Snippet (warning... Toronto is something of a smart-ass)
Not the ideal place for a fight. He'd done it before and managed to avoid human casualties, but he suspected that Sylvia James was a different breed from what he was used to. Ferals fought to live, so they could kill—by nature, most of them weren't always clearheaded. Sylvia, like him, was a trained killer. She would be clearheaded. It would make a difference.
He hunted the ferals.
She hunted for money.
In the end, he'd win, because he was stronger.
But he didn't want to have to fight her. He wanted to have sex with her—down and dirty sex, maybe up against a wall, in the light so he could watch her. Then on a bed, her body under his, or over . . . his hands tangled in that dark, silken hair.
"You know, most men would at least bother to introduce themselves before the guy starts picturing the woman naked," she drawled, coming to a stop eighteen inches away.
Toronto smirked. "That's bullshit. We see a woman, we frequently picture them naked. We mess with the names when we want to actually think about getting them in bed. Some of us, at least." He skimmed a look over her body, taking in the sleek muscles, the powerhouse curves. Then he focused on her face again, smiled slowly. "So. What's your name?"
Due out 4/3/2012