“Well, thanks.”

“My girlfriend’s a big fan of music, which is why she’s constantly dragging me to karaoke bars. She loves your voice. In fact, I think she now has a crush on you.”

Mila chuckled, at a loss. “I don’t really have a response for that.”

“I’m not sure I would either, in your shoes. Take care, Mila.”

Remaining at the desk, Mila merely waved. For the millionth time, she gave the view outside a quick once-over. There were no suspicious-looking characters lurking around that she could see. But then, an assassin would strive not to look suspicious, wouldn’t they?

Really, she didn’t need to worry. Tate, Luke, and the pride’s enforcers were spread across the street, surreptitiously keeping a close eye on things while appearing otherwise occupied—relaxing on benches, painting shop doors, cleaning store windows, hanging near the mechanic shop under the guise of waiting for their cars to be fixed. She’d know something was wrong the moment they sprang into action.

Of course, any assassin who came along would no doubt spot Tate, Luke, and the enforcers. But that was the point. Vinnie wanted it to be clear that this would be no easy job. The only reason the cats weren’t out-and-out patrolling the streets was that it would attract the attention of humans.

The best time for anyone to attack Mila would be while she was far from her pride, which was exactly why she didn’t intend on going far. Why make it easy for the people wanting to collect on the bounty? No one with any sense would strike at her while close to so many pallas cats. Then again, no one with any sense would fuck with a pallas cat pride at all, so anyone who came at her had to be a total fruitcake.

Mila quickly tidied her station and then announced to the other barbers, “I’m taking a quick coffee break before my next client arrives.” Which wouldn’t be for another fifteen minutes.

Archie looked away from his client long enough to give her a brief nod. “Make me one, would you?”

“And me,” said Evander, cleaning his shears. “Black. No sugar.”

She sighed at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who doesn’t always take their coffee the exact same way.” Evander changed it up all the time. Earlier, he’d had it extra milky.

Evander shrugged. “I like variety.”

“Or maybe you’ve just never tasted the perfect cup of coffee,” she suggested. “When you do, there’ll be no going back; no changing it around.”

He grunted. “If finding perfection means I’ll no longer enjoy variety, I’m not interested.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Did you just fart?”

He didn’t even look up from his shears. “No, sweetheart, I blew you a kiss with my ass.”

She snickered. He’d sounded perfectly serious. Always did. Evander wasn’t a joker. Didn’t people-please or even try to flirt. To be fair, he didn’t have to. He possessed a sexy sort of arrogance that reeled females in. His imperious frown somehow made him hotter. She’d crushed on him a little when she was younger, but it faded fast—they just didn’t gel that way. Still, she could appreciate the pretty picture he made.

Hearing the door open behind her, Mila glanced over her shoulder. And her stomach rolled as in walked yet another male who easily drew women to his side. Each step fluid and deliberate, GQ sauntered toward her, his eyes so fiercely intent on her that a rush of sexual energy swept across her skin and heated her blood. Her cat lifted her head, watching him carefully.

Dominic shot her one of his panty-dropping smiles. “Ah, Mila, light of my life.”

She sighed, going for annoyed when in truth she was anything but. She liked his company, even though he could be super weird when he chose to be. “What do you want now?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Didn’t you hear? I’m the new milkman. Want it in the front or the back?”

Struggling not to join the others in laughing, Mila shook her head. “It’s official—you’re whacked.”

Evander tipped his chin at him in greeting. “You’re early.”

Mila frowned. “Early?”

“My appointment’s not until five thirty,” Dominic told her, eyes dancing with mischief. And then she understood.

“You’re my next appointment, aren’t you?” she grumbled. Evander must have penciled him in on her behalf, the bastard. “Well, you’ll just have to wait; I’m on my coffee break.”

Dominic followed her down a narrow hallway and then turned into the break room. “Coffee sounds good.”

Making a beeline for the kitchenette, she quickly prepped the coffee machine, switched it on, and then started pulling mugs out of the cupboard. “Who brought my car back?” She’d noticed it parked in the lot outside her apartment building when she began her short walk to work this morning. Exceedingly short walk, considering she lived on the same street as the barbershop.

“I did last night,” said Dominic. “My pack mate, Trick, drove me to the club and then followed me to your building.”

“Ballsy of you to drive the car of someone who has a bounty on her head.” She had to give him credit for that. Would even have thanked him if his arms hadn’t snaked around her as he pressed his front against her back, catching her off guard. Then his mouth was trailing along her neck, lightly nipping and licking and bringing her nerve endings to life.

She slapped the hand that began roaming south. “Enough.” He splayed his hand on her lower stomach, one fingertip excruciatingly close to her clit. A wicked need thickened her blood, tightened her nipples, and sent her pulse racing. Her body responded to him far too eagerly and intensely for Mila’s liking.

His mouth grazed her ear. “I dreamed about you last night. Dreamed I was deep inside you.”

The finger directly above her clit doodled a little circle that massaged and stretched the skin just enough to tug at the hood of her clit—fuck, that felt good.

“You were so fucking slick and hot. Tighter than anything I’ve ever felt. I woke up just before you came for me.”

She swallowed. “Really turning up the intensity dial, aren’t you?” When he channeled it just right, his innate charm could probably reduce any poor girl to a puddle of want. She opted not to tell him about her own dirty little dream—a dream during which he’d sent her body into total meltdown. She had the feeling he’d be able to do exactly that in real life. “I told you last night to let this go.”

Sharp teeth raked over her neck. “You knew I wouldn’t.”

Refusing to let him unravel her control, she very casually poured coffee into four mugs. “You’re only torturing yourself, GQ.”

“You’re right on that one,” he said, surprising her. “There’s really no point in me pushing for sex.” Keeping one arm around her, he moved to prop his hip against the counter. “My cock . . . well, it died. Is it okay if I bury it in your pussy?” He smiled at her exasperated look. “Or you could try giving it some mouth-to-mouth. Hey, it might rise from the dead—you never know.”

She handed him a steaming mug. “You have serious issues.”

“Not something I haven’t heard before.”