One More Night with You by Lisa Marie Perry

little noise then rubbed it onto her thumb and sucked it. “You taste the same. But something’s different. You know it’s different between us.”
    Stop her. Get control of yourself.
    â€œThis works out nicely for you, Zaf. You betray me, hide for five years, thwart my attempt at something new with a guy who hasn’t single-handedly destroyed my universe and I get you off, anyway.” Joey pressed her face against his shirt to stifle a sob.
    Of their own accord his hips gyrated, and he cursed himself for it. How could he still be hard, how could he want this, when she was crying and all but turned inside out? She might be capable of decency now, but he certainly wasn’t.
    He didn’t break away and she kept jerking his shaft until the friction twisted between them and his tension splintered. Teeth gritted, restraint bent, he spurted into her fist. What she didn’t capture trickled onto his thighs.
    Oh, hell.
    â€œFunny thing about all this,” Joey went on, considering her semen-slickened hand and then cleaning it with a few meticulous licks. “It changes nothing. I will never forgive what you did to me.”
    Zaf, still coming down from a sex high, was in a haze as she placed his hand to a spot on her lower abdomen.
    â€œThis is the entry point, where your bullet struck me before it cracked my femoral head.”
    The words dropped him fast, and if he had a heart it’d be as jagged as broken glass right now. “Jo, it was an accident.”
    â€œThere are no accidents, Archangel.” Sweeping up her cane and leaning to kiss him, she left tears on his jaw. “I’m done with you.”
    * * *
    Joey escaped to the restroom. At the sink she frantically snatched too many paper towels from the dispenser, splashed too much tepid water and tried to cleanse away the evidence of what she’d done with Zaf. The soap smelled sterile and the towels rasped her skin, but she scoured at her breasts and then her lips, anyway.
    The door opened and a woman in a UNLV hoodie and jeans shuffled in as Joey was spitting a soap-and-water mixture into the sink. “Yuck—that can’t taste good,” she commented. “Hey, are you sick or something?”
    Depends. Would you consider giving an ex a handjob in Nonfiction sick?
    Joey yanked out more towels to dry her face. Reflected in the mirror were tearful eyes, a rosy-tipped nose and a swollen, blotchy mouth. “I’m good.” Lies.
    â€œSure?”
    â€œAbsolutely.” Lies. “Thanks.”
    The woman pursued a stall and Joey slipped outside.
    As of right now, this minute, I’m a matchmaker-free zone.
    She must be allergic to normal run-of-the-mill sort of meet cutes that led to relationships and love. To keep things in perspective, she hadn’t agreed to this date for the prospect of a long-term relationship or love. Still, it cut a little too deep to recognize that at age thirty-three, she was as god-awful at blind-dating as she’d been at age twelve.
    She’d arrived at the library with her eyes wide open. She simply hadn’t entertained the thought that she would be dealing with Archangel. Zafir Ahmadi was a self-sacrificing guy capable of infinite compassion—contrary to what he wanted to believe. But Archangel, his codename, represented an expert marksman with the heart of a vigilante.
    Joey loved Zaf. She hated Archangel.
    Archangel was obsessed with revenge. He had overtaken the man she loved. Only, she hadn’t seen the signs until that vexed night in Arizona. The narcotics case had put her entire team on edge, so she hadn’t noticed that in the days immediately preceding, Zaf had begun to pull away from her. They’d shared meals, fucked, slept wrapped around each other—but the talking had stopped. On that bad night Zaf had turned against their unit and she’d been so jarred that she hadn’t protected herself. Someone else’s gun had threatened