reed, why not stay at Haven? It's not far from here," she asked as she dismounted and pulled the helmet from her head.
"Lass, I told ye, I'm supposed to be workin'. If I were at Haven, then my boss would realize I'm more intent on the pretty lass some Coyote Breeds were harassing than the one I'm tae be lookin for." He winked with a quick grin as he pulled the wicked black helmet from his own head then secured both pieces of headgear to the side of the motorcycle before tossing the valet the keys. "Did you know we were followed?"
He placed his hand against the small of her back, forcing her forward rather than allowing her to turn and glance behind her as she would have done. As self-preservation urged her to do.
"They followed then?" The weariness was dragging at her.
The Coyote Breeds chasing her had stayed hard on her ass for weeks, giving her very little time to sleep, and no opportunities to find the odd jobs that had sustained that pesky desire she'd acquired for food.
"They followed, but we'll take care of it," he promised as he guided her through the elegant lobby to the elevators on the other side. "It would be interesting to hear how ye managed to acquire their attention though."
The edge of amusement in his voice assured her that he wasn't really suspicious . . . maybe.
"Same ole, same ole." She shrugged, thankful that certain Coyote Breeds had the same reputation that a member of a criminal family might acquire. "All you have to do is be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"That's fairly accurate." There was a hint of a growl in his voice now, and less of that Scottish brogue that she realized had managed to calm her some small amount.
That surprised her. Breeds had a tendency to make her incredibly nervous, and she never allowed herself this close to one. She wasn't nervous with Styx though. Perhaps she was just too damned tired to care anymore.
"Here we are." The elevator came to a smooth stop on the top floor, the doors opening soundlessly to the secured eleventh floor. "I've a suite here. You can have a lovely meal with me; the chef in the kitchen is damned near a genius with food, and let's not discuss his abilities with chocolate." There was an edge of love in his voice.
That was right. This was the Breed known to love his chocolate. She'd heard rumors, jokes and had even eavesdropped on a conversation between two other women several nights before regarding his penchant for women and chocolate together.
He was known to kill with an easy smile and a complete lack of mercy, then turn around and devour chocolate as though it were the nectar of the gods.
"Here we go." He opened the door to the suite and escorted her in as though he were no more than a good Samaritan, eager to please and score brownie points to heaven.
The suite was elegant; soft cream carpeting, caramel leather furniture grouped in a seating area in front of a large screen television. To the side, an eight-place conference/ dining table sat, and through double doors she glimpsed a king-sized bed that looked airy and comfortable.
"There's another room through here." Styx opened a second set of doors to reveal another bed, which looked just as comfortable.
God, she would have given her eyeteeth to curl beneath the snowy white comforter and just sleep until she couldn't sleep another wink.
"Dinner menu is on the table," he told her as he strode to a wet bar behind the table. "What would ye like to drink, lass?"
Something strong enough to make her forget he was a Breed. That was what she wanted. Something that would loosen the knot of nerves in her stomach and allow her to relax long enough to enjoy a few hours without the threat of Breeds hunting her.
Styx had no idea who she was. As far as he was concerned she was just another woman he wouldn't mind fucking. The fact that he obviously had an ulterior motive for helping her should have pissed her off rather than intriguing her. Maybe she was just too damned tired to care?
Moving to the menu, she stared down at it for long moments, mouth watering, fighting to make a choice.
"Why don't I just order a sampler of the chef's favorite fare?" he suggested when she didn't answer.
"That sounds perfect." Clearing her throat, she looked around the opulent room once again. "Haven takes care of its Breeds while on a mission."
He chuckled at that. "Ah, lass, if only I could convince them to be so kind. No, the suite was in exchange for a fine hand of poker I played. The owner lost, I won. Unfortunately, he was a bit short on cash at the table, and I don't take IOUs. So we made a bit of an exchange."
"Must have been a hell of a hand," she commented.
"Lady luck was smilin' on me. Now, about that drink?"
CHAPTER 2
It was possible she had had too much to drink. She'd definitely had too much to eat.
Storme stared at the remains of the sampler platters spread across the table and took another sip of what had to be the best wine she had ever tasted.
Styx sat across from her, watching her with a hint of a smile on his lips as he sipped at another whiskey. He'd been watching her for a while as she enjoyed the food, those ocean blue eyes filled with warmth.
No, that couldn't be warmth, unless he knew how to fake it. Of course, he probably did know how to fake it. She had no doubt that if he did, then the Council had taught it to him.
"Are ye ready yet to tell me your name, lass?" he questioned, that wicked, smooth voice rasping just a bit with a hint of animalistic pleasure.
He was enjoying himself. They'd talked through the meal. Talked about a variety of topics, yet never once had he asked her again why the Coyotes were chasing her, and until now, he hadn't seemed to care what her name was.
"Perhaps I prefer to remain a mystery." Yes, she had definitely had a little too much wine, but she took another sip anyway and let the soft, heated glow radiating inside her, grow. It had to be the alcohol that had her flirting as she seemed prone to do tonight.
"Ah, lass, I have a feelin' you'll always be a mystery," he chuckled as he rose to his feet and moved to her. "Come then, I'll show you to your room and let you sleep for a while. Ye look ready to pass out in your chair."
"I'm not drunk." She frowned up at him.
"Now, was I sayin' ye were drunk?" A red brow arched slowly. "I was merely commentin' on the exhaustion marking your pretty face. You're a bit pale, and definitely not at your best. Seducing a lass is always more pleasurable when she's not fallin' asleep on a mon."
"You can't seduce me." No Breed could seduce her, she wouldn't allow it. And she didn't dare allow a human male to talk her into bed. She had no desire to see another friend die.
"Can't I no'?" Lifting the wineglass from her suddenly weakened hand, he set it on the table and drew her to her feet.
She felt lazy. The exhaustion of before had eased a bit with the food. She was tired of course, but sleep wouldn't come for a while, especially considering the fact a Breed was in the suite with her.
"No, you can't seduce me." She finally shook her head. "I don't do Breeds."
To which he laughed. "Pretend I'm a mon then," he suggested. "A nice, unthreatening male eager only to satisfy your every whim and desire."
Her lips quirked. He was amusing at least.
"No one would mistake you for a normal, unthreatening man of any species."
He stepped closer. Storme stared up at him, feeling a sense of vulnerability she didn't want to feel. He wasn't a man, he was the epitome of everything she had hated for ten years.
"Lass, I'd never hurt you," he promised, his voice so deep, so gentle, his hand reaching out, so close to touching her before Storme flinched back and gave a hard shake of her head.
Life must have really become hell in the past months, she thought. So hellish she had nearly stood there and allowed him to touch her.
His gaze narrowed. "Take your shower, woman."
It was a command.
Storme stared back at him, teeth clenching as she felt her emotions rising, felt rising to the fore the anger that always simmered in the back of her mind.<
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"It's time for me to go." No Coyote could be as dangerous to her as this Breed could become.
The sense of self-preservation began to ratchet up inside her, tensing, tightening through her body as she swung on her heel and meant to march straight to the door.
"And ye think I risked life and limb to protect that pretty ass of yours so you can flaunt yourself right out that door and into their clutches?"
Before she could evade him, and she was damned good at evading Breeds, he gripped her arm, dragging her around until he could pull her against his chest.
Her hands flattened in instinct on the hard, broad contours. She swore she could feel the heat of his flesh pouring through the material of the shirt he wore. Heat, and something else. The beat of his heart, pounding faster than it should, as though being close to her affected him, as though touching her excited him.
Her heart was racing in fear. At least, that was the excuse she was sticking to. Of course, fear had never made her clit swell before, nor had it caused her pussy to throb, her juices to gather. Her nipples were hard. Her lips were sensitive, and she realized in a flash of insight that she wanted him to kiss her.
She had never been this close to a Breed, at least not in this situation. In the ten years she had been running, she had been shot at and had shot back, had hit and been hit by Breeds. But never had she been held by one.
Her fingers curled against his shirt, a distant part of her amazed at the feel of the flesh beneath the clothing. Her hips were held close to his thighs, the length of his cock pressing against her lower stomach, beneath the material of his leather riding pants.
There was heat there as well. Full, thick heat, a subtle pulse and throb of lust.
She knew too much about Breed physiology, she thought with panicked nerves. Too much about the length and width of the male Wolf Breed's cock, the hard tone of his muscles, the impossible strength of his body.
Outside this room, certain hell awaited her, and she knew it. Inside this room, in his arms, possibly in his bed, there would be exquisite pleasure. A pleasure unlike anything any woman who hadn't been with a Breed could imagine.
They were trained in the labs to pleasure a woman, and they acquired that training for a variety of reasons, most of them to deceive, to infiltrate, to gain trust and to steal information.
"Where's the fear of earlier, lass?" The crooning whisper eased over her senses as his lips lowered to her ear, his tongue stroking against it with an insidious stroke of enticement.
Her lashes fluttered. It felt good. It felt too good. For a second, a flash of guilt rushed through her, only to be followed by the alluring sensation of his lips moving along her jaw, his tongue giving gentle, brief little licks as his lips caressed her.
She fought to pull up the memory of the Breed tearing at her brother's throat, but the image wouldn't come to mind. It couldn't slip past the warmth sizzling through her body.
"Don't do this to me," she whispered, praying he would pull back, that he would take his touch away.
"Donna do what, little love?" His lips brushed against hers. "Donna give ye pleasure? But, lass, there's no need greater at this moment than to hear your cries of pleasure."
And her need for pleasure intense enough to cry out, for it was beginning to burn inside her.
"Please," she whispered again. "Let me go."
A low, wicked chuckle vibrated against the side of her lips. "If ye want to be free, ye've only to move away."
But he was holding her. His hands, big and strong, were smoothing down her back, over the rise of her buttocks and back again.
Stroking. He was stroking her, pulling her close as those big hands returned to her buttocks and lifted.
Her back met the wall behind them as his thigh slid between hers, tucked against the core of her and rubbed against her with a smooth, seductive stroke.
Sensation raced from her clit to her nipples. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was heated, soothing, exciting. A mix of sensations she'd never had time to experience until now.
"You're not movin', lass." His lips feathered over hers.
No, she wasn't moving, she couldn't move.
"Such a lovely wee mystery." The brogue intoxicated her, held her mesmerized with the pure, male seduction it contained as she felt his fingers at the buttons of her blouse.
God, she was letting him touch her. Her brother had been killed by a Coyote whose life he had saved more than once when the Coyote had returned from a mission gone bad. Her father had created him.
Wolves and Coyotes had been her father and brother's specialties. Their genetic genius had created Breeds other scientists had been in awe of. Breeds that had turned on their creators.
And one of those Breeds was touching her. Not one they had created, but one created just as they had created others.
She looked down, watching as the fingers of one hand loosened the buttons of her plain black blouse. The material parted slowly, the edges easing apart to reveal her unbound breasts.
Storme stared down at the flushed, swollen mounds of her breasts. Her nipples, normally a soft pink, relaxed and uninteresting, were now hard, pointed and much darker.
"Lord love a Wolf." The soft breath of sound had her gaze jerking up to his expression.
He looked rapt, staring at her breasts as his hands slowly cupped the hard mounds, feeling them, holding them in his palms as though they were in need of his support.
The feel of the calloused flesh rasping against the silken curves had her nipples throbbing. They were tight and hard, painfully sensitive and aching for touch.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't rough. His fingers caressed, molded and experienced the feel of the hardened flesh as Storme felt her knees weaken from the sensations tightening. God, she just needed him to touch harder, firmer.
No, she needed more. She wanted, needed his lips on her. She wanted them covering the tight peaks, suckling on them, drawing them into his mouth and driving her insane with the pleasure.
"Styx," she whispered his name, just to feel it on her lips, to feel a part of him on her lips.
She wanted to taste him as desperately as she wanted to be tasted. She wanted to give and to take. She ached for an intimacy she had never dared to even consider before tonight.
How dangerous was this? So dangerous she knew she might never recover from this night if it continued in this way.
She was going to have to stop this, very soon.
But she didn't want to stop it. She could feel the conflict rising inside her, beginning to tear at her. Fear and need, memories and past hatreds, a decade of running, hiding, fighting for just a few moments to find peace, to find warmth. In ten years she hadn't found it, until a Wolf pulled her into his arms.
Until the enemy touched her.
"Sweet mystery," he whispered. "Tell me, if I suck these pretty nipples, will you be a good lass and tell me your name?"
She didn't dare. God no. She couldn't handle the thought of having him realize who she was, of having the lover, the protector, turn into the jailor.
Storme shook her head.
"I'll be making a name for you then, love, because sucking those nipples is something I cannot resist," he warned her as his lips brushed against hers and his thumbs stroked over her nipples. "I'll not suck your pretty nipples without a name to lay to one who possesses such a perfect bounty though."
She was going to melt right there in his arms. Was it really fair that a creature such as this should exist? That he could tempt and seduce where only hatred should exist?
"My little mystery. My sweet, tempting little Sugar."
He found his name for her at the same time he found her lips.
Storme felt the moan trapped in her throat as the most incredible lash of sensations began to rush through her. His lips, impossibly knowing, heated, hungry, flowed over hers as his tongue licked against the seam of her mouth.
She swore she tasted the chocolate he had relished at dinner. That and perhaps a hint
of cinnamon. A hint of heat.
Her lips parted.
She couldn't help but open to him, to allow his tongue to lick at hers, his lips to slant over hers, as his thigh pressed tighter, harder against the mound of her pussy.
She was incredibly wet. The feel of moisture collecting between her thighs added to the sensitivity of her suddenly swollen clit as she felt her arms lifting, her hands gripping his strong neck.
She wanted his kiss, and she shouldn't. She should fear the feel of his longer canines as he nipped at her lips then returned for a deeper, hotter kiss.
His lips moved over hers, creating a fire she couldn't control as she felt the need tightening in her belly and clenching in her pussy.
Storme felt her senses dissolving, her fear evaporating. And they shouldn't be.
She promised herself she would figure it out later. As her head tipped back against the wall and she allowed his lips to skim down her neck to the rise of her breasts, she consoled herself with the promise that as soon as she could draw a breath, then she would make sense of it.
For now, she simply wanted to be a woman. And she had never felt so much a woman as she did now.
She didn't have to worry about Coyotes killing this man when it was over. She didn't have to worry about being disturbed, about being in danger. There wasn't a chance Farce and his friend would dare to make such an attempt.
"Oh yes." The words tore from her lips as his tongue suddenly stroked over a nipple, dissolving her thoughts.
Her gaze jerked down once again, watching, lips parted as he stared up at her with those ocean blue eyes, parted his own lips and sucked the tight, hard tip of her nipple inside with exquisitely slow motion. Damp male lips parting. His tongue curling over the hard tip before it disappeared inside his mouth and cold flames engulfed it.
Immediately, blazing sensation seared the tender bud before streaking hot and luscious straight to her clit. There, it tightened the muscles of her vagina and sent a surge of moisture to lubricate the sensitive folds of her pussy as the muscles there clenched and tightened in need.
She was wet and hot. Her body was sensitized, sinking, melting, and suddenly, nothing mattered but this man and the feel of his lips surrounding her nipple, suckling at it with firm, strong draws of his mouth, as his hands slid to her ass again to move her against his thigh. The pleasure was exquisite. It tore through her senses and rasped over her nerve endings like a wave of electric sensation.
Her stomach clenched, tightened. The overwhelming feeling was like a fire tearing through her pussy.
Fighting him wasn't an option, unless it meant fighting to keep him in place. Her fingers pushed into his hair, dislodging the leather that held it at his nape. The coarse warmth of the strands flowed over her hands and was the perfect counterpoint to the rasp of his tongue over her nipple.
It was just a bit rough. Just a bit rougher than it should have been, just rough enough to send lashes of surprising ecstasy straight to her clit.
"There, Sugar." His lips lifted and smoothed over one nipple before kissing their way to the other, as the hands on her ass moved her against his thigh, rubbing against it with wicked, sensual mastery.
He was seducing her and she couldn't fight it. The insidious warmth began to burn its way through her system, igniting a flame she couldn't fight, couldn't deny.
Why him? Why this Breed when there was nothing she hated worse than she hated Breeds? Why did the warmth of him, the need and the aching desperation inside her coalesce to destroy years of hard-won control?
Because she was tired.
Because she needed just a few hours of warmth, of safety. Just a few hours to be a woman, even if she had to pretend he wasn't a Breed, but a man she could hold on to when the night was over.
Guilt would flay her when morning came. When her senses were working once again, then she would remember the horrors she had seen over the years.
But Styx hadn't been there.
"Ahh, Sugar, lass," he growled against her nipple as she stared down at him, his expression so sensual, so completely absorbed in giving her pleasure that it held her entranced.
She wasn't a virgin. She wasn't completely innocent, but never had a man stared at her with such naked hunger and complete absorbing need.
"Sweet as candy. As the finest, sweetest dark chocolate." A wicked smile, a flash of those sharp canines, and she should have come to her senses. Instead, her head fell back against the wall as he raked the blunt tips down her neck and one hand moved to her waist.
"Bad idea," she breathed out roughly as the snap and zipper of her jeans loosened.
"Ah, lass, the best idea I'm sure I've had in ages," he assured her with a groan as she fought herself onto her feet, only to find her jeans sliding down her hips. "I can smell your pussy, Sugar, sweet and hot and near to intoxicating me."
And that brogue was sliding over her senses with the same narcotic effect, just as his fingers slid farther inside her jeans to cup the bare, slick curves of her pussy.
Storme went to her toes, a keening moan leaving her lips as she felt a sensual explosion of pure heat whipping through her body.
The pad of his palm lay just over her swollen clit, sensitizing it further, holding her still in his grip as she stared up at him, terrified of the pleasure rising inside her now.
"We don't want to do this." She was going to hate both of them come morning.
"Sugar, we want to do this more than we want tae breathe."
She was in his arms, cradled against his chest, feeling more feminine, weaker, more sensual than she had ever felt in her life as he turned and carried her to the bedroom and the large bed waiting in the center of it.
As her back met the incredibly soft comforter, she felt her boots being pulled from her feet and, a second later, her jeans sliding from her legs.
Her panties were no barrier, and the sound of her blouse tearing was only a distant thought as he rose over her, his lips covering hers with a growl of pure pleasure.