ears—that brushed their shoulders. But their eyes…Mac’s were a hard green, startling in intensity, and Martin’s were a cottony pale brown, shining with the kind of gentleness she could get lost in.
Jerome leaned in and placed a plate, a sugary cinnamon roll perched atop, in front of her. She glanced up and smiled at him. The smell, so delicious, captured her senses as she stared at the cinnamon stickiness and licked her lips.
“Miss Milton, the last introduction is of my eldest son and heir.” The father’s tone sounded as if it scolded.
“Ma’am, I am Lord Orin Arctos.” He stood formally at the side of the table, bowed to her, and then sat. Never once did he truly look at her.
Martin pushed from the wall, capturing her attention. With a small cup in his hand, he pulled the chair opposite her from the table and sat. Her gaze fixed on that cup. The same cup she held in her hand was dwarfed by his grasp. Hmph. Small cup indeed.
What kind of men were these? She had never seen such big, burly men. She glanced up, and Martin’s gaze briefly touched hers. Lightning shot down her spine. Wh—what was that? Her teacup shuttered in her clutch.
“Orin is a bit formal, but nothing to fear,” Devon whispered, mistaking the reason for her shaking hand.
“Oh, surely.” She couldn’t tear her gaze from Martin across the table; his brows stooped over his eyes as he assessed her, and her heart beat so hard in her chest she swore she visibly pulsed to the beat. What was wrong with her?
Her body had gone mad since yesterday. Each man’s gaze created startling effects on her. Though the act of giving her innocence had been painful at best, her body now craved scandalous and wanton things. She shook herself. Maybe she had a fever, though she felt fine. Her fingers briefly brushed her cool forehead.
“Are you well, Miss Milton?” Mac’s long, thick fingers pressed her forearm.
Martin stood up with alarming haste, his chair clattering to the floor. Everyone jumped; their gazes snapped to him.
“Sit now, boar, and behave,” the father said from the head of the table as he studied his knife in indifference.
My stars! Was this kind of behavior common among these men? The air grew thick with tension, and Martin’s cheek twitched as his gaze fixed on Mac’s hands, which were still settled on her arm.
“Pardon, Father.” Martin inclined his head. “I—I need to leave.”
“Very well. Say your farewell.” Lord Tremarctos’s cool blue gaze slid over Martin and then shot to Jane and narrowed, only to settle on Mac.
Mac leaned back in his chair, and the corner of his lips crooked up. Good Lord! She had no experience with brothers. Maybe all male siblings regarded one another this way?
“Good day, miss.” Martin bowed his head swiftly and headed for the door. What a strange and odd occurrence! Such hostility did not welcome her. She didn’t feel safe at all. The time had arrived to leave.
“Your lordship, I—I am sorry to disrupt you…”
When the boars had all followed their father into the dining hall for the morning repast, Martin could just barely contain his rage as Mac had sat next to Jane at the table. Martin had schooled his features as her virgin blood heated in his veins. Last night had changed him.
Her openness about her feelings and the caring emotions that poured from her for the man in town shook him. She would make a good mother and excellent mate if he could only get her to accept him. He had wanted so much more from her last night, but he had barely escaped and bolted the door before Mac came raging up the hall, howling at her scent.
They always fought about women, and with the Ursus’s healthy sexual appetite, squabbles happened frequently. Martin accepted the challenges, the wrestling. In most cases, he enjoyed the pleasure of the adrenaline of the fight…but Jane was not any woman to fight over. She was a possible mate for him, not a mere sexual release, and it remained unseen if Mac wanted more from her, too.
He had leaned against the wall in the dining hall and sipped his thick black coffee as he surveyed the situation. Her beautiful lower lip caught between her teeth. Her blond hair, down, pulled back from her slightly tanned skin, held him. She was utterly intoxicating.
What a sight they all made! Five men the size of oxen, sitting in substantial chairs dwarfed by their physical size. He’d wanted to show himself to her last night, but just couldn’t bring himself to. His sure size would have sent her screaming in the night. So he’d used his mind to block her from seeing him.
As it was, she would notice his scent if he ventured too close. Damnit! No matter how he wanted to, he couldn’t reveal his intentions in front of his brothers. She would surely leave if the claws came out, and he wanted nothing more than for her to stay…for a lifetime.
What did she think of him? Her gaze had scrutinized him as Mac introduced him. He had wanted to slip into her mind as he had last night, but his family would know the instant he did, and he couldn’t hint at his desire. Not yet.
Repressing his intentions went against every lesson his father had instilled in him. Eventually his instincts would take him, and his family would know. But, for now, he needed knowledge, so he had sat back and watched…waited to see if one of his brothers desired more than mere sexual conquest.
Jerome had then leaned in and placed a cinnamon roll in front of her, and Martin smiled. She craved him. Devon caught his grin and winked. Yes, Martin did have a chance with her. Yet Devon had no idea Martin had already tasted her.
Orin finally sat, brooding in his usual silent way.
Martin had pushed from the wall and seated himself opposite Jane. Her gaze touched his, and the hairs on his neck lifted. She would be his…had to be. His instinct never raged this strong for a possible mate. He fucked several but never wished to start the mating ritual of Orsse. Jane…. Making her his was the one thought pulsing through his brain.
Mac had leaned toward her; his hand had risen bit by bit, heading in the direction of Jane’s arm. Martin’s blood had pounded through him; teeth clenched, his muscles had strained as he tried to control the will to defend her.
He would not permit his brother to touch her. She belonged to him. Damnit! He had tasted her. She infused each breath he took. Mac’s hand landed on her forearm, and Martin’s muscles had sprung him to action. His chair had clattered to the floor in alarming speed. He had barely suppressed a raging hiss as his vision hazed.
“Sit now, boar, and behave,” his father had said from the head of the table as he feigned studying his knife.
Martin couldn’t keep his rage controlled. Every thread that he held taut quaked. “Pardon, Father.” His voice deepened and wavered in rage. “I–I need to leave.”
“Very well. Say your farewell.” Gain your control, Martin, and say your farewell with grace.
Of course, his father would test him.
His father’s cool blue gaze had slid over Martin and assessed the situation in one glance. Then his father’s eyes had shot to Jane and narrowed. What problems this caused! If either Martin or Mac were not sent from this house, another disaster like the one his father had initiated with Uncle Oscar would come full circle.
Mac had then leaned back, the corner of his lips inching up, mocking him. Damn him! Martin had wanted to jump over the table and tackle him to the floor. If he touched her again in any form, he would kill him. His fists clenched as the bone of his knuckles rose; his claws unsheathed. Damn him!
“Good day, miss.” Martin had bowed his head, swiftly absorbing her beautiful pouting lips and deep honey-colored hair. His blood pounded through his ears. He tried to control this overwhelming desire for her and smashed his teeth together, snagging his tongue in the process. The salty taste of the virgin’s blood that he had forced to flow anew last night flooded his mouth, and his semistiff erection hardened to full.
He