Free Kat and Mouse by Lexxie Couper Page B

every last drop, and he gave it—willingly, desperately.
    Because in his head two words threaded through the absolute rapture consuming him: dangerous, love.
    His body afire, his blood ice, he cried out one more time and then slumped onto her body. Holding her, wanting to imprint this very moment on his psyche forever.
    “Oh, God, I love you, Flynn,” Katrina murmured, tracing her nails up and down his back in languid, lazy patterns, a smile of wonderment in her voice.
    Flynn closed his eyes and held her close. This moment. This moment. He brushed his lips over her temple. “I love you too,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer.
    Knowing exactly what he had to do.
     
    ***
     
    Katrina opened her eyes and smiled at the ceiling. She felt aglow. Clichéd, she knew, but aglow all the same. Aglow and warm and completely, wonderfully sated.
    Stretching slightly, she turned her head.
    And found the space beside her empty.
    A chill stabbed at her euphoria. Surely he wouldn’t do it to her again? Surely…
    She sat up, looking around the room.
    Not a sign Flynn Marsters had ever been there.
    Except for the dampness between your thighs?
    A tingling sensation began to grow in the pit of her stomach. The “cop” part of her stomach. She swallowed. “Flynn?”
    Silence.
    “Flynn?”
    How many times do you have to call his name to know he’s not here, O’Lauchlan ?
    Icy numbness rolled over her. Embarrassed disgust devoured her. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her face with hands that trembled. “Oh, you bloody idiot, O’Lauchlan.”
    She stayed that way for a long moment, part of her pretending she only waited for Flynn to come back from dashing to the ice-machine. The fact her suite had a mini-bar didn’t matter. Where else would he be, if not at the ice-machine?
    Dragging her fingers through her hair, she looked up, staring blankly at the suite’s door, framed by the ornate archway separating the bedroom from the ‘living’ section of the suite.
    Her gut clenched, almost as tight as her fists. She deserved this. For being an idiot. For not learning a lesson. Self-contempt churned through her, and with it came anger.
    Staring at the door, she ground her teeth, willing Flynn to walk through it so she could smash her fist against his face.
    The doorknob didn’t move.
    Neither did the cuffs hanging from them.
    Katrina stared at them. Her cuffs. A parting shot from Flynn Marsters, no doubt, but a cold reminder of why she was here.
    Turning her gaze from the door, she studied the crumpled heap of latex on the floor beside the bed. The cat’s costume.
    The Big Man’s Masquerade Ball was tonight. The Mouse would be there, watching her from the shadows. Laughing at her. As he always did.
    Steely resolve shot through Katrina’s veins, turning the numbing chill to hot determination. Tonight, the cat was going to unsheathe her claws and catch herself a mouse. Regardless of what it took.
    And damn Flynn Marsters to hell.

Chapter Seven
     
    She moved through the thrumming bodies writhing, grinding and generally dry-humping all around her. The musky scent of sex and lust hung heavy on the air-conditioned air. The low, muted lights cast the other guests—all masked, all barely dressed—in warm purple shadows, highlighting enhanced cleavage, bare torsos and sublime forms.
    She threaded her way through the crowd, searching the shadows for a figure she knew well. Seeking the only man that matter to her now.
    “Come out, come out, where ever you are,” she muttered under her breath, feeling strangely uninhibited. It had something to do with the mask, she was sure. The moment she’d clasped the final hook on the corset of the costume, she’d felt like sin, but the second, the second , she’d placed the mask on her face she’d wanted to live sin. As though the tiny sculpted item tapped into the dark side of her she wanted to forever forget. Remembered oh, so briefly in Flynn’s treacherous arms.
    Focus, O’Lauchlan.