by Kat Simons
She walked around her small backyard as the dogs bounced around doing their business. When she reached the back fence, the tom cat, Scratchy, jumped down from a tree branch to land at her feet. She squatted next to him and scratched behind his ears. Her efforts earned her a rough, growling purr.
Fred came racing up to them, barking aggressively at the cat. He slammed into Scratchy when the cat didn’t move, fell a step back, and then stared with a slightly confused look on his face. Fred was all about the chase. He had no idea what to do with anything if he actually caught it. Since Scratchy wasn’t inclined to run, Fred was at a loss for what to do next. After the two animals stared at each other for a heartbeat, Fred barked once and sped away to the opposite side of the yard where he barreled over the top of a prone Pickles.
Cary chuckled at the antics. “Not very bright, is he, Scratchy?”
Scratchy licked a paw.
In that moment, she envied Jon his talent. She’d love to know what her animals were saying. To her, to each other. Did the dogs and the cat actually communicate in some way or were their languages as incomprehensible to each other as they were to her?
She wandered back to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Fred as he followed, eager for breakfast.
“Watch it,” she told him. “You make me break my leg and who will feed you?”
Fred’s mouth hung open in what looked suspiciously like a grin. Buck nudged her hand when she got to the back door, and she gave him a rub under the chin. He leaned into the scratch. Such a big bad demon dog, she thought fondly.
Once inside, she shed her coat, dumped food into the dogs’ bowls and opened a can of cat food for Scratchy, which she left out on the back porch since the tom never deigned to come inside. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee. It was nice, having the house to herself for a few minutes. Jon and Sally were usually up before her.
When the dogs were finished eating and she’d finished her coffee, she wandered back into the living room. She glanced up at her ceiling. Her secret library was in the attic. All her books, encyclopedias, her secured computer system, everything she needed to study and learn what she needed to know to be a good Protector was stored up there so casual visitors to her house wouldn’t be suspicious. Particularly her parents. They wouldn’t understand why her work for the zoology professor required her to have an extensive collection of literature on the occult, psychic phenomenon, demonology, current thinking in the mystical sciences, not to mention her books on the phylogenies of all supernatural creatures currently known on the planet.
She did have two things in common with other superheroes—very few people knew what she really did, and she had a secret “bat cave.” Only hers was a bat attic.
She looked toward the hallway. With Jon and Sally still asleep, she could probably sneak up there. She wanted to research this mysterious Boss a little on her own. Jaxer was her most reliable source of information, but he wasn’t her only source.
Did she dare?
The dogs would probably tell Jon where she was if he woke up before she came back down. That wouldn’t be good. Jaxer and her computer guru Chris were the only people who knew about that space. She sure as hell didn’t want her temporary house guests to know.
Unless the dogs had already told Jon.
She scowled down at the tribe sitting in a half circle around her feet. “Did you tell Jon my secret?” she whispered. “Huh? Did you guys give me away already?”
Pickles flopped her tail on the floor and let loose a low woof.
“Shh.” Cary glanced down the hall, but there was no movement or sound of restless people being woken up by dogs. She looked at her pack. “Maybe we should go back into the kitchen.”
The dogs followed, tails wagging.
Once in the relative privacy of the kitchen, Cary hunkered down on the floor and gave Pickles a hug. This started a scramble for attention from the other dogs which resulted in a lot of face-licking and near-silent squealing by Cary.
“Ew, gross, dog germs.”
Her false protests only encouraged them, and soon she was sprawled on her back with all three dogs vying to lick her face and make her squeal and laugh.
A soft male chuckle from the back door made her pause in mid-wrestle. She glanced sideways. Deacon was leaning against the door frame, a paper bag in one hand, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His grin and raised eyebrows brought heat to her cheeks.
Scrambling up from the floor, she brushed dog hair off her sweats and grimaced. “We were playing.”
“So I see. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”
“No, no. That’s okay.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze when he chuckled again. She looked at three grinning dog faces and said, “See what you guys got me into.”
Deacon dropped the bag on the counter, standing too close for her comfort. And there was that scent again. Wow, he smelled good. Did she smell like that to him? Probably not at the moment since she likely smelled like dogs. She couldn’t even pinpoint what it was about Deacon’s scent. No one else seemed to notice. Maybe it was some sort of pheromone only his mate picked up? She tried not to grimace. She really had to stop worrying about the mate thing. There were other things to worry about right now.
“I like the way you play with the dogs,” he said. “Looks like fun.”
“Yeah, well if you keep coming around, you will see that display more than once.”
“Good. Can I join in?”
Because he was smiling, she grinned back. Jaxer always made her feel like a child for getting on the floor and wrestling with the dogs. Deacon wanted to join the fun. That said a lot about him. And their potential future together. Except she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that.
He ran a finger over her cheek and tapped her chin. A slight frown replaced his smile. “You have circles under your eyes. Didn’t you sleep?”
“Not well. Dreams.”
“Bad dreams?”
Her cheeks heated. “No.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good dreams?”
Was it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment? Probably not. She wasn’t that lucky. “Stop gloating,” she said.
“I didn’t realize I had reason to gloat.”
But she could tell by the gleam in his eyes and the slight quirk of his mouth, he knew damned well what her dreams had been about and that he’d been the star.
“You better have brought me something good for breakfast,” she said. “I’ve only had one cup of coffee. That’s not nearly enough to put up with this degree of embarrassment.”
“Where’s Sally and Jon?” he asked.
“Still asleep.”
“Ah.” He eased his backside against the counter and pulled her into the v of his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist so she was forced to lean into him. “So for a few minutes anyway, we have some privacy?” He dropped his head close to hers, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath against her mouth.
“Kind of,” she said, momentarily distracted by the sensation of having her breasts flattened against the wall of muscle that was his chest. She exerted a great deal of willpower to keep from rubbing against him. “If you don’t count the doggie audience.”
“Give us some privacy, guys,” he said to the dogs.
To her utter amazement, they left the kitchen, tails still wagging. “How’d you do that?” she asked.
“Secret leopard trick.”
She dropped her chin and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Why don’t we talk about these dreams of yours?” he said.
“Oh no. Very bad idea.”
His lips skimmed over her cheek to her ear. “That good were they?” Then he nibbled her lobe.
“Deacon.” But her resistance was crumbling. “What kind of soap do you use?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Because you smell really good.”
“So do you?” He pushed her hair to one side and nibbled his way along
her jaw. “You taste good, too.”
“There’s still…” She trailed off when his mouth moved to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Groaning, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’m waiting to hear about these dreams.”
“Oh no you don’t.” Was she really panting? Oh god. “Sally and Jon…” Her breath hitched.
He angled her head up and kissed her on the lips, ending any sort of conversation they might have attempted. Not that she was really coherent anymore. Her dreams had left her restless and needy. She squeezed tighter against his torso, trying to relieve the building ache. The feel of his hardening cock against her abdomen sent little shivers of pleasure down her spine. She ground her stomach against his erection and he groaned.
“I want you so bad I can barely think,” he growled, then captured her mouth again.
The sound of nails on tile and the feel of something butting against her thigh pulled her out of her haze. She glanced down to see Buck sitting patiently beside them, staring.
“Okay, that’s a little weird,” she said. Then she heard the noise in the other room. “Oops. Sounds like Jon’s up.” She started to ease away from Deacon, but he locked his arms around her waist. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Jon to find us in a clench,” she said.
“Worse if he found me in my current state without you to shield the evidence.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re right. That would probably be more embarrassing.”
He brushed a hand over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear. She opened her eyes. His gaze moved over her face, settling on her lips for a moment, then back to her eyes.
She raised a brow. “I can’t imagine my standing here like this is going to help the state of things either.” She glanced down between their fused bodies. He was still rock hard against her. But he made no move to put space between them.
She tried easing back again, but one of his arms kept her in place. “Deacon?” she asked.
Something in his expression worried her. He looked determined, but that wasn’t the problem. There was an edge there, a wildness she didn’t always see. The flex of his muscles, the tension in his arms, the line of his jaw… He looked like a man barely holding on to his control.
That couldn’t be good.
“I’m not ready to let you go yet,” he said. “I need a few more minutes before I can pretend that being around you and not touching you is bearable.”
“Why do you come over if it’s so hard to be around me?” she asked.
“Because not being around you is worse.”
Noise from the living room got louder as Jon started talking out loud to Fred and Pickles. She suspected he’d sent Buck into the kitchen to make sure it was safe to come in. The kid was a little too smart for his own good.
Deacon looked toward the living room. Then, with obvious reluctance, he put her at arm’s length. “I’m not sure if it’s good or bad Jon can send a spy in here to see what we’re doing.” He glanced at Buck, who was still patiently staring up at them. “But at least he gave us some warning.”
“I just hope Buck doesn’t understand enough about…kissing to rat us out.”
Deacon dropped his hands from her shoulders. “When was he fixed?”
She tried not to wince when Buck growled. “He’s not fixed.”
Deacon frowned. “Why not?”
She looked at Buck, considering. This was really his secret more than hers, and she was still a little unsure of Deacon. “He didn’t want to be,” she answered lamely. “Don’t,” she added when Deacon looked like he might launch into a lecture. As the owner of animal shelters, she had no doubt how he felt about the necessity of fixing pets not destined to be breeders. She actually felt the same way.
But Buck wasn’t a typical dog. And he was definitely a lot more than a pet. “It’s no big deal,” she added. “He’s not…interested in that kind of thing.”
Deacon’s frown turned into a confused scowl.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “I’ll explain someday.” Maybe.
He looked like he wanted to argue but shrugged it off and instead asked, “How many men have you kissed in front of him?”
Her turn to scowl. “That’s a very sneaky way to find out about my dating history.”
“Since I can’t ask the dogs the way Jon does…”
“You could have just asked me,” she said. “As for what Buck has seen, probably only a couple of kisses.”
“Then I think we’re safe. Why has he only seen a couple of kisses?”
“Because I don’t let him into the bedroom to see anything else.”
Deacon’s gaze darkened. His low growl made Buck whine and scurry from the room. Which was impressive given Buck’s pedigree.
She crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t afraid of Deacon’s mood change, to her surprise. She wasn’t afraid of Deacon doing her physical harm. But the fact that he’d scared her dog pissed her off.
“Mind telling me why you’ve gone all spooky and run Buck off?” she asked.
“How many men have you had here?” he said, through clenched teeth.
“Not your business.”
“Cary…”
“Deacon. Pull in that growling jealousy thing. We’re not nearly to a place where we have to talk about our romantic pasts. We haven’t even been on a date yet. Right now, it’s none of your damned business who I have and have not slept with. And it won’t be your business until I decide otherwise. Besides, have I once asked about the number of other women you’ve had in your house?” She changed stances to face him more fully. “And speaking of which, why didn’t I know you had a house in Nobhill? Learning that fact from Jon was embarrassing since he thinks I’m your girlfriend.”
“The subject hasn’t come up.”
Highlighting—again—how very little she knew about him. After a silent moment, she said, “Well. Is it a big house?”
“My family owns it. I use it while I’m in Portland.”
That didn’t exactly answer her question, but it sparked another more urgent one. “How often are you not in Portland?” Her stomach did a funny twist that felt suspiciously like panic.
“I used to travel a lot for business,” he said.
“Used to?”
“I don’t intend to do as much now. My sister can take over that part of the job. She’s better at the people schmoozing than I am, anyway.”
Cary tiled her head to one side and studied him. “Why don’t you intend to travel anymore?”
“Because of you.” He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Sighed. “I think I need more coffee. Are there donuts in that bag?”
He nodded.
She refilled the cup she’d abandoned earlier then faced him. “Okay. If this is going to continue, if you really mean this mate stuff and you want to be in my life, we need to get to know each other better.”
He crossed his arms, a move that highlighted the breadth of his chest and the solid muscles of his arms and shoulders. Cary turned back to fixing her coffee.
“Fine,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Which one?”
“Better question then would be how many sisters do you have?” She settled her hip against the counter and cradled her coffee cup in her palms.
“Six. And eight brothers. I have a twin brother and sister, Michael and Jocelyn. But I was born first of the three, so I’m the acknowledged oldest.”
“You have a twin brother?” The idea of two men who looked as incredibly yummy as Deacon Jones walking around on the same planet boggled the mind. “Identical?”
“No,” he said. “And you won’t be meeting Michael anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust him around my mate.”
That was interesting. She was dying to quiz him further on the subject of his twin brother but given
the flexing muscle in his jaw, switching to a topic less potentially volatile seemed like a good idea.
“So who’s the sister working with you here in Portland?” she asked.
“Caitlin. She’s ten years younger.” Now a ghost of a smile twitched across his mouth. “But infinitely wiser in many ways.”
Cary’s muscles relaxed. “Then I’m looking forward to meeting her.” She paused. “I think. How much have you told her about me?”
“Enough.”
“Oh good.”
Maybe meeting Caitlin could wait. She opened her mouth to ask another question, since Deacon was being so talkative, but stopped when she heard Jon and Sally nearing the kitchen. They were bickering over homework as they came in, Jon pulling that pouty face only teenager’s seemed capable of achieving.
Whatever she’d intended to ask would have to wait. Sally and Jon thought she and Deacon were a couple. She was supposed to know the answers to most of these questions already.
She sighed. She needed a donut. Donuts always helped.
When she walked Deacon to the door that night, he pulled her into his arms as soon as they were out of sight. “I’m not going to apologize for my reaction this morning,” he said. “The idea of another man’s hands on you makes me crazy.”
“Deacon, I’m no virgin. And neither are you. Deal with it.”
“I can’t think beyond you anymore. I don’t want to ‘deal with’ the fact that other men have been in your bed. I…” He shook his head. “My instincts are riding me hard.”
She wondered if it would help matters or make them worse if he knew she’d slept with exactly two men in the last six years. Being a Protector tended to eat into her dating time. And most of the men she met these days, she met through Jaxer, which was a pretty sure-fired way to guarantee they were no good for her.
The irony of the fact that she’d met Deacon through Jaxer as well was not lost on her.
She cupped his face in her palms. “Neither of us can go back in time and change our histories, even if we wanted to. Which I don’t. So you’re just going to have to get over it.”
