Was she weighing the differences between them or seeing similarities? There were no similarities, Saban decided. Better she see that now rather than later.
“We need to be going,” he told her. “I arrived in time for you to contact Sanctuary or your local law enforcement for confirmation of my assignment and the arrangements that were made to transport you to Columbia. We’re running out of time.”
She sipped at the coffee again, her gaze going between the two of them.
“I can’t just run out of the house with you, Mr. Broussard. Even Callan Lyons should know that. I do intend to contact Sanctuary as well as the police department, my parents, and the principal of the school that I’ve been teaching in. I’ll then shower, dress, pack, and get ready to go. That won’t be accomplished in a matter of minutes.”
His body tightened; lust slammed through every bone and muscle that comprised it as he stared at the defiance in her eyes. When was the last time anyone had dared to defy him, to make him wait?
“I’m not leaving you here alone with him,” Claxton snapped, but there was very little heat in his voice. Saban slid his gaze to the other man. “Bet me,” he murmured, letting his gaze meet the pale blue orbs and allowing the lust that fired his body to gleam in them.
Better this bastard knew up front that Saban intended to claim what the other man had so carelessly thrown away. Some men were just smarter than others, it appeared.
“Bet me.” Natalie’s cup struck the counter, jerking Saban’s gaze back to her. She didn’t bother to shoot Claxton that gleam of anger burning in her eyes, but Saban felt it clear to the soles of his feet. It made him horny. Made him want to show her exactly who she would belong to, who would control all that fire and passion inside her.
But that wasn’t going to happen if he let her remain angry with him. What had those dating books said? The ones little Cassie Sinclair had heaped on him the year before?
Charm, soft words, praise, and the ability to compromise would show a woman his innate ability to please her on both the emotional as well as the mental level. He could do this.
“Cher.” He let the soft breath of his accent free and tried to keep from strutting as her eyes widened, her face flushed, and a hint of aroused heat flowed from her body. “I apologize for this. He came in threatening.” Explaining himself nearly had him clenching his teeth in irritation. “I thought he had come to harm you or perhaps even myself. I am a Breed.” He shrugged, knowing it was self-explanatory; Breeds were attacked on a daily basis. “My only thought was to protect you and myself as well.” He smiled at Claxton. All teeth, sharp canines and the male promise of future payment. “Pardon my reaction to your entrance, but perhaps you should have knocked first.”
Silence filled the kitchen for long moments.
“And here I thought my day couldn’t get worse,” he heard Natalie mutter then. “I was so wrong.”
ONE
Y ears before, Natalie could have sworn there was no one harder to get along with than her brother. Ill-tempered, overbearing, and certain of his place in their mother’s affection, he had tortured her. Tormented her. Pulled her hair, hid her dolls, flushed her goldfish, and generally kept her in a state of distress.
She was of a mind to forgive him now, because she had found someone more overbearing, more ill-tempered, and much, much harder to get along with.
So would someone tell her, please, why she could feel herself being charmed rather than irritated? Why it was becoming so damned hard to maintain her distance and not smirk at his antics?
She was pissed, she told herself. It was all a game—she could feel it, sense it—but his efforts to get her attention were beginning to draw much more than her interest. She was beginning to like him. No, not just like him, and that was the scary part.
She’d been in Buffalo Gap less than two months, and she had tried, she knew she had tried not to be charmed with the arrogant, conceited, smirking Jaguar Breed that Jonas Wyatt had saddled her with, but God help her, it was getting harder by the day.
She should be angry with him, because to tell the truth, there were times she just didn’t know what to do with him.
Such as the time he had followed her to the doctor. Had he stayed in the waiting room? Of course not; he had tried to breach the examination rooms. Had become so threatening that Natalie had been forced to ask the nurse to allow him to stand in the hallway.
Not so much because of his protective determination to be there, but because of his eyes. She almost sighed at the thought of that. The shadows in his eyes had been bleak, and Natalie knew if she had forced him outside the doctor’s office entirely, then the animal DNA that had somehow decided she needed protecting would have pushed them both over a line they were delicately balancing on, even then. It was distracting though, even a little embarassing. Even her ex-husband hadn’t attempted anything so forward as to try to horn in on her examinations.
That had just been the first week. The first week. It had been one frustrating episode after another. She understood that they were still acclimating themselves to the world. She really did. It had to be hard, even now, ten years after the Breeds were first discovered and adopted by America and all its enemies and allies. They were the unknown element in the world now, a different species, kind of like aliens. There was speculation, rumor, prejudice, and pure human spite. It couldn’t be easy functioning normally. But this…this was impossible.
She needed groceries, but after less than ten minutes in the store, she was ready to leave her cart sitting, the Breed standing, and forget about eating. He had her hormones racing in arousal and her frustration level rising as she fought to ignore his surprisingly endearing antics.
“I believe you need more meat,” he whispered from behind her, his voice suggestive as he leaned toward the cooler and picked up the thick, rolled roast from inside. “This one looks promising.” He held the meat up for display, and she felt her face flame as the butcher smirked at her from behind the cold display case.
Natalie jerked the roast out of his hand, thumped it in her cart, and kept going.
“ Boo , surely you aren’t gonna continue in this silent campaign,” he sighed behind her. She could hear the amusement, wicked and insidious, vibrating in his voice as thick as his accent. His Cajun accent. She really wished he wouldn’t call her boo or cher or chay or petite bébé . He could call her by her name, just once, couldn’t he? So her heart wouldn’t thump so hard in excitement. Except, the few times he had, the syllables had rolled off his tongue like a caress and sent a shiver spiking through her body. And she liked that too damned much. She continued through the aisle, picked up milk and eggs, a package of processed cheese, then watched as he picked up a package of Monterey Jack. She managed to glare over her shoulder at him.
“I’ve never tried it,” he said softly, suggestively. “But I’ve heard it’s quite good.”
Saban Broussard was wickedly handsome. Too damned handsome for his own good with his long, black hair, gleaming emerald green eyes, and patrician features. He looked wild and wicked, and he was
irritating, frustrating, and driving her insane.