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.
"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."