And he'd known it. He'd sensed it. He'd scented the quick, rapid flow of moisture that filled her vagina, he'd glanced at her breasts to see the hardened tips of her nipples pressing against the thin material of the white blouse she wore.
Arousal--blazing, uncontrolled and rapid--had rushed through her, nearly breaking her own determination to deny the primal response she couldn't seem to control.
Thankfully, Jonas seemed wary of the edge they were suddenly skating on. He'd pulled back, remained silent and allowed her the chance to get her body, as well as her imagination, under control.
The imagination part had actually been harder. All she could think of for precious seconds, all she had seen, had been Jonas rising over her, his expression savage, dark, as he took possession of her. For an instant, her pussy spasmed in need at the thought of him pressing inside her, filling her, working his cock into the sensitive, snug muscles between her thighs.
She'd felt her body's hungry desire for his touch in places where she had never known such need before. On her tight, hard nipples, the moist heat of his mouth sucking her. Along her hips, the swollen bud of her clit and deep in the aching center of her body.
Remnants of that hungry need still assailed her if she didn't keep a close watch on the control she'd fought to maintain for so many years.
Now, sitting too close to him during the luncheon Racert had requested, Rachel found herself fighting to keep her eyes averted.
She'd always had a slight attention deficit whenever Jonas was around, but now it was worse. Significantly worse.
"Jonas, you have to admit, the Breeds have an account that could pay off the national debt." Racert was still arguing his point, nearly two hours into the meeting, as Jonas sat back and simply regarded him with apparent lazy interest. "You can buy public opinion, you know. Hell, politicians do it every day." His laugh was one of forced cheerfulness, his wide smile seemingly sincere. "You could easily make several hefty donations and the Breeds would never miss the money. Hell, it's not as though you need all that damned money at the moment. The U.S. government is lining your pockets damned well with the fees your Enforcers charge for the specialized missions they do for the military."
Rachel watched as Jonas tapped one finger against his temple as though he were actually considering the idea, when Rachel knew full well the explosion that could be coming.
Using the electronic planner's stylus, she pulled up the fiscal file she kept on hand, laid the electronic pad on the table, then leaned forward.
"Senator Racert, I believe this luncheon is concluded." She smiled politely to the four men who accompanied the senator before directing a lesser smile in his direction. "We've been here for nearly two hours now and as I'm certain you know, the party for our esteemed ambassador to Switzerland begins in less than three hours. We do need time to prepare for it."
A frown checked Racert's brow. "My dear Ms. Broen, I don't believe you speak for the Bureau director here." He nodded in Jonas's direction. "Why not be a good little thing and not interfere where you have no knowledge."
Rachel saw Jonas tense from the corner of her eye and heard the tiniest vibration of a growl emanate from his chest.
"I have full knowledge of the Breed security fund in which you are currently attempting to convince the Bureau of Breed Affairs to approve an amount you'd like to use for your own purposes." She smiled sweetly. "And if you may have missed my title somewhere, it is personal assistant to the director of Breed Affairs. I'm fully knowledgeable when it comes to that security fund. Just as I'm certain you're aware that we're possibly skirting unlawful activities in even considering such a maneuver."
"There are ways around anything." Racert's plump lips flattened in barely concealed anger.
"There is no way around the Breed security fund, Senator Racert," she assured him.
Racert turned to Jonas. "She's a mouthy thing, Wyatt. You should consider a replacement."
Before Rachel could consider a comeback, Jonas rose slowly to his feet.
"Let it go," she advised him softly.
"Like hell." There was the faintest French accent to his voice as he stared at Racert, his gaze icy. "A report of this meeting will be turned in to the Breed Appropriations Committee," he informed the senator as Rachel rose to her feet. "And I would highly advise if you need to discuss Breed affairs that you contact one of the Breed cabinet members besides myself."
Racert rose to his feet as well, a glare slicing to Rachel before he turned back to Jonas.
"Come on, Wyatt, you don't want to say no to this deal." His eyes narrowed warningly. "I'm on that committee. I approve those funds . . ."
"You don't approve jack shit," Jonas stated coldly, insultingly. "Don't pretend you do. And the next time you address my assistant with such malicious disrespect, I'll rip your throat out."
There was no doubt he meant every word. The slice of frozen mercury that his eyes became sent a chill racing over Rachel as well as the senators who now stood, facing an animal in danger of losing its appearance of civility.
"Rachel, we're leaving." His fingers curled around her upper arm as she quickly grabbed her pad and briefcase.
A second later, he was leading her from the table and through the restaurant. He didn't stop to pay for the meal, nor did he make the polite attempts not to burn this particular bridge. Not that Rachel blamed him. Racert was asking Jonas to not only steal from his own people, but to do so secretively and selectively.
"That might not have been wise," she stated as he escorted her to the limo waiting at the entrance.
Sliding into the interior of the vehicle, she watched as Jonas took his seat, the door closing behind him as the driver, a Coyote Enforcer, began to pull out.
Slowly, the glass partition between the seats rose, sealing them into a quiet, intimate atmosphere that she could have done without.
"He insulted you," Jonas growled. "Right there to your face."
"He's not the first." She rolled her eyes at his anger. "I get insulted every time I refuse to allow someone who believes they're my superior to talk to you. Get over it."
The next growl that rumbled in his throat had her watching him warily. Her gaze slid from his, to his arms, to his hands. Swallowing tightly, she watched as he slowly curled his fingers into fists to hide the primal claws that had torn through what at first appeared to be scars in the tips of his fingers.
"I will not get over it," he rasped, the icy silver of his eyes unthawing to boiling mercury. "I should have torn the bastard's tongue from his throat."
Rachel's brows arched. "Why? Because he was an asshole? Good Lord, Jonas, when did you decide you were my keeper?"
"The day you walked into my office and I realized you were my mate," he snapped back.
For a moment, the normally suave, calm Jonas was the animal she had always sensed lurking beneath the carefully clothed exterior. His eyes raged, his body was tense with the need for action, his expression shifting between sensuality and fury.
"I'm not your mate . . ."
He was on her. That quick. Rachel found herself lying back along the seat, his large body straddling her, the feel of his cock, heavy and hot, through the material of his slacks as his hips pressed against hers.
"Jonas." Her gasp was part protest, part sudden pleasure.
How the hell was she supposed to control herself when he did this? When the forceful dominance he was displaying was the stuff of her fantasies?
"Never deny me again." His hand gripped her wrists, pulled her arms back and secured them above her head as he stared down at her.
The position lifted her breasts, made them appear fuller, more alluring. Her nipples pressed against the blouse where her jacket had fallen open, as the soft lace of her bra showed clearly through the pale material.