She had enough problems; she didn’t need to add an affair with him to the mix. His affairs were always short, uncomplicated and uncommitted. She’d always known that it wasn’t something she could handle.
Starting the truck, she pulled from her parking spot and drove from the warehouse, glaring into the darkness. She’d just take him to his house, drop him off, then go home. She was tired, irritable and still aroused—damn his hide.
“If you take me to my place, then you’ll be staying there with me, whether those two yahoos behind us agree with it or not,” he warned her, his tone curt. “We’re going to talk, Chelsea, and we’re going to do it tonight.”
Clenching her hands on the steering wheel, she fought the anger building inside her. It had been building ever since he’d shown up that afternoon.
“We don’t have anything to talk about.” Bristling with indignation, she shot him a hard glare. “And if we did, the time to discuss it was, ohh”—she waved her hand with a mocking exclamation—“four or five weeks ago. All the kisses in the world, demands and irritable-commander looks are not going to change that.” She shot him a furious look. “Ready to go to your place now?”
Because that was damned sure where she intended to take him. Taking him home with her was out of the question. She simply had no willpower where he was concerned.
“Chelsea,” he began warningly.
“I mean it, Cullen,” she snapped. “You can go home.”
He growled at her, a low, deep, feline rumble that so shocked her that it had her foot releasing the gas pedal and her eyes widening in confusion.
He growled at her?
Seriously?
“What the hell was that?” she exclaimed, finally recovering and hitting the gas harder. “Oh my God, I thought you couldn’t do that. I never heard you do that before. Are you like going freaky cat on me or something? I thought you were—recessed?”
She’d seen Cullen absolutely enraged before, but she’d never heard that sound coming from his chest.
“I am.” His voice was deeper, rougher than normal. “But I am still a Breed and you’re driving me fucking crazy. Now, let’s wait till we get to your place before you make me crazier.”
Had he lost his ever-lovin’ mind?
He had to have done just that.
“Sounds to me like it would be hard for you to get any crazier,” she muttered, glancing over at him warily as she took the turn toward Window Rock. “How long have you been making that crazy sound anyway? Should you see a Breed specialist or something? Maybe those recessed genetics are going all wacky.”
She glanced over in time to catch the glare he shot her.
“Wacky?” he questioned her carefully. “Breed genetics don’t go wacky.”
“Course they do.” She shrugged, frowning. “Malachi’s go wacky on Isabelle all the time. Growling and acting all possessive and crap. He even bites her.” She rolled her eyes before frowning again. “Come to think of it, you bit me.”
Chelsea reached up and rubbed at the sensitive area at the bend of her neck and shoulder. At her touch, the spot tingled with sensation, reminding her of the pleasure she’d felt at the bite. That sensation became a subtle wave of pleasure that washed through her and reminded her that the arousal she’d felt that afternoon hadn’t abated.
A lower, possibly deeper growl sounded from the passenger seat.
“What now?” she demanded irritably. “Stop that growling stuff, Cullen. It makes me nervous.”
It made her nervous?
Cullen fought to block the sounds. He could count on one hand how many times he’d actually growled in the past thirteen years.
Maybe she was right—he needed to see a Breed specialist. The only problem was, Bengal genetics were even odder than Coyote genetics and Cullen only knew one specialist.
Graeme.
No way in hell was he going to tell his brother how his normally silent Breed responses had become more active in the past weeks. Graeme would pull out his needles and sensors, demand blood and tests—he almost shuddered at the thought of it. Graeme had shown up periodically over the years, the monster even Cullen had been uncomfortable in the presence of, and demanded blood, genetic tests and a chance to study the recessed genetics Cullen possessed.
Cullen had given in not because he feared the monster; he hadn’t. He’d feared his brother slipping so deep into the monster that resided within him that Cullen had given in and allowed the tests simply because Graeme seemed saner while he was conducting them.
His brother was obsessed with recessed Breed genetics for some reason. During those years that research had seemed to center Graeme, though, and that had made it worth that aggravation.