Page 48 of Havik: Warlord Brides
Chapter 12
Havik
Her soft lips pressed against him, momentarily still before opening with a gasp, then responding with eagerness. She melted against him with her arms hooked behind his neck.
Havik had only ever kissed one other person. Despite the years of abstention, his body remembered how to hold a female and move his lips over hers without injuring her with his tusks. His brain couldn’t help but make tiny comparisons: the noises she made, her taste, the feel of her soft curves, and the way her eyeglasses sat askew.
He liked kissing her, more than he should because it was mostly a ploy to get her to stop talking and to hide his face from the group that recently entered the bar. He wondered if he could convince her to continue kissing him after this.
Yes, more kissing. He would make that a priority.
Sitting down, he placed her in his lap and tucked his face against her ear. The spot just behind her earlobe seemed pleasingly sensitive as his tusks scraped her skin. The scent of her, of night blossoms and cool water, was strongest here.
He adjusted himself on the chair, his cock hard and demanding.
She sighed and murmured, “What brought this on? I’m not complaining.”
“Pretend to be enjoying yourself,” he said softly, lips pressed to her ear. “A smuggler crew just entered that I have been tracking. I am blending into the environment.”
“Unorthodox. I like it.”
He liked her but kept that revelation to himself. He should not enjoy her company, and he should not be entertained at the way she constantly teased and needled him for her amusement. While he understood the unsavory deeds of her past were necessary for survival, she exercised those skills now just to spite him.
She was infuriating and intoxicating. Holding her in his arms felt right in a way that no one ever had, and he knew that was wrong. He did not deserve a mate. He failed his mate once and could not bear to fail again.
She tugged at the front closure of his jacket.
“Do not,” he whispered, covering her hand with his own. “My tattoos must remain covered.” While his size might lead some to question him as Mahdfel, the inked designs erased all doubt.
And no one needed to know how Thalia made his tattoos burn with desire.
“They’re badass. Seems a shame to keep them covered.” Her hand slipped under the jacket collar, her palm brushing against his collarbone and chest.
He could not be distracted. He needed to remain focused.
“The leader is a Terran female in a white coat. Do you observe her?” he asked in a quiet voice. She had noticed so much in the bar that he overlooked. What else had he missed?
“Yeah, I see her. There’s two Sangrin guys with her. They got a table at the back.”
“Weapons?” He nuzzled her neck because such actions were necessary to maintain the disguise of being an alcohol-intoxicated male, not because he enjoyed the way she squirmed on his lap when his tusks grazed her skin.
“You’re not going to like this. Each of the guys has a blaster or a pistol in a shoulder holster.”
“A foolish and short-sighted selection.”
“Yeah, well, they’re smugglers. They don’t make good choices,” she murmured. “Are you sure you recognized them?”
“My memory is flawless.”
“Wow, modest much?”
“I encountered them on Sangrin, shortly before making your acquaintance.”
“You said you had someone in custody. Did you arrest part of their crew?”
“Their captive.” He should have left the vile Terran male in his cell for all the information he had. Vanessa spent a small fortune to liberate the male, and he knew nothing about the smugglers that Havik had not already learned. After seeking treatment for the male’s injuries, Havik had been all too delighted to leave him with Sangrin law enforcement and a copy of the warrant from Earth. “They will know me.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty unforgettable.” She was silent, then, “I’m going to go talk to them.”
