Rule breaker, p.5
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       Rule Breaker, p.5
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         Part #20 of Breeds series by Lora Leigh

  ound him, watching him carefully, almost suspiciously, and making his dick harder for the very fact that she was keeping herself so damned aloof.

  Letting Dane rile him would be foolish at this point, though. The other man lived to piss off other Breeds.

  Rule often thought he might even have a death wish.

  “Let’s not be a smart-ass tonight, Junior,” Rule growled, using the insulting nickname Dane’s father, the Leo, used whenever he became pissed with his son. “Now, answer the fucking question before I have to send your pelt to Daddy with my apologies for finally growing sick of your ignorance.”

  Dane growled, the sound far too close to the sound of the animal rather than the hybrid Rule knew him to be.

  “Ah, and what a day that would be,” Dane quipped. “The Leo would likely pat your back and adopt you should you be so brave as to attempt such a thing. Or give you the burial you’re obviously searching for. Once I’ve finished with you, that is.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Rule directed a glare in the hybrid’s direction. “Just answer the question, asshole.”

  “Where’s she been?” Dane repeated sarcastically. “You neglected to mention that she was part escape artist and part invisible woman when you gave me the job of tracking her down. It’s damned hard telling where she’s been, from what I’ve managed to find out. Even her lovely little sister has no idea where she goes, according to Loki. Though she has mentioned a concern that you’re going to show up at her sister’s apartment looking for her soon. I bet the lovely Gypsy’s expecting the big bad wolf. Think she’ll be surprised when she gets the fraidy cat instead?”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass, prick,” Rule warned him.

  “Yeah, yeah, take a number, nutcase.” Dane actually laughed at the threat. “Be nice or I’ll sic the big bad witch on your ass. Any woman living in an apartment next to a house with gumdrops painted on it has to be a real badass.”

  “She’s no wicked witch, Junior,” Rule drawled. “And she can feed me sweets anytime, right?”

  There was one sweet he fantasized about on a regular basis, actually.

  “Careful there, fraidy cat, she might be too much woman for a little kitty like you. You should let a real feline do this little job.” The pure amused indulgence in the hybrid’s voice had Rule shooting a thoughtful glance through the crowd to where Dane stood by the bar.

  “Dane, are you drunk?” Rule questioned him.

  The hybrid Breed lifted his glass with a mocking grin, dark sunglasses lying low on his nose so he could glance over the rims.

  “Not yet,” Dane sighed. “But the temptation is there.”

  Dane was unusually irritating, even for him.

  “And what’s with the damned shades? It’s a bar, not high noon in the middle of the desert,” Rule scoffed, wondering what the hell had gotten into the Breed.

  Dane gave a short little nod in salute before turning back to the sight on the dance floor.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rule was tempted to close his eyes. But the band was breaking into another song. Something about what a guy had to do for the singer “if he wanted to be her cowboy.” It was an old song, but one Gypsy seemed pleased to hear.

  A second later his eyes widened, his cock grew impossibly harder and he swore he was going to have trouble breathing.

  Son of a bitch, it was enough to make his balls tighten in pure appreciation as those lovely legs bent just enough, her head tipping back, her hips shifting, rolling, as delicate hands caressed the air from her breasts to her hips.

  “God have mercy. But I love to watch her make grown men crazy,” Dane breathed out in amazed appreciation instead as the tempting little leather-clad flame on the dance floor began working her entire body to the music. Hips, thighs, shoulders and breasts drew his gaze as she approached a table where four Breed Enforcers sat, just as entranced as Rule and Dane were becoming.

  Gritting his teeth, he switched to the enforcer channel on his comm device.

  “The first one of you morons to touch that woman will face me,” he snapped into the line as Dane’s short, surprised laugh barked across the link.

  “Better run hell for leather, mate,” Dane injected just below the laughter level.

  Rule didn’t answer the hybrid any more than the enforcers answered the order. Their eyes were locked on that image of pure, entrancing fire as she moved toward the table they were sitting at.

  They weren’t listening.

  “Good luck, my friend,” Dane advised him, his tone and accent thickening further as the beauty tossed her head, all that thick, thick silken hair brushing around her body as she moved closer to the table in response to the singer’s demands that her “cowboy” take her for a ride.

  The hard length of his shaft throbbed like an open wound, too sensitive and too hungry to be contained.

  Despite the aching sensitivity of the engorged flesh between his thighs, his tongue showed no signs of the hormone filling the glands. All he tasted was the beer he’d drunk just before catching sight of her and the peppermint and chocolate hard candy he’d finished before his gaze swept the dance floor.

  Narrowing his eyes, he prowled through the crowd and headed for the table where those lucky-assed enforcers were enjoying a show no Breed or human male could possibly contain his lusts through.

  He didn’t trust those damned Breeds leaning toward her not to touch. Despite the order.

  He stepped to the table between two of the younger enforcers; the scent of their lust slapped at his senses, offensive, and pulling a dangerous growl from his chest. And he didn’t attempt to hide the savage warning that the restless animal inside him ensured the sound contained.

  The Breeds moved.

  As one, they cleared the table, the sight of the female not nearly enough to wipe away the more than two decades of training they carried inside them.

  That was more like it.

  He ignored Dane’s low laughter as he took the chair at the side of the table and stared back at the surprised little minx with an obvious, silent dare.

  If she wanted to tease Breeds, then why not see how she fared teasing a full-grown, well-trained, more than experienced Lion Breed commander rather than a few young enforcers who still carried the scent of the labs they were rescued from.

  Lifting his hand imperiously as the waitress passed by, he caught her nod from the corner of his eyes. The waitresses at this bar loved the excellent tips they received, not just from the enforcers, but from the Bureau of Breed Affairs as well for reporting any indications or rumors of Council soldiers lurking in the establishment.

  He wasn’t there for the waitress or the information, though. Evidently, he was there to give one fiery little woman a Breed to torture.

  Gypsy moved closer, hips swaying, her arms lifting above her head as she moved directly to him. She positioned her legs to each side of one of his, thighs spread just that little bit, her knees bent, hips moving with a slow suggestiveness just above his knee that had lust flaming through his senses.

  He swore he could feel the heat of her pussy radiating from between her thighs straight through his mission pants. Hot enough to sear a man’s senses, wet enough to drown them.

  And she was indeed wet.

  The scent of her sweet juices had his mouth watering, his need to taste her racing through his system.

  The tempting little morsel gave her head a toss, a smug little smile tilting the corners of her lips as the song came to an end and the music eased into a slower tune.

  “Watch my drink, hybrid,” he ordered Dane across the link as he moved before the lithe little vision could leave the floor.

  Hooking his arm around her waist, he stared down at her obvious surprise.

  Surprise? What the hell had she expected?

  “Are you all tease?” he asked her. “Or is there a woman lurking beneath the promise in those pretty green eyes?”

  Her brow lifted, laughter gleaming in her witchy gaze.
r />   “It’s all tease. And furthermore, purr boy,” she drawled—and quicker than a Breed could blink she was out of his arms with a disapproving little frown—“you should know better than to manhandle me. You request a dance from me, you don’t demand. And you sure as hell don’t grab me like a toy.”

  And with that little proclamation, she moved away from him with all the haughty grace of an ice princess offended to her last perfect toenail. And completely unaware that in that single movement designed to break free of him, he’d recognized the slightest, well-trained, experienced shift of her hip, shoulder and one delicate foot.

  Dane was, of course, rolling with laughter.

  Rule couldn’t help but grin as he kept the knowledge to himself. “I believe that might have been a dare.”

  Two months of circling each other with wary arousal and she’d thrown out a dare she should have known he couldn’t resist.

  “You’re not a Coyote, Breaker,” Dane reminded him, his tone surprisingly pensive. “Remember?”

  To that, Rule could only grin. “Sorry there, Dane, just because Coyotes borrowed the phrase didn’t mean Lions didn’t start it. It’s never dare a Breed, not never dare a Coyote.”

  Then, aware of the eyes watching him, the human’s amusement, and the intriguing scent he was certain other Breeds were tempted by, Rule followed the scent of arousal that one little Gypsy Rum McQuade left in her wake.


  Oh God, was she insane?

  Gypsy tried to breathe as she strolled across the dance floor to the bar, ordered her favorite beer, then leaned back against the counter and sipped at it. She was all too aware of the fact that Rule had yet to take his eyes off her.

  Of course, it never mattered where he found her, he watched her, those neon blue eyes trying to sink into her soul as though he were determined to learn every secret she possessed.

  And each time he did it, he made her hot. From that first look two months before across the distance of a crowded bar to the second that he’d strolled to the table of younger Breeds she’d danced for as she felt his eyes on her, searing her. Like a rush of sensation washing over her flesh, the knowledge that he wasn’t taking his eyes off her had her thighs clenching, a damp warmth tingling against the suddenly sensitive, swollen bud nestled amid the slick folds between her thighs.

  Dammit, she was creaming.


  Oh hell.

  She was creaming her panties for a damned Breed who made her completely crazy every time she came in contact with him. One who wasn’t just making her body crazy, but was now putting out those unofficial APBs on her whenever he had a mind to.

  That was just uncalled for.

  No Breed should be able to do this to her.

  No man, period, should be able to do it.

  No other Breed had ever accomplished it.

  This Breed should not be able to do it.

  What had been mere interest as she avoided him over the past weeks at the clubs and bars where she made her weekly rounds was now turning into full-fledged sexual want. And sexual want was a mighty big no-no in her life.

  That did not ensure that she put as much distance as possible between herself and the Lion Breed as he moved in beside her, though. He turned his big body to watch her profile as she stared out over the dance floor, that strange warmth she always felt from him reaching out to her.

  “Courageous little thing, aren’t you?” His gaze invited her to laugh, to share the amusement that threatened to warm parts of her that had been cold far longer than he could ever guess.

  “Courage?” she questioned him with a hint of disbelief after taking another sip of the beer. God, what was she letting him do to her? She knew better than this. “That’s not courage, it’s disinterest, Rule. I told you before, I don’t like the trouble that follows Breeds like a crazy ex-girlfriend.”

  But this Breed made her long to break her exile from the sensual, hungry nature that had risen inside her as she had matured.

  “There are times I believe I would prefer the crazy ex-girlfriend,” he assured her wryly, his lips quirking with a hint of bitterness as she felt the rasp of a single callused finger caressing across her bare shoulder. “As for trouble following us, it’s not as though we ask for it.” His declaration pulled her gaze back to him.

  His eyes gleaming between thick, black lashes, he watched her, his gaze rich and warm, making her want to press herself against him, to still the ache for his touch that tingled across her flesh.

  “No, you don’t,” she agreed with a sigh as the caress disappeared. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have a choice in dealing with the issues that come with you. Because I choose not to become part of that battle.”

  Just as she chose the life she led. And that life did not include joining Rule in some fly-by-night affair that would be over as quickly as it began.

  “Interesting that you believe you have a choice in who you ache for,” he stated, his voice rasping, his gaze intent now. “I’ll have to remember to believe that one.”

  Sapphire eyes gazed down at her, filled with amusement and mystery. The look in them invited her to play, to put aside whatever hurt her, whatever she feared, and just play with him for a minute.

  But Gypsy knew better than most the dangers of playing with Breeds. It was a lesson she’d learned one blood-filled night that she would never forget.

  “Such pretty eyes should never appear so somber and unhappy,” he observed then, bending his head to her ear to be overheard above the music. “They should be filled with passion and a love of living.”

  Gypsy flinched, jerking back from him as she realized how close he’d come to her without her being aware of it.

  She was getting too used to him invading her space every chance he had. Her body was damned sure getting too used to Rule doing so.

  That was going to have to stop. It was going to have to stop right now.

  “Is there a reason, Commander Breaker, that you have taken such an interest in me over the past months?” she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes on him. “Because it’s starting to irritate me and I’m certain you have better things to do.”

  He smiled.

  Completely male, completely assured, that look was pure, calculated trouble. “Actually, I’m just killing time and trying to keep you in one place before I go off duty here in about ten minutes.” He tapped his ear and the tiny earpiece he wore. A communications device, she knew. “Besides, Control seems to think you must be guilty of some heinous act or two. I believe I might have even heard a few accusations such as breaking hearts and stealing kisses?”

  Gypsy smiled with real amusement, laughter threatening to fill her voice as she stared back at him. “Does that line work for you often?” she laughed. “I would have thought a man of your experience could do much better.”

  He chuckled at her response. “Very good, Gypsy, very good. But give me a little credit. You blew my mind on that dance floor. I’m still recovering. Give me a minute and I promise you I will astound you with the many ways I can stake a proprietary claim without ever touching you once.”

  Her brow arched. “You would need a mind first.” She wrinkled her nose mockingly. “I think I’ll take my proprietary claim and head home. Now that you’ve found me, maybe you can rest too for a minute.” Setting the remainder of her beer and several bills for payment on the bar, she gave him a little wave. “And I’ll see if I can’t remember to find a bar with a few less complications, not to mention a few less Breeds the next time I go out.”

  Proprietary claim?

  Gypsy could feel a shudder racing through her at the very thought of Rule claiming her. That was a move her life simply couldn’t accommodate, no matter how tempting it sounded.

  She’d already had no less than a dozen calls since returning home that night. The calls had come from friends, family and even acquaintances, informing her that the Breed Commander Rule Breaker was questioning where she’d disappeared to.

As if it were any of their business.

  She made a mental note to talk to Cullen and see what he could do to get the Breeds off her ass. After all, she had been doing a job for him while she was gone. She was certain he wouldn’t want the Breeds aware of just what kind of job she was doing for him either.

  Not that he’d seemed inclined to want to help her earlier. Once he cooled off, though, he might be in a more helpful frame of mind.

  Leaving the loud, smoky confines of the bar for the clear, crisp Arizona night, Gypsy drew in a lungful of clean desert air.

  She was growing tired of the bars and the often lecherous, always drunken attention she gained there. More and more often she put off her arrival at the various clubs and bars until late into the night.

  Pulling her hair back and retrieving an elastic band from the snug pocket of her leather vest, Gypsy confined her hair to keep it out of her face. With the Jeep’s top down, the long strands could become too tangled to comb before going to bed if she wasn’t careful.

  “Hey there, Gypsy Rum.” Mutt, a Coyote Breed rarely known to smile when others were around, strangely enough often smiled at her.

  He was cute as shit too.

  For a Coyote Breed.

  There were few of that species that Gypsy could tolerate being around, but Mutt was one of them. With his shy, hesitant smile so at odds with his kickass confidence and dry wit, he had a way of making her laugh even when she didn’t want to.

  He came into her parents’ sweets and gift store often, along with two others, to buy the hard candies her sister, Kandy, made to sell.

  He was especially fond of the butterscotch, she remembered, while Loki, one of his partners, enjoyed the cinnamon and Commander Breaker always went for the chocolate and peppermint.

  “Hey, Mutt.” Pausing, Gypsy smiled back at the Breed moving quickly from the pickup he’d slid from as she left the bar. “What’s up?”

  “You’re leaving early.” Tilting his head, he posed the question in a statement as the late evening wind ruffled his overly long dark blond hair. “You’re usually still here after I leave.”

  “Things to do.” Gypsy retrieved the ring holding her key fob from the pocket of her vest and casually activated the small Desert Sport II, a redesign of the ages-old Jeep that had always done so well in the deserts.

  The motor rumbled with a powerful growl that reminded her far too much of the sound that had vibrated from Rule Breaker as she walked away from him. The Jeep’s top retracted with smooth efficiency, tucking beneath the backseat and floorboard neatly in a matter of seconds as Mutt watched with raised brows.

  “Man, I do love your ride, girl,” Mutt murmured, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and standing rather uncomfortably in front of her, his head slightly tilted as he watched her. “One of these days, I swear I’m gonna own one.”

  “One of these days?” she grinned. “I hear Breeds make a hell of a lot of money, Mutt. Go buy one.”

  His lips quirked wryly. “There’s no way to make them secure without taking out the retracting hard top and completely changing the interior to make them resistant to laser and ammo fire. If I did that, it just wouldn’t be the same. And if I didn’t do it, then all I could do is watch it sit in a garage somewhere.”

  Her amusement dimmed in the face of his obvious disappointment.

  His gray eyes flicked to the vehicle again, his jaw bunching as Gypsy narrowed her gaze at the small, almost hidden tip of the wand attached to his comm set curving toward his cheek.

  He was attempting to delay her and wasn’t exactly certain how to do so without rousing her well-known suspicious nature, it seemed.

  Too late. Consider it roused.

  Turning without so much as a good-bye, Gypsy strode across the wide paved road that separated the parking sections. She was in the process of gripping the door to slide into the driver’s seat when her waist was shackled from behind and she was pulled back into a hard, muscular chest.


  Heated warmth surrounded her, reminding her how chilled she often felt, how lonely she always was. And how very dangerous this man could be to her precarious senses.

  “Now see, I was trying real hard to play nice.” Laughter shadowed the deep drawl of his voice. “Rejection depresses me, you know. Makes me do dumb things just to get attention.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s so lame, Breaker.”

  He chuckled behind her. “It could be so true.”

  “Doubt it. But what I don’t doubt? Someone really needs to teach you how not to manhandle private property,” she informed him, trying really hard to be angry. Unfortunately, arousal was converging on her like alternate forces of nature intent on destroying her resistance to him.

  “So who has ownership?” he asked, his breath against her ear and sending a pulse of energy straight to the sensitive flesh between her thighs. “I’ll take it up with him and ensure that those rights are transferred immediately.”

  She just bet he would too, then ride right back out of town the second his boss crooked his little finger.

  She didn’t think so.

  “I’m going to file a complaint with the Bureau of Breed Affairs if you don’t take your damned hands off me,” she warned him, thrown off guard by his complete dominance and the shocking weakness attempting to spread through her system. Talk about conflicting responses. “Is that what you really want?”

  She felt his lips brush her ear, a heated breath sending a surge of response racing through her. He felt too good. Too warm. And far too much trouble.

  “All complaints are routed to me first.” Amusement laced his voice, but there was nothing amusing about the iron-hard length of his shaft pressing against her lower back. “Shall I tell you just how quickly I’d delete that particular e-mail?” He inhaled her scent slowly. “How long do you think you’d delay sending it? Long enough to bring yourself to climax while imagining me between your thighs, filling you, driving you to release?”

  Heat flushed her body, raced through her system and left Gypsy fighting for a semblance of common sense. Because he was right. So right. The second she slipped into her bed she would be reaching for one of the intimate toys she kept on hand to take care of the ache growing out of control and flooding her body.

  Good Lord, Breeds and their effect on women should be outlawed.

  “No one could accuse you of being humble,” she snorted, pulling away from him even as she acknowledged that he was letting her pull away from him. “Or polite.”

  He wasn’t releasing her because she was forcing him to, or because he had any constraints against making her retain that place in his arms. He was releasing her only because it was what he wanted to do.

  She turned to him slowly.
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