Trina stared at her pristine garage. She may have only returned from her archaeological dig three days ago, but everything was well ordered, packed, and ready for her to access for her return trip in September. No cobwebs lurked in the corners, no debris blown in from spent leaves or dirt, no fluids from her car marred the cement. Everything perfect and in its place, just the way Trina wanted ... needed.
Now her car reeked of mountain lion piss. The stench would ooze into the items so carefully stored there, perhaps seep through the walls of her home, leaving a lasting reminder of ... everything. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. She'd gone looking for answers and only come away with more questions, with her body fully involved with a man she should have avoided. Should have, but couldn't.
Even as she thought of Wyatt, Trina felt his lips on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the cool grass, the thrust of his cock as he took her hard.
She yanked her head up on a hiss so reminiscent of an angry cat, the sound frightened her. She glanced at her fingernails, the dried blood. Thought of the lust pounding her heart and Wyatt's fire racing through her veins. Another glance at her perfect garage had her shaking her head.
Trina didn't care how late it was. She might not be able to control her thoughts and body, but this she could control. Her house would not be spoiled. Her car would not go to bed under the threat the paint would peel from the toxic deluge. Besides, she needed the outlet. She needed some semblance of order. And she was damn well going to have it.
She cut the engine and shouldered the door open. In minutes a bucket, soap, sponges, and a chamois found their way outside, where suds billowed into the bucket under the force of the outdoor hose she kept hooked up. On impulse she turned the spray on herself. The cold blast shocked her system, cleared her head, and forced her to focus on her task. T-shirt and jeans plastered against her skin, each breeze awakened goose bumps and tightened her nipples. Which sent her thoughts to Wyatt's mouth warming them.
Trina swept the hose and sprayed water over her car with one hand and used the sponge to scrub with the other. Rehydrated, the smell of cat pee grew stronger, then slowly dissipated as it trickled toward the gutter.
Headlights bathed her through a halo of mist. Wyatt was here, and with him the stench of his violated SUV. In her heart she'd known he'd come, that nothing would stop him.
She both wanted and didn't want him here.
Using her forearm to brush back strands of her damp hair, Trina watched Wyatt unfold himself from the vehicle. His dark eyes caressed her body with each step he took her way. Judging from the erection swelling his jeans, Wyatt obviously appreciated the fact that her soaked clothing left nothing to the imagination.
He stepped into her space. “We can get a lot more accomplished if we work together.” His deep voice warmed her inside and out.
"True.” She shoved the sopping sponge against his abs.
He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed the water down his body, then dipped it in the bucket and scrubbed it over the roof of her car. They worked in companionable silence, interrupted only by Lupe when the cat decided to check Wyatt out. Once he met with her approval, Lupe butted her head against every part of his body she could reach and twined herself through his legs. Wyatt indulged her with finger rubs behind her ears and long strokes down her back that Lupe arched into without hesitation, her little body quivering and a deep purr rumbling in her throat. Trina knew those feelings well when it came to Wyatt Caldwell, no matter how new they might be.
Within an hour, both vehicles were gleaming and the smell only a memory. Trina put everything away and sat on the porch step to watch Wyatt swipe the chamois across her hood one final time. Lupe dismissed her with a glance and turned back to worshipping Wyatt.
"I think Lupe has a crush on you."
He smiled down at the little cat. “I'm honored by your attention, little miss."
Lupe's purr deepened.
"You should be.” Trina smiled. “She rarely graces a person with it, though she loves to divide her time among the neighbors."
"Something her subjects clearly appreciate."
Lupe meowed up at him, flicked her tail, and walked away, as if insulted she'd been discovered. Wyatt's chuckle earned him a look over her shoulder and a final brr-ow before the cat continued to her next destination.
Wyatt squeezed excess water from the chamois, then snapped it open, draped it over the iron porch rail, and sat down beside her. His body heat chased the chill from her wet body. “I think we might be able to buff the scratches out of your hood,” he said.
"Too bad we can't say the same about your roof.” Judging from the damage there, it looked like the mountain lion had used it as a scratching post. “I appreciate your help tonight. I couldn't bear the smell a second longer."
"I don't blame you. This was more than marking territory. This was overkill. Like it was more than one mountain lion."
She tilted her head to look at him. “Wouldn't we have smelled it—or them—if there was more than one?"
"None of us smelled anything when Rose was killed."
"I did.” She could barely get the words out. “I smelled the blood, saw it on my fingers...” Trina stared at her hands.
Wyatt skidded his fingers over her knee. “You didn't do this."
"All of my senses are enhanced, Wyatt. I heard the police officers talking about how Rose was killed. A mountain lion doesn't kill for no reason. It does so to eat. She wasn't...” She pressed her lips closed. The words were too cruel. “She was just killed."
He cupped her knee. “Mostly likely the cat was startled and ran away."
"An animal hungry enough to kill a human, then doesn't try to take the food with it? That doesn't make sense."
"Was Rose in human form when the cat attacked? We don't know that. It could have been a territorial female that became very confused and frightened when the jaguar she killed changed into a human. It could have been a male riled up from the smell of sex in the air. You saw the cat. You saw the blood on its muzzle. It threatened you, too."
"Because it thought I was dinner, or that I was a rival cat?"
"Trina...” He squeezed her knee. “You didn't do this. What happened to you in the Yucatán couldn't have caused you to suddenly change into a shape-shifting jaguar."
"How do you know that?” Why wouldn't he listen? Or rather, why didn't he hear her? She wasn't crazy. She couldn't be crazy. Couldn't bear the thought.
Trina forced her emotions to calm. “Though I'm still unclear on exactly what happened in the cenote that day, I was under the impression that the incident was a once-in-a-lifetime event."
"No one else has experienced any change."
"How do you know? Did you ask them?"
Wyatt didn't have a ready answer for that one. “You know the Garners well enough to know that if anything was going on with Sebastian or Lauren, Sebastian would have my balls in one hand and a knife in the other."
Trina splayed her fingers at the base of her throat and laughed. He was absolutely right about that. But ... “And Jeremy Gibson?"
A sigh sagged his shoulders. He looked everywhere but at her face.
She slid her hand over his knee, squeezing it as he'd done hers. “I know he's been cataloging the Prentice estate for the institute."
Wyatt nodded. “He's living there. The wealth of data those people collected more than rivals our own. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't notice a change in Jeremy. He's more mature, more responsible. As for anything else...” He shrugged.
"It might explain his devotion to his cataloging—he's looking for answers."
"And yet, considering your past relationship with the man, you came to me rather than approach him."
She snorted. “My past with Jeremy would be the reason I wouldn't go to him. You see him as a mature, responsible person. My experience with him has been as a slacker, complainer, and boy toy. I have little respect for Jeremy, no matter how high his IQ. But
I also wouldn't want him to go through this alone, confused and frightened. I'd want to give Jeremy answers, not more questions."
"Don't sell the man short. He's not the person you used to know."
"That's the point, Wyatt. Neither am I.” They both heaved a sigh. It seemed they kept talking in circles. “Okay, I have to show you something. Let me put my car in the garage and then we'll go inside."
She brushed the seat of her jeans off as she stood.
Wyatt glanced up at her. “I'd be glad to take care of that for you."
"Thank you. I'll uncork a bottle of wine for us.” After the night they'd had, they deserved a drink. “Indulge my paranoia and make room for your SUV in there, too."
Wyatt arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Am I staying the night?"
"After what I have to show you? Yes."
They headed in different directions. Trina stripped her wet clothes off just inside the front door. Plush carpet padded her footsteps toward the laundry door. After tossing everything into the washer, she snagged her light blue bathrobe from the dryer and put it on. Ah. She loved that just washed smell. Showing her body to Wyatt was one thing, but she couldn't parade around naked. Old habits died hard.
As she pulled a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator, Trina heard the garage door roll into place. She twisted the corkscrew and monitored Wyatt's footsteps toward the adjoining door. Enhanced senses did have their benefit. The cork popped out at the same time the door opened.
Wyatt lifted the small duffel bag as he shut and locked the door behind him. “I always carry extra clothes, just in case."
"Under the circumstances, that's probably a good idea.” She jerked her head toward the hallway. “Bathroom's the first door on the left."
"Thanks."
Trina waited until he walked by, then turned her back to him and dropped her robe. “Before you go..."
She heard him turn around, heard his sharp intake of breath. But she didn't need super-auditory skills to hear his response.
"Holy shit. You've got spots."
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Chapter Six
Jaguar spots. She's got jaguar spots.
Wyatt frowned. No, not exactly jaguar spots. They didn't have the dots inside the rosettes, but he couldn't muster the disclaimer that they might be tattoos. The color wasn't right for one thing, and the pattern was too similar to those seen on those shape-shifters close to maturity. Under the cover of night, with the moon casting shadows from the surrounding trees, he hadn't noticed them. They were nicely camouflaged, as nature intended.
The light brown rosettes traveled the length of Trina's spine, then slowly spread out. Soon her back would be covered with them. Then they would drift over her hips, around her stomach, up to her breasts, and finally, her arms and legs. When her skin was fully involved, the first shift would occur, and they would disappear. At least, that was the way of things with shape-shifters.
But Trina had reached maturity a long time ago, and she sure as hell wasn't a shape-shifter—at least, not like he knew one to be. Though the spots, when combined with other symptoms she'd mentioned—Wyatt started second guessing that conclusion. In fact, their presence pretty much eliminated all doubt of what Trina had been trying to tell him.
"How is this possible?” He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Trina tossed the robe back over her shoulders and faced him.
"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."
He peeled the robe down for another look. “When did you notice these?"
"Shortly after I returned to my dig after our little adventure in the cenote. Another archaeologist brought it to my attention while she and I were in the field showers. That's when snippets of memory returned from what went on inside the cenote and the confusion that came with them. Each day there were more—spots, memories, and confusion. My colleague became alarmed that I might be contagious. I started showering alone after that."
He traced the pattern of the largest rosette. Her skin pebbled under the touch. Trina's respiration increased, and he could feel her heart rate accelerate in the pulse of blood through her veins. Wyatt wanted to lick the narrow path between the marks, circle his tongue over the spots wandering down her spine from top to bottom, then delve into the wonder of her musky juices.
Trina put her robe back on, cutting off contact. “Now do you believe me?"
Wyatt turned his palms up. “I don't know what to believe. Spots like that first occur when a shape-shifter is starting puberty. And you're a little too"—she was going to kill him—"old for puberty."
"When compared to your long-lived people, I'm a mere baby."
She had a point.
"Here.” She filled a wineglass and shoved it into his hands. “You look like you need this more than me right now. I'm going to take a shower. That ought to give you some time to process whatever's churning through your head."
Wyatt wasn't capable of stringing two thoughts together, much less process anything out of them. He chugged the wine in three gulps. The alcohol calmed the turmoil in his head, although the order just left him with more confusion. What Trina was suggesting simply wasn't possible. And yet ... The ramifications were staggering.
How?
He laughed at himself. Wasn't that what Trina wanted to know? Why was tangled up in there as well.
Wyatt grabbed his duffel bag and headed for what he guessed was the spare bedroom. The sound of the shower running pulled him to a stop. Trina would probably take off his head for barging in. He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob anyway.
What called to him? The need to be with her? Or the need for immediate answers? Answers Trina clearly didn't have, or she wouldn't have come to him.
He blamed it on the latter, but knew it was the former. The duffel plopped to the floor. A deep breath, and he squared his shoulders. His resolve to go forward hardened his cock. He could smell her even through the door, tendrils of her essence seeped around the jamb like a mystic fog. He inched the door open, and the steam beckoned him inside.
"Before you get any bright ideas, Wyatt, no one showers with me. There are some things a woman likes to do on her own."
"That must make field showers on your dig interesting.” He clicked the door shut and braced himself against the sink.
"Okay, you have a point. More specifically, sex and showers don't mix for me. There's no room, the hot water runs out at the wrong time, and water normally gets all over the floor."
Wyatt smiled. He'd never really thought about it. Actually, he'd never tried it. Women he'd hooked up with over the years were to fill an immediate need. Most of the time they were clan women who knew they were his outlet.
"Maybe I came in to talk.” Smirking, he tucked his arms across his chest and waited for her response. It was quick.
"If I peek out am I going to find a raging hard-on?"
Wyatt chuckled. “There are some beasts that can't be controlled."
Her silhouette behind the blue-striped shower curtain froze. “Am I one of those beasts, Wyatt?"
A knife to the heart would have hurt less. Two strides had him at the bathtub and the shower curtain pushed aside a second later.
"No, sweetheart, never.” He captured her face between his hands, falling into her deep brown, sad eyes. Water spiked her long lashes, revealing how vulnerable and exposed she felt ... how frightened.
Lips, plump, glistening, and parted, called to him. Wyatt slipped his mouth over hers, nipping the bottom lip between his in a gentle suck, then moving to the top, then taking them both as their mouths glided together.
Her soft moan echoed through Wyatt's body. He felt the water beating on his shoulders and realized she'd either pulled him into the tub, or he'd stepped in of his own volition. His shoes were off, unconsciously removed when he'd started her way. Wyatt deepened the kiss, one hand anchored in the middle of her back, the other cupping her sweet ass. Trina gripped his shoulders and stretched on tiptoe, tight against him.
He jerked
his mouth free and arched his face into the spray. She suckled the water from his throat. They were doing exactly what she said she didn't want—having sex in the shower. As much as he craved her, Wyatt refused to let it breed any regrets.
Keeping one arm around her, he reached down to shut off the water. Her wandering lips found his nipple, sucking it to a hard point beneath his shirt. Wyatt fisted the hem and whipped it over his head. It landed in a wet splat on the bottom of the tub.
Trina combed her fingers through his chest hair, seeking the gem she'd brought to life moments ago. It felt like his nipple whimpered for her. She caught it between her teeth, rolling gently before she lashed her tongue over it. He felt it in his tight balls.
Wyatt tossed back his head on a teeth-grinding groan. His hips thrust toward her, his cock wanting any part of her it could reach. Bending, she nudged her big, beautiful breasts against it as she fumbled to unzip his jeans.
He looped his fingers around her wrists. “Not here. Not this. I don't want another quick fuck, Trina. I want to stretch out beside you, watch your skin ripple beneath my hand, smell your pussy juices fill the room, feel your hot cunt clutch my fingers when you come. I want to take time, memorize every inch of you inside and out. And when we don't have an ounce of cum left in either of us, I want to curl to sleep around each other and fall into sweet dreams together."
She pressed her cheek against his stomach. He didn't need to look at her face to know she fought tears. Deep emotions twirled around them, tying them together. He thought feelings like this had died with Ka-ra. Made he'd died with Ka-ra, and now Trina was resurrecting him, even as she was being reborn into something new.
The thought jolted him. Trina craned her neck to look up at him. Tears had reddened her eyes. Words failed him. Wyatt combed his fingers through her wet hair.
Into the Night [Into the Heart 2] Page 7
