The venom didn’t burn. It drowned.
Jane backed away until her spine hit the reinforced glass of the penthouse wall. The city sprawled a hundred floors below, a glittering grid of ignorant lights. Up here, the air was thick enough to choke on. The scent of crushed pine, copper, and her own slick, heavy arousal coated the back of her throat.
It was a biological coup d’état. Her knees were shaking. Actually shaking.
She pressed her palms flat against the cold glass behind her. "My core temperature is exceeding one hundred and two degrees," she said. Her voice sounded like snapping twigs. "The venom from the lower levels. It’s… it is mimicking a mating cycle. A severe one."
Michael didn’t answer. He kicked his discarded suit jacket out of the way. His pristine white shirt was rolled at the
