Page 19 of Lone Wolf

Yes. Let’s focus on the mission, not her warm body pressing into my side.

But when we round the corner, my heart drops. There’s a line reaching from the door to just about where we are. “Shit,” I mutter. “How are we?—”

“Come on,” Sunny says cheerfully, and then adds under her breath, “and for God’s sake, smile.” She glances at me. “Nix that last—no smiling for you. You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am,” I snap back.

But we’ve reached the head of the line, where the bouncer is waiting in front of the velvet rope. Sunny winks at him, and he gives an appreciative smile.

I make a tiny movement, and Sunny clamps down on my arm as though she knows exactly what I’m thinking. But she can’t. Because what I’m thinking is that I want to separate this bouncer’s head from his thick neck for looking at her with such open desire.

“Come on in, ladies,” he says, unclipping the rope for us. We ignore the boos and shouts from the people at the head of the line, who have been waiting there—no doubt—for a very long time.

Sunny pulls me in and we pay the cover charge before moving into the dance area, the music low and thumping, a thick bass that feels almost tactile. The beat is vibrating into me through my boots and I have to pause and take it all in. Voices fight to be heard over the music, creating a chaotic symphony of noise. The air is muggy with perfume, sweat, and expensive liquor.

“What’s wrong?” Sunny bellows.

“I’ve never been in a nightclub before.”

“Huh?” she shouts. “Can’t hear you!”

I just jerk my head toward the other side of the dance floor, where the door to the private offices is located, according to the floor plans Lyssa showed us before we left. Sunny nods and I turn to begin skirting the dance floor, but stop dead when I feel her hand slip into mine.

When I stare at her over my shoulder, she wears a look of complete innocence. “We should dance over,” she shouts. “More cover in the crowd. And more direct, too.”

I guess she’s right. I let her lead me down the steps into the sunken dance floor, and then she spins on her heel and drapes her arms around my neck, her hips already moving in time to the music. The strobe lights fracture across her face—one moment illuminating her smile, the next casting her in shadow.

“What are you?—”

“Dance,” she hisses, grabbing one of my hands to put it on her waist.

I’m about to tell her that I don’t know how, but I’d be making a liar of myself. Because somehow, my bodydoesknow how to dance…or at least, it knows how to respond to Sunny Santiago’s moves.

She’s instinctive and natural, like her hips weremadeto sway. Within a few minutes, something melts inside me, just enough that my body betrays my mind. My hands find her waist, firm beneath soft fabric. She bends back, exposing her throat in a way that would make any predator strike, and rolls her body against mine with a trust that makes my chest tighten.

I turn her roughly, pulling her ass tight against me—telling myself it’s just for cover as we appraise the door marked Employees Only. But her body heat seeps through my clothes like a slow-acting poison, making my thoughts blur at the edges.

A drunk man sways too close to Sunny, eyes lingering on her body. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her closer to me with a possessiveness that startles us both. The man catches my glare and quickly moves away.

A security guard is standing by the door, and we’ll have to handle him.

But first I need to handle Sunny, who is spinning again to face me, practically grinding against my thigh. For a second, my brain short-circuits as I feel her soft, warm thighs mount mine, her skirt hiking up, my hands sliding down to cup her ass and help her keep her balance as she rides me…

“You’re pretty good at this,” she says in my ear.

“Dancing?”

“Pretending to be into me,” she laughs.

I pull her harder against me. “I’m a professional,” I deadpan. “I do whatever it takes.”

For the first time, I think I’ve got the upper hand. She’s flushed and her eyes are gleaming as she looks into my face. “Sure you are,” she breathes. We stay there a few seconds, her ass filling my hands, her crotch grinding down on me, and for one crazy moment I want tokissher.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’ve never lost my head like this before. Not over my boyfriend, that’s for sure—the one who sold me off to Grandmother. I never felt anything like this with him. When he kissed me, when we had sex, it was just something I let my mind wander through. It was…tedious.

But I’ve never touched awomanlike this before. Soft and intimate. The women I’ve touched before—well, it wasn’t touching. It was punching, hitting, kicking, as I trained them to be killing machines.

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