Termination.
As though she weren’t human—
Oh yeah, she wasn’t human, she thought half hysterically.
She wasn’t human, she wasn’t an animal. She was a Breed.
She was something in-between, and that wasn’t something she had expected.
Why had the Breed leaders, the very same ones that had sat in her father’s living room such a short time ago and appeared so compassionate, marked her for death?
“Why?” she whispered, needing to know, to understand why she had to die by this man’s hand when she would so much prefer to be stroked by it.
The hard, savage smile that pulled at his lips was accompanied by a flash of white-hot lust in the odd, amber-speckled eyes staring down at her.
“Orders, baby.” A shiver raced through her at the hard rasp of his voice.
Orders? Just because of orders?
He was going to kill her despite the fact that he was iron hard and hot between her thighs, the erect length of his c**k pressing firmly against her sex.
He was going to kill her despite the fact that he was the only man she’d ever felt her body grow hot and moist for?
“Damn,” she whispered. “This really sucks.”
* * *
Why the hell did she think he was there? Devil questioned silently. Hell, wasn’t she the one that requested asylum while her grandfather Walter O’Sullivan was under investigation for having overseen one of the most notorious Breed labs in Ireland? Hell, it was even the Breeds who had managed to track him down. Then, once he disappeared, it was Breeds that found him once again, and took him into custody.
It wasn’t as though he had volunteered.
It sure as hell wasn’t as though he wanted to be right here, right now, his body strung so tight, his dick so hard, that he was amazed he could still breathe.
Or could he?
He felt lightheaded, as though he couldn’t quite pull in enough oxygen, couldn’t convince his body that he was drawing in air.
What the hell was she doing.
Trying to push him away?
Before she could push against his chest with her dainty little hands, he caught both her wrists, pulled them above her head and pressed them into the floorboard firmly.
Hell no she wasn’t pushing him off her. He liked the position they were in just fine. With her pretty legs spread, her thighs gripping his hips as though she had no intention of ever letting him go, and all the while her hot little pu**y was pressed just as tight against his c**k as possible.
Damn, she was pretty too. The pictures he’d seen the night before hadn’t done her justice.
Forget pretty, she was f**king gorgeous.
Pure creamy flesh with the lightest scattering of freckles over those high, aristocratic cheekbones. Emerald eyes blinked up at him in confusion and in pain. Irish eyes. Damned pretty Irish eyes. The prettiest he’d ever seen in his life.
And he’d seen a lot of Irish eyes.
“You don’t have to . . .” her breath caught, lashes fluttering as he chose that moment to grind himself against her, to feel the moist heat through the barrier of her panties and his denim.
He was going to end up f**king her here and now if she wasn’t careful, despite the fact that their driver, Flint McCain, would hear every hungry, pleading gasp he’d draw from her.
“Orders. It’s all your own fault, dammit.” Her fault he was hornier than he’d ever been in his life, and it was her fault he was less than a breath from screwing them both into ecstasy.