The Russian intelligence. That’s what she means.
The things Durham wants to do, to render for sale to the highest bidder.
It’s all kinds of twisted: lethal fast-acting viruses, chemical agents for quiet assassinations that look fully natural, human gene editing that’s way over my head.
She’s not wrong.
Maybe the only question that matters is, have I had enough?
“It wouldn’t be easy,” I tell her, tightening my thighs, pushing my full weight against her, trying to ignore the throb in my cock just to hold her still.
“It could be,” she whispers, showing her candy-stained tongue.
And that damnable smirk.
It’s starting to do the worst fucking things to me. All of them.
“All I have to do is what they made me for.” Her fingers scratch softly against my wrist, obviously playing.
“I thought they made you to be more subtle than this?” I snap, then suck in a harsh breath as she undulates her hips against me.
So much for having the upper hand.
I know now this is how I die.
Being teased to death by this scary, strange girl.
She leverages her position, too, pressing herself against my cock. Her nipples are hard against her shirt, her tits high and firm and ever fucking distracting.
Yeah.
Ready or not, I think I’m about to let my libido make some bad, bad decisions for me.
“I don’t do subtle,” she says, and with a slow grin, flicks that bit of pink candy to rest between her pursed lips.
It’s gleaming.
Makes me think of some tortured goddamn things I shouldn’t be thinking of, things too wet and round and slick.
“Brin,” I snarl, sounding more animal than man.
“No, Major. That name doesn’t hold much weight anymore.” She sucks it back into her mouth with a luscious little sound. “Ask me my new alias. I’ll give you a hint—it’s a color. Very bright. Alive.”
She’s bright, I realize.
Underneath that coldness, the silvery eyes, this monochrome woman blending in behind the scenes, she’s a girlish collection of stars blazing through the void. The chasm of this strange life we share with Galentron Incorporated.
Fuck bright.
She’s blinding.
And right here, right now, I want her to sear away my senses.
“Bad day for games,” I say, but I’m watching her lips the whole time. “Just tell me. Tell me what to call you, Agent Brin.”
“Fuchsia,” she hisses, slipping her arms around my neck, drawing me down.
“Just Fuchsia? Fuchsia Brin?”
Her eyes dart around and her brow furrows.
“You need a last name too if you’re going full bore,” I say. I take a step back, reaching for the wine bottle behind me, holding it up. “Did you like the wine? I suggest something elegant and inspiring.”
She smiles, swiping the bottle with one hand, tilting it so she can see the label.
“Trust me, Oliver Major. One day the world will never forget Fuchsia Delaney—and neither will you.”
There are no words, then.
No words as I let her pull me down to my doom, allowing her to steal my mouth.
In two seconds flat with her strange, gentle tease, I’m hard. My tongue pries her open, slips past those vicious teeth, taking a nice, long drink of Fuchsia’s heat.
I trade her a growl, and she gives back a moan. Then it’s all hands, teeth, lips, and tongue damn near everywhere.
She tastes like candy.
Of course she does.
A hot pink sugar rush and rawness and passion and all of these wild crazy things that tell me I’ll let her lead me into trouble, lead me to the brink, and tear me to pieces again and again.
Because there’s an irresistible polarity in her.
Something infectious and insane and forbidden.
She ignites my blood, challenges my lust, bites and teases and toys with me until my mouth is bruised and aching and I’m just coming back for more, letting this cat of a woman toy with me like I’m her biggest catch ever.
I’m boiling apart, and she’s the burning phoenix beneath me, blazing far hotter than any tattoo captured on my skin.
Then the fire wraps around me, thighs against my hips, hormones like napalm.
Somehow, we stand up, and I fling her over my shoulder like the dick-minded Neanderthal I am. Her nails rake my back, and her teeth graze my neck.
I can barely carry her upstairs and down the hall before I’m tearing off her clothes, shearing that top in two in the mad, frantic rush to take over every inch of her.
It’s all happening so fast, so recklessly, and I don’t care.
She had me, dammit.
From the minute we locked eyes back in that conference room.
And damn her, she knows.
She knows her black magic spell scored a direct hit on that nub in my brain that makes my good sense flat and my dick harder than a brick. And as she writhes under me and pulls me into her and kisses me like she could tear me to ribbons with those carnivorous teeth, I’m already fucked.