by Vivi Andrews
Still, his body heat warmed her like a furnace in defiance of the icy bite of the air around them. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he could shoot fire from his fingertips, if the heat radiating off his body was any indication.
The difference in their heights had been equalized by flight. His feet hung in the air below hers, but their eyes were perfectly level. And their lips…
A dark smile curled his mouth. God, he was attractive. In an entirely inappropriate, dangerous way. She could look at him for days.
And then he had to ruin it by opening his mouth. “You bring me up here to drop me? That’s a little dark for you, isn’t it, princess?”
His black eyes were so cool in the moonlight, so unconcerned. As if flying three thousand feet above the city wasn’t even cause to bat an eye. He dangled there, almost daring her to let him fall, one midnight brow cocked. It was…disconcerting.
“I plan to drop you,” she replied tartly. “In a cell.”
“Good luck finding one that will hold me.” His arms tightened around her, and her heart fluttered as she was reminded of his strength. “Unless you plan on flying me to Area Nine tonight.”
“I don’t have to take you to Area Nine. The new holding cell at the North Courthouse can handle you.”
“You so sure about that, sweetheart? DynaGirl herself could barely handle me.”
She glared into his eyes from a distance of inches. “I handled you just fine.”
“Is that what you call it? Why don’t we go back down to earth and see who gets handled?”
A shiver worked its way down her spine at the wicked invitation in his eyes. No. Not from his eyes. Under punishment of death she would swear it was only the icy chill of the air at this altitude making her tremble. She reinforced her glare. “You’ll have plenty of time on earth. I hear Area Nine is lovely this time of year.”
He snorted. “I’d rather you dropped me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Darla resisted the urge to give him his wish, concentrating on navigating to the newly built super-containing North Courthouse, using the distinctive egg-shape of Victory Hall below as a landmark.
She should be ecstatic that she’d caught the bastard. Victory was supposed to be a sweet and heady rush. Champagne corks popping, crowds cheering. She lived for this shit. But tonight she just felt…deflated.
She’d hoped Big & Bad would be more of a challenge. Not that she’d fooled herself into thinking he’d given up. She’d be ready for his tricks once they touched down on solid ground. But still…as much as she loved to win, she hadn’t wanted it to be easy.
He’d been so daunting. She hadn’t been daunted in…ever. But apparently all it took was a few thousand feet of distance from the ground to tame him. What a let down.
Though the height didn’t appear to scare him. She tried not to notice how warm his arms were, wound around her—not clinging, just holding steady. The lack of panicked hands clutching at her and constant begging not to be dropped was rather refreshing. Pity he was an unabashed crook.
“Do you think I’d survive it?” he asked in a conversational drawl, eyeing the city streets far below. “I’ve never been dropped from ten thousand feet before. I might just leave a large divot. Anticlimactic, that.”
“Three thousand. Would you like to test it? I’m happy to oblige.”
“Maybe next time, princess.”
She squelched a flicker of disappointment. There’d been some truth in her taunt. Part of her would have been happy to drop him. Not to hurt him, but to see if he could rise without a scratch. It was the same part that wondered what would happen if she lost consciousness and fell. Her strength protected her from so much, but no scientist had ever adequately explained why her body could take so much damage without a mark. And this man, this villain, was in the unique position of being like her. So very like her.
It was unsettling. She didn’t want to be like the thief, but she was more tempted than she cared to admit to quiz him about his experiences. If he’d ever been injured. Ever managed to break a bone or slice through the diamond-hard surface of his skin.
Strange that she’d never heard of a villain who shared her abilities.
“You never did introduce yourself,” she said, mimicking his conversational tone. “Doesn’t that violate some villain etiquette guide? The world must fear your name and all that?”
“I prefer to fly under the radar. Leave the glory-seeking to you heroic types.”
“The glory. Of course. That must be why I left my date tonight to come arrest your ass. It has nothing to do with civic duty and an appreciation for justice.” The fib rolled off her tongue, drenched in sarcasm. He didn’t need to know her date had come to an abrupt end when the man she’d thought had boyfriend potential declared she wasn’t feminine enough for him.
Her. A woman who spent the better part of her life in form-hugging spandex and had been called the Jessica Rabbit of crime fighters by drooling newscasters ever since she first put on the cape. Not feminine enough.
“Forget your date. He obviously has fucked-up priorities.”
How could he know that? Their flight path wavered as her concentration slipped, and she scrambled to correct it before he noticed. “What makes you say that?” she asked oh so casually.
“He let you walk out on a date to go meet another man. You should dump him.”
Too late. He already dumped me. Darla firmed her chin when it would have wobbled, keeping her eyes locked on the skyline. “No one lets me do anything.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You need a firm hand.”
“Just what every post-feminist woman longs to hear.”
“Don’t go making this political. I’m talking about sex.”
A very firm hand crept down to the upper curve of her ass. Darla released one of his shoulders long enough to slap it away, but his hand vanished before she could hit it, and she ended up smacking herself. “Neanderthal.”
“Me?” He raised his brows in feigned innocence that looked utterly ridiculous on his made-for-sin face. “I was just saying, only a weak woman needs to validate her strength by walking all over a man. You aren’t weak. You need someone who can match you.”
“Forgive me if I’m not inclined to take dating advice from a man who’s about to spend the next eight to ten years in a box.” Even if he was freakishly hot. And echoing her own thoughts.
What she wouldn’t give not to have to worry about accidentally cracking her boyfriend’s ribs if she got carried away in the heat of the moment. It was hard to feel feminine when she had to curb every caress. That’s why Kyle’s not-girly-enough complaint had hit so hard—not because she’d deluded herself into thinking he was The One after only three dates, but because it struck too close to the insecurities Darla had tried to bury.
Which fricking pissed her off. DynaGirl didn’t do vulnerable.
Big, Bad & Handsy smirked. “You know I’m right.”
Annoyingly, he was. If only he wasn’t so wrong for her.
She had a new requirement for her dream guy. Strong enough not to be threatened by her was a nice starting point, but not a supervillain had just moved to the top of the list.
The rear entrance to the North Courthouse came into view, and she swooped them down to hover above it. In a few seconds he’d be in the holding cell that would be his home until a speedy trial convicted him, and she’d be free to go back to…what? Being lonely? Wallowing in self-pity? This altercation hadn’t been the catharsis she was hoping for at all. If anything, she felt worse.
They were fifty feet above the Courthouse and lowering steadily when he twisted in her arms, looking into the parking lot below where guards with tasers were now crowding out of the doors and pointing to the sky. The call to be on the watch for an airborne arrival would have gone out as soon as the mayor set off Darla’s signal. DynaGirl always got her man.
And what a man…
“Jail, sweet jail.” He took his eyes off the guards below, tipping his h
ead toward hers, stealing into her personal space in an impossibly intimate way. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into baking a file into a cake for me.”
Darla put as much distance between them as she could without dropping him. “You seem confused about the nature of our relationship. You’re the bad guy. I don’t help bad guys. I nail their asses.”
“As inviting as some mutual nailing sounds,” he purred suggestively, “I have a prior engagement I really must get back to.”
“Wha—?”
She didn’t see the blow coming. It landed before she felt him move, rattling her skull like a kettle drum. Her grip loosened, and he followed up with a flurry of quick hits, more startling than painful, as he twisted wildly in her arms. She tried to keep a hand on him, but with a sudden rip, unnaturally loud over the frantic shouts from below, he was gone, leaving her with her head ringing, holding two fists of black leather shreds and empty air.
Shake it off. Darla hesitated only a moment before arrowing to the ground after him, but that flicker of doubt already gave him too much of a head start. She landed nimbly in the divot he’d cratered in the asphalt of the parking lot, whipping around, scanning for him. He was fast, but he couldn’t have gotten far. It had been a matter of seconds.
Guards lay scattered like so much debris, tasers useless in their hands as they groaned and clutched miscellaneous body parts.
Shit. Where was he? She replayed the last few minutes, cursing herself for allowing him to lull her into complacency. She’d relaxed her guard. Not a lot, but enough for him to capitalize on her inattention. Too busy mooning like a damn schoolgirl to do her job, and now he was gone. She’d lost him. She never let the bad guys get away.
“DynaGirl. What happened?” one of the guards exclaimed.
She’d failed. That was what happened. DynaGirl, bested in full view of a half-dozen guards.
Who was he? And how had he managed to get the better of her?
Prior engagement. The gears in Darla’s brain suddenly snapped back into motion. He’d said he had a prior engagement. What if he hadn’t just been being cute? The Crypt. He was going back to the Crypt to get whatever she’d prevented him from taking the first time. He wouldn’t have another chance after tonight. Now that the vault had been compromised, all the files would be moved.
She could recapture him there. Redeem herself. He may be fast, but he couldn’t fly.
Darla launched herself into the air, snaking through buildings and dodging streetlamps as she rocketed through the city, faster than she’d ever flown before. Litter fluttered along the sidewalks in her wake.
Pushing as hard as she was, she should have beaten him back to the Crypt by a fair margin, but as she rounded the last corner and city hall came into view, she was just in time to see a dark figure exit the gaping hole in the side of the building, moving so swiftly his body blurred. Superspeed. She’d known he was fast, but that was just cheating.
Darla put on another burst of speed, barely managing to keep his blurry shape in sight as he raced toward the river. Superspeed or no, he hadn’t gotten away clean yet. She swooped toward him. They’d just see which of them had a firm hand.
Chapter Four
Terms of Endearment Surrender
A sudden gust of wind from behind him made Lucien spin and look to the sky, just in time to see DynaGirl bearing down on him.
A smile twisted his lips. You had to admire the girl’s tenacity.
If he was honest, he was relieved to see her unharmed. He’d never hit a woman before, and cold-cocking Darla hadn’t exactly been his finest hour, but from their first altercation in the Crypt he’d known he couldn’t take it easy on her. Not unless he wanted to join Mirabelle in Area Nine.
Darla looked quite healthy, hurtling toward him, green eyes blazing.
Not just healthy. As sexy as she was fierce. Too bad he couldn’t let her catch him again for another shot at that sweet ass.
Lucien gauged her speed and changed direction a fraction of a second before she would have swept him into the air. Not that flying hadn’t been a thrill in itself, the wind, the lights, her body tight against his, but it had put him at a disadvantage, and that wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. Spotting a subway entrance, he veered across the street, dodging cars and hurtling down the stairs into the tunnels where Miss I-Can-Drop-You-Whenever-I-Want would be handicapped by the tight confines.
He vaulted over the turnstiles, never slowing, and crossed the platform fast enough to send a discarded newspaper spiraling up in a mini-cyclone at his passing. He heard a train rattling toward the station and leapt onto the rails in front of it, running full out into the mouth of the tunnel in a sudden burst of speed.
He threw a glance over his shoulder to see DynaGirl narrowly miss being flattened by the stopping train as she flew into the tunnel behind him. His heart stuttered. A nanosecond slower and she would have been paint on the train. Darla didn’t have a reputation for recklessness, but he must bring out the worst in her. Either that or she was just that pissed he’d gotten away.
The schematics he’d gone back for crinkled in his pocket as he ran. Weak yellow lights flickered along the tunnel, casting gothic shadows across the dingy walls. The smell of oil and something far less sanitary saturated the space. Lucien would have taken shallower breaths to avoid inhaling God-knows-what, but his lungs were already burning from exertion.
Something brushed the back of his neck, and he heard a muttered curse just behind his ear. Dammit. She was closer than he’d thought. Lucien put on another burst of speed, but even with his super enhancements, he was overextending. His legs were starting to ache, and a starburst of pain had started behind his eyes. He’d crash soon.
And DynaGirl would be there to fly him back to justice’s not-so-friendly arms.
He needed a plan. They were too evenly matched for him to defeat her in hand-to-hand combat, and he couldn’t outrun her—not with his endurance already flagging. Which would’ve been nice to figure out before he trapped them both in a subway tunnel, forced to outrun the train he could hear whistling down the rails behind them.
Shit. A great use he’d be to Mirabelle if he got himself killed tonight—if the train could kill him. He didn’t know what his usually near-invincible body could survive when he was already so close to burnout, but he’d do whatever he had to for Mirabelle. They only had each other. He’d never failed her before, and there was no fucking way he was going to start tonight.
He was moving so fast, he almost missed seeing it.
The small platform was dark, what had once been a station long since boarded up and bricked in. Lucien bounded onto the platform, DynaGirl on his heels. She connected with him in a flying tackle, and he didn’t have the energy to arrest his momentum. They went catapulting together into the far wall. They fell into a heap, Lucien on top, bricks tumbling around them.
The train screamed through the station without pausing.
Imminent death avoided. Check.
Now to escape DynaGirl.
He levered himself onto his forearms, half on top of her lush body and pleased to see she was panting just as hard as he was. She fisted a hand in his hair—apparently assuming he wasn’t as likely to race off without that as he had his torn jacket.
“You’ll never…escape,” she declared breathlessly, looking rather adorably determined laid out flat on the cement with rubble in her hair.
He would’ve laughed if he could spare the oxygen. “You don’t know how to…admit defeat, do you?” He couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. Deluded though it may be.
“What makes you…think I’m…defeated?”
“The inability to get a full sentence out without gulping for air is a tell, sweetheart,” he grunted, barely getting the sentence out himself without taking a gulp.
“I’d like to see you fly across the city twice in an hour, one of those times carrying a two-ton delinquent.”
He arched a brow. “I’m a big boy, but I’m not qui
te that big, princess.”
Her eyes narrowed at the suggestive lilt in his voice, pretty mouth pursing. “I was talking about the weight of your ego.”
“Then you must be constantly exhausted. How do you manage to lift yours, even with the superstrength?”
She made a face at him. The darling of the press, always poised and perfect, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. Which, perversely, just made him want to kiss her.
Not a bad idea, actually.
He needed something to distract her at the right moment, and nothing was likely to unsettle the Powers Princess more than one of the unwashed masses daring to lay his lips on her. And, yeah, he was a guy, so he’d pretty much wanted to lay one on her since she’d posed for Maxim’s Women of the Cape issue. He’d dreamt about that magazine—dark, steamy, grinding, Technicolor dreams with Miss Goody Two Shoes as their very naughty star. Those pillowy lips were an open invitation, far too wicked for someone so sanctimoniously pure.
Sadly, DynaGirl didn’t seem to be in the mood to play.
“What did you take?” she demanded. The very proper Miss Powers was like a freaking terrier when she set her mind to something. She shoved hard on his shoulder, rolling them over so she knelt straddling his stomach. He let her be on top. For now. Her gaze flicked down his body, searching for a spot he could’ve stashed the papers. “What did you go back for?”
Lucien kept half an ear out for the sound of the next train and conjured up a lazy grin. He let his gaze linger on the way the dark, stretchy fabric of her supersuit cupped the curve of her breasts. “Would you like to frisk me? Cuz I know I’d like it.”
“Knock it off. You’re caught. Give it up.”
“I’m caught, am I? How are you planning to get me back to that lovely holding cell? Flying didn’t work out so well for you last time.”
She reached to the belt on her hip, pulled out a phone, swiped a thumb across the touchpad without looking and held it up to her ear with a smugly triumphant smirk. A smirk which faded as she pulled it away from her ear to glare at the uncooperative device.
