“So soft.” He runs his hand over my hair again, this time trailing his fingers along my shoulder. His thumb glides over my throat and he curls his hand around my neck. “So fucking delicate.”

I am burning. Consumed by fire. A burst of need drives a whimper up my throat, and I choke it back as his thumb circles the sensitive hollow at the base of my neck. Firm. Unyielding. Dominant. With one squeeze, he could break me. The way I was broken before. The way he broke the butterfly. And yet nothing could tear me away from this moment.

“Sia.” He says my name softly, drawing out the last syllable in a gravelly murmur, almost like a prayer.

My brain fuzzes with lust, and I surrender to the thrill of his touch, the pounding of my pulse in my veins, the desire that has haunted me since I first saw him in the ring. My head falls back, my lips part, and I drown in the depths of an azure sea.

With a low groan, Ray turns sideways in the chair, dropping his legs to the floor. With his hand still cupped around my neck, he pulls me between his legs, the casters on my stool squeaking in gentle protest. I circle my arms around his neck and my breasts rub against his bare chest. The press of his erection against my stomach sends a rush of moisture to my sex.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice drops husky and low. “You’re killing me.”

He leans down and sweeps my hair behind my shoulder, then nuzzles my neck. Sensation sears through my body and I tilt my head to the side to give him better access. So unprofessional. What if Slim comes out? Overcome with the fulfillment of a year’s worth of longing, I can’t bring myself to care.

He feathers kisses over my cheek and I lick my lips in anticipation. This is really happening. He’s going to kiss me again. A real hands-on-the-body Predator kiss.

A bell tinkles behind me. Damn front door. Damn customers who come after hours. I’m not turning around. I want my kiss.

Ray glances up and stiffens. “Holy shit.”

Chapter 6

I have never really, truly been kissed

Poised, breathless, on the cusp of the fulfillment of a yearlong fantasy, I half turn to see who is behind us. But before I get a glimpse at the door, Ray launches himself forward, taking me to the ground with a painful crash.

“What the…?”

“Down.” He presses me against the cold floor, covering me with his body. I strain my neck to see, but my vision is blocked by the couch on the other side of Duncan’s chair, beside us.

A crack. And another. Mortar crumbles from the wall behind us. Gunshots? My heart goes into overdrive as Ray pulls a gun from a holster around his ankle.

Ray has a gun.

“Who are they?” My voice is barely a whisper. “What do they want?”

Ray puts his finger to his lips as shots ring out around us. A jar shatters. Foam explodes upward from a chair. I tremble so hard I am sure they can hear the chatter of my teeth.

“What’s going on?” Slim appears in the doorway to the back room, and Ray motions him away. But he’s too late. Two shots crack the stillness and Slim goes down.

“No.” I try to push Ray away so I can get to Slim. But Ray drops his weight, holding me still.

“Stay down. Don’t know who they are or what they want, but they don’t seem to care who they kill. You’re going out the rear exit. Crawl or slide on your belly. Stay under the chairs until you get to that couch at the back. When you need to cross the floor, I’ll cover you. Once you’re out, call for help.”

“I’ll call Tag.”

Bullets ring out around us. A mirror shatters. “911,” says Ray. “Then Tag.”

“Tag. I need Tag.”

His voice drops, calm and even. “911. Then Tag. If he can’t get here in five minutes, that call will kill him, and Slim needs medical attention.”

“What about you?”

“Gotta stay with Slim. I’ll meet you out back. Go.”

My mom didn’t raise any fools. Heart pumping, I slither under the chairs, staying close to the wall and under the ledge. When I reach the couch, Ray gestures me forward, then jumps up and shoots over the couch. Gritting my teeth, I crawl toward the door leading to the private ink rooms, staff room, and supply room out back. Thankfully, Slim has fallen back into the hallway, out of the line of fire. The soldier is with him, holding a wadded cloth to his shoulder.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“If we can get an ambulance here right away. You got a phone? I left mine in the treatment room and he needs pressure on the wound.”

“Yeah.” My voice wavers. “In my pocket.”

His face softens. “It’s gonna be okay. Took a quick look when the shooting started and the guy out there knows what he’s doing. He’ll keep us covered until the police get here. You get out. Call 911. I’ll stay with Slim.”

After a moment of hesitation, I give Slim a kiss on the cheek, then race down the hallway and out the back door. Leaning against a Dumpster, I pull my phone from my pocket and call 911. Then I call Tag.

His anguished cry almost breaks my heart. He is at least half an hour away. But Ray was right. He maintains his sanity only because I’ve told him I’ve already called 911.

Too afraid to leave the alley in case the shooters are still out front, I curl up beside the Dumpster, my nose wrinkling at the pungent odor of stale piss and rotting garbage. My heart continues to pound and I take deep, calming breaths as the wail of sirens grows louder and louder. Tires screech. Doors slam. Voices. Shouting.