Some Lycan Hot

by Michele Bardsley

  "Save me the details. I'm an old-fashioned guy."

  Dane watched the shaggy young man on the woman's right touch her shoulder. "Honey, I'll put my hands wherever you want."

  Instead of punching the guy's lights out, she squinted at him. "Are you familiar with the Kama Sutra?"

  "No, but I'm looking for an instructor. Interested?"

  "You interested in keeping your hand attached to your arm?" asked Dane. He looked pointedly at the guy's fingers clutching the woman's green blouse.

  "Relax, dude." The arrogant jerk winked at Miss Prim. "I'll be on the dance floor if you change your mind." He slipped away into the crowd.

  The woman smiled at Dane. "Thank you." She reached across the bar and tucked her hand into his reluctant grasp. "Marissa Vanderson."

  Vanderson? He seemed to recall meeting the Vandersons at one of Lorraine's endless social engagements, but his memories of those days spent in elite circles were fuzzy.

  The delicate bones of the woman's fingers pressed against his and her smooth, soft skin reminded him once again of her breeding. He dropped her hand. "Dane Sinclair."

  "Delighted to meet you, Mr. Sinclair."

  Dane couldn't see her eyes due to the glasses and lack of decent lighting, but her lips curved into another nice smile. She had a wonderful mouth. Whoa...what was he thinking?

  "I'll fix you a drink—on the house."

  He grabbed the bourbon, wishing he hadn't let Charlie talk him into working tonight. If his brother hadn't thrown in the courtside seats to next week's basketball game, he'd be sacked out on the couch watching a late night action flick instead of fixing a drink for Marissa Vanderson. He pushed the glass in front of her.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Perfect for you. It's called a Presbyterian." Dane tapped the rim. "Bourbon, soda, ginger ale."

  She nodded then drank it down. Dane gaped at her. Forget delicate sips and raised pinkies. Did she just wipe her mouth with the back of her hand? Had he pegged her wrong? Lorraine would have died of thirst before exhibiting such crude behaviors.

  "Another one, please."

  He debated arguing the point, since she appeared to have little experience with real alcohol. Hell, she was an adult. She had a right to get walloped if she wanted. Still, he dosed the second with more ginger ale than bourbon, and watched as she did the same gulp-it-down-quick routine.

  "Hit me again," she said with a silly grin. "That is the appropriate phrase, is it not?"

  Dane couldn't help it. He grinned back. "Yeah, you got the language down. But don't you want to pace yourself?"

  "Oh, no. It's very wild, isn't it?"

  "I'd consider it tame compared to other things."

  "Like what?"

  Dane's brows rose as a feeling of unease snaked through him. Miss Society or not, the little darling did not belong in the Paradise Club. Why was she here? No. No. No way. He was done with rescuing princesses. So, he squashed his concerns. The woman was capable of making her own decisions. He shouldn't care what she did or where she went.

  "Tell me about other wild things," she asked with the enthusiasm a student would quiz a teacher about a favorite subject. "And give me another Presbyterian."

  He didn't bother adding the bourbon this time. He watched her fine-boned fingers with the manicured nails slip around the glass. She tossed down the drink, smacking her lips in satisfaction.

  "How long until I'm—I'm—" She frowned, then heaved the biggest, ugliest, puke-orange purse he'd ever seen onto the bar. She opened it and pawed through the contents, her elbows poking into the people on either side of her. With a cry of triumph, she yanked a crinkled, ripped pink paper from the purse, then read it.

  "Buzzed. Of course, I would prefer not to have the hangover, but I will suffer through such a thing if it means having the whole experience."

  Her statement hit him like a bolt of lightning. She wanted to get drunk and have a hangover? She acted like doing such a thing was an amusement park ride she'd never been on.

  She glanced at the list. "Would it be appropriate to have sex with each other? Later on, I mean. After the flirting."

  Dane rubbed his earlobe. Surely he’d heard her question wrong. He leaned forward. "What did you say?"

  She tucked the list inside and closed the purse. "I was merely inquiring if our current situation would eventually lead to sex. Remember, The Snake Trap?"

  Snake Trap. Yeah, that about sums it up. Dane stared at her. The music pounded, people jostled closer to the bar, and Charlie shouted at Dane to get to work. Instead, Dane motioned the woman to go to the end of the counter. She did so without questioning him and her naive trust set his teeth on edge. He took her by the arm and led her into Charlie's small office. Silence mercifully descended when he shut the door.

  "Are you going to make a pass at me?" she asked in a breathless voice.

  "What?"

  "Make a pass—you know, come on to me."

  "No."

  Her shoulders drooped and she wilted into a nearby chair. "Why not? It's the next step, isn't it?"

  He'd disappointed her. For God's sake, she should know better than to just offer herself to a man.

  "Mr. Sinclair—"

  "You just asked me to have sex with you," he snapped, "at least call me Dane."

  Her cheeks blazed like a four-alarm fire and Dane realized he'd embarrassed her with his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Marissa. It's not every day a guy gets propositioned by a nun."

  "I'm not a nun. In a literal sense, anyway." She looked up at him and smiled. Her lower lip trembled, and Dane bit back a curse. Aw, crap. Princess tears. His fucking Kryptonite.

  "It's all right. I appreciate your candor. I know I'm rather plain, but I did hope willingness would make a difference in desirability."

  "Willingness to have sex?" asked Dane dubiously.

  "To have passionate, uninhibited sex."

  Dane sucked in a breath, feeling gut-punched. She blinked at him behind those ridiculously large glasses, head tilted, teeth pulling on her full bottom lip.

  "It's the last item on my list," she continued as if she hadn't asked for passionate, uninhibited sex, "so I have plenty to experience before the one-night stand. Can you hire for that sort of thing?"

  He inhaled deeply and counted to ten...twenty...twenty-five. "Let me get this straight. You want to hire someone to have sex with you?"

  "No, not really. I hoped to entice someone sufficiently so they'd take me on—on something like that." She pointed to the desk. "I want my skirt jerked up and buttons popping off my shirt..."

  Dane looked at the emerald-green top with big, gold, poppable buttons; he couldn't help but notice the roundness of her breasts under the well-fitting fabric. The dip of her small waist, the curve of her hip...barely covered by the short skirt...he tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. Jeez, it's hot in here. His gaze traveled down the enticing lines of her legs—encased in shimmery white hose. Damn nice legs.

  "...wearing my crotchless panties because there's no reason to ruin the silk ones."

  He stopped breathing, choked, coughed. She frowned at him and he waved away the concern marring her brow. "Crotchless panties?" he repeated in a hoarse voice.

  "I wasn't sure about protocol...book knowledge only gets you so far." She laughed as she tugged on the skirt. "I’ve never worn silk stockings before, and I have to say, getting them clipped into the satin straps was rather difficult."

  Dane's heart skipped a beat, then re-started at a frantic pace. He was having a heart attack. No. A lust attack. He would not think about crotchless panties, long legs, garters, and crazy women. He closed his eyes and thought about the North Pole. Ice. Cold. Snow.

  Too late. His body had already decided the desk fantasy was a damned fine idea.

  Dane tucked his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Let me give you some advice."

  "You have experience with women's lingerie?"

  How the hell was he supposed to answer t
hat question? He knew a thing or two about lingerie, but what he liked best on a woman was...nothing. Okay. Maybe nothing but red spiked high heels. He liked red. What the— Dane bit back a curse. His libido was raging out of control and it was all her fault. "I don't want to discuss women's underwear." Especially yours.

  "Okay." She focused completely on him. "I value any advice you can give me about my situation."

  Her total attention unnerved him and the lecture about her outrageous behavior getting her into serious trouble jumbled around in his mind. Searching for a nice way to say, "Get therapy," he examined her face for signs of insanity or inebriation. Heart-shaped, delicately pale, her features were a bit sharp with her honey-blonde hair pulled back. The glasses overshadowed the high cheekbones, pert nose, and the color of her eyes.

  "You seem to be a nice man," said Marissa before he could speak again. She checked her watch. "I only have twenty minutes until the wet T-shirt contest begins. Thank you for your time and for your kindness."

  Dane watched as she pulled out the mangled pink paper from the ugly orange purse. He took it from her. Some words were faded and others were scratched out. Different inks had been used and the handwriting had changed; childish, boxy letters with heart-dotted I's transformed to strong, clean lines. Some of the items seemed immature, a girl's wishes. Several were double-starred, including....

  "Go to the zoo?" Dane queried with raised brows.

  "I've never been. My sister was supposed to..." she hesitated. "It's important to me that I complete the list. By Saturday."

  "Why the deadline?"

  She shook her head. "Let's just say I need to keep a promise."

  "You want to do al lof these things? There's a lot of stuff on here and some of it you can't even read."

  "I know what every line says. I don't need to accomplish everything this week—just the starred items."

  Dane frowned. "Have sex" was starred. So was "toe-curling kiss," "get a pet," and a couple more sentences he couldn't make out. "Marissa, you don't have to do these things to experience life."

  She stood and extracted the list from his grasp. "Yes, I do. I wasn't kidding about my sheltered life. You compared me to a nun. I bet nuns have more fun than I ever did. I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say I'm free for a short amount of time and I desperately want to finish this list."

  Her vulnerability sliced into him. Wasn't this how Lorraine had gotten to him? He'd fallen for the "poor rich girl" trap once.

  "You're not an escapee, are you?"

  Her eyes widened. "Why would you say that?"

  "I knew it. Prison or the psych ward?"

  "Neither." She answered too fast. She'd make a terrible poker player. Little Miss Priss was hiding something...no, not really hiding, just not telling the full story.

  "I'm on a tight schedule, so I must go." That sexy, trembling little smile assailed her lips. "You're the first person I've met all by myself and look how I messed it up." She heaved the purse over her shoulder and extended her hand. "Good-bye."

  Dane clasped her hand and pulled her close. Her head reached his shoulders, but she tilted it back, met his gaze, and waited for him to speak. Here I go again. He'd help her out tonight, but that was the end of his participation. He refused to think about the trouble she'd get into with The List.

  "I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. He slid the purse from her shoulder. It thunked to the floor. "I'll help you tonight, princess."

  "Wonderful! Can we—"

  He waved one finger. "No sex."

  "Darn."

  He stepped back. "You can't enter a wet T-shirt contest without a T-shirt."

  "O-of course not."

  "What have you got on under that—" His gaze devoured the poppable gold buttons; he made the mistake of looking at the lush curve of her breasts outlined by the soft material of her top. Damn. "—your...uh...thingy."

  Her brows rose. "Define thingy."

  "Shirt. Blouse. Whatever. What's under it?"

  "A bra. It matches the crotchless panties. I went for the front snap and white lace. The black silk with red lace didn't appeal to me." She frowned. "Do men prefer a more, please forgive the word, but a more slutty look?"

  "All most men need is a woman naked and willing."

  "You've proven that theory quite wrong."

  Dane ignored her comment. If she knew how tempted he was to show her the delights of sexual pleasure, she might do something stupid—like take off her clothes. "Do you want to enter the wet T-shirt contest or not?"

  She nodded.

  Dane reached up and undid the topknot; silky, honey gold hair fell around Marissa's shoulders in soft waves. He removed her glasses, folded them carefully, and put them on the desk. When he returned to her, he drew in a breath. Blonde brows slanted over green eyes flecked with gold. Her features were not sharp at all, but perfectly defined. Golden curls trailed down her slim, white neck.

  Marissa Vanderson was beautiful.

  "Wow."

  "You don't have to pretend," she murmured.

  "I'm not pretending." Good Lord, he'd been a blind man. She was exquisite.

  He saw her swallow and the movement of her slender throat urged him to plant a soft kiss at the dimpled base. His gaze fastened to her generous mouth, and he nearly groaned when a pink tongue licked her lower lip.

  "You're asking me to kiss you," he warned softly. "Be careful about giving signals."

  Her gaze flickered. Lust? Curiosity? She was too naive to hide her uninhibited desire and his conscience refused to allow him to sip even a drop of Marissa Vanderson's innocence.

  "How else do I give a signal?"

  Dane sighed. "You don't want to give signals."

  "I don't?"

  "No."

  She moved closer and the same light flowery scent he noticed earlier infiltrated his senses. "You're right. I should be more direct." She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Kiss me, Dane."

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  Table of Contents

  Legends of the Lycans

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  The Blood Moon Battle

  Book Extras: Cut Scenes with Author Commentary

  Excerpt: Valentine’s Day Sucks

  Excerpt: Harry Little, Leprechaun

  Michele’s Biography

  List of Michele’s Available Books

  Bonus! Chapter One: Love Gone Wild