Page 13 of Over the Edge

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling of my suite, willing myself to shake it off.

My body was an idiot. There was no other explanation. Some awful, primal part of me must’ve short-circuited at the worst possible moment, because I sure as hell had no other reason to be dreaming about Flynn Shepherd pinning me against a wall with those rough hands, that stupid mouth, that mischievous look in his eyes?—

Nope. Not thinking about it. Absolutely not.

I shoved the covers off and got up, already vibrating with frustration. This was his fault. If he hadn’t waltzed into my op with that lazy, smarmy attitude, none of this would be happening. And now, instead of focusing on the meeting with Moreau, I was wasting time scrubbing unwanted images out of my head.

God. Why was I so hung up on a man I just met? A man who’d nearly blown my cover and seemed to take perverse pleasure in getting under my skin? A man who made me want to both punch him in the face and...

No.

Fine. If my brain refused to cooperate, I’d focus on something I could control.

Elisa Deveraux.

I started with my makeup, contouring and blending away any trace of the restless night before. A hint of blush, a subtle smoky eye, a rich shade of lipstick, not too bold, not too soft. Just enough to make Elisa Deveraux look like she woke up effortlessly stunning. My hair came next, swept into a sleek, elegant chignon that screamed wealth and control. Every detail mattered. Every piece of the illusion had to be seamless.

Now I needed an outfit.

Men were easier to manipulate when they were distracted, and nothing scrambled their brains faster than a great pair of tits. I had a nice set, and I wasn’t above using them when the job called for it. I opted for a tailored jumpsuit in a dark, rich hunter green that complemented my skin. The wide legs allowed for easy movement—important if I needed to make a quick exit, or worse, fight my way out—and the plunging V-neck was deep enough to draw the male eye without risking a nip slip. Diamond studs went into my ears. A delicate diamond watch circled my wrist. A whisper of sexy jasmine and sweet vanilla perfume. Subtle, intoxicating.

By the time I was done, I barely recognized myself.

Good. That was the point.

I smoothed a hand over my jumpsuit, picked up a wide-brimmed hat, and stepped out of the suite—only to come to an abrupt halt.

Flynn was waiting for me, leaning against the opposite wall, maddeningly at ease, owning the space like the hallway had been designed for him to lounge in. The faint stubble dusting his sharp jawline made him look even more rakishly unbothered.

The lazy curve of his mouth sent a ripple of heat through me—and, just like that, all the time I’d spent slipping into Elisa’s skin evaporated. I was Lyric again, irritated and off-balance.

I hated that.

His gaze dragged over me, and he chuckled softly. “Fancy.”

A slow, unwanted awareness spread low in my stomach at the way he looked at me. I huffed and shoved the hat onto my head, turning to make sure my suite’s door locked behind me. “Why are you here?”

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

My eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

With my back to him, I couldn’t see him, but I heard that infuriating grin in his voice when he said, “Figured we should grab coffee and strategize before your big date with Moreau.”

I shouldered past him. “This isn’t a date. It’s a meeting.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.”

Keeping my expression smooth as glass, I stopped mid-step and turned. “Call me that again,” I said, voice honey sweet. “I dare you.”

Flynn’s grin only widened, his amber eyes crinkling as he pushed off the wall with languid grace. He closed the distance between us in two easy strides that managed to be both unhurried and predatory. “Careful with those dares, princess. I’m not known for backing down.”

I forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to back down despite the heat crawling up my neck. “You think I am?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, and his eyes—those damnable eyes—dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting mine again. My breath caught. Just for a second. Just long enough to hate myself for it.

“No. That’s what makes you interesting.”

He towered over me, close enough that I caught that scent again—woodsy and warm and sexily masculine. It wasn’t cologne, and it wasn’t overpowering. Just... there. And I had to resist the urge to inhale deeply.

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