"A secured sat phone will be delivered today. It was already arranged." There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. "Baby furniture as well the office will be delivered later today. There's a spare room that leads through that door." He nodded to a door that at first glance could have been a pantry door. "We'll be running things from here for a while."
"What about your schedule?" she questioned him. "You have several appointments this week, as well as the Hampton party you're scheduled to attend."
"That's why I have my own heli-jet." He shrugged.
Hell, there were days he almost wished he wasn't a steel-hearted Breed. Days when he wished he could sort through and understand the emotions that were pricking at him now. Emotions that had been building in him since the first day her sweet scent had wafted through his senses.
She made him . . . different. There was no other way to explain it. She made him want to be different when he knew it was the most dangerous thing he could do.
"Then we'll be running the office from here?" She fixed a bottle quickly. Using the purified water that had been provided and the powdered formula, the bottle was prepared within seconds. Next came a diaper and from the bag beside it, a pack of pre-moistened wipes and a tiny blanket.
"I have a list prepared," she told him as she glanced back. "Amber is going to need at least some of her things replaced. Whoever took care of outfitting her dresser did exceptionally well, but there are still some items missing."
"Taken care of." He leaned against the heavy post that formed the doorway into the kitchen. "Everything will be here before nightfall."
She paused for the slightest second as the heated tint of anger scented the air.
"Well, aren't you just on the ball?" There was just enough of a sneer in her voice to have his hackles rising.
"I have to admit, I think I did rather well," he stated mockingly.
Rachel's lips thinned. The look she shot him was heavy with irritation.
"You're not her father." The words were brisk, decisive, when she spoke again.
Jonas tensed. He knew what she was referring to. A slip of the tongue, no matter how slight, could be deadly in his world. He'd made a hell of a slip the night before.
"Now isn't a good time to push me, Rachel," he warned her as he straightened from the post, his body tightening as he fought back the need to go to her, to mark her, to force her to accept the desire that he'd known for months raged between them.
"Don't push me." Armed with a diaper, wipes and a bottle, she glared at him as though they were her battle armor. "You've drawn me and my daughter into one of your vicious little games . . ."
"You think I'd pull a child into this?" Incredulity rushed through him. She'd accused him of it the night before, but he hadn't thought she'd meant the words. "You think me so heartless, Rachel, that I'd use my mate and the child I've already claimed as my own in this battle against Brandenmore?"
"I believe you'd use whatever weapon you could grasp," she bit out, though she knew a part of her didn't truly believe that. She'd fought with herself over the months where Jonas was concerned, always certain that she would be safe, that Amber would be safe, simply because no one truly wanted to piss him off.
They wanted to kill him, and they often tried, but they never tried to piss him off. They knew better.
She watched as he stepped closer, suddenly more nervous where he was concerned than she had ever been.
"Don't touch me, Jonas." She stepped back quickly, knowing the few rumors, the whispered warnings she'd heard about Breeds when they took their mates.
He stopped quickly. His brow furrowed, the silver color in his eyes flickering and roiling like a storm coming to a head.
"Do you think I'd harm you?" His voice deepened and rumbled as she watched him nervously.
"I think you'd do whatever you needed to achieve your own end, but I don't think you'd harm me." She couldn't allow him to think otherwise; her sense of fair play went too deep. "That doesn't mean I want to tempt that hormonal funky stuff you have going on."
"Hormonal funky stuff?" There was a note of surprise in his voice though his expression became more brooding. "It's called heat, baby, and we call it that for a reason."
She gave a small snort, curiously ladylike, and so damned hot his c**k throbbed with a hunger he had never experienced before.
Jonas could feel his teeth grinding together as he fought to pull back, not to touch her, to force her to admit that she was burning for him.
Curiously, she wasn't. There was desire, strong, heated desire. But it wasn't heat. He hadn't touched her. He hadn't kissed or marked her. She was saved from the torturous need that was suddenly afflicting him.
The glands in his tongue were swollen to the point that the tongue itself was thick and heavy. A slight taste of cinnamon and cloves tempted his taste buds and urged him to share.
God, he wanted her lips wrapped around his tongue. First his tongue, then his dick. His eyes narrowed on the luscious curves of her mouth as he fought to hold back the hunger, the absolute craving to fill her mouth with the same tastes that filled his. Her body with the same lusts that were tearing him apart.