Knox (BBW Bear Shifter Moonshiner Romance) (120 Proof Honey)

by Becca Fanning

  Before she could move past him to the table, he took hold of her arms, backed her against the kitchen counter, and reached up to pull her hair free of the chignon. She heard the pins hit the countertop and hardwood floor as he combed his long fingers through the heavy waves, and she was shocked to feel the ripple of desire run through her from her scalp to her toes. When he was through, he held one thick lock to the light.

  “It’s not really red, and it’s not really brown, is it?” He smiled. “Chestnut, maybe.”

  Kitty had to swallow, before she could speak. “It mostly depends upon what color I’m wearing—and the lighting,” she said.

  “And you often dress in black, don’t you?”

  “It’s professional,” she said tightly. “If you’re through playing with my hair, now, I’m hungry.”

  Bart grinned. “Right.”

  He surprised her once more when he pulled her chair out for her. Then he was serving her lasagna, and passing her the salad. Nothing more was said as they began to eat what turned out to be a delicious meal.

  “You were going to tell me the truth,” she said, when she finally came up for air long enough to sip her wine.

  “After dinner,” Bart said. “I want you to enjoy your dinner, first.”

  “That sounds ominous,” she said, wishing she could make a joke about it.

  Bart shook his head and drank some wine. “Nothing of the sort, but you may want to leave right after, and I want to enjoy our dinner, first.”

  Kitty sighed and started on her salad.

  When she looked up a moment later, he was smiling at her, and she felt her face heat.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothin’. Only it’s good to see a woman enjoyin’ her food. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bought dinner for a lady only to have her pick at it.”

  Kitty shook her head. “Just lucky, genetically speaking. I have a very high metabolism that lets me enjoy food without worrying about putting on the pounds.”

  Bart narrowed his eyes. “Does it really matter so much to women? Shoot, no man wants to be seen out with a bag of bones.”

  Kitty reached for her wine once more. “That’s nice to know, but you’ll have to take it up with the fashionistas.”

  Bart snorted. “Oh. Them.”

  Kitty surprised herself by laughing.

  “That’s better,” Bart said. “You should laugh more often.”

  Kitty froze then very deliberately returned her wine glass to the table. Before he could stop her, she pushed away from the table and stood.

  “I’ll take that truth, now,” she said, trying desperately to ignore all the sensations she was feeling in response to the way he was looking at her.

  This is business! She admonished herself. Forget the way he’s looking at you!

  Easier said than done, she told herself.

  When she finally looked up to meet his gaze, his golden eyes darkened.

  “All right,” he said, his tone of voice a soft growl. “Come into the living room.”

  Kitty moved ahead of him, careful to keep some distance between them. When she reached the far side of the room, she turned to face him and was surprised to see him drawing the curtains. She felt a quiver, deep in her belly, and had to force herself not to flee.

  “You want to know why the boys won’t play in the big houses.”

  “Yes.”

  She thought she heard him sigh. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets like before and jingled his change. For some reason, he seemed to be finding it difficult to meet her eyes, now, and she was amazed.

  “Are they in trouble with the law?” she asked, thinking it might be the only explanation.

  Bart managed a small smile.

  “No. It’s nothin’ like that.”

  “Then what?”

  He took a deep breath. “There’s somethin’ some of the men in our family do,” he said, “somethin’ we can usually control under normal circumstances. Once we hit twenty or so, we can control it pretty well, but there are things that can set us off—loud noises, wild crowds, flashing lights, that sort of thing.”

  “The sort of thing they’d have to deal with on a big stage.”

  “That’s just it, darlin’,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “See, in a small house, especially someplace like the Fiddlers’ Cave, the stage is small, it’s near a door, and the crowd’s only gonna be about a hundred people. It’s plenty loud, but everyone’s on the same level, and the really bright lights are limited to a handful of parcans. There’re no special effects or laser lights or smoke or anything else that might set us off.

  “But in a big house…” He shook his head. “I learned lighting and sound in college, but I interned out in Vegas, and I can tell you that was one helluva challenge for me. I don’t want the boys to have to worry about all that—and they know it wouldn’t be easy, so they’re happy to take my lead on this.”

  “Are you telling me they’d be willing, but you won’t let them?” she asked, incredulous.

  “No, no,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “No, it’s somethin’ we’ve talked about—a lot—and they don’t want to take any chances, either.”

  “Any chances on what?” she asked, exasperated.

  Bart eyed her closely then seemed to nod to himself.

  “Okay. You want to know, so here goes.” He moved to the far side of the room. “I want you to sit down, and promise me you’ll stay seated, no matter what happens.”

  “I’m not going to promise anything, Bartholomew Saint, until you tell me what’s going on!”

  “I’m gonna show you exactly what happens to us, but you gotta promise me you’ll stay put and keep an open mind. I’m not gonna hurt you, no matter what you see me do, but I can’t have you runnin’ outa here, until we have a chance to talk after.”

  “Okay,” she said, dropping onto his couch. “Fine. Just do…whatever you’re going to do, so we can get on with this.”

  “I need you to look at me—look at my eyes—and no matter what happens, you keep lookin’ at my eyes. Got it?”

  Kitty sighed but nodded. “Your eyes. Right. Got it.”

  She looked into those deep, golden eyes, until she felt her vision waver. Then suddenly she realized it wasn’t her vision at all, and her eyes opened wide as Bart began to change. He dropped to all fours, and his form warped until instead of a man, she faced a very large black bear across the room.

  Kitty was on the verge of screaming, but she clamped her jaws against it when she shifted her vision back to those golden eyes. They were the bear’s eyes, but somehow they were still Bartholomew Saint’s eyes, too, and she trembled with this new, previously never-suspected version of reality.

  “Oh, my God…”

  The bear/Bart took a step toward her, and Kitty came halfway out of her seat, before she forced herself to sit back down.

  “If that’s really you, Bart, I’d really appreciate it if you’d sit down.”

  She could have sworn the bear was laughing at her when he plopped his backside down on the floor.

  She let out a shuddering breath. “Okay. Okay. I guess you’ve made your point.”

  The bear seemed to waver, then, his form morphing into something longer, taller, and thinner, and then Bart was suddenly standing there before her once more.

  He took two steps forward, sat on the coffee table, and reached for her hands.

  “Breathe, darlin’,” he admonished her as he gave her hands a squeeze.

  Kitty took a very deep breath then managed to look up to meet his eyes once more.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it, Kitty.”

  “It’s the eyes, right?”

  “They’re one tell,” he said. “At least, all the people I know who are Shifters have golden eyes.”

  “Shifters?” she asked, trying the word on for size.

  “That’s what we’re called,” Bart said.

  Kitty thought about that fo
r a moment, then tensed. “Addy! She has golden eyes, too!”

  Bart nodded slowly. “Addy’s a Shifter, though her animal is a mountain lion.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Bart smiled. “Don’t give her too hard a time about it, Kitty. Addy grew up without anyone else in the family to show her what to do, on account of her father dyin’ when she was only two. Talking to her Granny, it seems like there isn’t anyone else in her clan, so she was pretty mixed up, until Granny sent one of her songs in, and Mark went out to find her.”

  “How…how many…?”

  “How many of us are there?”

  Kitty nodded.

  “I have no idea. In our family, it’s pretty common. My pappy, grandpappy, oldest brother—that’s the boys’ pa—and me, a couple of cousins. Havin’ so many in one family might be unusual. As I said, Addy’s the only one left in her family—that we know about, anyway, since they’re not as close a family as the Saints are. There are others, I know, but I’m thinkin’ most Shifters stay away from the cities, so you probably don’t run into them very often. We’ve met only one other in Nashville, since we moved here. He’s a lieutenant in the Nashville Police Department.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. Comes in handy, too, if somethin’ comes up, and we need somebody to cover for us.”

  “What ‘something’?” she asked sharply, wondering if she really wanted to know.

  “Well, like this past spring, when I was walkin’ the girls back to Mel’s car after dark one night, and there were these three drunks who wanted a piece of ’em.”

  “Oh, my God. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Well, none of us were—Addy and I handled them just fine—but I called our friend at the police station to tell him what happened to the three men after we left ‘em unconscious. Accordin’ to our friend, they never did remember what happened, which was good for us.”

  Kitty could only shake her head. She ran her hand through her hair and sat back on the couch. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation with you.”

  Bart smiled and moved to sit next to her. “I told you it wasn’t somethin’ to talk about in your office or in a restaurant.”

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you?”

  “I’m hopin’ you now understand why the boys can’t play the Grand Ole Opry. I mean, that place holds what, a couple thousand people?”

  “Forty-four-hundred.”

  “Geeze. I’m sorry, darlin’ but you gotta see that there’s just no way: forty-four hundred people, balconies, all those lights, and whatever else the management might dream up for a concert? There’s just no way. One of the boys would Shift for sure in that mess.”

  Kitty turned her head and studied him for a time then sighed. “Yes. I see.”

  She sat forward, her elbow on her knees, and rubbed at her temples. “My father won’t, but that’s okay. I’m sure I can find another job someplace else.”

  “What are you talkin’ about? Are you sayin’ he’s threatened to fire you over this?”

  Kitty nodded and shook back her hair. She felt strangely free, with her long hair now loose and curling every which way. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

  “You won’t be tellin’ him about this, will you.” It wasn’t a question.

  She shorted softly. “No. I won’t. Not that he’d ever believe me, anyway, but I won’t.

  “I thank you for telling me, though,” she added, glancing back to give him a smile. “I do appreciate your trust.”

  Bart reached out to play with her hair. “I thought I could,” he said, his hand roaming further to brush her cheek. “I figured you’d understand, iffen you knew the truth.”

  Kitty felt her insides begin to quiver as his hand wandered to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment as his strong fingers began to knead the tension out of her neck.

  “What are you doing, Bartholomew?” she asked softly.

  “Tryin’ to help you relax a little,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Is it workin’?”

  “Hmm.” She let her head fall forward, and in another moment, she felt both of his big hands on her shoulders, his thumbs digging into tense muscles and setting them free.

  I should stop this, she thought, but it just feels so damn good…

  Then he turned her toward him. His hands took possession of her face and brought her lips to his, and in another moment, she was in his arms.

  “Bart?”

  “Shh,” he whispered between kisses as he possessed her. “Just relax, darlin’, and let’s see where this takes us.”

  “But…”

  It was all he needed to deepen the kiss, and she found herself kissing him back, her hands in his dark, thick hair, holding him to her.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered between kisses.

  “Sure you can,” he said, bringing one hand down to cup her breast.

  “I shouldn’t want you so much,” she whimpered, arching into his hand.

  “But you do.”

  She froze in that moment, trying desperately to see him by the firelight. She was trembling with need, hungry to feel this man’s touch, to feel him inside her.

  “Yes,” was all she said.

  Without another word, Bart lifted her into his arms in one graceful, powerful move and carried her down the hallway and into his bedroom. Kitty clung to him, kissing his face and anything else she could reach. In another moment, he set her on her feet at the foot of the bed.

  “Let’s get you out of this strait-jacket,” he said, unbuttoning the fitted blazer and slipping it off her shoulders to the floor then fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons on her silky white blouse.

  “You don’t like my clothes,” she said as she took his face between her palms and brought his lips back to hers.

  “It’s like trying to get you out of a sardine can,” Bart growled in frustration as he kissed her back, and she heard the buttons of her blouse go flying across the hardwood floor when he ripped it open.

  He made short work of the front clasp on her bra, and suddenly his hands were on her breasts, molding them and bringing them to his lips. Kitty cried out and arched her back, while she clung to his arms to keep from falling. He shifted to brush her clothes aside, and placing one strong arm around her back, he gently lowered her to the bed. Coming down over her, he straddled her thighs and reached for the zipper at the side of her skirt. Once it was down, he peeled the soft fabric and her silky slip down over her hips and away.

  “Well, well, well,” he murmured when he saw what she was wearing underneath.

  Kitty struggled to remain in control, but she couldn’t stop her hips from rising and falling in a frustrating attempt to rub against him. Her legs were trapped together by his strong thighs, though, and he seemed content to simply look at her. She knew what he was seeing—she wore stockings and a garter belt, because it was cooler in the summer than pantyhose, and her scrap of lacy panties hid nothing.