my consent.

But I’m sober enough to keep my head on straight.