"Come on, Wyatt, you don't want to say no to this deal." His eyes narrowed warningly. "I'm on that committee. I approve those funds . . ."
"You don't approve jack shit," Jonas stated coldly, insultingly. "Don't pretend you do. And the next time you address my assistant with such malicious disrespect, I'll rip your throat out."
There was no doubt he meant every word. The slice of frozen mercury that his eyes became sent a chill racing over Rachel as well as the senators who now stood, facing an animal in danger of losing its appearance of civility.
"Rachel, we're leaving." His fingers curled around her upper arm as she quickly grabbed her pad and briefcase.
A second later, he was leading her from the table and through the restaurant. He didn't stop to pay for the meal, nor did he make the polite attempts not to burn this particular bridge. Not that Rachel blamed him. Racert was asking Jonas to not only steal from his own people, but to do so secretively and selectively.
"That might not have been wise," she stated as he escorted her to the limo waiting at the entrance.
Sliding into the interior of the vehicle, she watched as Jonas took his seat, the door closing behind him as the driver, a Coyote Enforcer, began to pull out.
Slowly, the glass partition between the seats rose, sealing them into a quiet, intimate atmosphere that she could have done without.
"He insulted you," Jonas growled. "Right there to your face."
"He's not the first." She rolled her eyes at his anger. "I get insulted every time I refuse to allow someone who believes they're my superior to talk to you. Get over it."
The next growl that rumbled in his throat had her watching him warily. Her gaze slid from his, to his arms, to his hands. Swallowing tightly, she watched as he slowly curled his fingers into fists to hide the primal claws that had torn through what at first appeared to be scars in the tips of his fingers.
"I will not get over it," he rasped, the icy silver of his eyes unthawing to boiling mercury. "I should have torn the bastard's tongue from his throat."
Rachel's brows arched. "Why? Because he was an ass**le? Good Lord, Jonas, when did you decide you were my keeper?"
"The day you walked into my office and I realized you were my mate," he snapped back.
For a moment, the normally suave, calm Jonas was the animal she had always sensed lurking beneath the carefully clothed exterior. His eyes raged, his body was tense with the need for action, his expression shifting between sensuality and fury.
"I'm not your mate . . ."
He was on her. That quick. Rachel found herself lying back along the seat, his large body straddling her, the feel of his cock, heavy and hot, through the material of his slacks as his hips pressed against hers.
"Jonas." Her gasp was part protest, part sudden pleasure.
How the hell was she supposed to control herself when he did this? When the forceful dominance he was displaying was the stuff of her fantasies?
"Never deny me again." His hand gripped her wrists, pulled her arms back and secured them above her head as he stared down at her.
The position lifted her br**sts, made them appear fuller, more alluring. Her ni**les pressed against the blouse where her jacket had fallen open, as the soft lace of her bra showed clearly through the pale material.
"God, I want to feel your nipple in my mouth." The words sent a punch of sensation straight to her womb. "If I touch you with my mouth, with my tongue, everything you don't want is going to come crashing down on you. You know that, don't you, Rachel?"
She knew it, and still, the sudden ache for it was almost more than she could bear.
"Touch me," he groaned. "Just once." He brought her hands to his chest. "I swear to God I'll control it. Just once."
Jonas found he wasn't above begging. He'd spent a lifetime in those f**king labs and never begged for anything, but now, he would go to his knees for a single touch from the delicate hands pressing against his shirt.
"This is dangerous," she whispered.
"Not touching me is more dangerous," he snarled. "Do it, damn you. You're killing me."
The need for it was ripping him apart.
Slowly, staring up at him, her eyes locked to his, she slid her fingers to the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them.
She surprised him. He could feel the need in her, smell it. She wasn't trying to hide it. He hadn't expected her to actually touch him, but there was no doubt she was going to do just that.