Jessica Andersen - Magic Unchained

And then he took her mouth in a kiss that had his pulse going from zero to a buck twenty in no time flat.

Their first two kisses had been her idea, and things in the cave had happened partly because of the magic… but this kiss was his. He slanted his lips across hers and took, levered her mouth open and claimed. And when her surprised gasp trailed off on a moan of surrender, he didn’t back off and give her a moment to catch up; he moved in and took more.

Then she murmured and crowded closer, blossoming open into the kiss, and he stopped being aware of anything beyond the woman in his arms and the heat they made together. Some warrior part of him was still monitoring the world, ever vigilant, but the rest of him was lost in the kiss. They twined together, seeking and tasting. The texture of her dress reminded him not to rip and tear, not even to wrinkle, as they had a job yet to do. But that constraint only added to the sharp excitement as he ran his hands gently down her body and then back up again, grazing the sides of her hips, ribs, and breasts and wringing a moan from her.

The sound startled him. He tore his lips free and pressed his brow to hers. He was breathing hard, laboring to suck in enough oxygen to keep him on his feet, but that battle was nothing compared to the one inside his skull. “You should slap me for that,” he said, his voice raspy. “Hell, punch me. Shoot me, even. I frigging deserve it.”

She pulled away but didn’t go far. Instead, still in his arms, she blinked up at him, then pressed her lips together as if tasting him. “Why? Because you kissed me?”

“Because I kissed you, because I talked you into a hooky day we both knew would only make it harder to pretend we’re just working together… Hell, because I went behind your back to spy on the winikin and didn’t tell you about the liaison thing.” He paused, exhaling. “Most of all because I should be guilty as fuck-all over the way I’m handling this. I know things can’t go anywhere between us, and we’re screwed if even this much gets around back home.… But I can’t keep my damn hands off you.” He skimmed a fingertip along the edge of the necklace, which was warm from her skin. “You’re going to have to be the one to stop this… because I’ll be damned if I know how.”

A flush deepened at her throat and on her cheeks, and her eyes took on a dangerous gleam that had him bracing himself for a slap, a punch, maybe even a shot.

Instead, she eased in and brushed her lips across his in a gentle, fleeting touch that poured lightning into his veins. And when she eased away, she was smiling with wry humor. “Let’s let it go for tonight, okay? We’re here; the others aren’t… and this is the first time in my life a guy has cared enough to beat himself up over me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll enjoy it while I can. Besides, we’re running out of time if we’re going to get this job done.”

“Cara…” But what was he supposed to say to that? He’d known her all his life, and she could still startle the hell out of him. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be surprised—she’d shown over and over again that she was tough, resourceful, and resilient, and able to deal with whatever was thrown at her. Only… he didn’t want to be something she had to deal with. He didn’t know what he wanted, except to keep that light in her eyes. So instead of pushing her like he wanted to do, getting her to tell him what she was really thinking, he crooked his elbow and held it out. “Ready to become a thief?”

“Absolutely.” She took his arm and they set off along the courtyard, heading for the piers where the cruise ships docked. And if there had been a flash of relief in her eyes, a hint of vulnerability at odds with her tough-girl demeanor, he let it go. For now, anyway. They could figure out the other stuff later. Right now, they had to get their hands on the screaming skull artifact and keep each other out of trouble… and his instincts said that was going to be easier said than done.

The Monterey Princess was huge and slick, the crowd was glittery and ornate, and Cara was a wreck. Oh, she camouflaged it well—she’d had plenty of practice burying her emotions, after all. But she was seriously shaky inside as she and Sven boarded the small, luxurious cruise ship, handed over their scant luggage to an attendant with bushy eyebrows and bulging pockets, and joined the flow of expensively decked-out humanity headed for the main ballroom.

She was only peripherally aware of the touches of polished wood and sparkling crystal that went into making up the aura of understated elegance surrounding them, or the more overblown glitter of the crowd. Instead, she was wholly aware of the man beside her: the heat of his body; the leashed strength beneath her fingertips, where she had her hand loosely at the crook of his arm, not letting herself cling.… And the deceptive lightness of the necklace he’d bought her, which skimmed across her skin when she moved, reminding her of his touch.

Focus. She’d poked at him about needing to keep his mind on the job, but she was the one who needed the reminder. She might have convinced him that she was cool with the way things were between them, but exactly the opposite was true. She was heated and churned up, and all too ready to make a mistake. The boat ride and the kiss, combined with clothes that were far too close to the black-and-white of the nahwal’s vision… it was all too much. She was restless, twitchy, and anxious. Fine currents of heat ran through her body, coiling in her belly and warming her inner wrist, right where she wore his mark.

In the main ballroom, the crowd had formed an amorphous line that wound through the main salon, where the artifacts were being displayed in gleaming cases that looked deceptively flimsy, but weren’t. Brightly colored signs adorned each case.

Making herself dial into their surroundings—and not her escort—Cara scanned the scene, noting three exits and four guards: solo guys in their twenties and thirties, wearing tuxes and earbuds, with weapons under their jackets. The bulk of the partygoers were elegantly put together in tuxes and nice dresses, with a few outfits leaning toward tacky. One in particular had her doing a double take, checking that the body stocking and artistically placed white feathers covered all the relevant parts of its fiftyish female wearer. They did, but the dress, combined with bright orange sandals that laced up to her knees, evoked a Henny Penny mascot far more than it did anything else.

“Wonder if she thought that was Mayan?” Sven said in an undertone, with a head tilt in Henny’s direction. But although he went for the joke, his expression was serious as he searched Cara’s face, no doubt wondering whether she was going to be able to handle the op.

“If it is, you can count me out of that ritual,” she tossed back, shooting him a hard-edged look out of the corner of her eye, hoping it came off as purposeful rather than brittle and a little desperate.

It must have worked, because he nodded toward the display that held the screaming skull. “Shall we wander in that direction?”

“Lead the way.”

They should have blended in as they rambled from display to display, pretending to be more into each other than the artifacts, but even in the well-heeled crowd they drew looks, no doubt because of the glossy gleam of perfection that came with Sven’s Nightkeeper genetics. The tux was off-the-rack and a bit tight in the shoulders, his hair disheveled from the ocean breeze, but he drew the eye and held it, and made a girl think about stripping off that tux and running her fingers through that hair.

When a sleek blond twenty-something model-type on the arm of a much older man turned her head to arch an eyebrow at Sven, Cara nearly bared her teeth. Back off; he’s mine. Only he wasn’t, wouldn’t ever be. So she ignored the trophy blonde and forced herself to focus as their calculatedly wandering path brought her and Sven into range of their target.