Without Regret (Pyte/Sentinel #2)(19)

Even his mate.

“…so as you can see this has all been a terrible misunderstanding,” his mate said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

She stood up almost hesitantly. “I’ll just be going now,”

she said, stepping to the side, making sure to keep plenty of distance between the two of them. When he sighed and stood up she held up her good hand, gesturing for him to take a seat.

“You don’t have to get up. I’m sure I can find my out,”

she said brightly, never slowing in her little escape attempt. She kept her eyes firmly on him as she backed up towards the door. “Well, have a nice life,” she said, reaching out blindly for the door.

He watched as she fumbled with the doorknob, finally managed to open the door and turned to flee only to slam into Ephraim and stumble back, falling on her very adorable ass.

Chapter 6

“I’m sorry,” the man who by all rights should be on the cover of a GQ magazine said, reaching down to offer her a hand. “Let me help you up.”

Isabella scooted back as she prepared herself for the wave of lust that should be hitting her any second now thanks to the drugs. When she didn’t feel anything even remotely like attraction for the man she frowned, wondering, heck hoping, that the drugs had worn off.

She was just about to push back again when strong arms wrapped around her and picked her up. Much to her shame she let out a startled little squeak that had the GQ model’s lips twitching.

“Let’s go, Munchkin,” the big jerk said even as her body registered his touch and she practically moaned in pleasure.

What in the hell was wrong with her?

Those drugs should have her drooling after every man she ran into, but so far she’d only felt an all consuming need to tear this jerk’s clothes off. Maybe they used hypnosis, she thought as she was carried back over to the couch.

“Hey!” she gasped when she felt him nuzzle her neck.

“Put me down!”

“Sure thing,” he said, dropping her on the couch. She bounced twice before she managed to sit up and move to the end of the couch, away from the man that was causing her hormones to go crazy.

“I lured the women into the kitchen with about ten tons of chocolate so we should have a half hour before they tear down the door, demanding to meet your mate,” the GQ model said, making her frown so hard she was afraid her face was going to break.

“Thanks, Dad,” Chris said, taking a seat across from her.

Seriously, what was it with these people and referring to her as this man’s—wait a minute, what was this now?

Did he just call GQ guy “Dad”? Isabella took in his short black hair, incredible blue eyes, chiseled good looks and a body to kill for and had to wonder what kind of game this cult was playing. GQ couldn’t be older than thirty.

There was no way he was this man’s father. Then again their relationship might be similar to one they all seemed to think she had with Chris.

Maybe they just went around claiming people?

GQ nodded in acknowledgement to her. “My name is Ephraim. It’s nice to meet you Isabella.”

When she said nothing Chris muttered something and lazily gestured towards Ephraim. “This is my father.”

“Sure, okay,” she said, deciding to go along with it for a moment. There was no need to debate the whole thing when she needed to use her energy to figure out how she was going to get her hands on a computer or maybe a cell phone, she thought as her eyes drifted down to the silver cell phone attached to Ephraim’s belt.

She licked her lips as she shifted in her seat, trying not jar her hand too much as a plan formed, a simple one, but one she hoped they went for.

“Is there any chance I could make a call?” she asked, forcing her eyes to stay on Ephraim so that she could think clearly since it was more than obvious to her that her brain had a tendency of playing hide and seek when she looked at Chris.

“No,” Chris said firmly.

“But I need to make a call,” she bit out, not liking being controlled one bit. It was one of the reasons she did so poorly with a nine to five job, that and she had a tendency of oversleeping and not caring.

“No, you don’t,” the infuriating man said calmly, drawing her attention against her better judgment.

“What you need to do is answer our questions and then listen to what we need to tell to you.”

“No,” she said, stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest and biting back a wince when her broken fingers brushed against her arm.

“No, what?” he asked, while the other man leaned back in his chair, looking bored.

“No, I’m not going to answer your questions and I don’t care about whatever it is you think you need to tell me.

All I care about is going home.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he simply stated, pissing her right the heck off. Who the hell did he think he was?

Isabella took a deep calming breath and then another one when she didn’t feel any calmer before she spoke.

“Look,” she said evenly, making sure to glare at both men, “I’m not going to give you my program. I don’t care what you say or how long you hold me against my will so you might as well just cut your losses and let me go. I promise that if you let me go right now I won’t go to the police.”