"You talk it out." She drew herself up stiffly, staring back at him indignantly as the urge to scream became almost overwhelming. He had to be the most infuriating, most stubborn man she had ever met in her life. "I am going to breakfast. A nice quiet breakfast. Without you. Then I am going on patrol. Without you. I do not need your help. I do not want it. Do you understand this?" Damned dimwitted male that he was, he probably hadn't even heard her.
"We'll see if we can reset your schedule while we're at it. For the moment, all patrols are out. Lance rescheduled you for today, but I thought you might like to have some input on the rest of the week."
Shock shuddered through her. He was ignoring her, but even worse, he had her schedule reset?
You reset whatever the hell you want to." She snarled, shaking, on the verge of a violence she had never imagined herself capable of. She couldn't believe he was running over her like this, or that Lance was allowing it. This was her life, damnit. She had enough problems dealing with the curse she fought daily. She did not need this. "I'm finished with you and my Benedict Arnold of a cousin. Go sleep in his bed, because none of mine are free."
Before he could stop her, she jerked the door open and stalked down the hall. Reset her schedule, did he? Canceled her patrol, had he? Screw him. There was always something to do, even if it meant going home. She would be damned if she would stand there and put up with his highhanded attitude. No matter what her body wanted to do.
Chapter Three
Megan knew she was in trouble. She wasn't stupid; she wasn't being stubborn just to be stubborn. She was terrified, and that fear wasn't directed where it should have been. It wasn't the Council or their beasts of war that terrified her. It was her response to one arrogant, too-sure of himself Breed.
She wanted him. And it didn't make sense. She had given up on physical pleasure years ago, preferring to do without rather than suffer the thoughts and emotions that poured from her partners during sex. The stress from that alone was enough to pull a woman back from any orgasm she may be nearing at the time.
Yet her heart was racing, her flesh heated, the soft folds between her thighs were tender, sensitive, swollen with need. And she was wet. And not just from the hot water that covered her as she stepped into the steaming water of her bathtub.
Her ear was tingling, burning. Megan pulled at the offended lobe as she relaxed in the huge claw-foot tub, fuming over Braden's complete arrogance.
She hated arrogant men. And she hated how easily her body betrayed her when Braden was anywhere near. One day. She had known the jerk one freakin' day, and her body was clamoring for his touch.
Let the bastard just try to move in with her. She would show him exactly how fast she could shoot. She would blow his balls to dust.
Steam enveloped her from the hot water, soaking into her flesh to ease the aches and pains of the numerous bruises that marred her upper body. Her ribs looked like Christmas decorations, abraded red, deep blue bruises and a multitude of scratches that burned like hell from yesterday's battle.
She was pissed off and worried. The worried part was going to keep her awake for a while, she knew.
"Woof." The soft snuffle of the shepherd/chow mix was a soothing comfort. It also helped to pull her thoughts away from a certain Lion Breed and back to the present.
Mo-Jo had refused to allow her to touch him when she first stepped up on the porch. Again. As though yesterday hadn't been enough. The smell of the Breed had been an affront to his canine pride. Or something.
He had taken one sniff and growled at her as though she was the enemy and it was his job to dispose of her. Baring the wicked, sharp, perfectly white teeth in his mouth, he had made her wonder why she even kept him around as she snarled back at him. She had earned herself a doggy sneer as she unlocked the door and he pushed past her. He plopped down on the air-conditioning vent as she fixed herself snack. Well, fixed him a snack that he allowed her to share.
Now he lay at the bathroom door, watching her with that confused doggy expression as she bitched and raged about Lion Breeds for the last thirty minutes. He was a good dog when he wanted to be.
"Mo-Jo, go get me a beer." She sighed whimsically as she glanced over at him, wishing he were a little less temperamental and stubborn. If he had been, then that school for stubborn pooches might have worked out for him. He would have known to go get her a cold one instantly.
Instead, he tilted his head and lifted his nose disdainfully, as though she had asked him to do something distasteful.
She reminded herself not to share the next beer with him.
"Must be an animal thing," she muttered, thinking of Braden's expression when she had sneeringly referred to him as Puss in Boots the day before. That brought a smile to her face. Pure male outrage had reflected in his expression.
Score one for the female deputy; she mentally marked the invisible scoreboard of life. She deserved that mark after the shock he had attempted to give her today.
Move in with her? She didn't think so.
Mo-Jo heaved a sigh when she glanced back at him, his big brown eyes drowsy as he enjoyed the climate-controlled coolness of the house. The temperature outside had reached a hundred, and though he survived just fine in the higher temperatures, he still preferred it inside.
"Are you lying on the vent again, Mo-Jo?" she asked, pretty damned drowsy herself now as she noticed the position of his body.
He gave her a disinterested growl.
"One of these days, I'm going to trade you in for a poodle." She yawned.
Or a lion. She grunted at the image that suddenly appeared before her mind's eye. Six-four. He had to be sixfour.
Height was her weakness in a man. Height and those wide, strong shoulders, and the thick, long goldenbrown hair. Broad hands. Boots. He had worn boots and jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across that amazingly broad chest as the material strained around the bulging biceps of his arms.