Lora Leigh - Rule Breaker

He’d told her hello several times in the past weeks. She’d pretended to ignore him as often as possible, though he was well aware she knew exactly where he was every second that he was in her vicinity.

She was damned wary around him, watching him carefully, almost suspiciously, and making his dick harder for the very fact that she was keeping herself so damned aloof.

Letting Dane rile him would be foolish at this point, though. The other man lived to piss off other Breeds.

Rule often thought he might even have a death wish.

“Let’s not be a smart-ass tonight, Junior,” Rule growled, using the insulting nickname Dane’s father, the Leo, used whenever he became pissed with his son. “Now, answer the fucking question before I have to send your pelt to Daddy with my apologies for finally growing sick of your ignorance.”

Dane growled, the sound far too close to the sound of the animal rather than the hybrid Rule knew him to be.

“Ah, and what a day that would be,” Dane quipped. “The Leo would likely pat your back and adopt you should you be so brave as to attempt such a thing. Or give you the burial you’re obviously searching for. Once I’ve finished with you, that is.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rule directed a glare in the hybrid’s direction. “Just answer the question, asshole.”

“Where’s she been?” Dane repeated sarcastically. “You neglected to mention that she was part escape artist and part invisible woman when you gave me the job of tracking her down. It’s damned hard telling where she’s been, from what I’ve managed to find out. Even her lovely little sister has no idea where she goes, according to Loki. Though she has mentioned a concern that you’re going to show up at her sister’s apartment looking for her soon. I bet the lovely Gypsy’s expecting the big bad wolf. Think she’ll be surprised when she gets the fraidy cat instead?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, prick,” Rule warned him.

“Yeah, yeah, take a number, nutcase.” Dane actually laughed at the threat. “Be nice or I’ll sic the big bad witch on your ass. Any woman living in an apartment next to a house with gumdrops painted on it has to be a real badass.”

“She’s no wicked witch, Junior,” Rule drawled. “And she can feed me sweets anytime, right?”

There was one sweet he fantasized about on a regular basis, actually.

“Careful there, fraidy cat, she might be too much woman for a little kitty like you. You should let a real feline do this little job.” The pure amused indulgence in the hybrid’s voice had Rule shooting a thoughtful glance through the crowd to where Dane stood by the bar.

“Dane, are you drunk?” Rule questioned him.

The hybrid Breed lifted his glass with a mocking grin, dark sunglasses lying low on his nose so he could glance over the rims.

“Not yet,” Dane sighed. “But the temptation is there.”

Dane was unusually irritating, even for him.

“And what’s with the damned shades? It’s a bar, not high noon in the middle of the desert,” Rule scoffed, wondering what the hell had gotten into the Breed.

Dane gave a short little nod in salute before turning back to the sight on the dance floor.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rule was tempted to close his eyes. But the band was breaking into another song. Something about what a guy had to do for the singer “if he wanted to be her cowboy.” It was an old song, but one Gypsy seemed pleased to hear.

A second later his eyes widened, his cock grew impossibly harder and he swore he was going to have trouble breathing.

Son of a bitch, it was enough to make his balls tighten in pure appreciation as those lovely legs bent just enough, her head tipping back, her hips shifting, rolling, as delicate hands caressed the air from her breasts to her hips.

“God have mercy. But I love to watch her make grown men crazy,” Dane breathed out in amazed appreciation instead as the tempting little leather-clad flame on the dance floor began working her entire body to the music. Hips, thighs, shoulders and breasts drew his gaze as she approached a table where four Breed Enforcers sat, just as entranced as Rule and Dane were becoming.

Gritting his teeth, he switched to the enforcer channel on his comm device.

“The first one of you morons to touch that woman will face me,” he snapped into the line as Dane’s short, surprised laugh barked across the link.

“Better run hell for leather, mate,” Dane injected just below the laughter level.

Rule didn’t answer the hybrid any more than the enforcers answered the order. Their eyes were locked on that image of pure, entrancing fire as she moved toward the table they were sitting at.

They weren’t listening.

“Good luck, my friend,” Dane advised him, his tone and accent thickening further as the beauty tossed her head, all that thick, thick silken hair brushing around her body as she moved closer to the table in response to the singer’s demands that her “cowboy” take her for a ride.

The hard length of his shaft throbbed like an open wound, too sensitive and too hungry to be contained.

Despite the aching sensitivity of the engorged flesh between his thighs, his tongue showed no signs of the hormone filling the glands. All he tasted was the beer he’d drunk just before catching sight of her and the peppermint and chocolate hard candy he’d finished before his gaze swept the dance floor.

Narrowing his eyes, he prowled through the crowd and headed for the table where those lucky-assed enforcers were enjoying a show no Breed or human male could possibly contain his lusts through.

He didn’t trust those damned Breeds leaning toward her not to touch. Despite the order.

He stepped to the table between two of the younger enforcers; the scent of their lust slapped at his senses, offensive, and pulling a dangerous growl from his chest. And he didn’t attempt to hide the savage warning that the restless animal inside him ensured the sound contained.

The Breeds moved.

As one, they cleared the table, the sight of the female not nearly enough to wipe away the more than two decades of training they carried inside them.

That was more like it.

He ignored Dane’s low laughter as he took the chair at the side of the table and stared back at the surprised little minx with an obvious, silent dare.

If she wanted to tease Breeds, then why not see how she fared teasing a full-grown, well-trained, more than experienced Lion Breed commander rather than a few young enforcers who still carried the scent of the labs they were rescued from.

Lifting his hand imperiously as the waitress passed by, he caught her nod from the corner of his eyes. The waitresses at this bar loved the excellent tips they received, not just from the enforcers, but from the Bureau of Breed Affairs as well for reporting any indications or rumors of Council soldiers lurking in the establishment.

He wasn’t there for the waitress or the information, though. Evidently, he was there to give one fiery little woman a Breed to torture.

Gypsy moved closer, hips swaying, her arms lifting above her head as she moved directly to him. She positioned her legs to each side of one of his, thighs spread just that little bit, her knees bent, hips moving with a slow suggestiveness just above his knee that had lust flaming through his senses.

He swore he could feel the heat of her pussy radiating from between her thighs straight through his mission pants. Hot enough to sear a man’s senses, wet enough to drown them.

And she was indeed wet.

The scent of her sweet juices had his mouth watering, his need to taste her racing through his system.

The tempting little morsel gave her head a toss, a smug little smile tilting the corners of her lips as the song came to an end and the music eased into a slower tune.