Eva eyed him, sipped. Nope. Still immune.
“Oh, this should be good. Why don’t you guess?” she suggested.
He thought for a moment. “You’re a happy drunk. No, not given the circumstances. Emotional? Nah, too easy. How about violent?” He shook his head. “I think I got it.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her neck. He traced the graceful line of her throat, thought about sinking his canines into her flesh, and dropped his sights to her breasts. Quite obviously, he ogled her assets. She had nice tits. Not too big, not too small. Looking up, he said, “I bet you’re a horny drunk.”
Eva bit her lower lip, suppressed a chuckle for all of about two seconds before a lilting laugh left her. “Oh my God.” She wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eyes. “That was, hands down, the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Horny? Really? Peter, I want you to look around you. These men in their plaid finery have been hitting on me since I hit legal age, some even before that. Do you know how many marriage proposals I get in a week?”
She slid a little closer over the table until he was the one left wondering if, or when, she’d touch him. The look on her face was soft, friendly, dare he say inviting? As if a soft light shone from above, her skin appeared to glow. She went from being a looker to knock-down, drag-out gorgeous. Men would sell their souls for a piece of her.
The leopard, which had gone dormant for a few precious moments, woke with a vengeance. Take her, it growled.
Peter swallowed. Knew this was the point in their conversation, before he was too shit-faced to feel guilt and remorse, where he should tell her exactly who he was. In some part of his gut, he knew his connection to Greg would ruin everything. Even in death the old man was a bastard.
Women had a mental checklist they kept running at all times. Every man they met went into a box. The friend box. The asshole box. The potential lover box. The awkwardness of “You stole my father, took his love and left me with none” would send him to the no-man’s-land box. He took one lingering look at the warmth in her eyes, made the conscious decision not to tell her who he was.
Yep, he was going to hell. But who cared? Tonight was tonight. Tomorrow, when the pass opened back up, he’d be gone. By the time Eva realized she’d fucked Greg’s long-lost son, he’d be halfway back to Montana.
Yes, the feline purred, knew they were one step closer to getting what they both wanted.
“You seem to know James pretty well. How come I’ve never seen you around here before?” she asked, slowly tracing the rim of her glass.
He wondered if she knew how sexual the simple gesture was. Peter sat back, stretched his long legs out more comfortably under the table. If she minded the way his calf pressed against hers, she didn’t say anything.
“I used to live here. I left when I was fifteen, haven’t been back since. I live in Montana now, own a couple of fencing companies. And you’ve met me before, you just don’t remember it.”
A frown creased her brows. “I’d remember if I met you.”
In twenty years, you’d think someone—Greg—would have mentioned the fact he’d had a son named Peter. Among the Pard, with Peter’s dark hair and green eyes, he stood apart from the other blond-haired, blue-eyed snow leopard shifters. If she’d known who he was, just the mere mention of the name Peter should have clued her in.
“Why would you remember?” he asked. “Is it because I’m the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen? Or are you just wary of men with multiple personalities? I do suppose you wouldn’t forget someone like that.”
Eva hid her grimace behind the cup she pressed to her lips. “I deserved that. But, you started it.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “You were five when I met you. It was only once, and not for very long. I suppose I shouldn’t blame you for not remembering, even though it does sting the pride a bit.”
“Your pride will be just fine. And don’t take it personally. I don’t remember much from the year Greg rescued me. He found me abandoned on the road, just outside of town. He took me in, cleaned, clothed and named me, then raised me as his own. To this day, I’ve got no idea where I came from, or who I really am. I would have died if it weren’t for him. I’ll never be able to repay him, and now…now that he’s dead, I can’t even try.”
He’d known how dire her situation was then, knew it now. The truth didn’t change his resentment toward his father. Just when Peter had come to accept Greg wasn’t capable of love, Eva had come along and proven him wrong. Greg could love…he just couldn’t love Peter.
“What did the Pard think of the Alpha bringing a non-shifter within their sacred circle? They’ve got a strict no-human policy, or at least, they used to. I don’t know them, not anymore.”
Some emotion filled her eyes, gave off a scent he couldn’t place. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t sadness. A golden light flared in her gaze and it was just barely visible in her dark brown eyes. He liked the intrigue, the possibility of ferreting out her secrets.
“I never said I was human.” Tilting her head and then angling her glass, Eva threw back the liquor as if she’d been drinking whiskey all her life.
He watched her throat work, her eyes water. It was easy to fantasize about Eva on her knees, the slight oval curve of her face tilted up as she swallowed his cum. At the thought, his cock went from partially erect to hard as steel.
“Another,” she demanded, slammed her glass to the table. With the back of her hand, she wiped her mouth.
“You sure?” he asked.
“You were right. The whiskey helps. For the first time in a week, the pain isn’t as sharp and the chill is easing. Tonight, I’ve decided, I’m going for numb and you’re going to help.”
He stared at her, held the bottle just out of reach.
“Come on,” she said. “Who’s being the baby now? Don’t worry, Peter, I’ve got my big girl panties on. Pour me another. You wanted a drinking buddy, here I am.”
Unscrewing the bottle, gaze never leaving hers, he topped off their glasses. He raised his glass for a toast. “To being numb inside and out. And,” he leaned close, “here’s to hoping your big girl panties are some sort of black lace.”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She clinked her glass against his, drank.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Unlike the awkward pause between strangers, theirs was…companionable. The rumors he’d heard flashed in his mind.
“How did he die?” He hated the liquor for making him weak enough to care.
“I’ll tell you. But first, I want to know who he was to you,” she fired back.
“You first.”
She sipped, swallowed. “He was murdered.”
Peter’s hand tightened around his glass. Every muscle in his body clenched. First his mother, and now his father. Both of their lives stolen.
Eva kept speaking, her voice low and detached. “Someone shot him in the head, between the eyes. I found his frozen body in my SUV four days ago. It had been snowing all day, and the car door was frozen. I had to put my leg on the back panel, yank it open. A body rolled out of the car, landed at my feet. I couldn’t see his face. At first,” she looked away, “I didn’t think it was him. I let myself hope. In my gut I knew it was, but I just kept thinking…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just told you that.”
“It’s on your mind and you don’t know me. We often tell strangers our most intimate secrets,” he said, hoping to coax more information out of her. How in the hell had Greg let himself get shot? Why hadn’t James mentioned it?
Eva turned back to him, leaned in close. Lip between her teeth and fingers dancing an agitated rhythm on the table, he saw her struggle with the decision to trust him. Finally she made her choice.
“There was a note, one I didn’t give to the police.”
A line of tension stiffened his spine. He bent forward, stopped just shy of his forehead touching hers. He didn’t want to be overheard. “What kind of a note?” he growled.
�
��It was a threat, a warning. I don’t know. Whoever shot him implied they knew he was a shifter. The note was addressed to me, basically said, ‘You’re mine.’ He died because of me.”
Motherfucker.
“Eva,” he said seriously. “Does James know about this? He’s letting you traipse around town by yourself while some murderer has his sights set on you? I’m going to sink my teeth in his neck.”
“He knows, and calm down. I didn’t tell you so you could get all...protective hero on me. I can take care of myself; I don’t need, or want, anyone else getting hurt because of me. I know self-defense and I trust my instincts. They haven’t failed me yet.”
“Yet. Bullshit. Surely you know how lethal and fast shifters are. Someone got the drop on Greg, and it must not have been easy. If I wanted, I could reach across this table and snap your neck before you blinked.” Peter scanned the room, searched the haggard, weather-worn faces of the people he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Was his father’s killer in this room?
“You aren’t a murderer,” Eva said, drew him from his thoughts.
He glared at her, wondered how someone so beautiful and seemingly intelligent could be so stupid. “You sound sure of yourself.”
When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Instincts, remember? How am I supposed to live with the knowledge that Greg died because of me? I failed him.”
Her confessions explained the shadows under her eyes. He refused to dwell on how her pain and fear made him feel. Eva wasn’t Pard, and she wasn’t his, no matter what the stupid cat inside him thought. The same instincts forcing him hundreds of miles from his home in Montana were screaming at him again.
Mine, the beast insisted.
Peter had a terrifying thought. Perhaps the leopard hadn’t driven him all this way because of the death of his Alpha. Perhaps the real reason he was here sat across from him looking like a heartbroken angel.
“Part of being an Alpha is protecting those around you, at all costs, even it means sacrificing your life for theirs. Greg died because he was Greg, and because he loved you. End of story. Murder isn’t rational, and it’s no one’s fault except the one who pulled the trigger. You didn’t ask for this to happen.”
The leopard inside paced restlessly, rubbed the inside of Peter’s skin every few seconds. His animal’s agitation transferred to him, made it hard to separate what the man wanted and what the animal demanded. Could James keep Eva safe? He didn’t think so. Peter was Alpha now, needed to protect…
No fucking way. He wasn’t staying. No matter what, come morning, he was leaving.
“Look, let’s talk about something else, anything else.” The longer they talked about the danger surrounding Eva, the more riled up his leopard got. He wished he had some kind of internal tranquilizer gun.
“You know,” Eva said as she gulped down the rest of her drink, “you’re the first person who’s said that to me. Everyone wants to talk about it, for me to ‘share’ my feelings. I want to repress it and shove it all in a tight ball where I can ignore it.”
“Repressing works great until you close your eyes. Now, I’ve got an idea, a way to take our mind off death for a bit. Do you like games?” he asked, refilled their cups.
“Peter, I’m not really in the mood for—,” she said, but he cut her off.
“You ask me a question, I’ll answer. Then, I get my turn. Anything is open for discussion, anything except Greg.” If she were smart, she’d ask the right question. Like, what is your last name? Not technically about Greg. He wouldn’t lie to her. Evade, yes. Lie, no.
“And if I don’t want to answer?” she asked.
“Then you drink. And I’ve decided I want to go first.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “What kind of panties are you wearing, and do they match your bra?”
She closed her lids, smiled his favorite smile. When her lids opened the look in her eyes was grateful, and a little sassy. “They are black, lacy, and technically I think that was two questions.”
“You are a woman after my own heart. Your turn.”
“If you insist on playing,” she huffed, but settled more comfortably into her chair as if she planned to stay a while. “Boxers, briefs, or nothing?”
An hour later, the bottle between them was half empty. Or, depending on how one looked at it, half full. Across from him, Eva had a glazed look in her eyes that said the liquor was treating her right. He was probably giving her some version of the stupefied grin she was giving him.
“It isn’t working,” she said, and put her elbow on the table, her cheek in her hand. She lined up her limbs on the first try, and the move told Peter she wasn’t totally shit-faced, just moderately drunk.
“No?” he asked, his own head pleasantly fogged. The effects of the alcohol wouldn’t last long, not with his increased metabolism. He needed to keep drinking to maintain his drunk.
“I still feel,” she said, eyed her drink as he drew it to his side of the table and downed it in a single gulp. She gave him a little pout. “Hey, that’s mine.”
“I’m cutting you off. That is, unless you want to fall on your ass the second you stand up? Numb is great, but some feeling is required, at least until you get home.”
She grinned at him, a softness to her face that hadn’t been there an hour before. He’d gotten to know Eva Marx. And damn if he didn’t like all the miscellaneous details he’d discovered about her. He knew the cut, style and color of her bra and panties. He knew she’d been seventeen the first time she’d had sex. He knew she loved books ranging from horror to cheesy romances, to westerns. He knew she liked peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They were friends now, he and Eva. In a few more minutes, they were going to be more.
“I want complete blackness,” she said. “I haven’t slept in a week. I don’t want to think, to remember. I don’t want to see the sympathetic faces anymore. I just want…oblivion.”
Lifting her head from her palm, she folded her hands in front of her. Leaning forward, she stretched her legs under the table until their limbs tangled. He took her cue, shifted forward and stroked her knuckles with his own. He’d been dying to touch her since they sat down.
He had a stupid, moderately lucid, moment of hesitation. He should tell her the truth, should walk away and call it a night. Fuck, but he couldn’t think straight. The liquor had done its job, fogged his brain and shut up the feline inside him. He now had one thing on his mind and nothing seemed to sway him from his goal. The thought of jacking off in the shower held no appeal. Not with the possibility of her soft, feminine body beneath his.
“I can make you forget,” he said.
She licked her lips, and he found he couldn’t look away from the glistening moisture. “How is that?”
“Trust.”
She swallowed, but didn’t look away from him. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”
“Come back to my room with me.”
She drew her freshly licked lip between her teeth, contemplated. “This is ridiculous. I’ve only known you for an hour.”
Under the table, one of his knees found its way between her legs and he pressed against her bare inner thigh. She sucked in a small breath, but opened further in invitation.
As if he wasn’t moments away from shoving his hand under the table and up her skirt, he spoke in a soft, controlled voice. “Would it matter if we’d known each other a week? A month? I don’t think so. Tonight is our only option. I’m not sticking around Bellows Falls. In the morning, when the pass opens back up, I’m on my way. Either you are going to trust me or you aren’t.”
Curiosity darkened the rich shade of her eyes. She wanted him. “If I go back to your room with you, what’s going to happen?” she asked.
He leaned further across the table, finally pressing his thumb to the lower lip that was driving him insane. Looking directly into her eyes, he said, “Eva, tonight I’m going to fuck you unconscious.”
Chapter Three
Peter’s seductive words heated Eva from
the inside out. The last vestiges of cold vanished. The gut-searing grief and stress eased its relentless grip. In its place she experienced an unexpected sense of freedom.
After Greg’s death all eyes had turned to her to make the arrangements for his funeral, because she’d been his adopted daughter. She’d been plagued with decision after decision when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball. What flowers did she want? Should she serve food? What kind? Who did she want to invite? How would she get Greg’s acquaintances from outside of Bellows Falls into their remote, snow-strewn town?
The stream of questions had kept her busy. Only in the quiet hours of the night did she replay that awful day. As if the memory was on an endless reel, she watched herself open her truck door. Thud. The sound of Greg’s lifeless, frozen body hitting the ground sickened her stomach.
Eva forced the memories away. Now the funeral was over. All that remained was the cold, empty shell of her heart. It was that darkness she wanted to hide from.
The solution was right in front of her. The need for total abandonment won out over common sense and the line Eva had been toeing since meeting this dark-haired stranger disappeared.
Tonight, she’d be his. Tonight he would make the decisions. Tonight he would make her forget everything.
Eva flicked her tongue against the thumb Peter stroked back and forth across her lower lip. His nostrils flared, and she watched his pupils dilate in unabashed need.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter growled, and closed the distance between them.
For a moment she stopped breathing as the anticipation mounted. Instead of closing his mouth over hers, he trailed his moist thumb down her chin and pressed his lips against her ear. His hand closed around the front of her throat, and she remembered his warning about being able to snap her neck.
The thoughts swirling in her head faded. Peter’s warm breath caressed her lobe. A tremor ripped through her, made it difficult to draw in breath.
“Do you have any idea how delicious your need smells? I feel I should warn you…” His voice was deep and husky. “You seem to have stolen my control. If you’re looking for something soft tonight, something gentle, I can’t give it to you. I need you naked, tied to my bed and screaming my name as I pound into you. I call the shots. If you’ve got a problem with that, you should tell me now.”
Illicit Page 3
