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“Don’t tease me.” His voice is higher pitched than I’d expect from a man his size.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, running a hand through my hair.
Pausing, I allow him to come closer, to grip my waist with his calloused hands and pull me flush against him. His breath is rancid, heavy with the odor of spirits and tobacco, and it’s an effort not to gag.
Self-loathing crashes over me as he roughly presses his mouth against mine. Every part of me rebels against the necessity of playing this role, but fortunately, Remy does his part quickly.
I hear a thunk as the man’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his massive body drops to the ground.
Remy is standing behind him, face twisted in anger as he looks at the body in disgust.
“What’s next?” he asks, wiping the stray specks of blood from the hilt of his sword.
“Next, we get our information.” I start to head back the way we came when the banging sound of the door closing makes me curse under my breath.
All anyone would have to do is look around this corner to see their fallen comrade.
I exchange a quick, alarmed glance with Remy, my hand already twitching toward my false pocket. His gaze follows my movements before he pulls me around the corner and pushes me bodily against the wall, directly in the view of the newcomer.
I’m torn between yelling at him and killing the man approaching us when Remy presses his body against mine. He leans down, pausing when he is close enough for me to smell the residual notes of sage and lavender from his shaving balm, close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips.
The split second is long enough for me to stop him, if I want to.
But I don’t.
Instead, I push up onto my toes to bring myself closer to him, the way I did a thousand times when we were together for reasons so much more complicated than an alibi.
His lips are soft and warm and gentle, but his kiss is none of those things. It’s fire, powerful and all-consuming.
Even knowing that we hate each other, that there is death and torture in our very near future, and that there is nothing romantic about tracking down a revolting crew of slavers, my body reacts.
Lighting sizzles through every point of contact, my mouth molding against his like it was meant to be there. He makes a low, growling sound, moving his hands to the backs of my thighs as he lifts me, pulling my legs on either side of his waist.
My back hits the wall with an audible thunk, and I ignore it, fisting my hands in his hair.
For the show, I tell myself.
That also must be why his tongue grazes mine, why I open my mouth for him to explore more deeply. Why all I can feel is his rough stubble against my chin and his teeth on my lips and the ten points of his fingers digging into my thighs.
Vaguely, I register a sound that doesn’t belong, but it takes me too long to place it as the voice of someone else.
“Hey!” The tone makes me realize it isn’t the first time someone has tried to get our attention.
I blink.Of course.The man from the tavern. The entire reason we entered this charade.
Remy abruptly drops me, severing every point of contact. I barely catch myself from falling over before turning away like I’m embarrassed to be caught.
“Do you mind?” Remy’s voice is annoyed.
“Came out to see what all the noise was,” he answers in an uncertain voice and I’m relieved to see that it’s not one of the men who were ogling me through the window.
“As you see.” Remy is still out of breath, and it does things to me that it shouldn’t.
“Well, take it somewhere else,” the man says in a firmer tone. “This is a business establishment.”
That pulls me out of whatever stupor I have temporarily sunken into. Business.The business of trading children,you mean, you sick bastard. I wish I had ignored Remy and gone ahead and killed him, but admittedly, this way drew less attention.
Besides, there will be time enough for that later.
Remy huffs out a halfhearted apology and holds my waist while he backs away until my feet are firmly on the ground. Only when the man goes back inside do I brave a glance at Remy.
His lips are swollen, his eyes still slightly dazed, but all he says is, “Guess it’s a good thing we’re both familiar with a good bluff.”
“Yes, I’m glad I’ve gotten so good at faking it when we’re together.” I can do nothing about the redness that creeps so easily from my neck into my cheeks, but at least my tone is dry.
With that, I stalk past him toward the unconscious form of the man, stopping only long enough to pick up my cloak and tunic. Remy’s breathing is still ragged as he catches up to me.
Bluffing, my ass.
