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“What am I, some bag of food?”
“We don’t need your help,” replies Grey, ignoring me. “You and Brack enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You okay with this, Indie?” asks Tom.
No, I’m not okay with it…
If Grey thinks he’s gonna treat me like some possession, he’s got another thing coming…
Only I can tell by the frankly menacing glint in his eye that he’s losing patience with his friend and for the sake of their friendship, I tell Tom it’ll be fine and pick up my coat, throwing him and the barman a mortified goodbye and storming out, ready to give Greyson Everitt a piece of my mind.
As we make it onto the sidewalk, I turn around to face the wolf, his expression still wild with fury, even if it does make the boundary-less prick look hot as all hell in that trademark moody way of his.
“I suppose in your alphahole brain you think what happened back there was acceptable?!”
I swear I heard a growl come from his throat.
“Well, it wasn’t! I’m not into being stalked! Nor am I into neanderthals interrupting my dates to piss all over everyone when it looks like someone else wants to play with their little toy du jour, so you can kindly… fuck off! And as for your oh-so-kind offer to take me home, you can fuck off with that as well!”
Shaking my head, I turn, incensed, and begin to walk down the street in the direction of the subway station, only to yelp as he grabs my arm and spins me around. “You’re coming with me, Indigo, whether you like it or not.”
The sight of blood around his split lip steals the worst of my fury. I shake my head, feeling my cheeks burning and my body humming with the maddening kinesis that is born of the incongruous mix of outrage and arousal. “Like hell I—”
But before I can complete the sentence, Greyson leans over me with a groan, lifting me across his body and beginning to carry me down the street.
“Put me down!” I shout, wiggling a little only for him to reaffirm his grip on me.
“You have no idea how much fucking trouble you’re in, little girl,” he growls into my ear as he walks, carrying me as if I weigh nothing.
His head pivots a little and our eyes collide, my breathing quickening as I take in his stern face, his jaw tight, his eyes wild.
And while his words scare me and also make me want to blast him with a well-prepared speech about how most men manage to control their inner troglodyte, I can’t deny the arousal spilling into my body like water trickling into a parched riverbed.
You’re in such trouble…
Indie…
Our gazes unlock as he veers left a little, placing my feet down next to a black Bentley. His.
There’s a beep and he opens the door. “Get in,” he orders.
“No! I’m not getting in, asshole!”
He takes a step towards me, caging me between his tall, athletic frame and the interior door of his ridiculously sturdy-looking car.
“Don’t make me make you, Indigo,” he warns. “You’re already in more trouble than your unicorn-fluff-filled brain can comprehend.”
“Like hell I am!” I retort, though my mouth suddenly goes dry at the deviant words coupled with that unrelenting glower of his.
“Get in.”
I lift my chin. “Or what?”
He leans into me, tempestuous gray eyes a savage stampede of jealous fury. “Or I will use every second we stand here to contemplate how to make your punishment more severe.”
“That sounds like something you’d hear on CSI: Miami, just FYI. And secondly,you’rethe one who should be punished for your blatant lack of self-control.”
“Get in.Now.”
