by Q. Zayne
I couldn’t help it, I ran around the desk and threw my arms around him. He was rock hard with muscles, but I almost knocked the breath out of him. He caught me in his big arms with an oof of surprise. Catching my momentum, he swung me off my feet. I flung my head back in pure joy. My breasts pushed against his broad chest; his big arms supported me; his big erection butted my thigh. Oh, Mr. Drake. My body didn’t feel too big with him, I felt just right.
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy. What am I going to do with you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help you, remember?” Deeply grateful to all the tough women of old movies—I mean really, they don’t write women like that any more—I improvised a new Ivy on the spot. Sure, they have female adventurers, space travelers, assassins, and all, but how many of them are memorable for more than how the actresses fill out their costumes? Give me Katherine Hepburn, Barbara Stanwyck, gals who can flay a man and make him like it! Mr. Drake didn’t have a chance to turn me down, and I think he knew it. He looked at me with something like wonder in his amazing eyes. I stared. They were dark as Yucatan cenotes and looked like they went to the center of the earth.
But men like Mr. Drake never loved girls like me. That was a fantasy. That was the young one in me who still wished I’d had a daddy who was really there for me, instead of a brainy father who was always busy and treated me like a barely tolerable interruption.
West squeezed me and set me down, breathing faster than when I came in.
“You’re an armful, Ivy.”
“Thanks for the swing. We’ll have to do that again sometime.” I arched one brow and smiled, blending innocent and knowing in the time-tested classic Hollywood style.
He chuckled, breaking the tension.
I sidled along the side of the desk and peeked at a picture of a brittle-looking ice blonde. She had cheekbones you could open snail mail with and a straight-line mouth.
“Is that your wife?” Again, my mouth outracing my brain. I wanted to kick myself. He’d just agreed to take me to Africa, freaking Africa, and I reminded him of his wife?
He frowned, wiped his hand across his face.
“Used to be,” he whispered.
This time I had sense to wait, to listen. “She died two years ago.”
I think the man’s eyes misted. He had to have cared for her—even though she had pale blue eyes that made an iceberg look inviting.
I don’t like this about myself, but I was relieved. A dead wife was less of a problem than a live one would have been, and a wife gone for two years was less of an obstacle than a more recent loss. I’d read enough novels and watched enough movies to do the math on that.
I mustn’t hope for anything. But I did, already I did.
“No time for you to pack. My plane leaves in an hour. I’ll get you everything you need.” He jabbed the intercom. “Miko, call Reynolds. Tell him to put together women’s clothing, toiletries, hiking boots, camp kit, luggage, the works, from trail to evening wear.” He looked me up and down. “Size 18 clothes, 6B shoes.”
I gasped. How experienced was this man? Was I out of my depth? Would I just be an hors d’oeuvre for him?
“No. Miko. Call Reynolds. I want him to attend to this personally and bring the gear to my plane, STAT. He has 45 minutes, so do it.”
My head swam. My plane registered. No big deal, right? I was about to fly to Africa with a stranger on his plane. Untraceable. Girls disappeared every year doing less stupid things than this. Was I stupid? I took a deep breath. At least he hadn’t let Miko order my clothes. She probably wore a size 2, with room for a pack of gum in the waistband. I could just imagine the unflattering dreck she would have chosen in my size. Whoever Reynolds was, I liked him already.
“Come on.”
That was it. He said come on and headed out of the office, and I followed. All I had was the contents of my attaché purse that I bought for my new job. Wow. My first job ever, and a billionaire was flying me out of the country in his private plane. I had a pang of guilt about kidnapping my roommate’s best suit to Africa for however long but figured Chana would understand.
I dug for my phone and sent her a text. She deserved to know that me and her suit wouldn’t be back for a few days. If ever, a sinister voice inside me added. I ignored it and teetered after my boss in my crazy-high patent leather spikes. Beauty hurt. Yeah.
Miko looked daggers at me on the way out—now I knew exactly what that expression meant. I think she would have flayed me alive if she had a chance. I gave her an innocent smile and hearty wave as I breezed out the door on Mr. Drake’s heels.
OMG I was going to Africa with this crazy-hot older man who wanted to do dangerous deeds to help people! He was out to save lives and balance those scales of justice for real. I mean, could a first job get better than that?
When his driver opened the back door of some glossy black touring car that probably cost more than my parents’ house, I just blinked and got in. The driver was built like a wrestler, and his nose looked like it had gone more than one round against a fist. I didn’t need a schooling in Hollywood mafia flicks to deduce bodyguard. My new boss wasn’t yanking the newbie. The man lived in danger.
As I slid across the leather seat to be close to him, I knew I was in over my head. I didn’t want out, though. I wanted in deeper. Casually, I let my leg touch his as I settled my attaché on my other side.
I smelled his natural masculine smell and a faint whiff of something expensive. Took a note, powerful men didn’t need to slather themselves in those men’s products that made me gag. Gratitude washed over me. If I didn’t like how someone smelled, it was a deal breaker. I might be a virgin with daddy issues, but I had standards.
Mr. Drake even had minty breath. I suspected him of popping a mint or sneaking a spray just for me. A good sign. I felt the heat and muscularity of his leg through my stocking. Chana’s stocking. I really, really owed her. I was more of a jeans girl.
It was sexy, being so close to him.
The glass between us and the driver seemed to go smoky, and he turned to me.
He reached across. Was this the move? I steeled myself, not knowing what to expect and kind of afraid. The way he’d known my size. Of course at his age he’d been around the playing field a few times, maybe many, many times. He could probably have nearly any girl, anywhere. Damn.
It hit me that might be my one advantage. I needed to be immune. The oldest game in the book, hard to get. Let the man be a tiger. Roar. Come get me, Mr. Drake. Let me make it hard for you. I gritted my teeth and tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling swoony as his arm brushed across me under my breasts. His ear was so close to my mouth I could bite it.
The sliding sound alerted me to my mistake. He pulled the seatbelt across and buckled it. I reddened, feeling like an idiot.
“Always buckle up when you ride with me.”
“Yes, West.” I overdid the submissive girl voice because I didn’t like his tone. Yikes. Was he going to be too fatherly? Well, I guessed if he was taking me into mortal danger he wouldn’t want me to get creamed in a car crash before we got to the plane.
His mouth twitched, and I knew he was fighting to be stern and not smile at how much he liked me being cheeky. Point to me.
I eyed the driver’s thick neck through the smoky glass. This wasn’t a game. Something deadly was afoot.
“You know, Ivy, it isn’t too late. We’ve got just enough time to swing over and drop you at home.” How did he do that, read my freaking mind?
I got chills, both because he was willing to dump me and because he no doubt knew where I lived, even though I’d put my parents’ address on the job application. I liked Chana, and she was a doll about letting me use her clothes—I cringed, though, about running off with her suit—but I’d heard enough nightmare stories about roommates that I considered it a temporary situation until I had enough money to get my own place. I figured keeping my mail at my parents gave me an easy way to bolt, soothed their guilt, and lowered the odds of them
acting out and interfering in my life. It looked like I was still connected to them even though I wasn’t and hadn’t been in a long time, so they could pretend to themselves they were great parents, and everything was shiny. I hadn’t needed psych courses to figure them out.
“Ivy? Last chance.”
Yeah, he knew where I lived. I guessed that was the prerogative of the rich and powerful. Easy access to whatever you wanted. What if he’d wanted me? Could he have set this up? That was crazy. I was tripping. Who was I that Weston Drake would look me up and manipulate me into applying for a job? Crazy.
My turnoff was coming up.
He was giving me an easy out. I could just say take me home, and it would be over. No dangerous trip with a mysterious older man on his private plane heading into the unknown hazards of strife in Africa.
“Hell no.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
He laughed. A real, deep laugh, and I liked him even more, which was saying a lot because I liked him mega lots already. I could see the younger him when his face relaxed, fire in his eyes, hell in his body. Surges went through me, and I shuddered.
He dropped his big hand on my knee, and I jumped.
Yeah, such a virgin.
“Are you all right, Ivy?” OMG, those eyes.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, West. Excited.” I remembered to make my voice breathy. I think I gave him chills. He shuddered, too. He left his hand on my knee. I treasured its warmth because I felt weirdly cold in the luxurious, temperature-controlled car. I bet the glass was bullet proof. I bet it had to be. I was scaring myself.
I dropped my head against his shoulder and felt the sweet softness of his fine wool suit against my face. Hard to get. I should get off his body, but it felt too good. I’d get with the hard-to-get moves later. Whatever happened, this was going to be one hell of a ride.
I felt West sigh. I don’t think either of us had any idea what we were in for.
Excerpt: Werewolf’s First Love
This is the full first episode of the 3-part serial. The complete serial is included in Dangerous Protector and on its own in the Werewolf’s First Love ebook, both published under my Viv Phoenix byline.
Werewolf’s Mate
Born and bred to be responsible and keep the pack’s well-being in mind, I rarely got in trouble. But when I did, it was my curiosity that led me there.
What can I say? I was young, I was bored, and it was spring.
Nectar from the wildflowers wafted on the breeze and I stretched my big front paws, braced myself on the rocks and pushed into my human form. I could do it better than anyone in my pack, faster and more completely, losing all traces of extra fur except for the chest pelt that many found attractive.
The sun warmed my naked form, but my human shape wasn’t well suited to the outdoors. As much time as I’d spent in it, I still found the tender soles an impediment and the upright gait strange. The hands, though, the hands amazed me. I raised them in the air, rejoicing in my fingers and thumbs. In this body I didn’t have to wedge a package with my paw and snout to rip into it with my teeth.
I indulged in the heat of the rocks on sensitive flesh, front and back, rolling on the big warm slabs like a pup. A howl in the distance brought me up sharp.
Watching my footing to keep from cutting my soles, I ran to my stash. Another howl. No doubt someone from the pack already wanted to find me. Usually I’d raise my voice and answer. I could howl without shifting, well enough, anyway. Not today. I needed a change.
Being responsible for everyone wore on me. Listening to their advice tired me even more than the responsibility did. I had to get away. They could manage without me for a day or more. The nearest other wolf pack had moved well away from our range, I’d seen to that. Tabor would probably be back, but not soon. I rubbed the scar on my knuckles.
All my gear was where I left it. I’d pissed all around these rocks, making sure no one would disturb my things. The others asked questions, but I don’t think even Vira guessed the nature of my secret life.
In moments I’d outfitted myself with the clothing and accessories humans deemed so essential, designer shoes, a trace of hair product, a smart watch, a cell phone and a shirt and jeans that clung to my movements. The jeans restricted my erection and I willed it down. I went commando. Underwear was farther than I needed to go to fit in with humans. The feel of the clothes on my skin always distracted me at first, but I was becoming more accustomed to them.
What I wasn’t accustomed to was the sound of the howling from the church in the valley. A new voice, rising above the others with a power and clarity of tone that drew me right into the town in daylight.
I had no choice. I had to see who called in that voice. It was as if a grand lupa, the most powerful she-wolf in the world, called to me. Something in me matched that woman’s voice, homed to it as surely as a tuning fork vibrated to the right pitch.
I sniffed as I circled the perimeter of the neat, white church. Nothing but the urine of town dogs. Not that I’d expected wolf marking here, but I had to check.
The voice soared. Checking in all directions to make sure I was unobserved, I crouched and sped closer. At least in human form, I was less likely to be shot. My cousin Bucky still had buckshot in his haunches from the time we’d sniffed too close to a chicken coop in our wolf forms. Unless he left for another pack, he’d never shake his nickname. I’d zigzagged to the woods, having learned by observation how to evade being shot, so my butt was still intact. I wanted to keep it that way.
An image of my father’s teeth bared in rage, his jaws gripping my neck, forcing me to drop to my belly in submission—I shook it off. He died in the winter and I was master of myself.
I was master of everyone else, too. The alpha of my pack, and other than everyone continuing the old man’s rough nips to choose my mate, no one questioned me. This wasn’t the first time I pretended to go rogue, but it was the most compelling. I was ready to bite someone—hard—if they didn’t back off.
Another turning to make sure nothing approached me from the back and I extended myself at a window sill. One thing about erect posture, I could get up high with better balance, all the way up on my toes to see inside the high window.
Good thing there were no predators near.
My gaze went to the source of that sweet, powerful voice and the woman shone with beauty. There went my balance. Gripping the sill, I swayed, captivated.
Crinkly hair surrounded her shapely skull in a lovely black cloud. Her eyes sparkled, set in a glorious bone structure that would have done one of the ancient queens of Nubia or Egypt proud. I’d never seen a mouth so lovely, with gorgeous, full lips and white teeth. Her elegant throat, fine posture and shapely, curvy figure resonated with pride and power.
No stopping to think. I pulled myself away from the window and approached the door. Being inside repelled me. Only a heartbeat of hesitation. I went in.
Her song faltered for an instant as her eyes met mine. She knew I was there for her. The recognition between us formed a cord from her heart to mine as she stood at the altar and I stood just inside the door.
Someone motioned me to an empty place on a pew and I pushed against my instinct to avoid strangers and sat. Like my father, I’d schooled myself in the ways of humans. Only I’d gone much farther. Learning from a mentor and hiding my artifacts and frequent trips to watch them.
Poised on the polished wood, only that sweet voice kept me there. My nose wrinkled against all the powder, laundry chemicals, perfume and reeking products all of them covered themselves in. The cacophony of artificial scents coming from each one of them—their hair, mouths, faces, clothes, underarms, crotches and feet—made my eyes water.
I bore it for the sake of watching her move and hearing the rest of her song. An inspirational ballad that she infused with love and anguish.
Hair stood on my arms and the back of my neck as her voice soared. I longed to match her notes as she belted out a chorus of hallelujahs. Her song was mor
e majestic, more moving, than the sounds of a wolf birth or the whole pack singing or the ocean—she lifted me, she rocked me, she comforted me, she took me back to being surrounded by fur and safety as a pup, she raised me up as a man.
Everything in me resonated to her howls and became one with her song.
She swayed at a microphone, but she didn’t need it. The clarity of her voice filled the church, filled me. I blinked seldom, keeping my eyes on her, waiting. A dress the yellow of buttercups in sunlight swayed with her music, enhancing her generous curves and glowing against her dark skin.
Everyone else in the church looked so pale. They faded to nothing as she filled my vision. With each breath her curves transformed and each bell-pure note made me want to throw back my head and howl with her.
When her voice stopped I felt bereft.
I waited. I stood when the others stood, sat when they sat, mumbled when they mumbled. An eternity passed.
At last the people stood and began to leave the church. I made for the shadows near the door.
She was one of the last to leave.
“Excuse me, your song drew me to the church.” I gestured to the hills. “I came down from up there to meet you.”
She cocked her head and stood poised as though prepared to continue walking smartly to the door, swaying on her high-heeled shoes in her mesmerizing way.
“To meet me?” She spoke as beautifully as she sang. I felt it as a caress in my sensitive ears and it was all I could do not to greet her and show my interest in the intimate ways I would have in my wolf form. Mastering myself, I bowed.
“I’m Wyatt Hunter. You are—your voice—beautiful. I had to meet you. I’ve never heard anything so wonderful in my life. I —.” My thoughts and voice failed me. I drew in her scent. Lovely. I smelled her fresh, clean womanliness, not all the foul acrid products of most of her kind.
She smiled, her lips quirking like she was trying not to laugh.
“I’m Charity. Charity Washington.” Fragments of history came at me with her name. Achievements, heroism, perseverance against oppression, racism, inhumanity and foulness that made the worst animal behavior rise in decency by comparison. I shook off the impressions. Years of study made me infuse everything human with associations. She didn’t deserve the burden of those impressions any more than I deserved the burden of human perceptions against me as a shifter, shapeshifter, werewolf or whatever term might be trending on social media or their TV or movie screens this week.
