Free Calm Before the Storm by Cara Lake Page A

Cassi’s
mouth made a small “o” of surprise and her eyes blinked wide. Immediately her
expression changed and Cassi was laughing hysterically. “Wow! You got a
tattoo!” she stammered between gasps. “That’s amazing. I never thought you had
it in you.”
    Irina curled her lips scathingly,
exasperated by Cassi’s clearly fake reaction. “Oh come on. Tell me how to get
it off!”
    “What, you think I did it?”
    “Well if it wasn’t Luc then who else, or
are you both in this together? Come on ’fess up and help me!”
    Cassi shook her head, cobalt-blue eyes so
serious that Irina almost swallowed her protestations of innocence. “I had
absolutely nothing to do with it.” She was still insisting the same thing hours
later as they traveled on the London underground to another meeting with Tyr
Bellor.
    Irina, with Cassi in tow, arrived at the
police station an hour later, her mind distracted from this morning’s prank she
was still convinced Cassi had played. She had considered calling Merak to say
she was delayed on another case, but her hesitation had only been momentary. It
was crazy, but there was no keeping away. The thread that tied her to him was already dragging her closer, wrenching jerkily toward him like a coiled
spring on the rebound. Her whole body was sizzling with that weird static
energy she had experienced yesterday. Those damn butterflies in her chest began
turning somersaults in expectation as Irina climbed the stairs to the entrance.
    It was noticeably quieter in the station
and Irina was thankful the media interest in the case had trailed off.
Detective Shax waved them through security and she briefly wondered if Leo was
on duty, as she needed to see him regarding another case. Cassi disappeared,
off to visit one of her own clients, promising to catch up with Irina later.
    As she approached the interview room, it
became instantly obvious that he was there waiting. The static buzzing
intensified, and Irina’s heart began to beat so frantically she imagined it
might just burst through her rib cage. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and
walked through the door.
    The room was empty. The butterflies dipped in
sad disappointment. Then she felt his presence to the left beside the door. He
was leaning against the wall, arms across his chest, head tilted to the
ceiling. Eyes closed, he appeared to be breathing in her scent and Irina was
spellbound as she watched the fall and rise of his massive chest.
    With his eyes shut she took the opportunity
to look, really look, at this terrifying but fascinating man who was
creating such havoc in her calm, ordered life. He was wearing low-slung gray
sweats that accentuated the lean cut of his hips, and the white vest top that
stretched across the carved perfection of his smooth pectorals had ridden up as
he arched his back, shoulders against the wall, to reveal the taut glory of a
six-pack to die for. He was solid. He was rock. You could sharpen knives on
those abs.
    Died and gone to heaven.
    Eyes as wide as saucers, Irina followed a
sprinkle of dark curly hair that forged a line from those perfectly crafted
abdominals and descended below the waistband of his sweats. It was at this
point that she realized she was staring at his erection, which was insistently
forcing the soft gray fabric to imitate a rock-solid mountain.
    “Enjoying the view?” His deep rumbling
voice pierced straight through to her bones, as she jerked herself away from
said view and almost ran to put the barrier of the table between them, cheeks
burning with embarrassment. Way to go, Rina. Died and gone to hell!
    Irina chose to ignore his question. “I
believe you want to make a statement?” she said, forcing herself to focus on
his face. This was a mistake as his expression was predatory, ratcheting up her
heartbeat until blood sang in her ears. She stared in panic as he pushed off
the wall and prowled toward her with a languid grace unusual for a man of his
size. His movements were