Her Lonely Mastiff

by Summer Donnelly

  Visions hit. Strong. Powerful. Of warm muscles and cotton sheets. Of steamy kisses by candlelight. Of her wearing nothing but him and a smile as they created their own kind of heat. With a shake of her head, she tossed those thoughts away. She was here on vacation. Va.Ca.Tion. Period.

  “Look, Lacey, I’ve given this a lot of thought,” Quinn said as he ran his hands through his hair. “Maxwell Mountain is no place for someone like you. You need to leave in the morning.”

  Someone like her? Did he mean a city girl with no mountain man experience? What? Were they living in the 1830s? “No.” Lacey crossed her arms over her chest, belatedly remembering she wasn’t wearing a bra. Underwire D cup bras were a pain during the day, and they were always the first thing she threw in the corner after work. Of course, she wasn’t generally expecting a man as hot as Quinn effing Maxwell to visit her.

  Quinn looked up at her, mouth agape as though no one dared argue with him before. “What did you say?

  “I said no. N-O. A simple two-letter word signifying denial. I know it in at least three or four other languages if that will help.”

  “I own the damn cabins,” Quinn said, dark eyes growing fierce. “Hell, woman. I own the damn mountain! If I say you have to leave you do.”

  “And I said no. Should I use it in a sentence? Use another language? Does this work? Nyet. Nein. Non. We have a contract, Mr. Maxwell. The cabin is paid for so stop being such a poopy head. Let’s change this record and move on.” She put her hands on her hips and faced off against him.

  His arms folded across his massive chest and for a moment, Lacey felt a shadow of fear before tilting her chin up in defiance.

  “Did you just call me a poopy head?” A ghost of a grin appeared on his lips, and Lacey felt a surge of triumph. If he was smiling, he couldn’t be angry with her.

  “Yes, I believe I did.” Lacey deepened her drawl. “Why, sugah, didn’t you know? You don’t get invited to the best cotillions if you use potty language.”

  “Because nothing is as intimidating as a woman in pink polka dot flannel calling a man twice her size a poopy head.”

  “Listen up, Seximus Prime, I don’t know who you are or what high horse you rode in on,” Lacey said, feeling a little wine-induced anger surging through her veins.

  Quinn grinned at the nickname, and Lacey cursed the wine that gave her such loose lips.

  She continued saying, “But you don’t get to tell me what to do. I didn’t invite you in here. I didn’t ask you to drink my wine. And I sure didn’t ask for your fashion advice.” She wagged her finger, trying to appear maternal and scolding. She approached him, as though charging him like a bull would somehow convince him to leave her temporary home. Except, it didn’t go quite as planned.

  Instead of backing away from Lacey’s personal space, Quinn surged in. His brown eyes sharpened and took in the bounce and sway of her breasts as she walked.

  “You aren’t even wearing a bra, are you, Trouble?” His lips parted, as though aching to take a taste of her.

  Heat and awareness blazed up her neck and cheeks as the low rumble of his voice did … things … to her insides. Horniness, that long-forgotten emotion, hit with the power of a freight train. Lacey swallowed, unsure how to proceed.

  She’d been a good girl with nice, normal, sex. Missionary position with the lights out. But as she stood there, panting slightly in the face of Quinn’s overwhelming masculinity, she had a vision.

  Sex with Quinn would be a wild ride of mussed up hair that would leave her exhausted. Drained. Hungry for more.

  Sex with Quinn would never be considered anything as tame as nice.

  “I can see the outline of your nipples,” Quinn said, a sly grin on his face.

  Lacey fought the urge to cross her arms. “I believe you meant my glorious nipples,” she said tilting her chin up and feeling the heat of a blush stain her cheeks. Damn this man with his bold eyes and naughty mouth.

  Oh, what she wanted to do with that mouth would be deliciously wicked.

  “Let me get closer, and I can judge for myself just how glorious they are.”

  In a heartbeat, Lacey’s nipples tightened even further. Her core pulsed and with horrified awareness, realized she was getting damp sparring with Quinn. She was stimulated. Aroused. Wanted nothing more than to surge towards him and demand he sate the wanton he’d dared to awakened.

  “You can go now,” she said, no longer able to withstand the temptation of crossing her arms to protect her loosely swinging breasts.

  “Are you wearing any panties?” Quinn asked. He towered over her, but she didn’t feel afraid. Instead, she felt protected. Transfixed. Cherished.

  “Oh, that’s enough!” Lacey’s eyes lit with stoked passion. When had she last felt this alive? She couldn’t remember.

  “Git out,” she yelled, pushing the too hot for his own good behemoth out the door.

  “You aren’t, are you?” Quinn’s dark brown eyes widened before he smiled. “I thought you were a nice girl, but maybe you really are Trouble.”

  “Out,” she ordered. “Does every woman you meet fall for that do-me smile and those bedroom eyes? Well, I am hereby announcing I am immune to you, Quinn Maxwell.”

  She swung the door, and it banged shut. Even though she knew he probably had a spare key, Lacey turned the lock on the door behind him.

  Lacey glared at the closed door for a long time before deciding he wasn’t coming back. She was happy about that, wasn’t she? I mean, it wasn’t like she wanted him to spend the night, right?

  Quinn was not the kind of man she should get hooked up with. He was growly. Protective. Stubborn. He crowded her and made her feel… worked up.

  He was one of those men. The kind her mama had warned her about. The ones who spanked a little too hard. Used his teeth to scrape against a woman’s neck. Shoulders. Bottom. One who would thrust deep inside her body, making her feel…

  Lusty. And passionately aroused, possibly for the first time in all her twenty-seven years.

  Darn it.

  Quinn

  Quinn’s sharp shifter-enhanced eyes took in Lacey’s pacing. The strong scent of her arousal hit him like a punch in the gut until all the man and beast had wanted to do was to take what she so clearly wanted to give.

  With each breath he took, the imprint of his Mastiff on Lacey grew stronger until he wasn’t sure what they would do when she left. And she was definitely leaving.

  He ignored the howl of his animal. He would cope. He always had. He’d lost men in the army. Good men. Men he’d sworn to protect.

  He threw off his sweater and shucked out of his jeans. He’d have some explaining to do in the morning, but for now, his animal needed to roam. Needed to protect the woman in his cabin.

  The woman he suspected his Mastiff was going to miss beyond redemption.

  He shifted easily. Eagerly. Bones popping and thick, coarse hair replacing frail human skin. The dog padded around the cabin, ensuring all was quiet.

  He sniffed some of the other shifters in the area, but they were keeping their distance. They had all received the same lecture Quinn had received when he’d been a boy of eighteen.

  The U.S. Government did not want shifters reproducing. They were a select breed of humans crossed with animal DNA. Bear shifters in Manhattan would be a very bad thing. Fuck, Cree was proof of that. He hadn’t been able to control his animal as a juvenile and had killed a man.

  Home. Hearth. Family. They were not in a shifter’s future.

  Chapter Four

  Lacey

  The red LED numbers of the alarm clock read five in the morning, but there was no sleep left inside of her.

  “Meow,” Zoe said, lumbering up to lick her face.

  “Noooo,” she moaned, tossing the covers over her face. Lacey could practically feel the cat thinking before she walked to the end of the bed and began licking Lacey’s toes.

  “Argh. Why don’t you have a snooze button,” Lacey muttered, now hiding all exp
osed skin completely under the covers. Except now, it was getting stuffy under the blankets, and she couldn’t breathe.

  She couldn’t take it. Lacey needed oxygen. She pulled back the covers, revealing her nose and lips, and inhaled sweet cold cabin air.

  And was promptly licked by her cat.

  Recognizing Zoe was not going to let her go back to sleep, Lacey pulled back the covers and muttered to herself about pets, freezing mornings, and hungry bellies. After stomping into a pair of slippers, Lacey went into the main living room to give Zoe some kibble.

  “Well, shoot,” she muttered as the cold seeped into her clothes. Lacey glared at the fireplace as though hoping it would light up on cue. It didn’t.

  Sliding into her boots, she went outside in search of the woodpile.

  “Oof!” She tripped over a bear-sized dog sleeping in front of her door.

  “Well, hello there,” she greeted when the dog deigned to open his eyes. “Where did you come from, big guy?” Lacey rubbed behind his ears, earning her a growl of pleasure. “I don’t suppose you know where the woodpile is, do you?”

  The dog chuffed in the back of his throat and lumbered to his feet. “Wow, you are a big one, aren’t you?” He stood close to three feet at the shoulder, and Lacey wondered whose dog he was.

  “Do you belong to Quinn?” she asked then laughed at the silliness of her question. The real surprise would have been if he’d responded.

  The dog looked over his shoulder and then walked around the cabin. When Lacey didn’t make any moves to follow, he stopped and looked at her meaningfully.

  “Oh, got you,” Lacey said, scrambling to her feet. “Did Timmy fall down the well again? You want me to follow you, right?” She crossed her arms for warmth and chased after the behemoth dog.

  “Woof.” His bark was deep and husky, matching his size. He was apparently not amused by her references to a certain long-haired Collie. His bulk was calming. Protective. He didn’t appear to be aggressive in anyway and yet, Lacey felt immediately reassured by his vigilant nature.

  There, right up against the cottage, sat the wood pile. “Thank you.” Lacey filled her arms with the seasoned wood and headed back into her temporary home.

  After crumpling up some newspaper in the bottom, she placed some kindling in a nice pile before realizing she didn’t have the one ingredient necessary. “Matches,” she muttered, looking for the ones she’d packed for her candles. But the tiny matches she’d picked up at the grocery store on her way out of town were damp to the touch. “Well, shoot.”

  Lacey walked towards the window, wondering where her friend the dog had gone. She grabbed her jacket and, holding her hands over her still-braless breasts, made a beeline for Quinn’s cabin.

  Quinn

  Quinn damned himself every kind of fool there was. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in front of her door. Hadn’t meant to listen to the gentle cadence of her breathing as she slept. Hadn’t meant to guard her in case Cree or Fox came looking for a delicate morsel to nibble on.

  Every cell in his body demanded he protect Lacey. He wasn’t sure what it was about her feisty southern belle persona, but his dog had firmly imprinted on her. Somehow, Quinn knew, he needed to get the Mastiff under control before he made the human do something stupid.

  And irrevocable.

  Like fall in love.

  And when Lacey had stumbled out of the cabin all sleep-warm and mussed, Quinn had honestly meant to leave her there in a pile of impractical suede boots and pink pajamas. Instead, like a docile pup, he had led her around the cabin and showed her the woodpile.

  After showing her the woodpile, he’d resisted the urge to shift and help her carry in wood. Quinn just didn’t think Lacey was ready for that reveal, yet. Instead, while she was preoccupied, he had high tailed it to his own back porch.

  And here she was, high kneeing her way over the yard and up onto his porch. Lacey was running, braless, her hands holding her bouncing tits tight against her body.

  He groaned as his body responded to the vision. There was morning wood, but this was ridiculous. All he wanted to do was bury his dick in her sweet pussy and never leave.

  No, he mentally scolded himself. Not going to happen. That woman may as well have trouble tattooed across her forehead. She would pull him in so deep and so long, he’d forget about the rules regarding shifter mating.

  A dangerous thought flashed through Quinn’s mind. Would Lacey agree to a no-commitment, no rules, week-long anything he wanted to do vacation?

  A second, more dangerous thought occurred to him. Could his inner animal be able to give her up once he’d had her?

  And if he couldn’t, could he somehow convince Lacey into a childless union?

  Bam, Bam, Bam.

  Quinn’s lips quirked into a grin. For a little thing, she was surprisingly loud.

  “What?” he growled as he opened the door. “Damn it, Trouble, I told you to stay inside.”

  Lacey paused, hand raised as if to continue banging on his door. “Uh. I’m cold,” she stammered out. “And hungry. And don’t have any matches.”

  “You let the fire go out?” Quinn demanded. “Damn it, Trouble, don’t you have the sense God gave a goose? It gets cold here in the mountains.”

  Lacey’s eyes dilated at his words and her pheromones hit him right in the libido. “Not for you,” she said, her voice husky with what he feared was desire. “You’re so warm.”

  “I run warm.” Quinn deflected her question. His hand tightened into a fist to prevent it from grabbing her by the hair and delving into the sweet depths of her mouth. When was the last time he’d longed this hard for a kiss? Months? Years? Decades.

  He grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her into his cabin. “Jesus, woman, what is wrong with you? Your skin is like ice.” He couldn’t believe she’d put herself at risk like this. “You’re just a little thing. What were you thinking?”

  He herded her into his living area and put her in front of his fire. “Sit,” he ordered, pushing her into a chair. Lacey opened her mouth to argue with him, but she closed it when he glared at her.

  Quinn knelt down and put an extra log on the fire, letting the ravenous flames consume the dried-out pine. He turned back to Lacey and took her hands in his. “Why are you out without a respectable coat? Or gloves? Even a hat?”

  Lacey’s mouth opened as he towered over her. “Uhm. I’m in a coat,” she said, her voice slightly dazed. She nodded towards his hips. “Is that a cell phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

  Lacey

  Holy cow, she hadn’t just said that, had she?

  But somehow, when Quinn had nicknamed her Trouble, she found she wanted to live up to (down to?) that reputation. Somehow, without her knowing how, Quinn Maxwell had turned her into an ass-ogling, shoulder-admiring, lip-longing pervert.

  And she liked it!

  As he stood over her, awareness and arousal washed over her. The second they were in the same room, he filled the entire room. Consumed all the oxygen. Her body responded as though neatly attuned to his scent.

  She had never felt this overwhelming physical reaction to anyone. This was lust, pure and simple, and yet she was deeply afraid there would be nothing simple about it.

  Quinn’s lips parted at her words. His head tilted back and ran his hands through his shaggy dark hair. “You need to get out of here, Trouble.”

  “But I’m cold,” she said with a little pout. He seemed to like watching out for her and wasn’t it a lady’s duty to let a man be big and strong? She was sure that was in the Idiots Guide to being a Southern Belle Handbook. And if it wasn’t already? She’d personally make sure they inserted a chapter.

  “Still?” Quinn asked, reaching for her. “Christ, Trouble. You and this no-bra habit are going to be the death of me.”

  Lacey tossed one hand over her forehead. “I do believe I need some smelling salts.”

  Quinn snorted with laughter. “Afraid I’m all out of chaise lounges.�
�� Still towering over her, he said. “Are you really cold or are you just bullshitting me?”

  “I’m on vacation. And yes, it’s cold in my cottage.” She batted her eyelashes at him, hoping she remembered how from finishing school. She stood, crowding into his personal space. “But I could be warm again if you just touched me.”

  Her inner alarm bells fired off in rapid succession. What was she doing? She wasn’t here for an affair. She was here to relax and get away from it all. And yet, he was tall. Dark. A little growly around the edges. In other words, scrumptious.

  “You smell so good,” she whispered, feeling her throat close off with desire. “I could just roll around in it and never want to stop.”

  “I’m not looking for anything,” Quinn warned. “And I have no plans on following you around like a lost puppy while you’re here.”

  Fire burned in her with his rejection. “Did I ask you to? No, but you’re sexy as all get out. You must know that. I’m a normal woman with a healthy appreciation for your. Um. Assets.”

  “You’re leaving in a week,” Quinn pointed out. “And if I never take a foot off this mountain again, I will be very happy.”

  “Noted.”

  “So, what are you really doing here, Lacey St. Claire?”

  “I’m here to relax. I’m a vet tech in Winston. We had a particularly virulent parvo outbreak in our clinic.” Lacey’s body tightened as she considered the poor dogs who had suffered due to the ravages of the illness. “I guess you could say I am here to re-evaluate my life decisions. Rescuing animals. Taking care of them. I was fine with all that. I even brought comfort to people whose animals passed away. But seeing all those dogs we had rescued and taken care of reduced to dehydrated shells? It was too much.”

  Quinn’s hand raised, slowly. Using one gentle finger, he traced her forehead. “You have a big heart,” he commented.

  She nodded, letting the ugly days of her job slip away under the yearning Quinn encouraged. She didn’t understand what was happening here on Maxwell Mountain, but somehow, she wanted to pursue this attraction to Quinn and see where it went.