Archer Holt—falcon-shifter and leader of a group of specially trained mercenaries—has been called up by the Secretary of State, Yrsa Larson.
His mission: Find her daughter, and bring her home.
Eira Larson isn't one to make waves. After taking an unsanctioned vacation to Belize, she's kidnapped and held in the home of the leader of the Wizard's cartel. She is supposed to be auctioned off into slavery to the highest bidder, but an enigmatic and sexy bodyguard has other plans for her.
Archer will do whatever it takes to protect Eira when he finds out the girl he's meant to protect is the woman he's destined to mate.
“Darlin’, you and I both know we’re not safe when we’re together. We’re combustible, you and I. Gunpowder and spark. Don’t you want to see what happens?” His breath floated across the shell of her ear.
“Yes,” she whispered, her breath coming in soft pants. “Wait! No, I can’t. We shouldn’t. It’s not right. For three weeks I thought you were the bad guy, and you’ve turned my world upside down.” She turned in his arms and then ran her thumb over his bottom lip while pressing her palm to his chest. “You’ve made me question everything.”
“That’s not a bad thing.” He smirked, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re supposed to question everything.”
“Hmm, maybe,” she answered. “So, do you want an omelet?”
“Maybe later.” Archer leaned in and took her lips with his. Nothing about the way he kissed her was, or ever would be, soft and gentle. He tempted her with each glide of his tongue against hers. The sensual pull threatened to drag her under the tide of emotions she’d buried deep within her.
He trapped her against the counter, bracing his arms on either side of her.
She sighed when he broke the kiss. “What if we’re seen?”
“No one will see us. My team won’t interrupt us.” He cupped her face in the palms of his hands and kissed her again. “Besides, I’ve wanted to get you alone since the moment I met you.”
“You had me alone every time you came to my room.” She gave herself to touch him. To trace every line and ridge. To explore his body and not be afraid of being hurt. His muscles rippled under her fingers, and a tortured moan passed his lips.
“No, I didn’t. There were cameras hidden in your room—all of your rooms. They could see everything.” He pressed his lips to hers again. “It’s why I couldn’t be the nice guy.”
She snorted. “You’re not a nice guy. You’ll never be a nice guy.” She nibbled on his lip.
“Rough around the edges?” he replied.
“Predatory. You don’t follow people, you stalk them. You hunt. I’ve seen it.”