Excerpt from BOND WITH ME

Bond with MeBrends really liked that long-legged stride, but Mischka Baran wasn’t walking away from him. He slid from out behind the table and caught up to her in three swift strides. He grabbed her wrist, swung her around and braced her against the wall

“Don’t run. Ever,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He could feel the beast rising inside him, the thirst he’d denied demanding that he feed. On her. She’d taste so damned good.

She eyed him and he swore his cock leapt in response to her defiance. “I’ll do what I damn well please. Now let me go.”

“Dushka,” he warned, because warning her seemed only sporting, “your running brings out the beast in me. You run, and I’ll chase. It’s my nature.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“You can’t deny you would enjoy it.” He lowered his head, pressing against her, and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I can smell your arousal even now. If you want me deep and hard inside that hot, wet pussy of yours, go ahead—run from me.”

He could feel the warmth of her skin through that damn silky dress she was wearing. When she moved, pale skin teased him, peeking out from the too-tame neckline that covered her from throat to hem. Not a hint of a suntan—his Mischka was a gal who covered up. Who hid.

But she wouldn’t be hiding from him.

Would she let him kiss her? Or would she pull back, retreat into that perfect shell she’d built around herself?

“Mr. Duranov . . .” she said, and he heard the beginnings of a protest, of worry, in her voice. Maybe she didn’t like the public venue, maybe she worried about discovery, but he was making discoveries of his own. When she shifted nervously, he followed her, keeping her pinned. The damn dress shifted again, revealing the pale perfection of her throat.

Blood. Probably from the dead female, the scent was faint but unmistakable, a copper bite he was all too familiar with. He was no vampyr, but he was a predator. The scents and smells of a battlefield were an aphrodisiac for his kind.

“Brends,” he said, because he had plans of his own for her and they involved getting on a first-name basis. His face must have warned her, because she went still like an animal, cornered, and then clearly came to a decision of her own. Her face lifted toward his, asking.

His.