by Renee Rose
I don’t want him in my bed. Even though he’s probably really good. But good in bed doesn’t mean he’ll be a good neighbor. Unbidden, the image of me joining one of their all-nighters in my panties and pearls pops into my brain.
Stop it.
“Are they hot?” Leave it to Foxfire to read between the lines.
Even though I’m alone in my apartment, my cheeks grow warm. I let out a strangled chuckle. “Um...yeah. One of them was—is—whatever. But not my type. Definitely not my type.”
~.~
Garrett
I lift my palm to my face and inhale the scent still lingering from the pretty blonde human. She wore the hell out of that short fitted skirt and jacket, and as much as she wanted to project prim and proper with her hair up in a librarian hairdo, I smelled her interest. She was aroused. By me. And, when we touched hands, I felt the shock of something.
My fingers still tingle from our connection.
I smelled a little fear on her, but mostly the notes were warm and sultry, vanilla, orange and spice. My wolf didn’t want to scare her—which is a first. He usually likes throwing his weight around, and feels only impatience for human women. Why would I be interested in a human? And she definitely is all human—I went in close to be sure.
I have no idea why she made my dick so hard. Sassy little thing, pulling her uptown-girl act while her knees shook with fear. I wanted to push her up against the elevator wall, wrap those knocking knees around my waist, and plow the sauciness right out of her. I bet she’s never had a proper orgasm. I just might have to show her what it’s like to come all over my cock, my name falling from those berry lips like a prayer.
I rearrange my swelling cock in my jeans before plunking down on the leather sofa. Trey and Jared have already opened bottles of beer and stand out on the balcony, talking loudly. Probably not the best for new neighbor relations.
Maybe I’m getting too old to live with my pack brothers. My dad’s been telling me for years I needed to take a mate, act like an adult, and make the Tucson pack into something more than an MC club of mostly male shifters. We live loose and free, but the fraternity feel makes most wolves wanting to start a family move to my father’s pack in Phoenix, or out of state.
My phone rings, and I check the screen. “Hey, sis,” I answer the call.
“Hi, Garrett.” She sounds breathless. “Guess where I’m going for spring break?”
“Um...San Diego?”
“Nope.”
“Big Sur?”
“Nope, not California.”
“Where, kiddo?”
“San Carlos!”
“No.” I make my voice deep and forbidding. San Carlos is a Mexican beach town several hours south of Tucson, but, according to the news, is having trouble with drug cartels.
“Garrett, I’m not asking.” At twenty-one, my sister, Sedona—named for the beautiful Arizona town where my parents conceived her—is still the coddled baby of the family. She wants full autonomy when she demands it, and full support—financial and otherwise—the rest of the time.
I was ten when Sedona, an “oopsie-baby” was born, so she’s more like a daughter than a sister. I sharpen my tone. “Oh, you’d better be asking, or we have a big problem.” My folks only allowed Sedona to go to University of Arizona because I live close enough to watch over her. I might be an easygoing guy, but I’m still an alpha. My wolf doesn’t tolerate tests of my authority.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I was asking,” she capitulates, changing from stubborn to pleading. “Garrett, I have to go. All my friends are going. Listen. We’re not going to drive through Nogales. We found out there’s a safer route. And we’ll be in a big group. Besides, I’m not human, remember? Drug gangs can’t harm me.”
“A bullet to the head would harm anyone.”
“I’m not going to get a bullet to the head. I won’t be buying drugs, obviously, and I won’t be around places where stuff like that goes down. You’re being way too overprotective. I’m an adult, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Don’t get sassy.”
“Pleeease, Garrett? Pretty please? I have to go!”
“Tell me who’s going.”
A pro at wrapping people around her little finger, Sedona picks up on my crumbling resistance. She plows eagerly into her description of the group. Four boys, five girls, of which two are couples. All human, besides her.
If they were wolves, I’d put my foot down about the mixed genders—not that I’m old-fashioned. With humans, though, no male would be capable of overpowering my sister in any scenario. Still, a spring break beach trip sounds like it would consist of too much drinking and partying, which always results in poor decision-making.
A whoop from the balcony makes me glare at my roommates.
“I want to meet these kids,” I tell my sis.
“Garrett, please! You will totally embarrass me. That’s not fair.”
“Then my answer is no.”
She huffs into the phone. “Fine. We’ll stop by on our way out of town to say goodbye.”
Very clever. I’d be the biggest jerk on Earth to pull the plug on her trip at the last minute. My dad would do it, but not me. Which is the main reason Sedona picked a college in my town, versus going to Arizona State.
“Okay. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You’re calling to ask permission the night before your trip?” I growl into the phone.
“Well, I was trying to avoid the asking permission thing.” Her voice gets small.
“You’re lucky you reconsidered.” I force my hand to relax. I don’t want to break another cellphone.
“So, I can go?”
“You will not allow anyone to drive drunk at any time.”
“Right.”
“And you will never drink more than two drinks in one night.”
“Aw, come on, Garrett, you know I can drink more than that.”
“I don’t care. I’m giving you my stipulations. If you want to go, you’d better agree to them.”
“Okay, okay, I agree. What else?”
“I want a check-in text every day.”
“Got it.”
I sigh. “Did you get Mexican insurance for the car?”
“Yep. We’re all set. I’ll see you in the morning. Love you, big bro. You’re the best!”
I shake my head, but smile as I hang up. Whoever mates my sister has my pity. It’s impossible to deny her anything.
“Hey, boss, you headed to the club tonight?” Trey ambles in from the balcony.
“Not tonight,” I examine my phone for cracks. Sedona brings out the protective side of me unlike any other. At least, until I met little Miss Prim ’n Proper next door. For some reason, my wolf has already decided she’s under my protection, whether she likes it or not.
“’Cause I was thinking about inviting our new neighbor out. See if she has a wild side.”
“No,” I growl. My phone crunches in my grip. Rage flares up out of nowhere, surprising the hell outta me. “Leave her alone.” Trey’s eyes drop to the floor. Beyond him, Jared freezes.
“Just stay away from our neighbor.” My wolf is close, making my voice husky.
“Yes, Alpha.” Both wolves bow their heads.
Instead of an explanation, another growl rises in my throat. I’m alpha. I don’t have to explain. “And no more drinking on the balcony,” I add with a glare. When I open my hand, pieces of my cell phone drop to the couch.
My anger fades as they slink away, but the feeling of satisfaction remains. My wolf is happy we protected Amber. But why? What does one little human matter to me?
2
Amber
Stacks of files stare up from my desk, but I can’t concentrate. Pulling on a strand of my hair, I dial the number for the property manager of my apartment. Maybe I’m being a bitch, but I really think I should follow up on the guys.
“This is Cherise.”
“Hi Cherise, Amber Drake calling. I’m i
n apartment 4F?”
“Of course. Hi, Amber.”
“Listen, I’m wondering about the guys in 4G. What’s the scoop?”
A pause. “I’m sorry?”
“I met the guys in 4G. They looked really rough. I’m a little nervous about having them as neighbors. Have you had any complaints about them or anything?”
Cherise barks a laugh. “No, I can’t say that we have.”
“So, they’re not partiers or anything? No loud noises or too many motorcycles out front?”
“Do you have a specific complaint?” Cherise’s voice turns cold.
Okay, maybe I’m being a suspicious bitch. “No, nothing specific. I just wanted to be sure. You know, they don’t look like the most upstanding guys.”
“I wouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Cherise seems downright annoyed now.
“Right, I’m sorry. I just thought I would check in. You’ve relieved my mind. Thank you.”
Cherise hangs up without a goodbye. Oops. Someone’s pissy. But I’m a single woman, looking out for myself. She should understand.
Maybe I was too quick to judge.
I rub my temples. My head throbs, tension radiating from the base of my skull, the way it does when I’m about to enter a bad spell. I felt it coming on from the moment I met those guys in the elevator. My instincts tell me something’s up with them.
Unfortunately, my instincts are never wrong.
I drag my palm over the back of my neck, willing the ache away. The nausea is already growing.
Today’s gonna suck.
~.~
I check out of work early, stuffing a few files into my giant purse. I probably should call Foxfire to take me home because this headache is affecting my vision. But I prefer to handle my problems solo. I learned as a child never to depend on others or you just wind up disappointed. I don’t need anybody. I can handle this on my own, is my mantra.
So I creep through traffic, squinting in agony. As soon as I reach the elevator, the migraine hits me. My vision tunnels. My heavy purse hits the floor, and I lean against the wall, finding the button for my floor by feel.
“Are you okay?”
That voice. Even totally out of it with pain, I’d recognize the deep resonant timbre anywhere. God, I’m not up to talking to him right now. Not at all.
It hurts to turn my head to look at him, to focus on his face.
Garrett bends close, peering at me. Concern creases his features. “Amber?”
I sway, and everything goes black.
When my eyes flutter open again, the room spins. No, wait. I’m on the elevator. With Garrett. And I’m in his arms with my head lolling on his shoulder.
He gazes down at me, a little line between his brows. “Are you back with me? I lost you for a moment there. Are you sick?”
I shake my head. Bad move. Closing my eyes, I grunt, “Migraine.”
“Gotcha.” His chest rumbles under my ear.
The elevator dings, and Garrett carries me out into the hall, striding as if I weigh no more than a feather pillow.
“My purse,” I mumble.
“I’ve got it.”
Automatically I relax against him, breathing in his masculine scent. His unshaven jaw brushes against my cheek. Just being in his arms calms the storm of pain raging in me.
By the time we reach my door, I feel almost human again. “Thank you, Mr. ah… Garrett. You can put me down now.”
He frowns at the door, still holding me as if in no hurry to put me down. I’m in no hurry, either. For the first time in my life, all the noise in the world, all that distraction I fight to constantly shut out, has faded, leaving only Garrett and me. My hand rests on one granite biceps, feeling the strength in his arms, the controlled power.
I stare at my door, too, wishing it would open itself.
He eases me down and keeps an arm around my waist as I fumble for my keys. Once I have them, I point them towards the door, hoping I’ve grabbed the right one. I’m still shaky, my body weak from an afternoon spent fighting off the migraine.
Garrett’s large hand closes over mine, guiding the key into the lock and turning it. He pushes it open for me.
Quite the gentleman for a guy who looks like a thug.
To my dismay—or maybe delight—he swings me back into his arms and carries me inside.
“Thanks,” I tell him, hoping he’ll set me back down in the little living room. No such luck.
He carries me straight to the bedroom. I cling to him, wishing I’d stuffed my laundry back into the hamper this morning after upending it all over the floor to find a missing bra. At least the bra is safely hidden under my clothes.
My panties, however, are smack dab in the middle of the floor.
Forget the headache. Now I’m hot all over from blushing. Garrett in my bedroom? I have to admit, it crossed my mind. I never thought it would actually happen.
My room was a lot cleaner in my fantasies.
Garrett sets me on the bed, and bends over me. Before I can say anything, he pulls my pumps off. “Do you take something? Ibuprofen?”
I start to shake my head. Ouch. Bad plan. Noise rushes past my ears. It returned as soon as Garrett put me down. “No, nothing helps but sleep.” The nausea makes talking a chore.
Garrett touches me, his huge palm covering my forehead. The agony recedes again. “What can I get you? A glass of water? A wet washcloth?”
Tears prick my eyes, but not from pain. I’ve never, ever had someone take care of me. “Yes, please,” I whisper.
He removes his hand, and I immediately miss it. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I curl up on the bed, leaning into the throb. My skin tingles as Garrett bends over me again. A wet cloth drapes on my forehead. Heaven.
A clunk as he sets down a glass of water.
“Do you need anything else?” His brows are drawn down low as his face hovers close.
Who are you, and what did you do with Garrett the Thug? I want to ask. And what did I do to deserve this kindness? I know the answer to that: not a damn thing.
“Thanks,” I croak. I’m sorry I judged you.
“Want me to leave or stay?”
Stay. God, please stay. “I’ll be okay. You can go.”
He stands.
“Thanks again.”
He touches my shoulder. “I’ll be next door if you need anything. I have excellent hearing, so just shout if you’re going to pass out again.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
His rugged face splits into a grin. It somehow melts every defense I ever erected against men, in general, and him, specifically. “I intended to hunt you down and give you shit today. Cherise told me all the horrible things you said about me.”
Oh God.
The throb in my head intensifies, as if he drove an icepick through my temples. Killing me with kindness. “I’m sorry—”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just rest that head of yours. I’ll punish you for it later.” He winks. A wink that could bring a girl to her knees.
Not me, of course. But I can see the appeal. Wait, did he just say punish? It takes my body a moment to register the threat, but when it does, heat floods between my legs, a welcome diversion from my aching head. I wonder, vaguely, if masturbating would cure a migraine. I’m probably too far gone.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks, and my heart melts a bit more. His fingers stir in my hair, butterfly-light touch brushing back a few fallen tendrils.
Just like that, a vision rushes in. Garrett’s face changes, elongates into canine features. A wolf stares at me, white markings around silver eyes.
“Amber?” The wolf image swims away, leaving Garrett’s handsome face. Same eye shape as the wolf. His hand rests on my head again, grounding me.
“I’m okay. Please. Just leave.” Disappointment rushes through me, but I can’t risk him being here while I hallucinate. I want to be nice normal Neighbor Amber. Not Crazy Amber, who mutters stran
ge things while she has her headaches.
What I don’t understand is why I feel perfectly comfortable in Garrett’s presence, like I finally belong.
I wince as he pulls his hand away. A few seconds later, he closes my bedroom door softly, and I ignore the rush of agony and disappointment, and swallow the words to call him back.
~.~
Garrett
I step into my apartment, closing the door softly, as if the sound of a door snicking shut would disturb my suffering neighbor.
I’ve never considered myself the caretaking type of guy. I’m an alpha. I growl. I dominate. I demand. But fates, seeing my beautiful neighbor in so much pain nearly gutted me.
I’ve heard the scent of a wolf’s mate’s tears will bring him to his knees. Send his aggression level down to zero, unless it’s required to defend her. I swear seeing Amber so diminished did that to me.
My wolf chilled way the fuck out, tamping down my restless, lust-driven interest in her and replacing it with the need to soothe away every crease of pain etched in her face. I swear I saw a lifetime’s worth of trauma in her young face today. No wonder she’s so skittish. I have a feeling she’s seen and experienced things a woman so sweet never should have.
I hated leaving her, but what could I do? Set up shop in her apartment when she asked me to leave? I make her nervous enough, as it is.
And I need to lose my interest in this woman, anyway. She’s a human. Which means, not for me, unless I want a quick fuck.
Oh fates, I totally want a quick fuck.
My wolf growls. He wants more. So much more.
Down, boy. Not gonna happen.
3
Amber
“Look at all the pretty colors,” Foxfire cries over the noise of the band. She turns slowly on her barstool before catching herself on our table, doubling over and laughing. Then she makes a swipe for my drink.
“Whoa there, sister.” I hold my cosmo out of reach. I’ve been nursing it since I got here, out of solidarity to my grieving friend. Alcohol this soon after a monster headache episode is a bad idea.
