Page 43 of Mayhem

Of course she did.

Her attention shifted from my hand to my face, and that restless energy from the job came back into her almost instantly. “You always inspect people after assignments, or am I getting special treatment?”

“Do you want special treatment?”

The question landed exactly where I intended. Echo stepped closer until the back of my hand touched the front of her jacket between us, her chin tipping up. She didn’t bother pretending she misunderstood.

“I want you to stop asking questions you already know the answer to.”

I slid my hand from her wrist to her waist and backed her against the stone beside the door. She went willingly for about half a second before her fingers caught the front of my shirt and pulled me closer, making sure whatever happened next belonged to both of us. Her mouth was already parted when I kissed her.

She kissed like she did everything else: immediately and with more force than necessary. Her teeth caught my lower lip, one hand tightening in my shirt while the other slid around the back of my neck. I let her take what she wanted at first, long enough for her to decide she had the rhythm, then caught her jaw and changed it. Echo made an irritated sound against my mouth and pushed closer anyway.

That reaction made it difficult to stop where I’d already decided I would.

I kissed her until the hand at my neck tightened and her body went warmer against mine, until she stopped trying to steer every second and started reacting to what I gave her. When my thumb brushed the edge of her mouth, she turned her face just enough to bite it.

I laughed quietly. “There she is.”

“Keep laughing.”

Her hand slid down my chest, intent obvious enough that I caught her wrist before she got where she was going. Echo looked at my fingers around her arm, then back at me, and the annoyance arriving in her face was almost immediate.

I let go and stepped back.

She stared at me.

The silence lasted long enough that a pair of students came around the corner, saw us standing too close to each other, and immediately found somewhere else to look while they went through the door.

Echo folded her arms and stared at me. “What the fuck was that? And don’t tell me it was a kiss. I know what a kiss is. I’m asking why you started something you clearly wanted and then stopped.”

I let my gaze move over her slowly enough that she knew lack of interest wasn’t the problem. “Because I wanted to.”

Her eyes dropped briefly before coming back to mine. “You’re hard, Ronan. So either you enjoy making yourself miserable or you’re doing this specifically to piss me off.”

“Could be both.”

She dragged her tongue across her teeth and turned toward the door. “You’re fucking irritating.” She held my gaze another second before shaking her head and turning toward the door. I caught it for her before she could yank it open hard enough to make the hinges regret existing, and she walked through without thanking me.

By the time we reached the lounge, Malakai was already halfway out of his seat. He looked at Echo first, took in her expression, then looked at me with immediate suspicion. Hunter barely glanced up from the documents on his desk before asking whether we got what we needed.

I handed him the temporary credential and authentication sequence. “Callum paid.”

Hunter looked over the information, then toward Echo. “Any problems?”

“She handled it.”

That was enough to pull his attention fully off the page.

Malakai was already moving toward Echo’s corner, asking what happened and why she looked like she wanted to commit another felony before she’d even put her bag down. Echo shoved his face away with one hand when he leaned too close, and Malakai laughed and came right back.

echo

By lunch, the backs of both my heels were bleeding badly enough that I stopped pretending the shoes deserved a chance.

They were objectively gorgeous, which only made me hate them more. Black leather, narrow heel, soft enough everywhere else that somebody had probably massaged the cow before killing it, and fitted perfectly except for the two places currently trying to peel the skin off my feet. I’d made it through one lecture, most of a seminar, and the walk across the main quad before deciding Hunter’s wardrobe rules did not include a blood sacrifice. I stopped beside one of the stone benches outside the humanities building, slipped them off, and hooked both heels over two fingers.

Cold pavement pressed against my soles when I stood again. It felt fucking wonderful.