The Breed Next Door (3 page)

Uh-huh. She just bet they could.

"Really?" She let go of the chair and leaned against the counter as she watched him with a skeptical look. "How so?"

Oh boy, she just couldn't wait to hear this one. It was going to have to be good. She knew men, and she knew he had obviously been preparing the coming speech carefully.

But she was intrigued. Few men bothered to be straightforward or even partially honest when they wanted something. At least he wasn't pulling out the charm and pretending to be overcome with attraction for her to get what he wanted.

"However you wish," he finally stated firmly. "Tell me what I would have to do to get a loaf of that bread and a cup of coffee."

She stared back at him in shock.

She wasn't used to such straightforward, fully mercenary tactics from anyone. Let alone a man.

She watched him thoughtfully.

He wanted the bread; she wanted a shed. Okay, maybe they could trade. Not what she had expected, but she was willing to roll with the opportunity being presented.

"Can you use a hammer any better than you can a weed-eater?"

She needed that shed.

His lips thinned. He glanced at the bread again with a faint expression of regret.

"I could lie to you and say yes." He tilted his head and offered her a tentative smile. "I'm very tempted to do so."

Great. He couldn't use a hammer, either.

She stared back at the muscular condition of his finely honed body. A man didn't look like that as a result of the gym. It was natural muscle and grace, not the heavy, packed-on appearance guys got from the gym. But if he couldn't cut his own lawn or swing a hammer, how the hell did he manage it?

She shook her head. Obviously nature really, really liked him, because Tarek Jordan was so not an outdoor sort of person.

"Let me guess. You're really good on the computer?" She sighed at the thought. Why did she attract the techies instead of the real men?

"Well, I am actually." He offered her a hopeful smile. "Does yours need work?"

At least he was honest—in some things. She guessed that deserved some compensation, though she fully admitted she was just too nice sometimes.

"Look, promise to keep your machines away from my property line, and I'll give you some coffee and a slice of bread,"

she offered.

"Just a slice?" His expression fell, rather like a child whose favorite treat had been jerked from his hands.

Men.

She looked over at the counter. Hell, she had baked too much anyway.

"Fine. A loaf."

"Of each kind?" Hope sprang in those golden eyes, and for a moment it made her wonder… No, of course he had eaten fresh-baked bread. Hadn't everyone? But there was a curious glimmer of vulnerability there. One she hadn't expected.

She glanced at the counter again. She had four loaves of each kind and plenty of the cinnamon rolls. It wasn't like she didn't have enough.

"Come on in." She turned to get an extra coffee cup when she stopped and stared at him in surprise.

He was taking his boots off? He did it naturally, toeing at the heels until the leather slid from his feet, and then pulling them off to sit them neatly at the door.

His socks were white. A pure, pretty white against the dark maroon of her ceramic tiles as he walked to the table.

He waited expectantly.

What the hell was he? An alien? No man she knew had white socks. And they sure as hell didn't care if they took their shoes off at the door, no matter how grimy or muddy they often were.

Her brothers were the worst.

She poured the coffee and set it in front of him before turning to get the sugar and creamer from the counter. As she turned back, she frowned as she watched him take a long sip of the dark liquid.

Ecstasy transformed his face.

The expression on his face made her thighs clench as her sex spasmed in interest. Which only pissed her off. She was not going to get any more turned on by this man than she already was. She was doing perfectly fine without a man in her life right now. She did not, repeat, did not need the complication.

But if that was how the man looked when he had sex, then her virginity could be in serious danger. Strangely predatory, savage, filled with pleasure, his face carried a primal, intense look of satisfaction and growing hunger.

For a moment, her chest tightened in surprising disappointment. She wanted him to look at her like that, not at her bread.

Just her luck. Someone else to harass her for her bread instead of for her body. Not that she wanted him to harass her for her body, but it would be nice if someone would.

Taking out a bread knife, she sliced into a loaf of the banana nut bread and then into the white bread. The white bread was still warm enough to melt the fresh, creamy butter she spread atop it.

Fine. Maybe she could bribe him into hiring someone to cut and trim his lawn so he would leave hers alone. Stranger things had happened.

The coffee was rich, dark, and exquisite. The bread fairly melted in his mouth. But that wasn't what was keeping his dick painfully engorged as he savored the treats. It was the smell of this woman, hot and sweet and aroused.

That arousal was killing him. It wasn't intense and overwhelming, but curious and warm. Almost tentative. He savored the smell of it more than he savored the bread and coffee he was trying to stay focused on.

"So what do you do on the computer?" She was cleaning the loaf pans she had used to bake the bread, carefully washing and drying them at the sink.

He glanced at the slender line of her back, the taut curves of her rear, and shifted restlessly in his chair. His hard-on was killing him.

He hadn't meant to give her the impression he worked mainly on the computer, but he guessed it was better than telling the truth.

"Mostly investigations and research." He shrugged, telling as much of the truth as possible. He hated the thought of lying to her. Which was strange. He was living a lie, and he knew it.

He had been since his creation. So why should it bother him now?

"Criminal or financial?" She picked up the coffeepot and walked to the table, filling his cup with the last of the heated liquid.

He frowned at the question as he watched the way the soft, midnight silk of her hair fell forward, tempting his fingers. It looked soft, warm. Like everything he had believed a woman should be.

She wasn't hard, trained to kill, or living her own nightmares, as many of the Feline Breed women were. She was feisty and independent but also soft, exquisite.

"More along the lines of missing persons," he finally answered. "A little bit of everything, though."

He nearly choked on that one. He was, quite simply, a bounty hunter and an assassin. His present assignment was the search for one of the escaped Trainers who had murdered countless Feline Breeds while they were held in captivity.

The assignment was starting to take second place to the woman in front of him, though.

Damn that coffee was good, but if she didn't get the scent of that soft, heated warmth simmering in her pussy across the room and away from him, then they were going to have problems.

He could feel the growing sexual need tightening his abdomen and pounding in his brain. He wanted to shake his head, push the scent away from him in an attempt to make sense of it. He had never known a reaction so intense, so immediate to any woman.

From his first glimpse of her outraged expression when he committed the supreme sin of riding his Harley over her lawn, she had captivated him.

She wasn't frightened of him or intimidated by him. She didn't watch him like a piece of meat or an animal that could attack at any moment. She watched him with equal parts frustration, innocence, and hunger.

And if he didn't get the hell away from her, he was going to commit another sin. He was going to show her just how damned bad he did want that curvy little body of hers.

"I guess I should be going." He rose to his feet quickly, finishing off his coffee before taking the cup and his empty saucer to the sink where she was working.

She stared up at him in astonishment as he rinsed them quickly before sitting them in the warm, sudsy water in front of her.

He stared down at her, caught for a moment in the depths of her incredible sapphire eyes. They gleamed. Little pinpoints of brilliant light seemed to fill the dark color, like stars on a blue velvet background. Incredible.

"Thank you." He finally forced the words past his lips. "For the coffee and the bread."

She swallowed tightly. The scent of her wrapped around him—a nervous, uncertain smell of arousal that had his chest filling with a sudden, animalistic growl.

He throttled the sound firmly, clenching his teeth as he backed away from her.

"You're welcome." She cleared her throat after the words came out with a husky, sexy tone of nervousness.

Dammit, he didn't have time for such complications. He had a job to do. One that didn't include a woman he knew would run screaming from him if she had any idea of who and what he was.

She had wrapped the loaves and set them out on the counter by the door for him. He jerked his boots on quickly and picked up the bread, opening the door before turning back to her.

"If you need any help." He shrugged fatalistically. "If there's anything I can do for you…" He let the words trail off.

What could he do for her besides complicate her life and make her regret ever meeting him? There was little.

"Just stay away from my yard with your gadgets." Her eyes flowed with humor. "At least until you learn how to use them."

The woman evidently had no respect for a man's pride. A grin lilted his lips.

"I promise."

He turned and left the house, regretfully, hating it. There was a warmth within the walls of her home that didn't exist within his own, and it left him feeling unaccountably saddened to leave. What was it about her, about her house, that his suddenly seemed so lacking?

He shook his head, pushed his free hand into his jeans pocket, and made his way across her neatly trimmed backyard to his own less-than-pristine lawn. And his less-than-content life.

Chapter Three

A cold winter rain fell, not quite ice, but close enough to chill Tarek's flesh as he stood in the shadows of his porch late that night.

He wasn't certain what had awakened him. But something had. He had come instantly alert, his senses rioting, the tiny, almost imperceptible hairs raising along his body as he slid from the bed and dressed quietly.

Now he stood within the concealing darkness, staring around the backyard, his eyes probing the night as his unique vision aided him in seeing through the moonless night.

In his hand he carried a powerful ultralight submachine pistol. It rested at the side of his leg as his opposite thigh held the weight of the lethal knife tucked securely in the scabbard he had strapped there.

The hairs along the back of his neck prickled, warning him that he wasn't alone in the darkness. His eyes scanned his yard and then turned to Lyra's.

Her upstairs lights were on; every few minutes he could see her pace past her bedroom window. She needed heavier curtains. Something hardened in his chest, became heavy at the thought that whatever stalked the darkness could be a threat to her.

His jaw tightened as he lifted his head, drawing in the scents surrounding him, and quickly, automatically separating them.

Something was out there; he knew it, and he should be able to smell it. It made no sense that the answers he sought weren't on the air around him.

He could smell the scent of Lyra's brothers. They had shown up that evening, carrying bread when they left. Damn their hides. He had considered mugging them for one insane minute.

He could smell the lumber they brought, sitting in her backyard, and the smell of charcoal on the air from the steaks they had grilled for dinner. But there was no scent of an intruder.

He flexed his shoulders, knowing the rain could be distilling the smell, knowing he was going to have to venture into it and hating the thought.

He moved silently from the porch, careful to stay in the shadow of the small trees he had taken the time to have planted before he moved in. Most were firs of some type, evergreens that never lost their concealing foliage. They were spaced at just the right distance to provide the concealment he needed as he made his way along the perimeters of his property.

There.

He stopped at the far corner, lifting his head to breathe in roughly, feeling the rain against his face, the ice forming in the sodden length of his hair. But there was the scent he was searching for, and it was on Lyra's property.

He turned his head, and his eyes narrowed, searching for movement that wasn't there, yet the scent of it was nearly overpowering.

Where are you, bastard? he growled silently as he made his way to the stack of lumber, using it to conceal himself from the back of the house, allowing him a clear view of her back porch as he thumbed the safety off on the powerful weapon he carried.

Icy rain ran in rivulets down his hair, his arms, soaking the flannel shirt and jeans he wore. He pushed the chill and the feel of wet fabric out of his mind. He had trained in worse conditions than this for years.

He breathed in again, sifting through the scents until he could determine where this one was coming from. The wind was blowing in from the west, moving across the house and through the small valley the housing development was situated in.

The scent was definitely at the back of the house. It was too clear, too thick with menace to have been diluted by the shrubbery in the front yard.

The moonless night left the yard nearly pitch-black, but the DNA that made him an abomination also made him capable of seeing much more clearly than the enemy stalking the night with him.

It wasn't a Breed. He could smell a Breed a mile away. But neither was it a harmless threat. He could feel the menace in the air, growing thicker by the moment.

Moving from the concealment of the stack of lumber, he edged his way closer to the house. Even more important than locating the threat was keeping Lyra in the house and safe. She was so damned feisty, if she even thought anyone was in her backyard she would be out there demanding answers and ignoring the danger.