Speaking of treacherous assholes, Mirren had his own theories. “This flyer business sounds more like Frank Greisser than Matthias.”
“Absolutely.” Aidan nodded. “A war of attrition is exactly Frank’s style. Matthias wouldn’t have the patience for it. I also think Frank has Matthias hidden, and probably has plans to use him if he hasn’t already. But if he’s counting on Matthias for loyalty, he’s looking in the wrong direction.
“The question is not whether Frank is working with Matthias.” Aidan paused in the doorway on his way out. “The bigger question is: how long before he loses control of Matthias?”
CHAPTER 21
First, Robin thought Mirren would never leave. Then Cage got up as if to follow him out.
Not happening. She had other plans.
Cage Reynolds was going to be hers tonight. Just tonight. She wanted him, and that itch had to be scratched so she could move on and forget about it.
The obstacles had been cleared. Curvy old Melissa had returned to her husband, where she should’ve been all along. Fen Patrick was off patrolling. Cage had no pressing business of which she was aware.
Besides, if she waited until Cage stopped worrying about Penton long enough to focus on her, she’d be old and her feathers bedraggled.
Robin didn’t like to wait. Never had. Our eagle cousins might be predators, but we’re not. That had been her parents’ mantra, nice old hippy-dippy shifters that they were. And where had it gotten them? Where had being the passive and gentle women they’d raised their daughters to be ever gotten her and Wren? Wren was ruined, and Robin had to live the life of a rover.
No, if she’d learned anything in life, it was that sometimes, only predatory behavior got you what you needed. Getting Cage off his Superman cape–wearing, heroic ass called for predatory skills. And she knew just how to get him moving.
“Let’s spar.”
Cage squatted in the corner, dumping all the first-aid supplies back in the kit where he’d found the cold pack. He swiveled to look at her. “Tonight? Tempting though it might be, love, I’m patrolling.”
Or so he thought. “Have fun, then.”
She waited, muscles taut, nerves alive with possibility. He set the first-aid kit aside and grabbed a jacket—distressed brown leather. Sweet. Where had he gotten clothes? She’d been so caught up in the drama of tonight’s revelations, and in arguing with her favorite fanged Scotsman, that she hadn’t noticed how damned good he looked. Jeans worn light in all the right places, his normal old boots, a dark golden-brown sweater almost the same color as that silky hair. The ponytail had to go. She wanted her hands in that hair.
And those boots had a strap around the ankle that would suit her needs.
He looked down at her and smiled. “Right, then. I’m off. You’re staying here?”
“Yeah, just gonna hang out awhile.” Said the spider to the fly.
As soon as the fly got within reach, she shot out a hand, slipped her fingers in the strap of his left boot, and jerked it toward her.
Oof. “Bloody hell.”
A less experienced fighter would have hit the concrete floor with all his weight on his right shoulder, but Cage knew how to land. He’d broken the fall with his hands and pushed himself immediately into a seated position. His eyes grew to the size of moss-green quarters as they looked at her, then down at her hand and the fingers still looped through the strap on his boot. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Getting your attention.”
His eyes grew a shade lighter as he raised his gaze to hers. A smile lifted one side of his mouth. “You have my attention. Question is, what are you going to do with it?” His voice had morphed from outrage to purr, and a shiver ran down her spine. She hadn’t expected him to play so quickly and didn’t want to just have a quickie on the concrete floor. This needed to play out slowly. She wanted to savor it.
She released his boot and climbed to her feet. “I want to spar. Come on. Bet you can’t throw me. I took down Mirren, so you’re gonna be easy-peasy.”
Cage gave her a slow smile and began to stand. The pendant lighting they’d had installed in the work space arced golden gleams off his hair. Slowly, he snaked out a hand and wrapped his fingers all the way around her ankle. And stopped.
She tugged, but his grip might as well have been a vise. His eyes had lightened another shade, and their gazes met. His expression was downright . . . predatory.
Robin’s heart sped up, and he felt it, judging by the widening smile.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d met her match. And she wasn’t ready for that to hap—
He jerked her leg toward him, and she went down hard on her back; only the padded mat saved her. He still had hold of her ankle and used it to pull her toward him. “I think there are many ways to spar, love, so let’s try a bit of mattress wrestling. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, admit it.”