She slammed the door on the last order.
Dammit, she really wanted to sleep.
...
Sometimes, it just didn’t pay a man or a Breed to make a decision, Rule decided as he lounged against the bar at yet another honky-tonk on the list of known clubs Gypsy often found herself at.
Knowing he’d finally caught up with her hadn’t helped his mood, or his irritation. She’d eluded him for a week and he was growing tired of waiting for her to get her ass back to town.
Rule was beginning to think he was going to have to actually chase her down if he was ever going to see her again.
A week between sightings was too damned long a wait, especially once he’d made up his mind to have her.
After going without the sight of her the past week, he was as antsy as an addict needing a fix and wondering if he should worry about that reaction.
And that just pissed him off.
Maybe he just had an addictive personality, he thought as he watched her and several of her friends stroll purposely onto the dance floor.
She was preparing to dance, and God bless her heart but she could turn grown men into slavering animals hungry to fuck whenever she danced.
The smell of their lust never failed to cause him to glower at any male unlucky enough to catch his gaze.
Maybe he was just too damned used to finding her whenever he wanted to.
Hell, he’d watched her practically grow up.
He couldn’t count the times he’d slipped to Window Rock in the past nine years to check on the broken, traumatized child who had fought so valiantly against those Coyotes so long ago.
And he had to say, she’d grown into a hell of a woman.
She was wary and secretive, and the effects of the night her brother died were often apparent in her too-serious gaze.
But she’d turned into a hell of a beauty.
And he was a sucker for a woman in black leather too.
Miss Gypsy Rum McQuade had adopted a penchant for black leather just after her eighteenth birthday.
And she’d been driving him crazy just as long too.
Watching the dainty form, leather boots over her knees, short black leather skirt clinging to her hips and luscious ass, a black leather vest that flashed her bronzed belly and the upper curves of her full breasts, he couldn’t help but grin.
He might have been drooling a little, and damn he hoped Dane Vanderale hadn’t caught him.
But hell, that woman was built to tempt, seduce and deliver, all in one package.
Rule decided he was the Breed to collect on it too.
He was damned sure tired of all that lush, pretty body going unclaimed by him.
Jaw clenching, his cock throbbing, he watched as she moved.
Lifting her arms and moving her hips, her legs shifting gracefully in four-inch heels, her expression becoming exotic, erotic. Sexy enough to make a Breed have to force himself not to pant.
Long, long straight hair, so dark it was almost black and framing a dusky face so delicate he couldn’t stop the hard-on straining the black mission pants he wore. Graceful and witchy, sensual and burning with a hidden fire, she made him want to burn with her, burn in her.
Fluid and graceful, hips and shoulders swaying, jade green eyes gleamed teasingly, long thick lashes at half-mast. Those eyes glittered with wicked promise—and cool distance.