Ryan's Obsession

by Zena Wynn

  She detoured into the guest bedroom to drop her purchases on the bed with Max right behind her. She could hear a football game playing on the television in the living room, so loud it was a wonder the neighbors weren’t banging on the wall. Phillip’s cell with the charger plugged in sitting on the bedside table answered the question why her husband hadn’t come down or answered her text.

  “Here, give me the food. I’ll take it into the kitchen,” Max instructed.

  As she passed him the bags, she said, “Save me some Moo Shu.”

  “Yeah, right. You’d better hurry. I’m not making any promises,” he teased.

  Deciding organizing her purchases could wait, Cassidy was a few steps behind Max when he exited the bedroom. She detoured to the bathroom to wash her hands and was within hand’s reach of the sink when from the kitchen there came a loud crash that sounded like furniture being overturned.

  “Max!” Amber screeched, sounding horrified.

  Almost on top of Amber she heard Max bellow, “You god-damned cheating whore!”

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  POSSESSED BY THE LYCAN excerpt

  She’s not interested in younger men...

  Mateo Gonzales chances to overhear two female coworkers discussing the merits of dating younger men. A wounded veteran, he’s been going through the motions of life, borderline depressed, living in survival mode. Something about one of the women sparks a flare of interest. Intrigued, he can’t ignore the challenge she presents.

  He’s persistent, determined and won’t take no for an answer...

  Camille Anthony’s first encounter with Mateo is in their employer’s parking garage when he graciously changes her flat tire. He asks her out. She says no. The man may be sexy as hell, but she’s simply not interested. Too bad lycans never, ever listen to reason when pursuing their mate.

  Danger lurks in the shadows...

  Lycans. Loyal, possessive, and territorial. Once one has you in his sights, he never stops until his objective is achieved. But what happens when you’re the focus of two lycans, both of whom believe you’re their mate?

  Chapter One

  “Would you marry a younger man?” Deb asked.

  Camille Anders looked askance at her coworker. They sat in the somewhat crowded breakroom eating lunch. On the wall-mounted flat screen television, a popular entertainment show commented on the demise of yet another well-known cougar couple’s marriage. “Define younger.”

  “In his twenties,” Deb responded instantly.

  Camille shuddered. “You couldn’t pay me to revisit the twenties, mine or anyone else’s.”

  Deb laughed, her red curls bobbing wildly. “They were horrible, weren’t they? All the angst and growing pains.”

  “Not knowing who I was or what I wanted in life, or a clue of how to get it once I figured it out,” Camille added.

  “Fickle friends…”

  “Unfaithful boyfriends…”

  “Everyone telling you what you should do…”

  “But no one having a clue of what you were going through,” Camille finished.

  Deb shook her head. “I see what you mean. Okay, so marriage is out. What about dating?”

  “Hmm…” Camille thought about it. “Guys in their twenties can be plenty hunky. All those rippling muscles, youth and vitality. Not to mention their strong sex drives.” She wagged her eyebrows.

  “But...? I hear a but,” Deb prompted.

  “But they’re looking for young, fresh pussy.” Camille laughed when her friend shushed her and looked around to see if anyone heard.

  Deb leaned forward and stated in a loud whisper, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Neither could Camille, but it amused her to see Deb’s face turn that fiery shade of red. “You know it’s true. Besides, at that age, guys think it’s all about frequency and size. They don’t realize it’s not what you have, but how you use it that counts.”

  “All right, it’s true,” Deb grumbled as she allowed her dumpy body to slump in her chair. “A woman like me wouldn’t get a second look from a twenty-something year old. But what about one in his thirties?”

  Camille’s eyebrows drew together as she considered. “I read somewhere men don’t begin to mature until thirty. I’m almost forty, so it wouldn’t be that much of an age gap. Might be doable. We’re still talking dating, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm, but what if things got serious? Could you see yourself marrying someone that much younger than you?” Deb nudged her container of chocolate cream filled cookies toward Camille, indicating she take one. Sighing, Camille complied. Sugar was her weakness.

  Camille nibbled on the cookie, taking her time answering. “I don’t think so.”

  Outraged, Deb asked, “Why not? You love him, right?”

  Amused, Camille reminded, “You do remember we’re speaking hypothetically, right?”

  Deb gave a sheepish smile. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Got a little carried away. But, if you love this hypothetical male,” she made air quotes with the word hypothetical, “wouldn’t turning down a proposal be difficult?”

  Camille frowned and finished her cookie. When Deb motioned for her to have another one, she drew on her flagging willpower and shook her head no. “I don’t think I’d let things get that far.”

  “Why not?”

  “Think about it. We’d be at different stages in our lives. Depending upon his career—and if he’s with me, he has a career—he’d still be trying to establish himself professionally. He’d want a house in the suburbs, two-point-five children, and a wife that makes him look good. One he doesn’t have to compete with, or in my case, catch up with professionally. I’m an urbanite. My son is grown, and I don’t want to do the baby thing again. More importantly, men grow distinguished as they get older.” Camille scowled. “Women just get…old.”

  Deb threw a cookie at her. “Cut it out. You’re beautiful. You can easily pass for a woman in her twenties.”

  “I’m getting gray hair,” Camille said wryly. She caught the cookie, and with a ‘what the heck’ shrug, popped it into her mouth.

  “So dye it and no one will know,” Deb stated.

  “The hair I’m talking about can’t be dyed,” she mumbled and swallowed the cookie.

  Deb stared, eyes rounding as she caught Camille’s drift. She sputtered for a few seconds as her face turned crimson again. “So shave it all off and keep it shaved. No one will know the difference. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” she muttered in an aside.

  “Yeah, well, you brought it up,” Camille reminded.

  “T.M.I. That’s all I have to say, girlfriend. Too much information.”

  Camille chuckled. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the clock. “Crap. I have to leave.” She hurriedly gathered her trash. “I need to go to the credit union, and my hour’s almost up.”

  “Go.” Deb shooed her. “I’ll gather this.”

  “Thanks.” Camille grabbed her purse and lunch bag and wound her way through the tables, never noticing the man whose hungry eyes followed her progress, and whose sharp ears heard every detail of her conversation.

  

  Mateo Gonzales, the new head of Security at Lane, Wiley and Company, watched the professional, self-contained woman leave the breakroom. He was mildly surprised to discover he was intrigued with something, or rather someone, for the first time in over a year.

  Her friend was correct. The woman was a beauty. Some men might dislike the few extra pounds she carried on her hips and thighs. All Mateo saw was a woman who would cradle his hardness with exquisite softness. He could see her, pinned to the mattress beneath him, her head thrown back as she cried out in ecstasy, her rippling sheath caressing his cock as he drove into her.

  Drawing a deep breath, he shifted in his seat, adjusting said body part into a more comfortable position. It hurt, but
it was a good kind of pain. One that meant all of him was finally alive.

  Since he’d retired from the military…

  Actually, if he were honest, it went back even further to his last mission. He’d come closer to the Pearly Gates than he cared to remember. Since then he’d had little interest in life, and none at all in sex. He’d merely gone through the motions, living in survival mode.

  In an instant, all had changed. It was if as his life, which had become gray and dreary, suddenly had color again.

  What would it take to possess a woman like her? A woman who knew what she wanted out of life, knew how to get it, and wouldn’t let any obstacle get in her way. At the thought, his gums tingled, his fingernails turned to claws, and his vision faded to gray. Mateo quickly lowered his head as though reading the paper in front of him so no one noticed.

  Not only had this woman stirred his libido, which he thought had died in a Central American hellhole, but she roused his beast. It could mean only one thing—he’d found his mate.

  He replayed her conversation in his mind. So, twenty-somethings didn’t meet her requirements? They were immature, had plenty of stamina but no finesse, no expertise? All they were interested in was quantity, not quality. Oh, and let’s not forget, size was a plus.

  Mateo grinned and dragged the heel of his palm over his semi-hard cock. Nothing like a challenge to make a man, or werewolf, sit up and take notice. Time to show his mate what this twenty-something-year-old could do.

  

  A good hour after the end of her work shift, Camille strode into the underground parking garage. The muscles in her shoulders and neck were knotted from hunching over her computer and adding machine, crunching numbers that refused to balance. All she wanted was to go through a fast food restaurant’s drive-thru, pick up a meal to be consumed on the drive home, and take a long soak in her garden tub to loosen the kinks.

  What she did not need to see when she rounded the corner was her car listing crookedly to the side, courtesy of a rear flat tire. “These tires are new,” she griped, hands on her hips.

  Now what? She had no idea how to change a tire, or if she even had the necessary implements to do so. Sure, she had AAA, but who wanted to wait an hour or more for them to arrive?

  Shoulders slumping, Camille opened the car door and set her laptop inside. She was tempted to simply call a cab and deal with her car tomorrow, but that meant she’d also have to catch a cab to work. Knowing she had no choice in the matter, Camille pulled out her cell phone, only to find it dead. Unfortunately, her charger had stopped working last night, and she hadn’t had time to replace it.

  “Great.” She looked around at the nearly empty garage, praying some handy male or female—she didn’t discriminate—would emerge from the shadows to rescue her. In answer to her prayer, a large man in black jeans, white dress shirt, tie and sports jacket exited a nearby stairwell.

  “Excuse me, do you know how to change a tire?” she called, not too shy to ask for help.

  Jiggling keys and toting a laptop case similar to hers, he changed directions and came toward her. As he neared, she noticed the subtle streaks of silver at his temples and in his black hair which declared him to be in his mid-forties. His jawline was hard and lined with battle-scars, like he’d recently recovered from a long-term illness, and he walked with a slight limp. This was a man who’d seen his share of trouble.

  “What seems to be the problem?” he asked in a deep, gravelly, nipple-hardening voice.

  Suddenly conscious of how long it had been since she’d last had sex, Camille pulled herself together to answer the question. “I came out to find my tire flat, and these puppies are brand new.”

  He stopped in front of her, and they both stared at the lifeless rubber. “Did you notice any problems while you were driving? Hear any noise that sounded strange?”

  Camille shook her head. “No, and I pay attention to my vehicle when I drive. I purchased a full set of tires not quite two weeks ago.” Frustration tempted her to kick one of the tires standing firm and plump, but with her luck, it would flatten as well and she’d really be stuck.

  He set his case down on the concrete and held out a hand. “Mateo Gonzales, Chiff of Security.”

  Her gaze dropped briefly to the badge prominently displayed at his waist on his belt. “Camille Anders,” she said as she shook his hand.

  “Accounting section, right?” Still holding her hand in a firm grip, he lightly stroked the back of it with his thumb.

  Frowning at the subtle come-on, she gave her hand a slight tug. She was not in the market for a man, no matter how fine. “How’d you know?”

  He held it another moment before finally allowing her to pull free. “I make it my business to know who everyone is.” Mateo stared at her for one nerve-racking minute before turning to face the car. “Release the trunk so I can get your spare.”

  Camille pushed the release on the key fob, happy she’d had the foresight to clean out the mess in her trunk the week before. She’d gone out of town for a long weekend to visit her family. Because of that trip, the only things in there now were a few odds and ends that were easily shoved aside.

  Mateo reached in and Camille found herself leaning to the side to get a view of his butt, which was truly spectacular given the way his jeans molded to the tight muscles. Hiding a grin, she inwardly laughed at herself. Nice to know she could still be attracted to a hard, male body, even if she had no intentions of doing anything with it.

  Besides, a prime specimen like him was probably married. She got a good look at both hands as he brought out the spare and laid it on the ground. He ducked back inside for the jack she didn’t realize she had. Both were bare of rings, but that didn’t mean anything. A lot of guys didn’t wear wedding bands.

  “Hold my jacket.” He took it off and held it out, so confident she’d obey he didn’t even glance at her.

  Camille’s eyebrow arched at the command. His highhandedness reminded her a bit too much of her father and brothers. They believed the world revolved around them, and women were there to do their bidding.

  He’s doing you a favor, she reminded herself. Don’t get into a snit because he didn’t ask. She took the jacket and moved to give him room.

  For such a large man, his movements were graceful. Camille got a flash of his muscular body moving fluidly over hers as she dug her nails into the shifting muscles of his back, and bit back a groan at the eroticism of it. Her vagina clenched and a trickle of cream leaked out to tickle her nether lips.

  Mateo froze. His body tensed as he slowly turned his head from the jack to stare at her skirt covered sex, before dragging his gaze up her body to meet her eyes.

  Camille felt her face flush. Surely he didn’t know…couldn’t smell…

  Stop it, she ordered herself. He can’t smell your pussy creaming for him.

  But still, something about the heat in his eyes before he turned back to the task at hand had her wondering. She let her gaze roll over him. Strong, lean thighs, a wide chest with pecs that stood out, an ass built to hold on to, and—she changed angles so she could peek between his legs at his package—more than a handful. Hell, from the size of the bulge, even two hands might not be enough to contain him when fully aroused. When he took a woman, the next morning she’d know she’d been taken.

  Damn, she hadn’t been this attracted to a man since, well, actually never. Camille felt her vagina spasm again and once more, Mateo tossed her a heated, heavy-lidded glance. The light in the garage hit his eyes at an angle and, just for a second, they gleamed gold. Unable to stand still, she paced a short distance away from her car, lecturing herself the whole while.

  Camille, get a grip! What’s the matter with you? You’re making a fool over yourself, acting like a teenager. Show some dignity. He’s going to think you’re a twit.

  But what a man, her hormones said. He has a body built for sex.

  Her libido might be correct in its assessment, but she’d seen attractive
men before and not been thrown off her stride by them. Hell, she’d grown up around a whole pack of them. She’d learn to admire them from a distance—she was a red-blooded, healthy woman, after all—and keep on trucking.

  The only reason Camille could think of why she was so off balance this time was the conversation she and Deb had at lunch. It had gotten her musing on the lack of a man in her life, and how long it had been since she’d been in a relationship.

  If she were honest with herself, there were times she wanted someone she could talk to, laugh with, play with, and yes, have sex with, but then she remembered all the things she didn’t like about relationships. There were good, valid reasons why she was single and alone. Reasons she reminded herself not to forget least she inadvertently find herself caught up in the lies, madness, and drama again.

  “I’m finished. Wait a minute while I get my car. I’ll follow you home to make sure you don’t have problems. Tomorrow, take your tire to the shop where you purchased it and get an exchange or refund. Have them check the other three tires as well,” Mateo instructed as he placed the flat tire and jack in her trunk.

  Caution flags went up in Camille’s head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to follow me. Can I give you something for changing the tire?” she asked, already reaching into her purse to pull a twenty out of her wallet.

  He stepped close, into her personal space. Spooked, Camille increased the distance between them. Two steps later, the concrete column blocked her retreat. Mateo closed the gap.

  “I don’t want your money, but you can buy me a cup of coffee.” His gruff voice was soft, a direct contrast to his dominant maneuver.

  Camille warily gazed deeply into solemn brown eyes that had seen things which had left scars on his souls and knew, absolutely knew, once this man decided upon something, nothing and no one got in his way. A premonition of feminine peril raised the hair on her nape.