He followed. He couldn't help himself. The damned file cabinet was taller than she was.
He reached it before she did, pulled the top drawer free, then plucked the file out of her fingers and inserted it in its proper place.
He was more than aware of the look of narrow-eyed suspicion she shot him as he pushed the drawer closed before following her back to her desk.
"Cancel the appointment with Racert," he demanded as she retook her seat.
There was an edge of suspicion in her gaze as she looked up at him.
"Stop hovering over me." Ice dripped from her voice, as though his presence did nothing to affect her.
He may have believed it if the child, a perfect barometer for the mother's feelings, didn't choose that moment to let out a silent whimper of distress. Her mother was clearly upset, off balance, perhaps even frightened. Because whatever emotion her mother was feeling, so then was the child feeling.
Jonas backed up with three deliberate steps, waiting tensely for the child to regain the calm he wanted the mother to feel.
It happened slowly. One step at a time. Rachel turned back to the computer and that impossible itinerary she was working on.
"Racert is double-crossing us," he finally told her, careful to keep his voice quiet. "He's after information."
"Which you give so rarely and with such perfect manners," she mocked him.
He grunted at the comment. He would tell her anything she wanted to know; she only had to ask. Racert, however, was another thing entirely.
"Cancel the meeting," he ordered her again.
"No." There was pure stubborn refusal in her voice.
His lips thinned.
"Fine, I'll leave the office." He stalked back to the doorway.
"Go ahead." He heard the shrug in her voice. "I'll handle the meeting myself. I believe the meeting involves the latest projected budget, which you haven't yet turned in. I'm certain I can handle that."
Jonas assured himself he wasn't paling at the very thought of Miss-Financial-Tight-Ass creating his budget.
A growl slipped free before he could hold it back.
Rachel's brow arched as disdain filled her expression. But from the child, he felt something far different, something he was certain he should at least protest.
Amusement. The baby was amused, which meant her mother was much more amused.
"Are you laughing at me?" He paced back to her desk, flattened his hands on the dark wood and leaned forward. Close enough that he could smell her unique scent. Close enough that the hunger ripping through his guts sharpened to a dagger's stroke. "Be careful, little girl," he warned her softly, holding her gaze, watching the wild green become darker, wilder. "Or you may well get far more than you're bargaining for."
The amusement drifted away and something far darker took its place.
Jonas eased back. He forced himself from the suddenly reckless anticipation that poured from the woman, despite the composed features, the iron will and stubborn determination. Slowly, he straightened, turned and forced himself back to his own office.
There was desire there, in the sweet scent of her, in the tension that tightened between them each time he went near her. There was hunger. The scent of it was like a soft summer rainfall. It was fresh, tinged with the scent of the earth itself, and a sweet moisture that he knew could become addictive as hell.
The woman was everything he could have wanted in a mate. She was the dream he'd never allowed himself to wish for. Because it was the greatest danger he could bring to his life, and the future of the Breeds.
This was a temptation he knew he could never allow himself to weaken to. It was a promise he had made to himself. It was a vow. And this small woman was shredding his determination one look, one word, one breath at a time.
His mate would never know mating heat.
CHAPTER 1
FOUR MONTHS LATER
For the first time in her life, Rachel Broen was terrified. It wasn't fear. It was soul-destroying, mind-numbing, silently screaming terror.
She couldn't scream aloud, it would draw notice. Notice that her tears and ragged sobs wouldn't draw, weren't drawing as she slid her unassuming little Civic into the deserted parking lot of the Bureau of Breed Affairs.
The night guard on duty at the gate had taken her pass without much notice. He knew her car, had seen enough of her to know who she was. It wasn't unusual for her to leave late, or to arrive early if she was commanded to do so by the autocratic Bureau director, Jonas Wyatt.
The guard had easily accepted her hasty excuse that she'd forgotten to update his memos and his morning schedule, and that it had to be done tonight.
He hadn't noticed her torn blouse or the jacket she wore that covered it. He hadn't seen the bruise she could feel spreading across the right side of her face, or the swollen condition of her right eye.
The blow had been carefully delivered.
Jumping from the car, she felt the rough asphalt bite into her bare feet as she stumbled before racing to the door. It took two attempts to get her electronic card pass to activate the doors and release the locks.
A thin sob tore from her chest as she nearly fell through the door and ran for the stairs that led to the third floor and the private offices of the director, Jonas Wyatt.
Jonas. The manipulating, calculating bastard. This was his fault. He'd played too many games. He'd pushed the wrong people and had so erroneously believed they would come after him.
She tripped, her knee slamming into a step, the skin breaking as a ragged scream of rage and pain tore from her lips.
She was paying for it.
Oh God. She was paying for it. She was paying for her stubbornness, her determination . . . No, she wasn't paying for it. The bruises, the agony tearing through her leg, the ragged pain in her side from the fist she had taken earlier, the bruises on her face, they were nothing. She would suffer that pain a thousand times over. She would suffer the fires of hell if only her child was safe.
Jonas. He was here.
A strangled scream tore from her lips as she fought to breathe, to race up the second flight of stairs. One more flight. Dear God, she was almost there.
Jonas was here. She knew he was. He had warned her that evening not to come to work tomorrow. He had known his enemies were tracking him. He'd known, the son of a bitch, he'd known and just as she'd warned him months ago, when they struck, it wouldn't be him they went after.
She had never believed they would come after her child.
"Jonas!" She tried to scream out his name as she fumbled with the electronic key at the door to the main offices.
Sliding it again, again, and still it wouldn't work.
"Jonas, please . . ." she screamed out again, terrified he would ignore her, knowing he had to hear her.
He was a Breed.
The lock released, the heavy steel door flew open, nearly pitching her to the floor as the door to Jonas's office jerked open across the room.
He was there, and he wasn't alone. She barely saw the others though. She saw his face, hated and yet adored. His eyes, alive in his bronzed face, swirls of silver mercury as he jumped to her, barely catching her before she fell to the floor.
"You bastard!" An openhanded slap to his shocked face as sobs tore from her, tears making her vision cloudy as terror choked her, ripping the breath from her body. "I warned you! I warned you they wouldn't strike you!"
"Rachel!" A horrible rumble of sound in fury, a muted roar left his lips as he gripped her arms, his fingers tight around her flesh as he gave her a firm shake.
"They have Amber!"
The strength left her legs, her body. Collapsing against his chest, she clawed at his arms, desperate for the strength she knew he possessed, fighting for sanity in a world that had suddenly exploded around her.