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“What you’re asking for, smart-ass, is a spanking.” A jolt of lust rocked my body. Wide-eyed and breathless, my heart pounding, I stared at him. Spanking? Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea.
“You’re a reckless little thing, aren’t you?”
“You’re nothing but a pip-squeak with a big mouth and a bad attitude, like a Chihuahua.”
Because the second my mouth claimed hers, it seemed inevitable, as if it had been written in the stars long before we met. It felt like fate . . . and fuck, did that feel good.
The tattoos reacted to her touch the way they never had with anyone before.
The only thing worse than a smart-ass woman was a smart-ass woman who was right.
“Who fall in love with a Rousseau man.”
“He told me where we might find Celeste Leclair.” He slanted a strange look down at me. “He also said that a sleeping lion is still a lion, and I should take care not to step on its tail or risk waking it up.”
“He was talking about you.”
As if I’d graduated with honors from Hogwarts.
“Just remember, child, one must be lost for the other to be free. The choice is yours.”
I’d never met a man who could say so little but enrage me so much.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for feisty women.
It had appeared on my mother’s wrist less than an hour before she died. Emmie’s too.
It figured I’d fall for a witch. My taste in women always ran toward the feral ones.
