And when I see the way his nostrils flare—-
I realize he knows it, too.
Shit.
I don't waste another second, hoping I'd catch him by surprise as I try to jump off the table and make a run for it.
Try being the operative word, of course.
Because these shifters of Wunderland?
They're just too bloody fast for humans like me, and my feet hasn't even touched the floor when he catches my waist and dumps me back on the table. I try to struggle, of course, but it's not even a half-hearted effort on my part, and he knows this, too.
I want him.
I want him just as much as he wants me.
And the bloody shifter isn't going to let me lie to myself about it.?? Sweet, lovely Alice ??THE MAD HATTER GROWLS the words under his breath as his hands slam down on the glass table. The force of it actually makes the table jump, and my heart makes a similar leap to my throat when I realize I'm effectively trapped between the were-lion's strong arms. I can see his biceps literally bulging, and his sleeves look fit to burst any moment. It's a daunting sight, but more than that...
It's also hot as hell, and I have to bite my lip hard to keep myself from whimpering.
"Why are you thinking of escaping me?"
"You know why." I try looking away as I answer him, but when this makes the were-lion growl, I reluctantly face him again. With him and Rayé, I know instinctively that it's essential to pick my battles, and this one in particular?
Not worth fighting for...
Even if I know the heat of his gaze will soon burn down all of my defenses.
"You only want the Cheshire," he suddenly grits out, "and not me. Is that why?"
My head jerks up, the question upsetting me so much I don't even think of lying. "Of course not—-"
"Then why?" he demands.
"Because I can't afford to get involved," I answer jerkily. "It's bad enough that I...with Rayé...and now you—-"
"What about me?" the were-lion growls.
"Why does it matter anyway?" I hedge desperately. "Don't you have other women—-"
"And did I not say as well," he cuts in impatiently, "that they mean nothing? Why must you make me repeat yourself—-"
"What about March?" I can't help snarling.
"Just say the word," he snarls back, "and I'll cut her out of my life. She means nothing! Nothing!" His hand slams down on the table once more, and this time I realize that if the Mad Hatter in the book is crazy mad, Wunderland's version is just mad mad. His barely leashed temper is a terrifying sight to behold, and while it does make a shiver run down my spine...
So stupid, Addie.
I'm so painfully stupid, to also find his raging temper a bloody turn-on—-
Ah!
He's suddenly cupping my jaw, and even though his grip doesn't hurt, the strength in it is unmistakable. It would be so easy, so tremendously easy for this powerful were-lion to break me into pieces, and the thought makes me feel faint, and when I see his golden eyes blaze, I feel even fainter.
"Tell me you understand it now," he says grimly.
"Understand what?"
"How much you matter," he snaps. "You're everything to us. Everything." His gaze burns brighter, and this time it's so bloody bright I almost feel like I'm staring straight into the sun.
"All the other women are nothing," he repeats harshly, "while you are our everything."
I squeeze my eyes shut, and I almost wish...almost bloody wish I'm the type to just bury my head under the sand just so I can enjoy the present.
I'm everything, he says.
Everything.
But he doesn't say I'm everything to him.
Because the were-lion is like me that way. He doesn't waste time pulling punches, just goes bloody straight to the truth which is...
Everything, he says.
I'm everything to them.
And that's what I find so bloody hard to accept, even now.
"Say you understand it. Tell me that you accept this."
If the Cheshire Cat likes to purr, the Mad Hatter likes to growl. But it's just as maddeningly sexy, and it's this that scares me into finally jerking my face out of his hold. "I don't understand or accept anything—-"
"Then I'll make you."
His gaze slowly dips down, and I can only gasp when I realize he's staring at my breasts, which my French maid costume still does the worst job at containing.
I try covering them, but the were-lion reacts swiftly, and in the next second he's imprisoned my wrists, and they're locked down against the table.
"Let me go," I hiss.
"Not until you promise you'll stop covering what's ours—-"
I'm so frustrated at the way he keeps rubbing it in that I end up growling my irritation, but this only makes the were-lion smirk.
"Will you stop saying ours?" I pretty much yell at him.
"Never."
Aaaargh!
I can't help but growl again, and this time the were-lion laughs.