"And I'm sure he thinks about as much of it as I do," Lance growled. "Now, get the hell out of here."
Turning, he waved Lenny toward the reverend.
"Make sure he finds the door. Fast," he ordered the deputy as he stalked to his office.
"And make certain he doesn't return."
Lance slammed the door behind him before stalking across the room to where Harmony was rubbing her hands together, her expression frantic.
"My hands are freezing." She stared up at him in distress. "Or burning. I can't make it stop."
Harmony didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. What had been merely uncomfortable, irritating, before was now becoming strident. The cold burn in her hands and along the front of her body felt blistering. Especially between her thighs, where she had been forced to straddle the two men.
As Lance gripped her hands, she expected another of those tender kisses in the centers of her palms. It had helped before. Instead, he pushed her hands beneath the loose tail of his shirt as he gripped her head with his free hand.
And he kissed her.
He devoured her.
His lips plundered her own with deep, drugging kisses as his tongue slipped and slid against hers. Harmony moaned in overwhelming relief and hunger as the heavy, swollen sensation of the glands beneath her tongue began to ease. The sweet taste of it fired her senses further, sensitized her flesh, but nothing could have made her need Lance more than she already did.
Adrenaline pumped through her body; her greatest weakness was that surging excitement. Coming down from it normally filled her with depression, with a need for the human comfort she had always denied herself. She wasn't depressed now though. She was desperate. Hungry.
Her hand tore at the small snaps on his shirt, flipping the edges apart before her arms curled around his neck. The silk of his hair was a comfort against her palms, but the heat of his body was a fire in winter, warming all the cold lonely places inside her. And she needed more of him. Before she completely understood exactly what she was doing, she was trying to climb his body. Her thighs wrapped around his as she pressed her aching pu**y into the wedge of his cock, rubbing against him, moaning in exquisite pleasure as his hands gripped the cheeks of her ass and held her to him as they ate at each other's lips.
The kisses were intoxicating, fiery. Harmony felt the cold burn beneath her flesh retreating as they became deeper, hungrier.
"Goddamned office isn't the place for this." Lance tore his lips from hers as he moved, his voice husky, lusty.
Harmony gasped as he lowered them to the small couch across the room. With her legs wrapped around his h*ps and his body now coming over hers, the press of his c**k against her sensitive flesh was firmer, more heated.
"Oh, I like that." She shifted beneath him, her h*ps stroking over the hard, jeans-covered erection.
"I bet you do." The half laugh, half grunt had a small smile tugging at her lips. "We're going to keep f**king in my office, I'm going to end up fired."
"I'll protect you." She panted as his head lowered, his lips moving to her neck. "Tell them I held a gun to your head… Oh God. Lance…" His hands slid beneath her top, cupping her br**sts with firm, demanding fingers as his teeth raked over her neck.
"Like that?" He nipped at her neck, then soothed the little pleasure-pain with his tongue.
"Oh, I like," she moaned, arching closer to him, gasping as he gripped her ni**les in his thumbs and forefingers and rolled them deliciously. "I like that too." She was panting, drunk with pleasure. She had held herself back from him despite the demands of her body, and she realized then that it was only making the need grow.
"God, you taste good." He came back to her lips, covering them, taking them both on a mindless journey of pleasure as Harmony writhed beneath him.
"Lance, I need more." She pressed her h*ps closer as his lips moved back to her neck, then lower to her collarbone. "I need more now."
"In a minute. One taste at a time," he growled as she arched her back, feeling his lips moving over the upper curves of her br**sts that her snug shirt revealed.
"More. Now…"
She tossed her head, turning it to the side as her eyes widened in shock. Jonas stepped into the office, closing the door as he stared back at them mockingly.
"This isn't my night," she whispered as Lance paused, his head turning as well. "Do you think we could just ignore him?"
That brought a frown to Jonas's dark face, but a chuckle from Lance.
"He'll get testy," he told her with a sigh before moving to kiss her quickly on the lips. She caught his head, intending to hold him to her for just a second more. A second lengthened, his moan dulled her senses, and she nearly forgot that they had company of the worst sort.
"Hellion." Lance moved back before she could stop him, though his smile was frankly approving as he gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. "Go get those reports written. I'll take care of this."
"What's there to take care of?" She straightened her shirt as she stared back at her brother.
"I can see she hasn't changed much," Jonas stated as his lips quirked in amusement.
"And from the report I heard from the society members outside, she hasn't gotten any slower."
"Actually I have," she drawled. "A week ago I wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger."
"Reports, Harmony." Lance caught her eye, the warning in his gaze determined as he resnapped his shirt.
"Fine. Reports." She straightened her shirt again. "I swear, I never had to write a report when I killed the bastards. Slice their throats and walk away. No paperwork, no hassle. Unless you have a brother determined to kill you." She smiled snidely back at Jonas. He inclined his head in acknowledgment as she walked from the room. Snarling silently, she made her way to the desk and plopped into the hard wood seat before finding the papers she needed. Stupid reports. Assassins didn't file reports. This was ridiculous. ________
"How can I help you, Jonas?" Lance waved him to a chair before moving behind the desk and taking his own.
His body was humming with lust; the need to push the Breed out the door and finish what had begun on that sofa was nearly overwhelming.
Jonas took his seat, his expression as coldly mocking as ever. There was something about Jonas that both repelled and drew a person. It was there in those quicksilver eyes—a ruthlessness, a sense of purpose that you were never quite certain you could trust.