A look of shock crossed Cliff’s face.
“We aren’t?”
“No, we’re not.”
“But you want me. You want to have sex with me. Why deny yourself?”
“Because I’m furious with you. Because you kidnapped me and are holding me prisoner. Because you’re bargaining with my friend’s life to get what you want. Because one million other reasons that I don’t even feel like explaining to you right now. And if you don’t mind, I would like to return to my prison cell.”
He snorted. “You mean my bedroom?”
“Whatever you want to call it. And I get my own bed.”
* * * * *
Cliff flung himself into a chair and heaved out a frustrated breath. He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in lopsided clumps and spikes. What he’d said to her was true. She was his mate, and he’d do anything to persuade her of that. But he would have made sure her friend got the samples she needed anyway. He wasn’t a monster, or at least only in the sense that he sprouted fur and fangs on every full moon; he certainly wasn’t in the business of letting someone die over a few thousand lousy bucks.
The thing was, he couldn’t let Taylor know that. Not yet. He needed to have some leverage over her. He had to be a strong Alpha, now more than ever, and that meant he had a duty to protect the pack. He couldn’t take the chance of her exposing their secret to human society.
He wanted Taylor. He ached to touch her, to hold her. She’d so quickly become the sun around which his world revolved. But he couldn’t trust her with his people’s lives. Not yet. And that made his heart hurt.
Chapter Eight
“Don’t be nervous,” Cliff said as he guided Taylor into the formal dining room. Cliff had been gone all afternoon dealing with various company matters, and she’d sat in his room and sulked until he came to fetch her at dinner time.
Taylor looked at the table, which could easily have seated thirty. It was a glossy length of rich mahogany, laid with cut glass, snowy linen napkins, and far too much silverware. Who would have imagined werewolves would be sticklers for dinner table etiquette? Chandeliers dripping with crystal glittered and tinkled above the diners, sending tiny glints of white light dancing across the high ceiling.
There were a dozen people sitting at the table, and several servants hovering discreetly in the background. Taylor only recognized a few of them, and they all stared as she walked in. And they were all werewolves. They would turn into wolves in a couple of weeks. And they were all staring at her as if she were a sideshow curiosity at a circus.
“Why would I be nervous?” she asked.
Instinctively, she started to suck in her stomach.
“Don’t,” Cliff said as they walked to the head of the table. He put his arm around her waist and rested his hand lightly on her hip.
She forced herself not to moan with arousal. “Don’t what?”
He flashed her a winning smile. “Don’t suck in your stomach. I want to enjoy every glorious inch of you.”
She scowled at him as he pulled her chair out for her. “Could you please stop being charming and go back to being a dick? I want to be mad at you.”
He pretended to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll continue to be charming, which in a way means I’m being a dick, because I’m not doing what you asked. Is that good enough for you?”
“Now I’m just confused.”
She plopped down in her chair and glanced around the table. Cliff made the introductions. Austin was there, with his perma-scowl stamped across his face. Everyone else was dressed up, and he was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans and motorcycle boots.
Grant sat next to a stunning blonde, who wore a bright-red cocktail dress that plunged to her navel. He introduced her as Mandy.
There was a beautiful young girl who looked to be in her early teens, who was introduced as their cousin Serafina. She had two younger siblings, Dax and Roger, who were twins and looked to be around seven or eight. James and his wife – no, mate – Anita was there. So were Truman, a man named Richard, and a few other people whose names Taylor forgot because her mind was so blown by the whole werewolf thing that she was having a hard time concentrating on much of anything.
As one of the servants poured wine into a gilded glass, Dax leaped up, walked over to Taylor, and poked her in the arm.
“Why is your name Taylor? My uncle Jerrold said that you’re a total freak.” He squinted up at her through narrowed eyes. “You don’t look like a freak. What’s freaky about you?” He sounded disappointed.
Serafina gasped in horror, and Cliff looked as if he were about to smack Dax.
“Dax!” Serafina snarled at him.
