Mercer's Siren Read Free

that?"
    If actions spoke louder than words, then the way his lips slid over hers in a perfect fit screamed his intent. Her muffled gasp of surprise softened into a moan as she fell under his spell. Gods could the man kiss. He knew exactly what he was doing and gave no illusions about it. But far from an imposition it was a seduction.
    And to think he wasn’t fully recovered yet.
    Firm but patient, he kissed like they had all the time in the world. He tasted like cherries, toothpaste, and every dirty thought she’d ever had. Every bit of suction, the subtlest swipe of his tongue along the seam of her lips, teasing her until she gave in and yielded her mouth to him. With her surrender, he took what he pleased and gave what she wanted in turn.
    “I thought… you weren’t... feeling good yet?” she managed between kisses.
    “You’re getting me there, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips.
    She pulled back to look at him. His blue eyes were open, honest, not hiding his intent. More than that, her gut insisted she could trust him. And she needed to...wanted to. Long dormant feminine instincts kicked into high gear and heat swirled through her veins. She hadn’t done this for...over two years. And he didn’t know she was Hanorian, the distinctive red hair of her species carefully hidden by a genetic patch to turn it dark brown. So he wasn’t in this for kicks just because she was a siren. He liked her as a woman.
    And she wasn’t on the clock, not yet. So why not?
    “Really? My, don’t you get revved up and ready to go quickly?”
    “Sweetheart, I’d dare you to time me with a stopwatch, but I don’t want to distract you.”
    Suddenly it was as if she was only aware of his gaze for the first time. His eyes locked onto hers, keeping her in place and holding her attention so she was barely aware of his touch, not until he had softly squeezed her arms still resting on his shoulders, her hands on the back of his neck.
    “Don’t. Move.”
    “I’ll try.”
    Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes briefly, but quickly went away as the game was now afoot.
    In the brief moments available to her during their banter, she’d prepared herself for whatever he would do. Still, her breath caught as his fingers slid along the expanse of her midriff left bare by her upraised arms.
    “You know, I’m thinking,” he mused softly as his thumbs traced her skin where it met the waistband of her skirt. “With how amazing you feel on my fingertips, I can only imagine the taste of your skin. Pretty sure if I poured cherry syrup all over you and licked it off, you might get me to love the stuff.”
    “Hmmm,” she pursed her lips. “Now that could be a viable method of treatment to get you over your aversion to zingers. What would be easier, of course, would be for you to avoid so much alcohol. It’s not safe for a human to drink so much and I’d rather not rebuild your liver, hotshot.”
    She was waffling, something she did when she was nervous. Was she nervous? Kinda. It had been a long time. His hands traced her waistband and found the zipper at the side. The rasp as he pulled it down filled the small room and a second later her skirt hit the deck plating. “Well, would you look at that? Zippers these days aren’t what they used to be. Damned thing let itself down. Must be broken…”
    * * *
    “Maybe you can get a refund,” he murmured. “But honestly, I love the new minimalist look.”
    He didn't even pretend to struggle whether or not to look down, Garrett openly lowered his gaze and admired the view. She might not have been Amazonian tall, but her legs were flawless and looked like they stretched forever, the low-heeled sandals on her feet adding a bit more credence to the effect.
    But all that skin brought his eyes right onto the prize. Sheer black lace concealed fewer square inches than the span of his hand. The sight made his breath quicken and his pants decidedly uncomfortable. His angel had a dark side,