The others showed varying degrees of surprise, with the exception of Dane, who just laughed.
Slamming out of the vehicle, she stalked around the front of it to confront the Breed determined to drive her insane.
“You are behind this.” She shoved her finger imperiously at his broad chest. “And don’t even bother denying it. I know you’re behind it.”
She was almost shaking with anger and she was damned if she could even explain why the match had been struck to her temper. She just knew it was his damned fault. She just knew she needed someplace to expend that anger before it destroyed her.
...
“Dog, Dane, find someplace to be,” Rule ordered quietly as he saw the Jeep bearing down on them and glimpsed the set expression of the young woman at the wheel.
“Sure, Breaker,” Dane drawled. “Tell me, should we worry about your safety or her virtue?”
“Go,” he growled as the Jeep slammed to a stop within feet of him and she exited it like a whirlwind of fury.
Of pain.
Words wouldn’t have struck at him nearly as deep as the agony rolling off her in waves and the sense that the tears trapped inside her were slowly drowning her.
He was only barely aware of the others moving for their vehicles as a slender finger poked toward him and jade green eyes darkened as she fought to find an outlet for the clawing, agonizing pain tearing at her.
“So what vile deed am I behind, Gypsy?” He frowned down at her, sensing that the gentleness that softened his heart to her would be instantly rejected.
No, she needed a fight. She needed to lash out and she needed to be held. But she would be damned before she would ask anyone to hold her.
“That crazy offer Jonas gave my parents.” She was shaking with the anger, the pain. “Image consulting?” she sneered. “For what? You’re masters of building your own image. Breeds were created for it. Master manipulators and scheming, calculating . . .”
He acted before she could say something that would only hurt her more once the pain tearing at her eased.
Reaching out quickly, gripping the hair at the back of her neck and pulling her head back, he covered her lips with his as a growl burst from his chest.
She was killing him with the hurt raging at her tender soul. She was breaking his heart with the scent of her loneliness, her utter desolate hunger and the unmistakable desire to just be held.
His Gypsy would never accept being just held, though.
But she did take his kiss.
Her arms latched around his neck. With a shattered groan her head tilted to the side as his lips slanted across hers. His tongue sank inside the hot silken depths of her mouth as she met it immediately with her own. Rubbed against it. Licked at him and tasted him as he tasted her.
Pain was replaced by pleasure and hunger in the space of a heartbeat. Her pleasure. His greedy demand. And God knew he was starved for her. So fucking hungry for her kiss, for the taste of her that it was killing him.
The skimpy little cami tank she wore and too-short cutoff jeans were little protection against his touch, against his intent.
His tongue played with hers, challenging her with little flicks against it. Nipping her lips if she tried to draw back, he picked her up easily, turned her and stepped to the opened back passenger door of the Dragoon.
Laying her back across the wide bench seat, he jerked the hem of her shirt to the full, lace-covered mounds of her breasts as he moved over her.
A flick of his fingers released the little front catch, spilling the lush curves to his waiting hand. Bracing a knee between her thighs to hold himself over her, as pleasure tore past their control.