“Layla’ll take care of that.” He nods in my direction. “I’m on an important call.” Pushing past her, he calls over his shoulder, “Good to have you back. We’ll talk later.” He presses the phone back to his ear and snarls something I can’t make out.
I slide my gaze from Gibbs’s retreating form to the fuming mass of muscle and make-up in front of me.
“Locker.” She spits the word, making sure I know it’s not a request.
“Name.” I return the attitude in true teenage fashion. Thank you, Axelle.
“Camille.”
“Yeah, I got that. Do you have a last name, or do you go by just the one? Like a dog?”
Her eyes flare and the muscle in her jaw jumps. “Did you really just say that?”
I tilt my head and give her my sweetest smile. “Damn right I did.”
“Aw, fuck.” Blake’s voice rumbles through the space between us, shattering my tough girl ’tude.
My fake smile morphs into a genuine one. “Hey, Snake—”
I stop, suddenly realizing that I’m no longer Camille’s target. She’s got laser vision, and it’s pointed directly at my boyfriend. “Well wha’daya know? My elevator hook-up returns.” The drawl of Robo-bitch’s words leaves zero questions as to her meaning.
My mouth falls open and my ribs seem to contract, making it hard to breathe. I swing my gaze between her and Blake, waiting for the denial from his lips. It never comes.
I know Blake has a past that involves many women. I’m pretty sure most of the Cage Girls have seen the inside of his bedroom. That’s part of who he was. I accept that. But those girls are like prey. Innocent victims lured in by his demi-god good looks and panty-melting charm.
This woman is different. She’s a predator. His equal. A protective instinct stirs within me and runs a close second to my jealousy.
Blinking, I clear my throat. “I guess introductions aren’t required.” Desperate to get rid of her, I pivot to my computer and pull up the locker assignment file.
“What are you doing here, Camille?” Blake asks in a low, grumbly voice.
Of course he knows her name. I wonder what he had to do to get it out of her? Ugh! No, I don’t want to go there.
“I’m in Vegas for some promotional stuff,” she says with no hint of her earlier hostility.
Bitch.
I jot down the first number I see, along with the three-digit combination. My back is to them, but my ears are tuned in and turned up.
“Good to see you, Snake.” I hear the sound of her feet shuffling on the carpet as she moves. “I’ve been thinking about you. I’ll be in town for a while, we could—”
“Here ya go.” I rip the Post-it from the stack and spin around in my chair. Blake’s eyes are on me, radiating comfort.
Her eyes are on me too. And she’s furious.
I shove my finger toward her, sticky note first, and wiggle it. “Here. Your locker. Take it.” And get the hell gone.
My eyes move to Blake. He’s biting his lip to fight a smile. When it looks like he’s about to lose his hold on his humor, he drops his chin.
Laughing? Really?
Camille finally plucks the paper from my hand. “If you don’t mind? I’m catching up with an old friend.”
Blake steps around her and walks behind my desk. His eyes are still dancing with humor as he cups the nape of my neck with one hand and circles my waist with the other. Before I can open my mouth, he covers it with his.
My legs wobble for an instant before he pulls me in tight so that I’m flush with him from hip to chest. I grip his biceps, holding on as he curls his towering frame over me. Possessing me. His taste, so distinctly Blake, with a hint of Gatorade, floods my mouth. A moan rumbles in my chest, and I tilt my head, allowing his dominance. Desire unfurls in my belly with every wet thrash of his tongue. All too soon he pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip.
“Move along now, Camille. You got what you came for, and I need some privacy with my woman.” His words are directed at her, but he never once takes his eyes from mine.
“Your woman?” She makes a disgusted noise. “You’re kidding, right? She’s like… old.”
Blake’s body gets hard, and his hands flex into my skin. Her comment hit me like a brick to the gut, and my body’s hot with humiliation.
I watch as he fights to control his temper. “Blake, it’s—”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Camille.” He grounds out the words through clenched teeth.
“I can’t believe this shit.” I don’t look, but I hear the sound of her retreating footsteps as she heads down the hallway in a huff. That was close.
My hands glide from his arms and over his shoulders, where they hook around his neck. Rubbing circles into his tense muscles until he relaxes, I force my embarrassment away and focus on lightening the mood. “You did that on purpose.”
He takes a shaky breath, and the rage clears from his eyes. “Did what, Mouse?”
“I was formulating a strongly worded speech about the hazards of screwing crazy Amazon-looking bitches. But then you kissed me, and I forgot.”
“Never screwed that bitch—”
“Crazy Amazon-looking bitch.”