Page 21 of The Sentinel

“So you do want me to kiss you.”

Before I could fire back—before I could think—he was on me.

One hand buried in my hair, tilting my face up. The other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His mouth crushed against mine, hot and demanding, a kiss that wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was possession, pure and undeniable.

I gasped, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping against mine, coaxing, teasing, taking.

Heat flooded my veins, my body arching against his, my fingers curling into the front of his Henley before I could stop myself.

I hated him.

But God, I wanted him.

The world blurred. The sounds of the street, the low murmur of the bar, the passing hum of Charleston life—it all faded.

There was only him.

Marcus kissed like he fought. Like he won.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one caught off guard, because out of the corner of my mind, I heard something—someone passing by.

A voice, half-laughing, half-shocked. “Damn. Get a room.”

Marcus smirked against my lips. “Tempting.”

Reality snapped back like a whip.

I yanked away, breathless, pulse roaring in my ears.

His grip loosened—barely. But his gaze? That stayed locked on me, dark and knowing, like he’d just discovered my biggest secret.

And maybe he had.

I wiped the back of my hand across my lips, glaring up at him. “You’re such an ass.”

Marcus chuckled, low and rough. “And yet, you still stopped me from leaving.”

I hated how smug he sounded. Hated how much my body still buzzed from his touch.

He took a step back, adjusting his shirt like he hadn’t just stolen my breath. “See you at the ball.”

Then he was gone, leaving me dangerously, stupidly tempted to find out just how much more trouble Marcus Dane could be.

10

MARCUS

Icouldn’t get that kiss out of my head.

Claire’s mouth—hot, fierce, all New York bite—had hit me like a slug to the chest. One second, she was glaring at me like she wanted to gut me, the next she was melting under my hands, gasping into me like she was starved for it.

I’d meant to mess with her, to throw her off balance, but fuck, I was the one still tasting her on my lips, still feeling that jolt of heat when her fingers dug into my shirt. She was too intoxicating. Too damn good. I’d wanted to drag her into that alley, pin her against the bricks, and see how loud I could make her scream my name.

But I couldn’t lose my edge. Not now. Not with her.

She was a tool—sharp, dangerous, and built to cut through the bullshit I couldn’t reach. Department 77 was out there, an apparition I’d been chasing blind, and Claire was the bloodhound I need to flush them out.

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