The confrontation she seemed determined to initiate wasn’t helping, and neither was the fact that those were clothes she was pulling from her bag.
Yoga pants, a T-shirt, panties that were little more than a triangle of silk.
Gripping the clothing in one hand, keeping her death grip on the towel with the other, she moved to skirt around the bottom of the bed and, Lawe knew, to return to the bathroom to dress.
He stepped in her way, blocking her escape as effectively as steel bars as he ensured she would have to make close, personal, intimate contact with his body to get by him.
She stared back at him warily as she paused at the bottom of the bed.
“That’s the hell of it where these little rooms are concerned.” He glanced around the small cheap hotel room as he allowed a rueful grin to tug at his lips. “Two people can’t move around it at the same time without brushing or even stroking against one another. Whereas the more expensive suites that most Breeds prefer have plenty of room to move around and avoid contact, if that’s what they wish.”
As he spoke, he crouched down, one knee on the floor and the other bent as he loosened the laces of the combat ankle boots he wore.
She eyed him warily now, a hint of desperation filling her gaze as he shifted to the other boot, loosened it, then straightened and pulled each off.
“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped out, knowing full well exactly what he was doing. And her body knew. She could feel her sex growing wetter, hotter, flushing the sensitive folds and causing her clit to swell tighter.
“You ran from me, Diane,” he growled as he pulled the thin, black temperature control socks from his feet. Then his hands moved to the utility belt of his pants, his fingers working it loose.
Breeds had different growls for different emotions: irritation, aggravation, an angry growl, a furious growl. And then there was this growl. It rumbled deep with lazy, hungry intent. This one echoed through her nerve endings and caused her vagina to clench as she swore the sound echoed in her tender depths.
“And I’ll run away from you again.” She swallowed tightly as she defied him, nervously, her grip on the towel tightening until her knuckles turned white. “I’m not your puppet, Lawe.”
“You’re my mate.” He heard the growl in his own voice, hated himself for the primal dominance that vibrated in his voice.
“I’m not yours to control nor did you purchase a shining new toy you can sit on the shelf until you decide to play with it.”
If her pu**y wasn’t heated, flowing with the sweet, soft juices he was dying to taste, then Lawe might have paid attention to that hint of desperation in her voice. The apparent fear of his touch, of the mating heat, and he would have forced himself to turn away.
It wasn’t fear despite the appearance of it, though. He smelled desperation, hunger, confusion. She wanted him; she ached for him with the same clawing hunger that he ached for her and that was all the animal rising inside him recognized.
They were dying for each other, yet she thought she could run and he wouldn’t give chase?
The animal DNA inside him demanded he do just that. That he give chase. That he become the hunter, the dominant force that would bind her to him.
What made her believe she could place herself in danger and he wouldn’t stand in front of her? That he wouldn’t protect her with every last ounce of strength that he possessed? That he wouldn’t give his life and the life of every Breed ever created to see to her safety, to the continuation of her.
“Placing you on a shelf is the last thing I want to do, sweetheart,” he promised silkily. “But playing with you is definitely in the cards.”
Rather than removing his jeans after the belt loosened, Lawe shrugged the thin jacket from his shoulders, then tugged the black sleeveless shirt from his body and tossed it aside.
Her little tongue, pink and tempting, reached out to flicker over her lips.
The gleam of moisture on the sensual lower curve had his balls clenching, the need to take her pounding through him.
He was so hard he could barely stand to breathe as he unsnapped the metal tabs of the jeans and, as she watched, stripped them from his body.
“Did you think you could run from me without consequences, mate? I’m a f**king Breed. Run and I will give chase. Challenge me, Diane, and I will accept it. Do you see me as some poor castrated animal you can control so easily?”
“Castrated?” Her gaze flickered to his erection. “Not really. But I’ve been assured by Jonas several times that you’re really quite domesticated. Do you purr on command, Lawe? Or does only Jonas have the power to give that order?”
She was insane, Diane decided, certifiable. Her uncle had made that prediction more than once during the years before his death.
He was obviously right. Only a crazy person dared to manipulate a Breed in such a way, no matter how harmless it was.
But both Lawe and Jonas deserved every moment of it.
Jonas for daring to play his games with her, and she knew he had been. She hadn’t figured out how, but she knew him for the calculating, manipulating monster he was when it came to ensuring every capable Breed mated.