“Hmm,” he murmured suspiciously, but injected the therapy he said the syringes held.
“Just for your information,” Chelsea informed him after he finished and put the syringes away, “I’d never let you be hands-on with my child.”
His brow lifted. “Bad mommy. Don’t you know kids want the very playmate you want to keep them from?” He chuckled at the look of dislike she shot him. “And I’d be around often. Very often.”
She could see this turning into a war of words she didn’t want to be a part of. Turning to Cullen, she pointed her finger back at him angrily.
“You and I are going to talk, Cullen Maverick. You do not spring things on me after the fact. If you recall, I don’t like it at all.”
She had to content herself with the wince that crossed his face. If he kept it up, she’d black his eye again.
Maybe.
CHAPTER 10
From Graeme’s Journal
The Recessed Primal Breed
Mating Heat, an anomaly marked by its anomalies.
In the recessive Bengal Primal, those anomalies and variables of Mating Heat can’t be predicted, nor can they be explained. The only certainty is that the Primal exists for a single reason alone: to protect the mate it shares with the Breed. It has no other reason for being, and asks for no other reason—
So the tabloid stories were true.
Like cats, the need for sex would become so overwhelming and overpowering that mates couldn’t resist each other.
She couldn’t blame the Mating Heat for her fascination with Cullen, though, or the arousal. He’d been turning her on since she was at least sixteen or seventeen years old. Just the thought of him then had made all her teenage hormones crazy.
And it hadn’t gone away after she left her teens either. In some ways, it had only gotten worse. At some point, Chelsea had even realized that the two lovers she’d had resembled him.
Pacing her bedroom as she waited for Cullen to run his brother off, she looked at the bedside clock, shaking from the inside out.
If he didn’t hurry, she’d follow him again and run Graeme’s ass off herself.
Mocking, superior prick. Even Cat laughingly called him the same thing. Often.
Chelsea wasn’t laughing.
She was furious.
She had half a mind to just call her sister, Isabelle, and demand the answers. But Isabelle would call her father and he’d call her grandfather and the next thing she knew they’d be having another save-Chelsea-from-herself family intervention.
And only God knew how much she hated those. She hated them so much she refused to tell Isabelle anything that would bring one about.
As she glanced at the clock again, she inhaled roughly, nostrils flaring with such irritation she could barely hold it in.
So much for keeping her emotions on ice. They were burning so hot and livid right now that Breeds in neighboring states were probably smelling it.
An
d her patience was at an end.
Stalking toward the door, she came to a hard stop as it opened and Cullen stepped inside. Closing the door quietly, he watched her so intently for long moments that she finally gave a hard snap of her fingers just to distract him.
“I get it. You’re pissed,” he said then, his jaw tensing.
She stared back at him, eyes widening in outrage. “Pissed?” She pushed the word past her lips as they tightened furiously. “Oh, Cullen, I am so beyond pissed. You can’t even imagine.”