“Oh, shit,” Brody muttered, grabbing hold of Sloane’s arm to hold him in place.
“I’ll go and get us some drinks,” the man said. “Dry white wine for you?”
His mate nodded. “Thanks, Jack.”
Sloane watched the man go, glaring at his back until he was through the door to the bar. There was no more time to waste. Sloane walked forward, then took a seat at the table opposite his mate. He reached forward then held out his hand. She didn’t take it.
“Hello,” he greeted her with his brightest smile. “My name is Miles Sloane. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He made a grab for his mate’s hand, planning to lift it to his mouth and kiss the back of it, but she snatched it out of reach before he could take it.
“Do you make it a habit of approaching women you don’t know the second their dates’ backs are turned?” she asked, glaring at him.
Sloane winced.
Oops. That could have gone better.
“No, of course not,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, her expression filled with disbelief. “Oh, right, of course, and I suppose the next words out of your mouth are going to be, ‘But you’re special.’”
Actually, that had been exactly what he’d been about to say. He heaved a sigh. Why was this so difficult? Meeting your mate was supposed to be the most amazing time in a shifter’s life, but none of this was going the way it was supposed to.
“I just had to come and say hello to you,” Sloane said.
“Oh, you just had to?” She stared at him, her expression stoic. “And why is that?”
Because you’re my mate. Because I’ve never seen a woman more lovely. Because I want to spend my days worshiping you and my nights pleasuring you.
“Because you’re so beautiful,” he said lamely.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, this is Miami. There are a lot of beautiful women here. Go and find a different one.”
Ouch.
Somewhere behind him, Sloane heard his brother spluttering a laugh.
He sighed.
“You have to leave now,” she said. “Jack is on his way back.”
Sloane shook his head. He couldn’t leave. The odds of running into his mate even once were infinitesimal. Meeting her a second time would be virtually impossible. He started to panic. A glance into the bar told him that Jack had almost made it to the door. Sloane got to his feet.
No. He wasn’t going to leave things with his mate like this. He couldn’t. He had to make her understand—had to make her see what they were to one another. Without pause for thought, he reached down, grabbed hold of her and pulled her to her feet. Then, before she could react, even to praise his strength and dominance, as he was sure she must want to, he swept her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder. As an afterthought, he grabbed her purse off the table then spun around.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” she shouted. “Put me down this instant!”
Sloane didn’t put her down. He’d committed to his plan now and he had to see it through. He jogged away from the table, and past his brother.
“Oh, shit,” Brody groaned.
Sloane ran back around the building, easily able to maintain the speed despite the weight of a person on his shoulder—that had to impress her, right?—and headed for his jeep in the parking lot.
“Hey!” a man shouted after them. “Stop!”
It had to be Jack. Sloane had just made it to his jeep and reached into his pocket for the key to bleep open the locks when he saw the man coming around the corner of the building. He got in the driver’s side, practically throwing his mate down on the passenger seat, and then threw her purse down near his feet, started the engine, and peeled away out of the lot before she had a chance to open her door.
“Take me back, right this second!” she shouted.
