By Didier Comès
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Sex wasn’t a severe drain on his powers, but it did mess with his head. When a man’s fucking, his walls crumble, Dev always said. And yeah, that was the truth in plain English. English. " FAITH BLACK’S PLANS for the night hadn’t included a tall, dark and handsome man, but with someone trying to kill her, she’d had to make some adjustments. The stranger she’d propositioned wrapped his arm around her waist. Before she could so much as blink, he tucked her between his long legs. The bar stool bit into the front of her thighs and his fingers bit into her hip, and for some reason, all she could think about was biting into him.
You didn’t invite me here to talk work," he said. " "I don’t know," she murmured against his neck, her lips hot against his already overheated skin—and, oh yeah, they were going to have fun tonight. He turned the lock on the door to Do Not Disturb mode with his mind and kept on kissing her. She was so enthralled, she didn’t notice that he was unbuttoning her leather jacket with his fingers and unzipping her leather pants with his thoughts, pulling them down and ripping off her corset top. She’d made short work of his T-shirt, yanked it off impatiently and nibbled along his shoulder as she unbuttoned his jeans.
Dev leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his abs. Snapping out of her lust, she pulled an Atlantic map down from its roller on the wall. "It wasn’t that difficult. Your cryptographers were thinking like secret agents, not meteorologists. It was modified synoptic code. " Haley was one of the few people who knew that Wyatt was alive and well, and while she had no idea why the deception was so critical, she did know that he had somehow transmitted a code he’d come across a couple of weeks ago while on the oil platform.