Play of Passion (Psy-Changeling 9)

Lines flared out at the corners of the cop’s slightly uptilted eyes. “You have very good intel. That was done without my knowledge; the other sites are being processed as they should be.”

Andrew knew without asking that whoever had given the order for erasure wouldn’t be doing so again. It made him very curious as to exactly what kind of a deal Nikita had struck with the cop that allowed him that much power, but he knew that wasn’t a question Max would answer. So he asked another. “What’s it like, working for a Councilor?”

“Half the time I’m rubbing my hands in insane glee at the information I have access to.”

“And the other half?”

“I’m trying not to f**king murder someone myself—usually Nikita.” Max’s phone beeped on the heels of that comment. The cop glanced at the readout with a smile. “My wife wants me home for dinner.”

Andrew didn’t have to be psychic to sense the other man’s unadulterated pleasure. Feeling bad tempered for no other reason than that Indigo was mad at him, he said, “Have you ever made her angry?” If the cop said that he and his wife lived in a state of constant connubial bliss, Andrew decided he’d have full cause to throw a punch.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Sure, I’m human.” He slid the phone into the pocket of his suit pants and rose to his feet with a distinctly amused glint in his eye. “Making up is the fun part, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”

Indigo sank into what she thought was a well-deserved bath late that night, having only now finished updating the other lieutenants as to the situation with the Psy incursions. Tomás had had further disturbing news to share—more dead Psy, this time on the edges of the state and left in public areas where they couldn’t be missed.

Judd, having taken charge of keeping track of that situation earlier, had volunteered to continue to handle it, and Indigo was so grateful, she could’ve kissed him. She was tired from the search, her muscles tense, but mostly she had an itch and no one to scratch it. Hissing out a breath, she sank deeper into the hot water, damn glad she’d chosen one of the rooms with a bath rather than a shower. She’d just picked up the loofah to run it down her leg when she heard someone enter her apartment.

Very, very few people would’ve felt they had the right to waltz on in.

Then she caught the scent of wild, wicked male and the liquid heat between her legs had nothing to do with the bath. “How did the meeting go?” she asked as Drew appeared in the doorway, his eyes skating over the bubbles that covered her from neck to toe.

“Dead Psy might be connected to Pure Psy. Looks like they’re collateral damage in a political showdown.”

The Psy were the enemy, but today, she felt pity for those who had no choice but to remain in the PsyNet. “God, imagine having sociopathic bastards like that as your leadership.”

“I’d rather not talk about the Council right now.”

“Oh? What would you like to discuss?” She raised an arm out of the tub and began to run the loofah down it, wanting to torture him in revenge for her keening sexual frustration.

Closing the distance between them, he perched on the edge of the tub, dipping his fingers into the foam, his eyes on her face. “Indigo.”

She looked up, raised an eyebrow.

And held his gaze as he shifted his hold so that one of his hands was on either side of the tub, enclosing her in a prison of steely male muscle. “I,” he said quietly, “am a dominant male. You need to learn to deal with that.”

His tone made her claws prick the insides of her skin, but she kept her own tone neutral. “I’m more than used to dealing with dominant males.”

“Bull. Shit.” Quiet. Intense. “You’ve had lovers, but never one whom you’ve let in enough that you actually had to deal with the implications.”

“What makes you think you’re about to break the pattern?”

Water sloshed over the edge and onto the tile floor as Drew got into the tub, jeans and all, and knelt to straddle her. In spite of her shock, she was ready for him when he cupped her face in his hands and swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted an earthy masculine sensuality, a hint of beer—smooth and dark—and something that licked at her senses like fire. Drew. His tongue stroked and licked, while his hands kept her in place for his delectation, his teeth biting on her lower lip, teasing her upper one.

Heat uncurled in her abdomen, though she recognized exactly what he was doing. It was another display of possession. Her wolf bared its fangs at the idea, giving her enough strength of will to break the kiss, push at his shoulders with her claws. He refused to move, but he put his hands on the edge of the bath behind her.

She was sucking in a breath to speak when he simply bent his head and kissed her again. All hot and warm and sexy and demanding. Sex, she thought, wasn’t going to solve anything . . . but then he slid one hand down to squeeze her breast and a surge of blinding passion eclipsed every other thought. Biting down on his lower lip, she tugged up his head with a hand fisted in his hair. “Take off the T-shirt.”

To her surprise, he didn’t argue, reaching down and pulling the half-sodden material over his head. It landed soundlessly on the fluffy bath mat as he threw it over the side. She was stroking her hands up his chest, delighting in the heated silk of his body, when he kissed her again—and this time, there was no buildup. No, he just continued on from where he’d left off, fondling her breast with a proprietary touch that made her want to moan and to bite him at the same time.