by Michele Hauf
Her indrawn breath was so harsh it sounded like a growl. He had to grip his hands hard at his sides to stop himself from shoving her up against the wall right there and then before hauling up the hem of that too-sexy dress.
“I think this is our cue to leave.” Torque jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.
“Really?” Dev looked from Sarange’s furious expression to Khan’s watchful one. “Looks like this could get interesting.”
“No need to go, guys.” Khan tossed the words over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with Sarange. “Our visitor isn’t staying.”
He saw Torque wince at his dismissive tone. That distaste was the effect Khan wanted to have on Sarange. He needed to drive her away. Right away. Make her view him with hatred and contempt. If he couldn’t make this aching, burning longing go away, he could at least make sure nothing ever came of it.
Although she was looking at him with scorn, Sarange wasn’t going anywhere. She had come here with a purpose, and with classic wolf tenacity, she was going to see it through. His bandmates had clearly recognized her intention and, following Torque’s lead, were heading for the door. Khan couldn’t even call them on it. Couldn’t question their loyalty. Over the years, his relationship with them had become the closest thing he had to friendship. But he was a tiger. A big cat loner. Powerful, sensual, selfish and controlling. His need to dominate the group was far greater than his human need to be liked.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Sarange was back on the attack. Like a beautiful wolf gnawing on a bone. “I was warned about you. Narcissist. Playboy. Jerk. That’s what I was told. I don’t know why I thought you’d be different.”
“Nor do I.”
A strangled sound of fury issued from her throat. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
He laughed. “This is nothing. I can get a lot worse.”
She drew a breath. “You made a commitment to this concert. You were the headline act. When you walked out on the finale, you gave a message to the audience that it didn’t matter—”
He flapped a hand at her. “I get it. Let it go, wolf girl.”
Her brow furrowed. “Wolf girl? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Khan stared down at her, incredulity jolting him out of his attempted nonchalance. She appeared genuinely confused. What the hell reason could she have to pretend not to be a werewolf? Was it possible Sarange didn’t know she was a shifter? He’d never heard of that happening before, couldn’t believe it was conceivable. Yet she was looking at him as though he was crazy.
Maybe that was the explanation. He might just be crazy after all. Had he gotten this all wrong? Could it be that she wasn’t a werewolf? He dismissed that thought instantly. Khan’s shifter instincts were pure and true. Beneath the expensive perfume she wore, the scent of Sarange’s skin made his nostrils flare. She smelled of female wolf. Of lichens and berries, frost and pine. Of dark, sharp evergreens and ice-hard ground. It was an aroma that should have been alien to his inner cat. Instead, it was making his mouth water.
He wanted to taste her so much it hurt. And Sarange felt it, too. It was there in the depths of those unusual light eyes, in the flare of her nostrils, the way her nipples tightened and pressed against the thin cloth of her dress and in the warm, honeyed scent of her arousal. In the way her breathing came hard and fast as she faced him with a mixture of confusion and passion clouding her features.
Sarange moved first, wrapping her arms tight around Khan’s neck and pulling his lips down to hers. She kissed him hard and hungry, claiming his lips as anger and lust powered through them both. Khan was helpless. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his need for her was too strong. His large hands seized her toned buttocks through the cloth of her dress, squeezing hard as he pulled her tight against him.
It was more conflict than kiss as Sarange squirmed desperately in his hold, her hands clawing at his shoulders. Their mouths clashed, tongues fighting, caressing, battling for supremacy. Khan was instantly rock hard, harder than he’d ever been. As he pressed his erection into the soft curve of her belly, Sarange moaned and broke free.
A dozen conflicting thoughts chased around in Khan’s head as, breathing hard, they glared at each other.
Tigers and wolves...cats and dogs. How can she not know?
Make her leave.
Beg her to stay.
Kiss her again. This time make it last forever.
Just as he lifted a hand to slide it behind her head and draw her back to him, Sarange stalked out of the room.
Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Anders
ISBN-13: 9781488094088
An American Witch in Paris
Copyright © 2018 by Michele Hauf
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