genuine laugh popped out of her mouth. “Bullshit. You hate being around me as much as I hate being around you.”
His lips twitched. “You’re right. That was a load of bull.”
“So then man up and ask me to help you find the person who hired me.”
“Are you offering?”
“Nope. But I might consider it.”
Son of a bitch. Nothing was ever easy with this woman.
Morgan spoke through clenched teeth. “Will you help me track him down?”
“I’ll think about it.” She shrugged. “Maybe if you ask me nicely next time and say please.”
Whatever. That was good enough for now. At the moment, he was more interested to know why she’d gotten dolled up and was apparently hitting a club.
“So why are we going to the Nuit Rouge? You tracking a target?”
“Just feel like dancing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? You just want to go dancing?”
“I happen to enjoy it. I do have interests outside of killing scumbags, you know.”
A thread of discomfort coiled around his throat. She
did
like to dance—he remembered that now. All those little details about her were stored in a deep abyss in his brain, banished from thought and locked down tight, but they’d started floating to the surface ever since Noelle and her operatives had gotten entangled with his team.
He wondered if she still liked watching old black-and-white movies late at night. Or if she still liked her steaks rare. If she still added a shit ton of salt to everything she ate. Did she still go for a run every time it rained?
He could never ask her, of course. Noelle would take any interest on his part as a sign of weakness. And it would be.
Christ, it’d be so much easier if he didn’t have those memories. That way he could just hate her, destroy her, end her life without ever having known the taste of her lips, or the way she felt naked and writhing beneath him.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the car ride, and when the Lincoln came to a stop twenty minutes later, Noelle was out of the car in the blink of an eye. He suspected she was trying to ditch him, but Morgan was a trained soldier, which meant he was capable of moving just as fast. He stayed on her six as she brazenly bypassed the mile-long line of hopeful clubgoers, and marched right up to the red steel door.
A monstrous bouncer with a deep scowl manned the entrance, but his meaty hand immediately unclipped the velvet rope at Noelle’s approach.
“Est-il avec vous?”
the bouncer barked.
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression flickering with aggravation when she realized Morgan was directly behind her.
“Oui,”
she said tersely, then strode through the door.
Morgan followed her into the club and let his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. A heavy bass line pounded in the shadowy corridor, and the intermittent flash of strobe lights illuminated the path to the main floor. This time, Noelle did manage to lose him—before he could even blink, she darted toward the red-and-white-checkered floor and was swallowed up by the crowd of dancers.
Ah well. He knew he’d spot her again sooner or later. In that boner-inducing dress of hers, she’d be hard to miss.
Morgan drifted over to the bar spanning one black-painted wall. He ordered a beer, then turned to face the dance floor, his gaze seeking out his prey.
And there she was. Dancing, just like she’d claimed she came here to do. Her curvy hips undulated as she moved to the music, slender arms raised, firm ass rolling sensually. The techno beat blasting out of the speakers made it impossible to hear anything but the relentless drum and bass and the shrill synthesizers. It wasn’t Morgan’s kind of music—he preferred classic rock or easy blues, not this headache-inducing bullshit.
Noelle didn’t seem to mind it. She stayed on the floor while he leaned against the counter and sipped his beer. And he wasn’t the only one watching her. Every male gaze seemed to be glued to the beautiful blonde. She drew men
His lips twitched. “You’re right. That was a load of bull.”
“So then man up and ask me to help you find the person who hired me.”
“Are you offering?”
“Nope. But I might consider it.”
Son of a bitch. Nothing was ever easy with this woman.
Morgan spoke through clenched teeth. “Will you help me track him down?”
“I’ll think about it.” She shrugged. “Maybe if you ask me nicely next time and say please.”
Whatever. That was good enough for now. At the moment, he was more interested to know why she’d gotten dolled up and was apparently hitting a club.
“So why are we going to the Nuit Rouge? You tracking a target?”
“Just feel like dancing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? You just want to go dancing?”
“I happen to enjoy it. I do have interests outside of killing scumbags, you know.”
A thread of discomfort coiled around his throat. She
did
like to dance—he remembered that now. All those little details about her were stored in a deep abyss in his brain, banished from thought and locked down tight, but they’d started floating to the surface ever since Noelle and her operatives had gotten entangled with his team.
He wondered if she still liked watching old black-and-white movies late at night. Or if she still liked her steaks rare. If she still added a shit ton of salt to everything she ate. Did she still go for a run every time it rained?
He could never ask her, of course. Noelle would take any interest on his part as a sign of weakness. And it would be.
Christ, it’d be so much easier if he didn’t have those memories. That way he could just hate her, destroy her, end her life without ever having known the taste of her lips, or the way she felt naked and writhing beneath him.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the car ride, and when the Lincoln came to a stop twenty minutes later, Noelle was out of the car in the blink of an eye. He suspected she was trying to ditch him, but Morgan was a trained soldier, which meant he was capable of moving just as fast. He stayed on her six as she brazenly bypassed the mile-long line of hopeful clubgoers, and marched right up to the red steel door.
A monstrous bouncer with a deep scowl manned the entrance, but his meaty hand immediately unclipped the velvet rope at Noelle’s approach.
“Est-il avec vous?”
the bouncer barked.
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression flickering with aggravation when she realized Morgan was directly behind her.
“Oui,”
she said tersely, then strode through the door.
Morgan followed her into the club and let his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. A heavy bass line pounded in the shadowy corridor, and the intermittent flash of strobe lights illuminated the path to the main floor. This time, Noelle did manage to lose him—before he could even blink, she darted toward the red-and-white-checkered floor and was swallowed up by the crowd of dancers.
Ah well. He knew he’d spot her again sooner or later. In that boner-inducing dress of hers, she’d be hard to miss.
Morgan drifted over to the bar spanning one black-painted wall. He ordered a beer, then turned to face the dance floor, his gaze seeking out his prey.
And there she was. Dancing, just like she’d claimed she came here to do. Her curvy hips undulated as she moved to the music, slender arms raised, firm ass rolling sensually. The techno beat blasting out of the speakers made it impossible to hear anything but the relentless drum and bass and the shrill synthesizers. It wasn’t Morgan’s kind of music—he preferred classic rock or easy blues, not this headache-inducing bullshit.
Noelle didn’t seem to mind it. She stayed on the floor while he leaned against the counter and sipped his beer. And he wasn’t the only one watching her. Every male gaze seemed to be glued to the beautiful blonde. She drew men
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