“Basta!” Kagan
grabbed her by the arm and twisted slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to
let her know he meant business as he directed her to a corner booth. He ignored
the half-full beverages and coats scattered on the seats and shoved Mira into
the confined space. When the booth’s original owners took issue with his
hostile takeover, Kagan dispatched them with a lethal glare. He wasn’t sure
where the girl had gotten the idea his mind was damaged, but he was damn sure
he didn’t like it. He moved in behind her to block her escape.
“Oh, hell, no!” After several unsuccessful strikes to his
muscled physique, Mira tried to slide out beneath the table. The angle proved
too awkward. Defeated, she shoved as far away as she could into the corner and
propped those killer boots on the seat in front of her in warning. “You better
let me out of here, asshole, before I call the cops! I caught you stalking me,
pervert!”
Kagan took a deep breath. He never lost his cool in battle, and
he wasn’t about to start now. “Pervert? You’re of age, si?”
Mira glared. Kagan ticked through their earlier
interactions, searching for a reason behind her intense hostility. His
preternatural instincts sensed her intention before her hand reached his
carotid. He blocked her quickly, locking her small hand within his and forcing
it to the table beneath his own. Her pulse raced against his palm. He took
another swig of beer then flashed his most endearing grin. “Let’s start over.”
He released his bottle and extended his hand. “I’m Kagan.”
She refused to acquiesce. Kagan spoke in quiet tones meant
to calm, to reassure. “I know I’m a stranger, but we have things to discuss.”
He glanced around the crowded club, at the bodies packed tight. “We can’t do it
here, though—no privacy. My apartment is close. Why don’t we go there and
talk?”
Mira kicked him hard in the thigh.
“Merda!” Kagan grabbed his throbbing leg. “What’s in those
damn boots? Marble?”
“Let me out of here, jackass, before I sideline your baby-maker!”
Mira struggled within the tight confines of the booth. As she squirmed, the
spicy scent of her shampoo wafted, and he was overcome with the strangest urge
to plunge his hands into the riotous mass of her hair, to feel it curl around
his fingers. She tugged on the hand pinned beneath his, and his thumb traced
over her thudding veins. His heart pounding along with hers. The odd tingle
sped through his torso, and his mouth turned to cotton. Her gaze blazed up at
him, a swirling mix of green and golden brown. He noted the dark smudges below
and wondered what kept her from slumber.
Dolce Cristo! Kagan looked away, fought for control. This
was getting way out of hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bedded a
woman, but apparently it had been far too long.
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