Free Rule Breaker: A Novel of the Breeds by Lora Leigh Page A

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.
    Again.
    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