Free Kamikaze (Last Call #1) by Moira Rogers Page A

faded by wear and not fashion. Her T-shirt was
similarly styled -- understated and solid black except for the
letters "PEBKAC" across the front. He grinned. Problem exists between keyboard
and chair.
    He rubbed his thumb over his
beer bottle as his eyes followed the curves of her body. She wasn’t
rail thin. Instead, she had the kind of body a man could wrap his
hands around. The kind he had no trouble picturing bent over in
front of him. And she needs a mate.
    No, he told himself. You’re here to update the
security software. Do it and get out.
    Men were already gathering near the base of
the steps, drawn by the lure of a female in the clutches of her
mating instinct. They looked tense, hungry; ready to compete for
the pleasure of a woman who needed sex, whose scent would be an
aphrodisiac to any male werewolf.
    She shifted nervously on the stool, her eyes
drawn to the small knot of men who were poised, waiting for the
bartender to deliver her drink. She knew she’d be pounced, he could
see it in her eyes as they darted around the room. She’d be
chased.
    He wondered, perhaps with a bit of jealousy,
who would catch her.
    Her gaze clashed with his, and Connor raised
his drink in salute.
    She blushed. She actually blushed as she turned away
and stared at the counter again. The bartender returned, her drink
in hand, and Connor could see the tense set of her shoulders as she
watched him place the glass in front of her. Her hands shook a
little as she slid her credit card across the counter and accepted
a small, magnetic key to one of the upstairs rooms in
return.
    More than just the werewolves were watching
her now. A kamikaze almost always guaranteed a good show, no matter
how shy or plain the woman. She seemed to feel the pressure as she
wrapped her fingers around her drink. She lifted it to her lips and
hesitated for a heartbeat.
    Then she drank the entire thing in one gulp.
Someone in the crowd cheered loudly enough to be heard over the
music, and someone else let loose a piercing catcall.
    Connor watched as she hastily shoved the key
in her back pocket and shot off the dais and away from the men
gathered around it, disappearing into the crowd. She was either
very nervous… or she wanted the chase.
    He found himself moving toward her, cursing
himself with every step.
    Whoever was in charge of the music had a
sense of humor. He was still five feet away from her when the
upbeat pop song changed, bled into a savage industrial song with a
primal bass rhythm.
    She was watching him when another man
stepped up behind her and slid an arm around her waist. She
stiffened and whipped her head to the side, her snarl just loud
enough to be heard over the music.
    The man backed off but another slid in
beside her. She ignored him, her gaze still locked with Connor’s.
Her new suitor took her lack of response as encouragement and
hooked a hand over her hip.
    That earned a reaction. She spun around and
snarled again, taking a step back when she realized three men had
gathered behind her. She might be nervous, but Connor had no doubts
now that the competition excited her.
    The voice in his head protested. He ignored
it and reached into her pocket, plucking out her key. He held it in
front of her as he bent close to her ear. “Do you want to go
upstairs with one of them, or with someone who knows what the geeky
slogan on your T-shirt means?”
    She stepped back against him, molding her
body to his. Her ass rubbed against his cock as she shimmied a
little in time with the music. “Dance with me.” Her hand came up
and snatched the key away, and she shoved it into her front pocket
this time as she ground back against him.
    He set his beer bottle on a table at the
edge of the dance floor, not caring that it was occupied, and
wrapped his hands around her hips. “What’s your name,
Kamikaze?”
    “ Zoe.” She hitched in a
breath and slid her hands over his, and he could feel the barely
leashed need in her, already threatening to boil