His world and his life.
If he could convince her to take that chance.
Well, if he could manage to steal a kiss from those sweet lips.
It might have been easier if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Isabelle Martinez, mate to Malachi Morgan, had already warned her friends of the mating phenomena.
“You’re not wanted here, Breed.” Klah Hunter kept his voice low, but his tone was nothing if not dominant and filled with warning.
Stygian didn’t bother to even glance his way.
“Dance with me.” Staring into Liza’s eyes, he knew if he didn’t have her against him soon, he was likely to end up in a fight instead.
“If she wanted to dance with you, then she would have invited you,” Klah snapped. “This is a get-together for friends only, Breed. You’re in no position to apply for the title.”
“I’m not applying for the position of friend,” he assured the other man—Breed?
He didn’t bother to explain the position he was after. Hell, he wasn’t picky at this point. He’d take missionary if that was all she was offering.
Though, he was partial to doggie style.
He was certain that wasn’t exactly the sort of position any of them had in mind, though.
“What exactly do you have in mind then?” Cullen Maverick spoke up as he leaned back in his chair and lifted the frosted bottle of beer to his lips. “Or should I just go ahead and kill you for thinking you can have more than Liza might want to give?”
“Whoa, enough.” Liza turned on them all then. “I don’t need bodyguards nor do I need anyone to defend my honor.”
The four men turned as one to frown back at her.
The air of sudden male dominance had a snarl threatening to pull at Stygian’s lips.
His woman.
His mate.
He’d never allow another male to order her to do anything. Especially anything in direct opposition to what he wanted.
“They’re not telling us the truth in regards to why they’re here, Liza, you know that as well as the rest of us do,” Klah argued. “He has no business around you.”
“Maybe he has other things in mind.” Chelsea grinned then. “Things that are none of your business, Klah.”
Liza’s chair scraped back from the table, a hint of fear and nervousness suddenly scenting the air around her.
“Let’s dance then,” she muttered as he rose to his feet beside her. “Instead of starting the fight you seem intent on.”
“Me?” He almost laughed as she grabbed his wrist. He allowed her to give the impression that she was pulling him to the dance floor. “That was your friends, baby, not me.”
The fast, hard beat of the country-western music faded away and as they stepped to the dance floor, the band eased into a slow, sensual tune instead.
He caught the little muttered curse as it slipped free of her glossy lips and couldn’t hold back a low chuckle as he took her into his arms.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked. Her small hands pressed against his chest almost defensively.
The fact that she felt she would have to protect herself against him, her mate, had him tensing in regret.
Her fingertips were rubbing against the fine cotton of his shirt though, making him wonder if she was searching for the warmth of his chest. That gesture, small though it was, gave him hope that perhaps a part of her knew she could trust him.
“I make it my business to know where you are. And who you’re with.”