by Sabrina York
“Yes sir, will do. There’s an emergency room not far from here.” The manager turned for the door then paused. “Again, I apologise. I—is there anything else we can do for you tonight before you leave?”
Grabbing his black silk shirt off the chair, he shrugged it on, leaving it unbuttoned. He shoved his feet into unlaced combat boots and looked at the manager.
“Yeah, you can have someone bring my case up to the helipad. My ride should be arriving soon,” he said, moving to grab the guitar case from the couch. He always sang on stage, but he played, and well, wrote and composed all of the Hound’s material. The record company wanted to bring someone in, but they’d vetoed it. Their sound was unique to them. Always had been, and always would be.
“Of course, sir. Will do.”
Throwing the horns, Aaron touched his folded hand across his heart in the Hounds signature salute. “Rock on, man. Stay true.”
Chapter Two
Mel had to admit, Madame Eve was efficient. Within an hour of her receiving the email, a limo had arrived to take her to the nearest airport, a little affair near Sherwood Forest, and whisked her away from the sleepy English countryside by private jet. The short flight had been very comfortable. Despite the fact she’d been slumming it in tents and no-star digs for the past couple of months, she knew luxury when she saw it.
Thanks to her inheritance, she could afford to travel like that if she wanted to. But she chose not to, not seeing the point when the same flight from the same location over the same route cost far less commercially. Less of a carbon footprint as well, when a whole planeload of people shared it. She had to admit though, it was nice on the odd occasion. She stood and headed to the door at the front of the plane.
“Mind the step, ma’am. I hope you have a good stay and thank you for flying with us.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at the flight attendant, waving off his offer to help with her bag and stepped out. Set back from the hotel, the narrow runway ran the width of an impressive expanse of lawn. Behind a small rise, and with the landing lights set in the tarmac, the runway was inconspicuous, hidden once the plane had taken off again. Nice touch. And in a couple of thousand years, people like her would dig up the remnants and wondering what the hell the road to nowhere had been used for.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she set off, heading down the short flight of steps. Her strides ate up the distance to the sprawling hotel, part of the famous Castillo chain. She assessed it, picking up the details of what must once have been a stately home, but the Castillos had done well in converting it to a hotel. It still retained the majesty and charm of a noble family’s estate. She half expected some batty old codger to wander across the lawn to greet her in battered wellington boots and his grandmother’s shotgun over his arm.
Instead a neat young man stepped out of one of the double doors onto the terrace to wait for her. He was the only person in sight, but that was expected. The information from Madame Eve had been rather specific. Her date for the evening wanted the entire hotel closed off, to ensure their privacy.
She’d snorted a little at that. Close the hotel off? He had to be wealthy if he’d paid to have the place shut for a date. And in her experience, rich men thought they could buy anything and didn’t bother themselves with what others thought, or what they felt.
Unease wormed its way through her again. Perhaps the date hadn’t been such a good idea. She took a few deep breaths to bring her heart rate down and relax. Barrett wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger. And if this guy did hurt her in any way, shape, or form…there wasn’t enough money in the world to save him from her brother’s wrath. Barrett might be out of the military, but he’d been a shit-hot soldier, a commando, and damn good at his job.
“Good evening, Miss Simmons. A pleasure to welcome you to Greystones. I trust you had a good flight?” He strode down the steps toward her with a mega-watt smile. The faint accent, definitely not Scottish, marked him as non-local. “My name is Jones. I’ll be your personal butler for your stay here. Do you have any luggage I can carry for you?”
She shook her head, already charmed by the butler’s easy manner. At his curious look, she said, “No, this is all I have. I travel light. Don’t worry, I can do anything from a trek across the Sahara, to a swanky do at the White House from this bag. Lead on, please. I believe my Prince Charming awaits.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” Jones turned and inclined his head, indicating with his palm for her to precede him back up the stairs and through the open doorway. “And he does, indeed. Mr. Rixx arrived some time ago and has been awaiting your arrival. He asked me to tell you not to rush though, and to take as long as you need getting ready.”
She arched an eyebrow as Jones guided her through hallways with polished floors, the immaculate carved plaster walls littered with portraits of people from days gone past. The historian in her wanted to stop, marvel at the detail in them and wonder who the subjects had been.
“Here we are, ma’am.” Pausing at a door, he opened it and let her precede him into the room. She stepped through and her eyes widened.
Wow.
She thought she’d seen it all but the level of luxury impressed even her. Done in whites and creams, the space appeared to be less a room and more a suite. Doors opened off the sitting room they stood in, revealing bedrooms and what looked like a study. More closed doors on the opposite wall were a mystery that invited exploration later. Hell, even the living room had to be bigger than the entire apartment she rented for her current job. She whistled. There was luxury and there was pulling out all the stops.
“Swanky. This all for me?”
“Indeed, ma’am. Mr. Rixx’s suite adjoins this one; when you’re ready, you can access the shared balcony through that door over there.” He motioned toward a set of double doors framed by voluptuous curtains then stepped back with a smile. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call. My number on our internal system is double-0 seven.”
Amusement washed through her. “Cool number. Who’d you have to bribe to get that one?”
“I could tell you, ma’am, but then I’d have to kill you and you seem like a nice lady, so I wouldn’t want to do that.” Jones chuckled, seeming to relax a little at her smile. He pushed down the handle and gave her a little half bow. “I hope you have a good evening.”
He left her with her thoughts.
Oh, this one-night stand service is good.
Not only were a large bunch of lilies, her favourite flowers, in the bedroom, but the bathroom had been stocked with her usual brand of toiletries. How they’d known her preferences, she had no idea because Barrett sure as hell wouldn’t have. Give him a gun or a combat-type situation and he’d be able to describe it in great detail, right down to the last nut and bolt, or the type of sand underfoot. But if she asked him, “What do you think?” and struck a pose, he’d freeze, panic-stricken, trying to work out what had changed.
Madame Eve. Had to be. The woman had ESP or something.
After spending a happy few moments opening bottles, Melody ran a bath and soaked for a while. After the hot water worked its magic, she emerged, clean and chilled out, to stand in front of the mirror.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Jones she lived out of her bag so she had everything to hand to make herself up for a date. Used to travelling in the course of her work, she always carried formal wear. Her trusty little black dress, new black satin underwear, and a pair of delicate, strappy sandals. All lightweight, easy to pack and, in the case of the dress, a quick blast with the hair-dryer knocked all the creases from the fae-silk. Dressing quickly, she returned to the mirror, to apply her makeup.
Leaning forward, she slicked a on a layer of gloss and studied her reflection with a critical eye. For her, not bad. She had no illusions. Not a supermodel by any stretch of the imagination, she stood way too short at five-foot dead and would only be the “ideal” weight if she managed to gain a foot overnight. Pleasantly plump might
be a good term, if she felt kind…. If not, well then fat was as good a word as any.
At least her hair had behaved, the short, dark spikes falling in perfect disarray to frame her face. Pouting at her reflection, she blew it a kiss. It would have to do. She glanced behind her. Darkness had begun to fall, which meant her date had been cooling his heels for almost an hour….
Rixx. Why did that name seem familiar? The thought slid away as she headed to the double doors and threw them open.
The warm evening air whispered over her skin like a lover’s caress. The thought brought her back to sex again, and heat spread over her cheeks. Schooling her emotions, she fought the instinct to turn and run, to hide in her room under the duvet until morning, rather than have sex with a stranger. After all, that’s what the night was all about, wasn’t it? A one-night stand. But she had to admit, she was well overdue for some action between the sheets.
Her heels clicked on the flagstones, and she whistled a low note between her teeth as the balcony widened into a large seating area. Holy crap, is that a hot tub?
There wasn’t time to gawp. A figure detached itself from the shadows by one of the huge gargoyles dotting the wall. She hadn’t done more than glance at the profile of her date, preferring to make her own decision on the guy when she met him. Any report she read, even the briefest profile, could taint that first meeting. But, even if she had had an idea of the man she’d come there to meet, of what to expect, he certainly wasn’t it. Her jaw dropped as the moon broke overhead and she got her first good look at him.
He appeared to have stepped right from the glossy pages of Rock’n’Roll magazine. Tall and wiry, he had long black hair loose about his shoulders, and his unbuttoned shirt revealed a toned chest and a ripped six pack. Black pants rode low on his hips, far enough that one slip would reveal where the dark line of hair down the centre of his hard stomach led. The tattoos scrawled over his skin, heavy silver rings, bracelets and a large skull belt buckle completed the macho bad boy look. Almost…. She blinked, leaned closer and frowned.
“Are you wearing eyeliner?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. He turned his head to flick the hair over his shoulder, and the light caught his eyes, the telltale shimmer clueing her in.
Her date not only channelled enough inner bad boy for a whole fricking town full of boys, but he was a werewolf to boot. Wait—did that make him a bad boy or a bad dog?
“Err, yes. I am. Why? Is that a problem?” Aaron replied, surprised by the first words she spoke. He was lucky to be able to marshal a sensible thought, never mind form a sentence since his brain short-circuited when he’d seen her…. When he’d smelled her.
Even though he’d been determined to come on the date, bugged Madame Eve to set it up at short notice for him, he hadn’t held out much hope. At best he’d expected a nice evening, perhaps a little action in the sack if the lady should be willing—most were as soon as they recognised him—and then a relaxing weekend at the hotel after she left.
Some time alone, just him and his guitar. Him and the music without the crowds, hype, and pressure. Free the words he’d sing on stage from within his soul and getting them down on paper before they dissipated like smoke in the wind: the last time they were pure and uncorrupted.
All of that disappeared when she’d arrived. In the space between one heartbeat and the next his life changed completely.
He’d expected sex. Instead Madame Eve provided his mate.
“No, I just wasn’t expecting it.” She smiled and he was blown away, caught like a rabbit in the headlights.
Gorgeous. No other word for it but gorgeous. Even if he discounted the heavenly scent rolling off her skin, a mixture of perfume, gardenias, and her natural female scent, she was a knockout. Petite, she had the rounded, lush curves he preferred. Forget size zero. He wanted one who wouldn’t break if he so much as breathed on her the wrong way.
What had started out as a walk toward her became a predatory stalk as the beast within woke up and took notice as well, peering out through his human eyes with a possessive growl. It wanted her. He wanted her. And by the end of the night, she would be theirs.
She didn’t back down, not even when he circled her, unable to rein in his predatory instincts when finally facing his true mate. While she waited for him to circle around in front of her, irritation, not fear, crossed her features before she stuck a tiny hand out. Schooling himself not to snatch and never let go, Aaron enveloped it in his. The bones were light under skin as soft as silk…satin…whatever description some fool wordsmith gave it. It had to be the softest thing he’d ever felt.
“I’m Mel Simmons. You are…?”
He glanced up in surprise, pausing a hairsbreadth from planting a kiss on the back of her knuckles. “You don’t know?”
She arched one narrow eyebrow, her mouth pursing a little. An adorable expression, one he wanted to kiss right off her face, wrap her in his arms and plunder her lips until she opened up to him. Until she was breathless and moaning under him.
“I know your surname is Rixx, but other than that….” Shrugging, she added, “Should I? I mean, I know you’re dressed up like something from a rock band, but…really?” She shook her head but made no attempt to free her hand from his. In fact, she watched him with fascination, as if holding her breath to see what he’d do next. “Not my type of music. I barely listen to the radio.”
She doesn’t recognize me.
Amazement flowed through his veins, followed by warmth. Far from being annoyed that she didn’t know his name, her admission relieved him. If she didn’t know his identity, then the spark of wary interest in her eyes…that had to be real. Something he could trust.
“No, kitten, you shouldn’t. My name is Aaron.”
With a smile, he brought her hand up and pressed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. He caught the slight hitch in her breathing and resisted the urge to rub his cheek against her skin like some sort of damn cat. Straightening, he refused to relinquish his hold, instead turning to draw her toward the comfortable couches arranged under the stars. “But I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about you.”
“I assure you, I’m very boring.” She chuckled, a deep throaty sound that went straight to his cock.
Fuck it, why had he thought leather pants were a good idea? Butter soft, they concealed buggar all. Keeping the smile in place, he snagged a cushion to plonk over his lap for concealment. Her gaze dropped to it. Far from the blush and quick look away he’d expected, she smirked instead.
“Well, either you’re building the great wall of Greystone to keep me out or that part of the evening will go well.”
He blinked in surprise. Given the demure little black dress and her kitten-heeled sophisticated appearance he’d figured her for a once a week, with the lights off, missionary-position-type girl. Not the sort to make wise-cracks about his erection.
“You might as well ditch the cover-up. Unless you’re shy of course. Dressed like that though, I wouldn’t have figured you for the retiring type.” The smirk back in place, she turned toward the champagne bucket, lifted the bottle and read the label before glancing over her shoulder at him. “Of course, it could all be a defence mechanism. You could be nervous…or a virgin, even.”
Discarding the cushion, he took the bottle and filled two glasses. “Please tell me I don’t have to explain the birds and the bees to you.”
“Fuck no, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
He gave her a glass, watching her face the entire time. Their fingers brushed, an electric spark leaping from skin to skin. She jumped a little and bit her lip, forcing him to smother a groan at the sight of her blunt, human teeth on the plump flesh. On impulse he sat forward and kissed her.
He’d intended it to be a quick touch, nothing more than a brush of their mouths but fate had other ideas. She moved forward at the same moment, the motion pressing her lips hard against his.
From the first
touch, his thoughts scattered. Her mouth was warm under his, pliant as he learnt its shape. Sliding a hand into the hair at her nape, he relieved her of her glass with the other. She sighed, nestling into him. Her lips softened and she kissed him back. His heart lurched, butterflies swarming in his stomach.
He silenced the growl of his wolf and tilted his head. Easing her closer, he swept his tongue over her lower lip in a silent request for her to open and let him in. Not a demand, never a demand. He could overpower her with little effort and they both knew it. Even if he’d been human rather than a wolf, she was still too tiny to stand a chance against his size and strength.
Anger filled him at the thought of anyone hurting her, but he controlled the emotion before it became more than a slight tightening of his fingers. Taking a breath, he relaxed his hold, altering the movement to rifle his fingers through the short, silky strands. She hadn’t gone for the longish hair most women of her social set did. Instead she wore her dark hair in a sexy, pixie crop that framed her face and elegant features to perfection.
She parted her lips with a soft moan and triumph roared through him. He swallowed it, surging in and sliding his tongue into her mouth in a slow, sensual push. Leaning back, he took her with him, giving her every chance to pull away. All he wanted to do was tumble her to the soft surface behind them, strip the demure dress off, and make love to her until she screamed his name in ecstasy.
Not have sex, shag, or fuck. Make love.
She came easily, resting on his chest as though she belonged there, her hand burning a brand where it lay over his heart.
He nibbled at her lower lip and another rumble welled up in his chest. She tasted wonderful. Like coffee and cream, strawberries and champagne…tart lemon. All his favourite things rolled into one, and then some. Something more. Something so indescribable and unique to her that it defied explanation.
