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However, why was he staring at her so intently? And sniffing at her for God’s sake. She couldn’t smell. She hadn’t eaten garlic, had enjoyed a shower, and used her favorite body spray, and it was no way was it warm enough to negate that. He was just plain rude.
“Do you need a hanky?” She fished a tissue from her pocket and held it out. “Here. It’s clean.”
“What?” He glanced at it and then away again to stare at her face.
Did she have a dirty mark on her cheek? A spot on her nose? She was sure she didn’t. But his eyes bored into her, like a laser or a heat-seeking missile with the emphasis on heat. Isla surreptitiously wafted the hem of her blouse around.
“You’re sniffing. I hate sniffers. Blow your nose.”
Gaspar made a noise somewhere between a snort and a howl. Did you call it a snowl? Whatever it was, it was unusual and very, very, hot. Her juices began to make a slow slide down her legs, and Isla pushed her thighs together. That was all she needed. Not.
“Woman, you’re off the plot.”
Chapter Four
Gaspar couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. He couldn’t help but tease. The memory of how her thoughts had invaded his had popped out without him thinking amazed and delighted him. His woman—for whatever she thought, his sweet pet was his—was a walking mass of delicious cock-hardening contradictions. Of course she didn’t know he could hear her thoughts as clear as his own if he chose to, but oh, how he’d like to threaten to wash her mouth out for her little and not so little white lies. Not that he would, that sort of thing wasn’t in his repertoire, but a nice wee scribe with his claw would make her stop and think. And show anyone who needed to that she was his. Plus of course, he’d willingly demonstrate to her how to mark him as hers. Gaspar was all for equality in that respect. Then one day, show her what they could be if she accepted and…
Ha, in his dreams. She would more than likely laugh and tell him to get out of fancy dress than accept that part of him.
For now. However, he’d worry about that later. Now, he just wanted her to accept she was his. He made himself turn off his ability to tune in to her. It wasn’t right, or ethical, to eavesdrop one someone’s thoughts unless absolutely necessary. Especially now he knew who she was. Last time he’d not been prepared. It was part of their creed that you only heard the thoughts of those who mattered, who were part of you. In theory.
In practice? Faint hope.
His woman stuck her nose in the air. “I do not appreciate you speaking to me that way.” Her words were defiant, her demeanor, anything but. “What planet are you on. Owww, you bully.”
He’d given in to the temptation to growl, swing her around and tap her ass. Not too hard, but with enough force to sting.
Isla glared. “Do you like your body the way it is? Or do you want your balls rearranged?” She bit her lip and blushed. “Sod it. I mean—oh God, you make me so cross, and I never lose my temper. I came in to talk about a tattoo and ended up being molested. And don’t you bloody growl at me. What do you think you are? An animal?”
What would she say if he said “yes”?
“Some say so,” Gaspar said equably. “You’ll make your own mind up when you’re ready.”
“Argh.” Isla threw her hands up in the air. “How the hell did we get to this?”
“Fate.”
“Fate?” she asked incredulously. “Don’t talk rot.”
“You’ll learn. We are fated to be what we are to each other.” He didn’t think it was the time to go into details. Or tell her what he’d heard from her and what he’d seen.
“Oh, all right then,” she said, deadpan. “Fate. Yeah. Why does it hate me? Tell it to give me a break already.”
Gaspar watched as all the temper drained out of her. She looked … forlorn he decided. Lonely, unhappy, and bewildered. A horrible state to be in. Would she let him help her?
“I always said I didn’t believe in fate,” Isla said flatly. “No point.”
“Serendipity?” he suggested. “Like knows like? A meeting of minds? True love finds a way? One of those things?”
She snorted. “You’re off your trolley. I’ve got to go.” She tugged her hand from his, where he’d held her to him. “Please.”
“Okay, no more.” Yet. “Let’s start again,” Gaspar said. He couldn’t let her walk away in the state she was in. Okay, he couldn’t let her walk away, period. “Hello, I’m Gaspar MacDonald. Owner and inker, Bear at the Bare. How can I help you, Miss…”
He held his breath.
****
Isla considered the man who stood next to her. Much to her amazement, he’d intrigued her, interested her, aroused her, and yeah, as her mate would say, “hornified” her. Horny was an understatement. If she took off her panties—and she didn’t intend to—she’d be able to wring them out. Her nipples ached, her clit throbbed, and she needed to get out of there and find her bullet pretty damned quick.
