by Anne Marsh
“You broke up with me by text,” he says calmly, despite the tension in his big body. “The morning after you agreed to marry me. And you want to know what I want?”
He braces a hand over my head and leans in.
That’s how I know that I’m not in charge here and probably never have been. It’s heaven. It’s hell.
Because Cruz has clearly decided what he wants—and it’s me.
CRUZ
Backing Gianna against the wall isn’t like me. Anyone could step into the stairwell and spot us, plus there are likely to be cameras too. It’s a fucking courthouse—and all I can think about is protecting her. Fucking her. My brain is on a one-track repeating loop, demanding my body get closer and start touching.
“I kinda thought we had a relationship, what with us getting together and the yes that came out of your mouth when I asked you to marry us.”
The words come out low and rough. Probably not the sweetest thing I could have said.
She opens her mouth and then hesitates. My mood has been pissy as hell this last month, but it’s better now that I’m close to her. That’s fucked up too, but it’s the truth. We had sex and then she ran from me. If I scared her, I’ll unscare her.
Somehow.
If she’s decided our night together was a mistake, I’ll fix that, too.
“We rushed into things,” she says quickly, her voice cool and calm. She gives me a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. She makes a half-hearted attempt to slide away from me, but we both know I’m not letting her go that easily.
“Nuh-uh,” I say and press a finger against her mouth. “You got scared and ran, shug.”
She makes a face. Oui. She’s busted and we both know it. The problem with dating wolves is that we’re hard to shake. You run, and we chase. Christ, I’ve got no problem with hunting her, pinning her to the ground, and showing her just how bad I can be.
“You still seein’ Luc?” Fuck. Even I can hear the growl in my voice.
Her hand flies to her neck. She’s got her engagement ring on a chain around her neck. I reach down and hook the fragile links with my finger.
“Did you break up with him, too?”
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse if she and Luc are still together. She stares up at me—okay, she glares at me, clearly aware that I’m about to lose control—but I don’t step away.
Instead, I move even closer. My fingers rest against her throat where her pulse beats madly beneath the damned ring.
“No more werewolves,” she announces. “That’s my new motto. I can have T-shirts made if you prefer.”
“You told me you loved me.”
“And now I’m recanting,” she snaps. “Fangs and fur should not be part of a girl’s happily ever after.”
“Too late to change your mind,” I say, suddenly in a much better mood. She’s running scared, but all I have to do is figure out why. And how to fix it.
My thighs brush hers, my chest pressing against her breasts beneath the dress. We’ve been dancing around this moment for months now, me watching her every time our paths cross and planning ways to get closer still. Right up until our one night in the bayou when she cut loose with Luc and me. That memory’s one of my favorites, although I intend to make more memories, preferably of the two of us. Without our werewolf third wheel. In bed.
Or up against this wall. Apparently, that works for me too.
“Hello,” she snaps. “Back off, big boy.”
I can’t hold back my grin. “Hello to you too.”
She slaps a hand on my chest and pushes. I let her. She can’t move me, and we both know it. “Move,” she demands.
I rest my forehead against hers. “I’ve got something to say.”
Taking charge isn’t always the best approach with Gianna. This fight has had two different sets of rules—his and hers. Luc’s and Gianna’s. Even if Gianna believes she’s put a temporary hold on her engagement to us, Luc isn’t going to hold back and wait. That bastard Alpha will fight for what he wants. Gianna doesn’t understand the brutality of the shifter world or the primal drive to mate. She’s so fucking human, and I love that about her. But she’s also curious and sensual as a cat. She’s been pulled into my world, and it isn’t fair, but there’s a price to be paid. Luc’s pack mates human women, and their dating practices blur the lines more than a little. Those boys hunt their brides, run them down in the bayou, and carry them off to bed. I’ve kept an eye on the Breauxs and I haven’t seen any signs that their women mind when all is said and done, but… oui. I’d like my yes up front and clear before I’m touching and tasting. In their eyes, that’s a weakness.
I lean into her.
I’m not above exploiting weaknesses, either. Gianna promised to let me have a week alone with her since she’d given Luc a week. It’s the kind of crazy, sweet thing a woman says when you push her or she’s naked or she’s feeling guilty because she can’t choose between two guys. But I accepted.
And now I’m collecting.
“Give me my week,” I say roughly. “You promised me seven nights. I want them now, starting tonight. You give me that time, and then you still want to walk? Then I’ll believe you when you say our wedding’s off.”
Her eyes narrow and satisfaction roars through me. She’s not going to pretend she doesn’t know what I want. “Let me check my planner. Oh wait. I’m booked.”
She’s perfect. “I’ve got two words for you.”
She shoves her hand into my chest again, but I’m still not going anywhere. She’s got me for a lifetime, and I’m planning on that lifetime starting now. Her pissy mood is cute and sexy—and frustrating as hell. I want to protect her even more than I want to fuck her, but fortunately for me, I can do both.
“Protective custody,” I growl, watching the way her mouth tightens. “Seven nights. I can do both at the same time, but protective custody isn’t optional. You’re mine, one way or the other.”
She immediately goes on the offensive. “Do you really think the Breed is going to come after me?”
“They’re already here,” I say. “While you were wrapping things up inside the courtroom, I was outside.”
Her muttered curse says it all. Hell, I agree with her. There’s nothing fair about the way her life has been upended, changed completely by her run-in with wolves. The past doesn’t offer do-overs however, so all we can do is move forward. I’m just hoping it’s together.
“Let’s start over.” I watch her face cloud over at my words, the crease between her eyebrows deepening as she thinks. “Be friends.”
I don’t want her thinking, not right now. I want her feeling, turning liquid in my arms and against my mouth. These possessive urges aren’t part of my plan, but she’s so near me that I feel the heat coming off her body and I want to make her hotter, wetter, needier. I’m tied up in knots for her, and that’s not good. Still, I don’t stop myself from kissing her hello. It’s not a sweet, quick press-and-release either. I take her mouth deep and hard, my tongue straight past her lips, swallowing her gasp of surprise. I don’t know why she didn’t see me—us—coming, but I’m here now and I plan on being all she sees. It’s a fucking shame it took a werewolf attack and a court case to get us to this point, but Fate’s a bitch and I don’t have the blue moon card to play.
Gianna gives as good as she gets. Our kiss gets harder, wetter, noisier. I thread my fingers through her ponytail, angling her head back because she’s coming after me, desperate to take my mouth, and we’re going to end up banging in the stairwell if I can’t exert some degree of control.
“You do this with all your friends?” She breathes the words against my mouth when I finally let her go, all my blood flowing southward and making critical thinking difficult. Good thing I already cemented my plan.
“We’re friends.” I press my thigh between hers. “But we’re also something more.”
“We’re also in public.” She digs her fingers into my shoulders, her nails digging into my
skin through the cotton of my shirt.
Oui. And from the pretty pink flush on her face, she doesn’t mind. Her dress rides up, she’s straddling me, and the heat of her pussy burns my thigh. My day is turning out pretty damned perfect.
“You promised me a week.” I watch her face, but she meets my gaze without flinching.
“That was before we got engaged,” she says in a husky whisper. “Back when you and Luc believed you were competing for me.”
We’re still competing. She just won’t admit it.
“And before you broke up with me by text message,” I push. “If we’re not gettin’ married, we’re datin’. I wan’ a week alone with you.” I press my thigh higher. Christ, but she feels good.
“Oh.” She gives a greedy whimper that sounds like no objection I’ve ever heard.
I have one goal for that week, one master plan. No matter what it takes, I’m making her love me. My other goal, the easier one, is to make things safe for her. Somehow, I’ll finish my takedown of the Breed. Safety outside the bedroom—and sexy dangerous times inside the bedroom. Simple. I know myself too well to think I can be anything but dominant once she lets me touch her. I don’t play the sweet Beta well. Hell. If I’m being honest, I’m gruff and awkward with traditional courting—so I’ll make up for it in our bedroom. And Gianna… she’s curious. She’s an independent woman in charge of her life, her career, her body. I aim to change that last one, to feed her curiosity about the way I can make her feel if she hands over control to me.
I play my trump card.
“Don’ you ever get tired of being the good girl, the law-abiding one? You don’ wan’ to break the rules just once and see what it feels like?”
“That would be a career liability, wouldn’t it?” Her eyes slowly focus on a point somewhere over my shoulder, as if she’s considering my suggestion. While she thinks, she runs a hand up my neck. I’m probably not supposed to get so horny from the simple touch—hell, I don’t even know if she’s really aware of how she’s trailing her fingertips over my skin—but I know one thing for certain. I want all her attention focused on me.
So I lean in and kiss her again. I’ve got her alone and she’s soft and sweet, driving me crazy. I cover her lips with mine, muffling her small sound of pleasure. Needing more of her, I cup her face in my hands, angling her head to deepen our kiss. She moans, and I push my fingers through her hair, fisting the sleek length. She feels so goddamn perfect in my arms that I could eat her right up. Kiss her mouth, her pretty breasts, her pussy. I’m a lost cause around Gianna. She opens right up too, letting me in, letting me take her mouth, and the way she tastes drives me crazy.
I reach down and fist the hem of her skirt.
She stiffens, like kissing in the stairwell is one thing, but naked is a whole world of off-limits. I should have warned her that I cheat.
“What are you doing?” She looks as if she has a pretty good idea though, so I wrap my palm around her thigh and slide my fingers higher.
“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” See? I can be reasonable. I can ask instead of tell.
She looks down. Looks back up as if she can’t quite believe I’m going to make her answer that question. She’s cute when she’s flustered and in unfamiliar territory. She’s always in control of the situation in those courtrooms of hers, and now here I am, borrowing that self-control from her.
“Hold this for me,” I wrap her fingers around the hem of her dress.
I’ve asked myself more than once what Luc would do. Not because I want to fixate on the other wolf but because clearly Gianna is drawn to him and I need to understand why so that I can give her the same thing. Luc is fierce, wild, and completely uncivilized—he’d never hold back from pleasuring his mate.
But right now I can smell her arousal. For me.
Right here in this stairwell, she’s all mine—and I’m not letting her leave until she recognizes that.
GIANNA
“Hold my dress?” No. Wait. I need to stop talking, need to re-exert control over the situation, but being around Cruz short-circuits my brain like always. His too-sexy orders have to be the reason why I’m parroting stupid questions and letting him undress me in a courthouse stairwell. Where anyone—up to and including my bosses and fellow attorneys—can see us.
Cruz doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t stop his slow, inexorable upward tug of my hemline. Cool air hits first my thighs and then higher as my dress brushes my panties. “I don’ wan’ to crease such a pretty thing. I like your dress.”
I’m dressed for work in a white sheath with a fitted navy blue blazer. That I spent too much money on my outfit only makes me feel more confident. Look at me, my clothes say. I’m successful. I’m confident. I can afford this. In the courtroom, no one questions my judgment and I one hundred percent belong. But Cruz… he’s not seeing the lawyer when he looks at me.
He sees me.
Oh. God. He has that slow, lazy smile on his face that makes me want to melt and nod in dumb agreement with whatever he asks. Up to and including reinstating our too-hasty, ill-conceived engagement. Nowhere in the fifty states is it legal for three people to get married, so I don’t even know how we’d have made it work.
Cruz, however, isn’t worried about technicalities.
He rubs a thumb over the curve of my thigh. My bare thigh. “You goin’ to do what I ask you to do?”
Hello. I’m not that far gone. I jerk, my head thumping against the wall in shocked denial as my eyes meet his. God. Wolf eyes watch me, part sensual predator, part heated smile. I definitely like the naughty gleam—which makes me wetter than I’m ever admitting to—but obedience is going to happen approximately when hell freezes over.
Cruz isn’t waiting around for an answer. Instead, he yanks my dress to my waist so that my bare butt hits the wall. The skirt is tight—partly by design and partly because I’ve yet to start that diet I’ve been meaning to start—and I’d chosen a thong, panty-lines being unprofessional and not the view I wanted to give the courtroom. If anyone walks into the stairwell now, I’ll never live it down. Public nudity may or may not be grounds for disbarment, but I have no intention of finding out.
“We need to stop,” I say, pushing at my skirt. I’m clearly not ready for Cruz’s kinky repertoire. Maybe I used up my tolerance for sexual exploration with our one-night threesome?
“You think you need to stop,” he counters, dragging his knuckles higher. His fingertips graze the edge of my panties, and that feels so, so good. “I know what I need.”
“Cruz.” Don’t whimper. Remember you’re a strong, independent woman. “We’re in public.”
Hello, Captain Obvious. I tug my hem back down.
Or try to because, damn it, Cruz isn’t budging. He just captures my fingers in one hand, stretches me out like some kind of sensual sacrifice (a move my good parts thoroughly applaud), and keeps right on exploring. Worse, now he’s looking at me and my bare thighs in the unforgiving light of the stairwell. This isn’t vanity lighting. It’s two hundred watts of unwelcome harshness. The only consolation is that my panties are pretty.
“That’s not a no, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.”
He’s right about the first part. I’m not saying no, although I should. I really, really should. But his desire just turns me on more, and apparently part of me gets off on the possibility of getting caught.
I look down, following his gaze. He’s tangled his fingers with mine in the bunched-up skirt, and I love the contrast between us. His skin is sun bronzed, a rich, dark gold-brown that makes my skin look that much paler. Anticipation builds in me, and I do nothing to stop it. He’s going to touch me now. Right here where I work and where anyone, really, could walk in on us. I’m not going to say no. My bright red panties with the sassy bows on the sides are the white flag of my surrender after a month without him. Or the opening salvo in my campaign to bring Cruz to his knees, because I definitely like the way satin clings to my curve
s, and Cruz’s hoarse groan as he strokes one big finger down my hip tells me he does too.
I squirm. Honest-to-God squirm.
“You think this is the best place for this?” Maybe I can hurry him up, convince him to skip straight to the good part. We must have five minutes before some other lawyer decides he’s too impatient or too late to wait for the overcrowded elevator and chooses the stairwell instead.
When did I become the kind of woman who’s eager for a quickie in public?
“Stop worryin’ so much.” Cruz brushes his mouth over my forehead. Protesting the order-Gianna-around part of his agenda seems prudent, but for all my claims that I don’t do orders, part of me apparently does. That part is due north of his knuckle. Shoot. I’m soaking wet for him, and we both know it.
“Lose the panties.” He draws a knuckle down my center. The wicked caress is the sensual exclamation point on his order, and I force myself not to move. Arching into his touch—moaning—would be an admission of defeat in this game we’re apparently playing.
Once I shuck my panties, there’s no going back in more ways than one. I hadn’t planned on turning protective custody into seven nights of BDSM games—or using it to explore our relationship. Letting Cruz talk me out of my panties, no matter how amazing it feels, is foolish.
He repeats his caress, clearly not tormented by the same doubts as I am, and holding still gets harder. “You even know why you’re here, boo?”
In the stairwell? Not really. In his arms? Yeah, that’s a different story with a different answer. Something about Cruz calls to me, and I don’t have the words to explain it. I can barely focus on anything but the exquisite pressure of his finger inching slowly toward my sweet spot. Plus when I do think, I yo-yo between Cruz and Luc. I hate indecision.
