The dress still lay in silken disarray on the floor, the torn thong several feet from it. Jacob’s jeans were thrown over the coffee table, his ripped shirt was half under the couch. Everything was there but Faith. And that damned phone was driving him crazy.

He stumbled to the tall walnut cabinet, jerked open the door and pulled it off the hook with a violent motion.

“Hello?” he barked, his eyes moving around the room, wondering if Faith had gone to bed without waking him. Surely, she would have wakened him to join her.

The muted sounds of raucous laughter filtered through the receiver.

“Jake, its Hawke,” the weary, wary voice identified itself.

Jacob shook his head. Hawke was supposed to be miles into the jungle, not at a damned bar.

“Why the hell are you calling? And why are you bar hopping? You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near a town.” Irritation flared inside him.

“And I was heading out, I really was,” Hawke assured him easily. “We had to wait on some supplies and extra ammo, and we were heading out of town when I just saw the most amazing sight.”

Jacob’s stomach dropped. His trouble barometer peaked.

“Such as?” Jacob asked carefully.

“Well, this pretty little auburn-haired spitfire rode up to the bar on a beauty of a black cycle, just like yours. Dressed to kill and happy as she could be, she walked right in as though she owned the place.

“What?” Fury pulsed, raged. She had sneaked out on him, damn her to hell. He was paddling her ass for sure.

“Right now, she’s parked in front of a pot of Columbia’s best, and a pitcher of the finest brew she could sweet talk the bartender out of. And ole son, let me tell you, a fine piece of ass dressed as soft and silky as she is tonight, can talk a man out of some prized brew. She has the best in the house, on the house, and a table surrounded by many male admirers.”

Jacob didn’t wait around to hear more. The phone was jammed back on its base. He jerked his jeans on, then ran upstairs and pulled a fresh shirt from the closet, pulling it on hastily. He pushed his feet into leather sneakers without socks and he rushed from the house. The garage was open and the motorcycle was gone. He groaned. Hell, it would be gone for sure by the time he got there. No way would that baby escape the thieves that regularly hung around that particular place. Saldora was a hot bed for the worse dregs that any society could offer.

He dug the SUV keys out of his pocket and within seconds was roaring out of the driveway as the gates slowly swung closed behind him. He pushed the vehicle as fast as he dared down the dangerous track, cursing Faith every bone jarring, back breaking bumpy inch of it. He cursed her loudly, violently. Damn her stubborn ass. Did she think this was a game?

More hormones than common sense, the words jumped through his mind. He would give her some common sense right fast, in the form of his hand applied to her well-rounded ass. Better yet, his cock, tunneling into it hard and fast until she screamed the knowledge of his dominance. He would be damned if he would let her get away with this.

What the hell had happened? He had spent hours fucking her into exhaustion. Hell, she had nearly passed out on him again when he finally locked inside her that second time, his body shuddering violently with his release. Where had she found the energy to sneak out like that?

Pack leader or not, Wolfe had a hell of a lot to explain next time Jacob saw him. Like why he neglected to inform him that the once placid, almost timid Faith had turned into a damned hellcat. The transformation was destroying him and his self-control.

He roared into the no parking area in front of the bar, jerked the keys from the ignition and jumped out. Rage bubbled through his veins like an effervescent explosion of mini nuclear bombs. His heart raced with it, his muscles were tight, violence surging through him.

Jacob stopped just within the door and snarled. The sound was so primal, so lethal that the patrons close enough to hear beat a hasty retreat out the swinging doors he had entered. And there was his Faith. Dressed to kill in a pair of snug silk knee pants and a sleeveless yellow blouse. And she was wearing sandals. Sandals that showed her delicate feet, her pretty, perfect little toes with their rounded nails that were painted a hot, fire engine red. When the hell did she start painting her toenails? Dammit, this was not the Faith he remembered.

But then again, the Faith he remembered had never seen high heels, nail polish or silk. Still, some things should stay constant. Faith’s adoration, and her soft shyness were two of the things he had thought would never change.

Hawke and Danson were standing against the wall behind her, watching stoically as men crowded close, their eager eyes watching in amazement as she drank alternately from a cup of steaming coffee, and what appeared to be a chilled pitcher of beer. Dammit, Ramirez, the bartender never served chilled beer. He shot the bartender a dark, furious look, satisfaction flaring inside him as the other man paled slightly.

He would take this up with him at a time when there was no danger of ripping his throat out. Right now, Jacob knew if he confronted the man, he would kill him.

The only thing saving the lives of the bastards milling around Faith’s table was that she ignored them. She was sitting back lazily in her chair, her legs crossed at the ankles as she tipped back a mug and finished off the last of the dark, potent brew that filled it. She breathed in deep, fighting the grimace that wanted to cross her face.

“About time you got here,” Hawke bit out as he walked over to Jacob. “She’s put away a pot of that damned coffee and almost a full pitcher of beer. What the hell did you do, cut her off?”

Jacob shot him a brooding look.

Hawke sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose then groaned roughly. “Man, do you even imagine the hell I went through when Wolfe ordered me to lose her damned vibrator? You don’t cut Faith off of her necessities, man. She has her needs. I survived the vibrator, barely. I still have the scars in payment for losing the damned backpack. You just can’t do this shit.”

“She’s in heat,” he bit off. “The effects are too hard on her.”

“Well, tell me something that even those ignorant full-humans over there can’t figure out?” he said mockingly. “They’ve been sniffing around her like hounds after a bone. Get her the hell out of here. I’ll bring out the stuff she needs in the morning before I leave with Danson. That is if we can get her out of here without a damned fight. Give her the coffee, just make sure and sneak in a decaf blend. The alcohol doesn’t seem to hit her as hard as the caffeine does.”

Jacob growled. He was looking forward to the fight. He was praying one of those prancing, eager morons got brave enough to give him what he needed. He moved away from Hawke, and strode quickly, furiously to her table as she finished the last glass of beer.

Perspiration glistened on her face and dampened the shirt she was wearing. Her breathing was fast, her eyes glittering in her pale features. She was so aroused he could practically see the white hot heat rising from her body, steaming around her.

“Are you insane?” he asked her, his voice low enough, pulsing with enough anger that the males around her beat a hasty retreat. “Didn’t you hear a damned word I told you earlier?”

“I heard every word you said. Evidently though, you didn’t hear me.” She shrugged as though her condition were nothing unusual.

Jacob could see the blood rushing through the vein at her neck, pouring the caffeine through a system already overloaded with adrenaline and lust.

“You’re making yourself sick,” he bit out. “Why would you want to do that, Faith? Are you so damned stubborn now you don’t care if you’re killing yourself?”

Surprised laughter came from her throat as she shook her head at him. “I’m not sick, Jacob, nor am I about to be. You’re overreacting to the fact that I refuse to obey you. I told you earlier, you do not own me, despite your opinion to the contrary.”

She rose to her feet, and he was the one surprised to see that she did so gracefully, without stumbling. “I’ve arranged for my deliveries in the morning. As I figured, adult toy stores are scarce as hen’s teeth here, but I figured, as long as you’re willing, what the hell, you can take the place of my BOBs. Are we ready to go now?”

The calm innocence in her expression had his fists clenching to keep from strangling her or kissing her into silence. If he touched her, he was afraid he would end up giving the bar a show they would never forget.

“My motorcycle?” he gritted out, furious.

She waved her hand towards the bartender.

“Oh. Ramirez locked it up in his garage. Hawke or Danson can bring it back to you in the morning. They have the keys.” She shrugged as though she hadn’t just handed his prized machine over to the biggest thief in the territory.

“Hawke,” he gritted out.

“Yeah, Jake,” Hawke’s voice was wary.

“Get my fucking cycle. Now!”

“Uh, sure, Jake.” Hawke’s voice was carefully controlled, but Jacob heard the underlying laughter in it.

“Let’s go.” He gripped Faith’s arm, careful to keep an eye on her. He wouldn’t put it past her to bite him again.

Docile, her small smile more worrisome than comforting, she followed him out to the SUV. He opened the door for her, watching with a slow burning anger as she jumped pertly into the seat. His hands were clenched into fists as he stared down at her.

“Are you ready to pay for your pleasure now, Faith?” he asked her, fighting for control.

She looked up at him, her gaze slumberous, sexy.

“Jacob, I always pay, one way or the other, for my pleasures. I learned that lesson the last night in the Labs.”

The husky, sensual tone of her voice, the cynical cut of her words was a double-edged sword spearing into his loins. His cock throbbed, reminding him of the near to bursting erection contained in his pants. How the hell could he get hard again, this fast? His cock would soon be raw if he didn’t do something to contain Faith and her damned impulses.

He leaned forward, noticing that she did nothing to shrink away from him. Her eyes narrowed, and damn her to hell, she licked her lips with a slow, wet swipe of her tongue that had him nearly coming in his pants.

His lips covered hers, hard, savage, his teeth nipping at them when she didn’t open immediately to the hard thrust of his tongue. When they parted, he surged forward, his hands going to her shoulders, pulling her closer as he growled into the kiss.

Hesitantly, her tongue stroked his, washing over the fevered glands that pulsed at the side of his tongue. She knew what he wanted. Knew what it would do to her. His hand tangled in the short strands of her hair, pulling her head back as a whimpering moan issued from her throat.

“You know what I want,” he bit out, nipping at her lips again. “Do it, Faith.”

“Not yet, Jacob.” There was a plea in her voice, and a hunger that fed his own.

“Now,” he ordered against her lips, his voice hard, unrelenting. “Now, Faith, or I won’t be responsible for what happens right here, in front of this damned bar. Now do it.”

His tongue plunged into her mouth again as a moan ripped from his throat. His tongue throbbed almost as hard as his cock, the glands at the side aching with the need to release their potent intoxicant into her system.

Her tongue stroked over his, igniting a lust that would have blinded him had his eyes been opened. Then her lips tightened, her tongue stroked again, and then she began a gentle sucking sensation that had his entire body tightening, raging with such unbearable need and pleasure that sustaining control became a gamble as each second went by.

He felt the pulse of the glands, the emission of the hormone that would send her body into such heat, such lust, that he knew she could never deny him. She moaned into his mouth, her hands moving from his arms to his head, spearing into the thick strands of hair as she fought to bring him closer, to draw more of his taste, his essence into her.