Scheme was a pleasant weight against his chest, her head on his shoulder, her hair spreading out across his chest.
How many times had he entered Callan and Merinus’s private suite to find them on the couch just like this, watching soap operas. Their pride leader was fascinated with his mate’s soap operas.
For a man who had never cared much for television before he mated, Callan had become a regular couch potato during the quiet evenings at Sanctuary. That, or he really didn’t give a damn what he watched as long as he could hold his mate with close intimacy as they watched the shows.
But Scheme wasn’t his mate. He had been checking closely for the signs of it, close enough that his tongue was nearly raw from rubbing the sides of it over his teeth to check the glands there. There was nothing.
He wanted her.
He ached for her with a strength that made him half-crazy, but there was no mating hormone, no unusual sensitivity in his flesh.
Was it possible for a Breed to fall in love without mating? Even the scientists researching the phenomenon had no answer to that one. So far, every mated couple seemed deeply in love. The mating always came first though. The chemical, biological matching of two souls that would have been compatible, that would have loved anyway. But the heat had ensured it.
There was no mating heat with Scheme.
He should feel relieved, carefree; instead, the regret nearly choked him.
As they watched, news of the Breeds was reported. Jonas was standing in front of the offices of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, denying involvement in Scheme’s disappearance and stating the instances that the Breeds had always turned suspected Council members or collaborators over to the federal authorities once they had proof against them.
He answered the reporters in that hard, growling voice of his, a scowl on his face as Tanner chuckled.
“Jonas hates the media,” he said against Scheme’s hair, drawing in the scent of her.
“He’s not bad at handling them though,” she commented, her voice much calmer than the scent of her arousal.
“He bitches for hours after he has to hold a news conference.” He nuzzled his face into her hair, the thick sable silk stroking pleasantly against him. “Then he normally calls me and bitches at me for not handling it.”
“I didn’t hear the phone ringing,” she pointed out. “That news clip was made yesterday.”
“You were asleep.” He smiled against her hair, allowing the fingers that rested on her belly to rub against the silk of her shirt in little circles. “He threatened me, Scheme. Something about stuffing the trout I was catching up my ass.”
“You aren’t catching any trout.” Her voice was a bit breathless, husky.
Confronting Scheme with the hungers that rose between them wouldn’t work; he had found that out last night. A man had to wait until the hunger was more than she could bear. Not that she was entirely comfortable with it, he thought with a smile. His Scheme was as wary as a little cat.
She was also a damned control freak.
“This is more fun than catching trout.” He licked at the shell of her ear. “Takes more patience. Callan says I should work on that patience issue I have.”
A soft, feminine snort had a silent laugh tugging at his chest.
She was settling against him, relaxing a bit more, and as she did, the scent of sweet female heat became thicker. Damn, he’d loved that smell before he’d met her, but her particular scent he had become addicted to. It was sweet and tinted with spice, like syrup on a crisp winter morning. It had his mouth watering and his dick throbbing.
“I could see you with a patience issue,” she said softly. “That lazy Bengal Breed act of yours doesn’t fool everyone.”
“Most people it does,” he argued with a grin. “You’re just a perceptive little thing, pretty girl. You see me for what I am.”
“I studied you,” she admitted. “For years. Studied your lab files against the persona you project. You lie to a lot of people, Tanner. I can almost tell when you’re lying on television.”
“Hmm, dangerous thing to admit to,” he grumbled, feeling warmth he shouldn’t have felt, because she had managed to learn anything about him. “I can see you sitting in front of the television telling your daddy what the Breed plans are as you watch me lie.”
She was silent.
“Did you?” he whispered.
“No,” she said with a hint of sadness. “It was what he had me trained for, observation. He was very upset that I couldn’t tell him what he needed to know.”
“So he beat you?”
“Not always.” She was lying, and she was a very adept liar, so he could barely detect the scent of it. She didn’t want him to know she was lying. For some reason, this woman who should have been his enemy didn’t want him to know he had been the reason for any pain she had felt.
He nipped her ear.
“What was that for?” Her head tilted back, a frown creasing her brow as she glared back at him.
“That was for lying to me, pretty girl,” he growled, lowering his lips to hers because he couldn’t resist them. Because he needed the taste of her, needed it to clear the scent of her lie from his head. “Never lie to me.”
He didn’t take her easily, he didn’t ease her into a kiss, and he sure as hell didn’t ask for permission. Asking for permission from this woman was an instant debate.
She struggled without force as he shifted to the side, moving her into the crook of his arm to allow for a deeper penetration of her mouth.
One hand pressed into his chest, the other into his side. Her sharp little teeth nipped at his tongue; his nipped at her lips.
She pulled back; he buried his hand in her hair, cupped her scalp and forced her mouth back to his and let her teeth nip at it.
Damn, it was good. The sharp little sting, a flick of her tongue, and he was ready to come in his jeans. His other hand gripped her jaw, holding her still, his fingers controlling her ability to bite as his lips covered hers, his tongue impaling her mouth with a hunger that should have worried him.
Flickering, inquisitive, her little tongue met his, battling, a heated erotic battle that ended with one of her hands buried in his hair and her br**sts pressing into his chest as she turned to him, her legs straddling his hips, rising over him, taking control.
Fuck. He gripped her hips, pulling her down to him, grinding her pu**y against his jeans-covered cock. Slender fingers tangled in his hair as she began to ride him, the silk of her pants sliding against his jeans, her heat seeping through and raking over his dick.