conversation had been like pissing off an angry bull, he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when Damon got hold of Jace.
JACE MARCHED INTO the building and up the stairs. He reached his door and pressed his ear to the aged, splintery wood. Silence.
The huge knot in his stomach unraveled a little as he opened the door. Princess was still sitting on the bed, staring at him with those big brown eyes. The knot tightened again, and his stomach churned.
“Jace?” Her voice was soft and breathless—the sound of a lover’s whisper.
A jolt of electricity zipped down his spine, and his cock strained against his jeans. He loved hearing her say his name, and he longed to take her hard, claim her as his. He used every ounce of strength he possessed and forced himself to turn away. He closed the door without locking it, then walked into the “kitchen,” so he wouldn’t have to see her.
“Who were you talking about when you said you were nothing like ‘him’?” she asked.
He grabbed the whiskey again and chugged a few gulps.
“Jace?”
“Why do you care?” he barked, his words sounding more defensive than he’d intended.
“Can you just answer the question?”
He blinked several times, stunned at her boldness and her lack of fear. “How about you don’t push it further? All right?”
When she didn’t respond a sense of relief cleared his heightened nerves, but the knot in his chest kept on squeezing.
What was it about this woman that drove him mad, but made him feel like such a dick for wanting her? There couldn’t really be something to that whole mating bull she was talking about, could there? He frowned.
Over the years he’d envisioned the face of a werewolf seductress. With the bat of one eyelash, she’d stolen his father and ended his mother’s abuse, but left their family shattered. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Princess as that woman, that temptress. But the light in her warm eyes ruined everything. He wanted to hate her, but every instinct pushed him into her arms.
“McCannon. Is that Irish or Scottish?” The question wrenched him into the moment.
“What?”
“Your last name, is it Irish or Scottish?” Her voice carried from the other room with ease—loud and forceful, but still feminine.
“Why the hell does it matter?” He opened one of the cabinets and rummaged around, even though it was virtually bare. A can of soup. Some ramen noodles.
“I’d like to know.”
He settled on some bread and pulled a few slices of ham from the refrigerator. “Why in the world do you want to play twenty questions with a man who took you captive and now has you chained to a bed?” He slapped together a sandwich and bit into it.
“According to your alarm clock, we have ten minutes until the supernatural hour. It would make me a bit uneasy if I didn’t get to know you before we start...well, you know....”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to sell me, but I ain’t buying.” He finished the last bite of the sandwich, eating at light speed.
“Suit yourself. Believe me, I’m not seducing you, and if it were my decision, you’d walk out of this apartment or let me go. It would spare us both a lot of unpleasantness. But since you don’t believe me, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
His stomach growled. Ignoring her, he sifted through the cabinets again.
She sighed. “You could humor me a little. If I’m wrong, what will it hurt?”
He paused and gripped the cabinet handle a little too hard. “Irish.”
“See. Was that so difficult?”
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t push it.”
“If you’d like to know, I’m Italian.”
“No, I wouldn’t like to know.” His jaw clenched tighter.
“I, however, want to tell you. As I said, my name is Francesca. I’m Italian, born and raised here in Rochester. I own a dance studio, and when I can, I teach salsa classes myself. My favorite color is red, but I look best in blue, and I hate long walks on the beach.”
“A salsa-dancing werewolf?”
“Yes, an award-winning, salsa-dancing werewolf,” she said.
He leaned on the counter and rested his head in his hands. He thought of how she would look in one of those skimpy little dance costumes, her hips swinging, the flashy red beading on her round behind shaking, her leg muscles flexing as she moved in her spiked heels. His cock hardened, and his longing escalated. No other woman had ever driven him so crazy.
A beautiful smell, like sweet gardenias, wafted into his nose and broke his resolve a little further. He was imagining this. Could the smell of her hair, her skin, literally reach out to him? Good Lord, his dick ached. He slammed his fist onto the countertop. A liquor bottle fell from the top shelf with a crash and shattered. The contents splashed over the counter and onto his shirt. Whiskey trickled onto the floor.
“What was that?” she called. Her voice rang in his ears like a melody, a siren’s call. What the hell?
“There is no fucking mating cycle, and it has nothing to do with me,” he muttered.
He paced from the kitchen to the living room and back. His shirt clung to his skin, sticky and damp. He lifted it over his head, ready to chuck it into the laundry bin. He turned around and froze.
She was sprawled across his bed, her spine arched and her chest rising with her quick breaths. A small moan escaped her lips as her eyes ran over his frame. Gold flecks blossomed in her irises as the darker side of her took control. A fire ignited under his skin, and he couldn’t stand it.
Unbuckling his leather belt, he stalked toward the bed. She spread her legs wide, and there was no mistaking what she wanted. For the first time in his life, he let the beast take hold.
BURNING, WHITE-HOT NEED.
Frankie’s core grew warmer, and she felt herself slicken, preparing for an uncontrollable orgasm. The red digits of the clock screamed the inevitable. 3:00 a.m. She was going to have wild sex with a man she barely knew, but she didn’t care. She wanted Jace inside her, his hands and lips and tongue exploring her.
Another wave of longing rolled through her as she admired him. A large masculine torso with ample amounts of muscle tapered down to a tight, firm ass. His chest alone was better than any fantasy she’d ever imagined. He prowled across the bed and joined her.
Her instincts reached out to him, and everything froze.
The electric current that shot through her whenever they touched spiked higher, leaving her wet and ready. Their eyes locked, and she admired the beautiful, gold flecks in his. The sound of the bed frame creaking sent her heart racing. His eyes filled with the hunger of a wolf.
He knelt over her, and her gaze traveled to his massive erection.
Well-endowed didn’t even begin to describe it. He lowered himself over her, his hands on either side of her head. He ground his arousal into her hips, and she gasped.
“You just couldn’t keep quiet, could you?” He shoved harder against her. “You were begging me to screw you.”
“I—” Her voice was half moan, half whimper.
“And you knew I’d oblige.” He balanced himself on one hand and slid the other to her lower back, pulling her closer. He lowered his head to her ear. “You’re lucky I didn’t take you in the middle of that alley.”
Blazing heat radiated from every cell in her being, and she teetered on the edge of climax.
