As the night deepened, Harmony used the darkness of her room to think. Stretched out on the floor, dripping with sweat from the crunches she worked through, she fought to clear her mind. To concentrate on the burn of her muscles rather than the arousal burning through the rest of her.
She could think through the workouts. Who had killed the bartender? Which enemy did she know would work to frame her rather than shoot her? She was accessible here. There was no way to hide from a sniper's gun, which meant it wasn't a Council-run operation. The Council wanted her, but not dead. She was of no use to them dead. If she was convicted of committing another murder, then as far as they knew, Jonas wouldn't hesitate to kill her.
She had made other enemies, of course. An assassin had a ton of those. But Harmony had been careful. The persona of Death was much different than the one she portrayed as Harmony. Harmony could walk down a city street, shop in the finest stores and have dinner in the best restaurants. Death had to use the cover of night and hide in the shadows.
Wiping the dripping perspiration from her eyes, she collapsed back on the carpet, breathing hard as she fought to catch her breath before beginning another set of the crunches.
Alonzo was in town. He knew of Death, but he didn't know Harmony. He would know there was a Breed on the force, but had he connected the two, he wouldn't be staging an elaborate frame-up. The bastard.
Besides, Alonzo could have no idea that she knew his secrets, his ties to the Council and the operation in France ten years before.
None of this made sense.
She frowned up at the ceiling, fighting to work through something that had no base. There was always a chance the murdered bartender was a freak occurrence, but Harmony didn't deal in coincidences. They didn't exist for her.
Nothing existed for her but Death.
The pain that clenched her chest at the thought of that nearly took her breath. She was twenty-five years old. Twenty of those years had been spent killing. She lifted her hands from the floor and stared at them, even in the near blackout of the room, she saw the blood. So much blood spilling through her hands, staining her soul and everything she touched.
Everyone she touched.
Oh God, what was she doing here? A half-hysterical laugh nearly passed her lips. What made her think she could do this? That she could ever have the freedom Jonas had offered her.
Six months. He knew she would never last six months. He knew her past would stalk her, find her, and she was terrified that was exactly what had happened. As she lay there, the sound of the doorknob turning had her jerking her gun from her side and coming to her knees, the safety clicking off as the door swung inward.
"Are you crazy?" she yelled at Lance furiously as she came to her feet in a surge of anger. "Don't ever do that. Never."
He stood framed in the doorway, one hand braced against the jamb as he stared into the room. The light from the hall shadowed him, but she knew it clearly revealed her. Dressed in the snug cotton cami shirt and matching boxers, damp with sweat, no part of her body would be hidden from his gaze.
Her nipples pressed into the cloth and her clit throbbed in anticipation as she stared at him. Shirtless. God, couldn't he even wear a shirt? The only thing saving her from panting in lust was the fact that he was in shadow and she couldn't really see details. But she could smell. And the smell of him was off-the-charts hot. Desert heat and stormy winds. The combination had the glands at her tongue swelling further and the sweet taste of arousal spilling to her mouth.
Great. Just great, she thought. She had managed to keep this mating heat stuff under control for two days, just to be blindsided by a bare chest and the scent of him.
"Are you just going to stand there?" She stalked over to the nightstand, flipping on the light to at least give herself the advantage of seeing him. Unlike most Breeds, her night vision wasn't exactly exceptional.
Maybe she should have left the lights off.
He shifted as he watched her, hard chest muscles rippling, his abs tightening as the unbuttoned band of his jeans drew her eyes.
"You're soaking wet with sweat," he observed. "Is lying in here working out like a demon better than being in my bed?"
"Yes!" No.
His expression turned chastising as he wagged his finger at her. "Little girls who lie get their butts spanked," he warned her.
That did not turn her on. It didn't.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at him.
"I wouldn't try it if I were you," she grated out.
"What? Spanking you?" The crooked smile that tugged at his lips was one of pure lust.
"I promise, baby, you would enjoy it."
She was two seconds from a true growl. And she so hated playing into the stereotype of the Breed.
"Exactly what did you want?" she asked between gritted teeth.
"Exactly?" He arched a brow mockingly. "Are you sure you want me to answer that?" She glanced at the clock.
"It's half past midnight. Don't you have to work in the morning?"
"Don't you?" he replied, his voice silky dark, stroking over her senses with nearly the same effect of his calloused palms on her flesh.
As he stepped into the bedroom, the air around her pulsed with hunger. God, what was she going to do about him?
"Lance, please." She stepped back, staring at him desperately now. "Go to bed."
"Come with me, Harmony," he whispered, coming nearer, the dark teak of his flesh gleaming. "Let me hold you while you sleep again. I'll watch over you, baby." The temptation of it had a shiver racing over her skin. He had held her while she slept the other night. She had been unable to help it, couldn't hold back. She had meant only to doze, but before she could stop herself she had fallen into the abyss awaiting her. And she had done so dreamlessly.
She shook her head, feeling her hair brush over her shoulders, stroking skin already sensitive, reminding her of his touch.
He came nearer with each second, until he stood only inches from her, the heat of his body surrounding her. She hadn't even known she was chilled until his heat enfolded her.
"You're wet, baby," he whispered, his hand gripping her shirt and pulling it up. "Let me help you out there."
The shirt cleared her head as Harmony blinked up at him in confusion. How did he do this to her?
"Lance." Her hands pressed against his bare chest, then she groaned, realizing defeat was only seconds away as she felt her palms soaking up the heat from his body.
"Yeah, feel that," he crooned. "Let me warm you, baby." Harmony felt her lips part helplessly, her entire body tensing, preparing for the wild heat of his kiss. Instead, he merely caressed her lips with his mouth.
His hands slid over her waist, calloused palms stroking with fiery pleasure until they cupped the heaving mounds of her breasts. His thumbs stroked her nipples and she felt herself panting.
She was panting for his touch. Her hands gripped his wrists as she felt every nerve ending in her body throbbing, waiting.
She jerked as his thumb and forefinger applied erotic pressure to the hard tip of her nipple, sending a burning surge of pleasure to race through her stomach. Her breath caught at the sensation as her nails pressed into his wrist.
"We can't keep doing this." Her cry was weak, pleading. "Don't do this to me, Lance."
"Do what? Make you admit you need?" His lips moved over her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. "Make you feel what I feel, Harmony? I burn for you baby. Burn for me." Didn't he know that the flames ate her insides constantly, tearing at her will, her defenses?
"Just feel for me, Harmony," he crooned. "Just for a little while." When his lips returned to hers, they melted into her, kissing her with a longing and fervor she couldn't deny. Deep, sipping kisses that drugged her mind and sent her senses spinning.
"There, sweetheart." He was breathing hard, rough, as he pulled back, one hand sliding down her torso, over her stomach as she struggled to open her eyes.
A second later his palm slid between her thighs, pressing over the aching center of her body as she felt a dizzying sweep of pleasure tear through her.
She couldn't help clenching her thighs, holding his palm in place. It was cupped snugly over her pussy, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit, grinding against it with devastating results.
Beneath her hands his flesh was heated, beneath her lips the strong column of his neck beckoned. His skin tasted of male arousal and heat, clinging to her tongue and mixing with the hormone spilling from the glands beneath. The intoxicating flavor had her reaching for more, her teeth raking over his skin as her senses came alive. Her defenses fell away, unable to bear the weight of their combined hunger. The battle to fight the hunger and need surging through her was one that couldn't be fought in his arms.
"There, baby," he whispered against her collarbone, his head lowering, heading unerringly to the stiff peaks of her nipples as his palm inflamed her clit, pressing the soft cotton of her boxer-style panties against it. He ground his hand against her, tearing a harsh cry from her lips as brilliant flares of pleasure tore through her. She was lost in him. One touch and she was caving and didn't even care. The past, the present, the danger surrounding her—it all threatened to dissolve around her, and when it did, she knew she would be dead. She couldn't do this. She couldn't let her hunger destroy the only good thing she had ever found in her life.
Loving Lance was a weakness. A weakness that could get him killed.
"No." She tore away from him, not certain where she found the strength to do it. Stumbling against the bed, she reached down, jerked her shirt from the floor and held it against her breasts as she fought to get away from him.
With the length of the room between them, she turned, staring at his back as he breathed heavily, his head lowered, his hands propped on his hips. He was fighting for control; she could see it in every muscle of his body.
When he turned back to her, she flinched at the brilliance of his blue eyes, the savage cast of his expression.
"How much longer can you run, Harmony?" His voice was a rough rasp. "Can you make it six months, baby?"
"I have to," she cried out, hating the look on his face, the hunger and need, the certainty that she would fall. "Don't you understand, Lance? I can't have this. It doesn't matter what nature wants, or what I want. I can't have this."
She clenched her fists in the hem of her shirt, fighting to hold back the need to return to him, to touch him.
"And why can't you have it?" he barked back. "Because you're the tough-assed assassin? Poor little Breed who has to fight alone. That's bullshit and you know it."
"No, it's not bullshit," she retorted furiously. "It's the truth, you're just too damned horny to see it."
"Oh, you have the horny right, baby. I'm so damned hard I could fuck you for a week without letting up. And I'll be damned if I'll walk away like this forever. You're my fucking mate. You think you can just walk away from it? That it's just going to go away?" She flinched as he yelled back at her, the graveled sound of his voice testifying to his growing frustration and anger.
"It's just lust." She swiped her hand through the air, as desperate to believe it as she was for it to be true. "A chemical reaction. It will go away."
"And you're only kidding yourself."
Harmony jumped to avoid him as he strode quickly to her, his hand gripping her wrist, jerking her hand to his thighs.
"Feel that, Harmony."
She whimpered as he cupped her fingers over the hard width of his erection beneath his jeans.
"This doesn't go away. I wake up with it and I go to sleep with it. And by God, if you try to tell me you're not just as wet as I am hard, I'll fuck you where you're standing just to prove you're wrong."