Black and Blue

After he returned the briefcase, she was ecstatic and grateful and offered to buy him coffee once she finished with her business meeting. He played the attracted suitor and happily agreed to wait.

Now, an hour later, they were at a little outdoor cafe, sipping joe and chatting—well, he was chatting, she was listening. In the past fifteen minutes, he’d counted thirteen camera phones aimed in their direction, and he’d never been more thrilled by the public’s obsessive need to know about his love life.

Star would hear about the encounter. Maybe decide to meet with the man who’d saved his little girl’s briefcase.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

Awkward. Wow. This might be his first strikeout. And Evie was at home, listening.

Unreadable Evie. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, and he knew how she felt about this part of the job. It must be throwing his game.

For John. This is for John.

“I’ve met your father a few times,” he said. “He’s a fan of the Invaders and used to come to all our victory parties.” You attended a few yourself.

“Oh.” Down went her gaze. She fiddled with the lid on her coffee.

“Nice guy.”

“Y-yes.”

Interesting. Was that fear he detected? “What’s he up to nowadays? I haven’t seen him around.”

“Working. As always.”

Uncomfortable silence.

Screw this. “Tiffany,” Blue said, layering his voice with the barest hint of compulsion. Testing the waters. . . . “Pinch my arm.”

Her eyes glazed over, and she reached out, pinching him as he’d ordered. He almost whooped with relief. She wasn’t immune.

Using more compulsion, he said, “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, Tiffany, and you are going to answer honestly. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Good. “Have you seen your father with a Rakan?”

“No.”

“Have you heard about your father and a Rakan?”

“Yes.”

“Have you—” Yes? Excitement built. He leaned forward, saying in a rush, “Tell me everything you’ve heard.”

Utterly monotone, she said, “I will be punished for speaking of it.”

He increased the amount of compulsion. “Tell me everything you’ve heard about the Rakan, Tiffany. Now.”

“In three weeks, I am to create a line of clothing from his pelt.”

Create, not debut. A line of clothing. From John’s . . . pelt.

Realization struck, and struck hard. John wasn’t being used as a sex slave, as Blue first feared. The male’s golden skin was to be peeled from his body and given to Tiffany. Then, after his skin had regrown, it would be peeled again . . . and again.

He would be a never-ending gold mine. Literally.

If Star had once sold organs on the black market, as rumors claimed, he would have the right contacts . . . and he was just monster enough to do it.

Fury rode the tides in Blue’s veins before spilling out, filling him up, consuming him. Behind him, chairs and tables toppled over. Glass shattered. People yelped and raced for cover. John did not heal as quickly as Blue and was probably still injured from the explosion, his skin unusable—hence the three-week wait. There was still time to save him.

“Anything else?” he demanded.

“A small patch of the hide has already been removed for testing. Ribbons were made. Those ribbons are being sold at auction tonight.”

A part of John had already been skinned. Blue barely contained his roar. “Where is the auction being held?”

She rattled off the details.

No one—no one!—was going to own a piece of John. Blue would make sure of it. “Do you know where your father is keeping the Rakan?”

“No.”

No. Then she was of no more use to him. For now. Before he destroyed anything else, Blue pushed to his feet. “I’m going to send you an invitation to a postgame party, and you are going to accept and do whatever’s necessary to attend. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Blue leaned down, saying, “You will forget the questions about the Rakan, Tiffany, but remember the invitation and your acceptance. You will also speak to your father about me. You will tell him you are interested in me romantically, and you’d like him to meet me.”

“Yes,” she said of her own accord. “If he refuses—”

“You’ll tell him again.” Blue confiscated her phone and programmed in his number. “Call me when your father issues his invitation.” He tossed the device on the tabletop and stalked away—before giving in to the urge to kill her.

* * *

Blue drove to Evie’s house, careful not to be seen, his temper only escalating. By the time he found her in the office, every muscle in his body was locked tight on bone. Looking at her didn’t help. Anger morphed into dangerous lust.

She sat at her desk, dark waves cascading down her back. Perfect white teeth nibbled suggestively at the end of a stylus. A red tank top displayed toned arms with small but definite ropes of strength. She was fit. He remembered how good she felt pressed against him.

Power seeped from him, the desk and chair lifting several inches above the floor. Gasping, she turned to face him. As she took in his battle-hardened stance, her eyes hooded . . . with desire?

“Blue,” she said, her voice husky with, yes, desire. She dropped to her feet with the grace of a cat and slowly approached him. The sway of her hips transfixed him. “I know you’re furious and frustrated, but you can’t go to the auction this way. So take your emotions out on me. I can handle anything you’ve got.”

An invitation.

One he would not decline.

Forget Michael and the job. He had to have this woman.

He grabbed her by the waist and spun her, slamming her face-first against the wall. He braced her hands over her head and kicked her legs apart, the need to dominate her overwhelming everything else.

“Yes,” she hissed.

With his free hand, he tore away her top, but didn’t bother removing her jeans or undergarments. Just ripped at the fastenings. Her bra gaped open, freeing her breasts. The jeans bagged on her hips.

Not sex, some part of his brain screamed. Not yet. Not like this.

Rational thought.

He heard and accepted—barely.

Needing flesh-to-flesh contact, he let her go to wrench off his shirt and meld his chest to her back; the heat of her skin drove him toward the best kind of mindlessness. When she rubbed her taut little ass against him, he pushed her jeans below the curve and his throbbing erection found its way between the cleft. He hissed at the pleasure. She squeezed at him and, oh, hell. He bit the cord of her neck. Have to have my mouth on her. Her groan of rapture filled the small enclosure.