Page 30 of Saint of the Shadows

The man gasped, and his eyes grew wide. He ran down the street screaming.

“That’s right!” Marisol chuckled and gloated as she turned around… right into the wall of the Patron Saint. “You!”

“That was really stupid,” he said, low and husky.

“How long were you watching?” Which point should embarrass her—the fall in the garbage or her tumble to the ground?

He held up his right hand to stop her from speaking. With his left hand, he looked as if he was checking the time, and a blue light glowed at the wrist. His voice became brash and nasally as he spoke into the commlink on his hand, “Griggs? This is Quinlan. I lost track of a perp heading in your direction. Around 10th and Lewis? Short, bald, slightly overweight. See him? Yeah? Good.”

He snapped the commlink off, looked at her, and huffed. “Nice mask.” He brushed past her and finessed his way up the ladder, back toward her apartment.

She followed him. “Thought I should show you what you bring out of me.”

Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m not... a hobby.”

The chill from him stung. Earlier he seemed into it. She ran after him, pulling his cape to stop him. “What’s with the hot/cold routine?”

“I want you far from danger.” He growled, revealing the beast hiding behind his cool control.

Marisol chortled. “That’s sweet, but I work in an ER. I’m surrounded by danger.”

“Not that kind. There are bad people out there.”

She raised her chin. “I can handle it.”

He ran his gloved thumb over the Steri-strip on her head. “I’m sure you can.”

She pressed her hand against his right side, above his hip. “I pulled a knife out of you. If we do the math, I think ‘knife’ is greater than ‘a little bump on the head.’” Her fingertips traced a line up his torso, over his chest.

He stopped her hand. “Marisol.”

“Kiss me.” She reached up to his face and closed her eyes, expecting the kiss he owed her. He pulled her sharply by the waist. She gasped and opened her eyes. With his free arm, he revealed what looked like a gun and fired it. A zipline cable launched over the rooftop. It hooked securely to an opposite ledge of her apartment building, confirmed by a taut vibration of the cable. With her in his grasp, he jumped off the roof, and they glided over the street far below.

She braced for the crash into the opposite building with eyes screwed close. And what was that? A scream? Was she a damsel tied to the tracks? So much for playing the hero…

Her feet kissed the ground. Eyes open, she was on her apartment’s roof again. He let the rope retract back into his device.

She slugged him in the shoulder. “You should warn me when you do something like that!”

His lips curled into a wicked smile. “What are you going to do about it?”

She gripped the shoulders of his cape and pulled him toward herself. Her mouth crashed into his, and her teeth grazed his lips. He opened his mouth, and the soft touch of his tongue invited adeeper kiss. He tasted like burning atmosphere, zapping her to attention and vibrating her skin.

Marisol let go of his cape, and his mouth left hers. They stared at each other. Their heaving breath formed into one icy cloud above them. Here on the edge, she wanted to “do bad things” like running her hands up his naked torso, scratching flames across his chest, huffing swirls of smoke off his burning skin, and watching those stained-glass eyes roll into the back of his head when she gave him the little death.

What the Hell? She pulled off her mask, terrified of the side of her that hungered for him.

Marisol looked at the mask and then at him. Their wild gaze locked. He hooked his fingers between the buttons of her coat and pulled her back to him with a groan. She devoured his mouth, sucking and biting his lower lip.

She wanted to pull him down, dig her knees into his arms, and pin him as she kissed him. But she couldn’t budge him.

Instead, they awkwardly staggered across the rooftop in a tangle of limbs. He pushed. She pulled. He pulled. She pushed. A little too hard. His back hit the colossal HVAC unit, knocking his breath away.

His eyes widened, as if the dual sensation of pain and pleasure confused him. It was like the kiss at the hospital all over again, a hot start with an anticlimactic finish. She took in a breath, preparing to say sorry.

He inhaled and growled, resuming their kiss. His hands moved from her waist and down her backside. After he lifted her, Marisol wrapped her legs around him. He spun her so her back dented the metal wall of the unit. He leaned his weight into her. She squeezed him with her thighs, hoping to feel that he needed her as much as she needed him. But like the mask, the uniform hid the man underneath. He rocked his hips into her. The erotic friction shocked like a live wire. Marisol opened her eyes, drawing a sharp breath.

She studied his face, caressing his jawline. Under her fingers, he felt unblemished and smooth. She finally noticed the small cleft in his chin. Charming, she chuckled as she kissed it. Her fingers traced up from his chin to his mask, and she toyed underneath its edges. He jerked his face away and dropped her to her feet.

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