Her tongue rubbed against his, the unique taste of his kiss becoming more heated as tongues caressed and lips devoured each other in a hunger she was helpless to avoid or fight.
Why couldn’t she fight him?
She’d had no defenses against him from the very beginning and it didn’t make sense.
This need.
This hunger.
It speared inside her, ripped away any lies she would have told herself and refused to allow her to hide from the hunger that built daily inside her.
“No . . .” Her moan was weak, the protest filled with the confusion that had kept her off balance since that first night she’d seen him.
Laying his forehead against hers, he stared back at her, his blue eyes appearing lighter than before, pinpricks of black appearing to flicker in the pale blue background.
“You ran from me.” Lips pulling back from his canines, one hand tightened in her hair, the other cupping her jaw to keep her head turned up to him. “You shouldn’t have run, Gypsy.”
“You shouldn’t have treated me like a whore,” she shot back, the anger that bloomed inside her over the past hours exploding with the same suddenness with which the arousal and hunger had exploded inside her.
“And you think that’s how I treated you?” He frowned back at her, his gaze gleaming with anger.
Jerking from his hold, she was furiously aware that it was only because he allowed her to.
Her hand gripped the door handle and pulled, intent on escaping him with the same desperation he’d used to escape her body earlier.
Except the door didn’t open.
Instead, the Dragoon was racing from its parking spot, the speed and power of the vehicle assuring her there would be no escape until he allowed it.
“The doors are secured until I release them. One of my enforcers will take your cycle to the hotel. You and I are going to talk,” he growled, both hands on the wheel as he glared into the night behind the state-of-the-art windshield.
Digital holographs lit the glass. Speed, location, outside temperature, GPS tracking and satellite tracking were all subtly lit within the glass, giving him any information he might need on the area surrounding them as he turned onto the main road and headed into the night.
“And just what do you think we have to talk about?” Gypsy asked him then, her voice a mocking sneer as she crossed her arms over her br**sts and turned back to him slowly. “Mr. Freaky who decided to ensure I was running out of the bar right into your arms? Or how about why you couldn’t even stomach ejaculating while you were having sex with me?”
Or, they could discuss what made him think she was his damned mate.
Revealing her knowledge of that, though, would give away the fact that she had sources that she shouldn’t have.
Sources a regular party girl wouldn’t have.
“We could definitely discuss your perception of my actions.” The roughened sound of the growl rumbling in his chest had a chill racing down her spine. “As for whoever the hell Mr. Freaky is . . .”
“Six and a half feet tall, frozen green eyes and black hair a woman would kill to have herself?”
No expression, not so much as a grimace crossed his face.
“Rhyzan Brannigan,” he finally stated. “What the hell was he doing there?”
“You’re asking me?” Incredulity filled her voice as she stared back at him in amazement. “Excuse me, Breaker, I think I was the one who asked who the hell he was to begin with. I can’t even mind my own damned business anymore without a Breed insisting on horning in on it.”
...
The deceit.
Unlike other lies, Gypsy’s deceit wasn’t tinged with the scent of blood or rot, but he could smell the lie all the same. And like the rest of her, it simply intrigued him. She was the most complicated, stubborn, confusing woman he had ever known.
But at that moment, the deceit, the subject of it and her whereabouts after running from him added up to one thing only.