Page 61 of Strike It Witch

“It’s fine. Let’s just get this over?—”

He flipped me around to face the wall.

“Ronan.”

“Hold still.” He ran his fingers over the edges of the wound on my scalp, avoiding the center. Tingles of pain blended with pleasure made me shiver.

The man had to have noticed. I didn’t do delicate shivers.

He shoved his hip against my ass, pressing me into the wall. To anyone looking from the outside, it would appear to be an aggressive hold, much like the one Mason had used. Except, at no point did Ronan cause me pain. Not even the slightest bit of discomfort. The control he exercised over his body and mine stunned me into compliance. I’d known he was a strong, powerful alpha, but this moment had me second-guessing my earlier evaluation of that power. I’d been so sure I had him pegged, but now?

I wasn’t sure I understood him at all.

“Eventually, I’m going to want to know what’s going on with the pack,” I whispered.

“Not today.”

His fingers trailed the line of my neck. My breasts tightened, my hips shifted, my back arched ever so slightly. He worked those wonderful fingers into my hair, stroking the strands with maddening gentleness, then turned me back around to face him.He’d slipped on the shades again, hiding his eyes, but they couldn’t completely mask the hunger in his face.

Hunger. For me.

I looked up at him, lips parted, muscles slack. I could tell, even through the dark lenses, that he was staring at my mouth.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw, and he stepped back, shook himself like a wolf that had come in from the rain. Cleared his throat.

“I covered the wound with your hair as best I could, but I can’t do anything about the blood. Alpha will smell it.”

“Thanks.” It was my turn to shake off the effect we’d had on each other. “I’m not worried.”

“Naïve.” Ronan shook his head. “Let’s go in. Try not to antagonize him.”

“Talk about naïve. We both know my presence makes the man hostile. Not much I can do to prevent it.” I wriggled away from him and strolled up to the office door, boot heels clicking on the hall tile floor.

Ronan followed, gesturing for me to get behind him so he’d enter the room first. I wasn’t mad about it. If Floyd decided to attack without warning, Ronan would take the brunt of it. He healed fast. I didn’t—well, not without a great deal of magic, and I was already testing the limits of my charms.

“Be good in here, Betty.”

Not a chance, Ronan.

Chapter

Sixteen

An iron grille covered a tiny window on the door, the sort through which you’d give a password if the office required one.

Ronan didn’t bother with it. He knocked once and charged into the office.

I followed.

Fernando “Floyd” Pallás’s office could best be described as bland. Ivory walls, gray filing cabinets, old furniture, beige tile floor. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and wet fur. Everything, even the framed photographs on his shelves, was covered in a layer of dust.

The rest of the bar had been exceedingly clean. Even the storeroom had been swept and dusted at some point in the last couple of weeks or so, something I’d noticed—between gasps for air—when Mason dragged me into it.

But this office hadn’t been touched in months—maybe longer. Which meant the alpha didn’t allow his cleaners in here.

Alpha Floyd was hiding something in this room.

He slammed shut the file drawer he’d been pawing through and strode up to Ronan and me. “Hello, witch.”

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