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He laughed. “I’m not fancy. I like good food joints. Fast cars. Plain clothes. Females who like to be on bottom.”
His duds may be plain, but the way he wore them was not. His jeans hugged his scrumptious ass. She’d never seen his car, but speed was good. She liked almost any kind of food. As far as being on bottom… Well, not all the time. Watching the sexy cat try to tame her might be fun, though.
“I’m in.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at eight. Be hungry. We’ll be going to a steak house in North Shelters. You’ll love it.”
He stood. Before he headed for the door, he took her hand, drew her close, and coiled an arm around her waist. He moved in slowly, his chest to her breasts while he feathered soft lips across hers. A brushing touch, a tease. He licked her mouth, pressed his tongue inside to stroke. His palm slipped to cup her ass. He yanked her against his groin, letting her feel his hard, thick arousal. It was huge. Maybe she wasn’t ready for all of the big cat yet.
But why not make him suffer a bit? She tangled her fingers in his feline-silky hair, wiggling against him to let him know she wasn’t shy.
His hips rocked forward, grinding into her while he moaned into her mouth. When he pulled away, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Celine batted her lashes. “When do we move on to the intimate stuff?”
He chuckled. “Not soon enough. See you.”
“Right, Commander Nace.”
“Given what I plan to do to you, just call me Nace.”
Meow.
Like a star struck idiot she watched him leave her apartment, his boots stomping down the stairs. She needed to start getting ready now. Plucking eyebrows. Shaving legs. Losing a few pounds. Buying sexy lingerie. He might want to wait for the good stuff, but Celene would rather get to the main feature. Yep. She loved a challenge and was feeling a big win. Or a W as they say in sports.
Chapter Eight
“What do you want to drink?” Indigo kicked off the shoes Roark eventually found in her office. Somehow, they had ended up buried in the trashcan beneath discarded copy paper, empty cups, and pencil shavings.
Sneaky shoes.
“Any Demon Brew?” Roark eyed her bohemian chic living space at the Covenkirk stronghold, his gaze flipping from bright patterned poufs to the deep crimson sofa to the Moroccan rug to the wall covered in eclectic art.
He looked pleased with her surroundings. It hadn’t been easy to tote her favorite stuff from her home. First, Alarik’s ministry. For sanctuary. Then here when bitchalicious got on her nerves.
“Bottle or frosty mug?” she asked.
“Bottle’s good.”
“Second door on the right is your bedroom for the duration.” She signaled with her thumb. “It has its own bathroom. Clean towels. Clean sheets.”
He disappeared down the hall with his duffle while she headed for the kitchen, questioning her agreement to shifter-sit the untrustworthy Roark while they worked a case. She was convinced, however, he wasn’t a trigger-happy hitman bent on her demise.
Indigo toted a bottle of beer and a glass of wine into the living room where she flopped onto the couch, propping her bare feet on the rustic coffee table made from a particular tree which grew only in Harrow Swamp on Darque.
When Roark returned, he settled into a spot too close to her, his heavy bulk depressing the cushions, his shoulder grazing hers.
Before Indigo surrendered to the warmth of his nearby body, she snagged a notebook from the side table and licked the tip of a pencil. The point was sharp, full of potential. Her habit was to take notes in longhand. Afterward, she transcribed them into her electronic pad. She liked to work this way—combining new with old.
She wiggled her toes, crossing her ankles while she snuggled into the cushions with her favorite tools in hand.
Angling her body toward the kinda-shifter with the confusing aura, she poised the pencil above the notebook. “Tell me about this Blood’s Kiss I’ll be hunting.”
Roark swallowed a long pull from his Demon Brew, his bicep flinching when he tilted the bottle toward his generous, soft lips. Indigo shook her head, erasing the sexy image while she got down to business.
He scooted closer until his thigh brushed hers, scorching on contact. “How about we play first?”
When he reached for her pad and pencil, she whipped them overhead. “You are my employer. Knock it off. Are we doing this? Of course, I mean the search for Blood’s Kiss.”
