As one, they cleared the table, the sight of the female not nearly enough to wipe away the more than two decades of training they carried inside them.
That was more like it.
He ignored Dane’s low laughter as he took the chair at the side of the table and stared back at the surprised little minx with an obvious, silent dare.
If she wanted to tease Breeds, then why not see how she fared teasing a full-grown, well-trained, more than experienced Lion Breed commander rather than a few young enforcers who still carried the scent of the labs they were rescued from.
Lifting his hand imperiously as the waitress passed by, he caught her nod from the corner of his eyes. The waitresses at this bar loved the excellent tips they received, not just from the enforcers, but from the Bureau of Breed Affairs as well for reporting any indications or rumors of Council soldiers lurking in the establishment.
He wasn’t there for the waitress or the information, though. Evidently, he was there to give one fiery little woman a Breed to torture.
Gypsy moved closer, hips swaying, her arms lifting above her head as she moved directly to him. She positioned her legs to each side of one of his, thighs spread just that little bit, her knees bent, hips moving with a slow suggestiveness just above his knee that had lust flaming through his senses.
He swore he could feel the heat of her pu**y radiating from between her thighs straight through his mission pants. Hot enough to sear a man’s senses, wet enough to drown them.
And she was indeed wet.
The scent of her sweet juices had his mouth watering, his need to taste her racing through his system.
The tempting little morsel gave her head a toss, a smug little smile tilting the corners of her lips as the song came to an end and the music eased into a slower tune.
“Watch my drink, hybrid,” he ordered Dane across the link as he moved before the lithe little vision could leave the floor.
Hooking his arm around her waist, he stared down at her obvious surprise.
Surprise? What the hell had she expected?
“Are you all tease?” he asked her. “Or is there a woman lurking beneath the promise in those pretty green eyes?”
Her brow lifted, laughter gleaming in her witchy gaze.
“It’s all tease. And furthermore, purr boy,” she drawled—and quicker than a Breed could blink she was out of his arms with a disapproving little frown—“you should know better than to manhandle me. You request a dance from me, you don’t demand. And you sure as hell don’t grab me like a toy.”
And with that little proclamation, she moved away from him with all the haughty grace of an ice princess offended to her last perfect toenail. And completely unaware that in that single movement designed to break free of him, he’d recognized the slightest, well-trained, experienced shift of her hip, shoulder and one delicate foot.
Dane was, of course, rolling with laughter.
Rule couldn’t help but grin as he kept the knowledge to himself. “I believe that might have been a dare.”
Two months of circling each other with wary arousal and she’d thrown out a dare she should have known he couldn’t resist.
“You’re not a Coyote, Breaker,” Dane reminded him, his tone surprisingly pensive. “Remember?”
To that, Rule could only grin. “Sorry there, Dane, just because Coyotes borrowed the phrase didn’t mean Lions didn’t start it. It’s never dare a Breed, not never dare a Coyote.”
Then, aware of the eyes watching him, the human’s amusement, and the intriguing scent he was certain other Breeds were tempted by, Rule followed the scent of arousal that one little Gypsy Rum McQuade left in her wake.
...
Oh God, was she insane?
Gypsy tried to breathe as she strolled across the dance floor to the bar, ordered her favorite beer, then leaned back against the counter and sipped at it. She was all too aware of the fact that Rule had yet to take his eyes off her.
Of course, it never mattered where he found her, he watched her, those neon blue eyes trying to sink into her soul as though he were determined to learn every secret she possessed.
And each time he did it, he made her hot. From that first look two months before across the distance of a crowded bar to the second that he’d strolled to the table of younger Breeds she’d danced for as she felt his eyes on her, searing her. Like a rush of sensation washing over her flesh, the knowledge that he wasn’t taking his eyes off her had her thighs clenching, a damp warmth tingling against the suddenly sensitive, swollen bud nestled amid the slick folds between her thighs.
Dammit, she was creaming.