Happy Howlidays: Shifters in Love Romance Collection (Shifter in Love Book 1)

by V. Vaughn

  The motor was coughing by the time they got to the ditch where her snowmobile had come to grief. Calvin braked and dismounted. “I’m out of gas. We’ll have to take yours. More snow’s coming.”

  She glanced up at the gray sky. The wind was tossing yesterday’s snow around. By daylight, even this overcast daylight, she could see why she had been unable to pick her snowmobile up. It was wedged fast by its runners. In fact, her efforts had probably wedged it deeper into the snow.

  “You take hold of the front end,” he said briskly, sweeping snow away with his broom and digging with the handle. “I’ll lift the runners and you push her upright. We’ll go overland to your place.”

  It wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. And she was distracted by how the hard work intensified his masculine aroma. But after twenty minutes or so they had her vehicle upright again. It started right away. Snowflakes were thickening around them and visibility had fallen off. It seemed more like twilight than mid-morning.

  “Your house or mine?” she asked.

  Bascom’s voice was strained and curt. “Yours is closer, and we have to beat the storm.” He set his hands at her waist. Even through his gloves and her bulky parka, she felt the sizzle in every atom.

  7

  Calvin~

  Arutta was able to put some speed into their progress. Unlike his snowmobile, hers was fully gassed. But the struggle to get it out of the ditch had made them sweaty. She always smelled like sex on the hoof to him. With her body perspiring under her heavy clothing, she ought to have smelled gross, but she didn’t. She smelled even better than usual.

  Which just went to prove that being around bear shifters who shifted was even more dangerous than he had previously believed. He kept his hands at Arutta’s waist and leaned into her, so his heavier mass didn’t tip the snowmobile. Despite their heavy clothing, the contact was electrifying. She had to be some sort of gold-danged witch.

  This was worse than when she had been displaying for him in grizzly. What had brought on that primitive mating behavior? And his over-the-top response to it? She still smelled of something that made his heart race and his cock twitch. They were about to be overtaken by a blizzard, and he fucking had his mind on fucking a she-bear. No wonder he hated being a bear.

  Arutta’s ranch-style house was hunkered down in snow that had drifted halfway up the windows. She drove directly to the roofed parking pad beside the garage and parked on the snow-covered concrete.

  To open the overhead door, and get the snowmobile inside so it would not be buried in the coming snowstorm, they were going to have to make friends with a shovel. Arutta located one in the rafters of the carport and handed it to him.

  “Snowblower is inside the garage,” she said.

  “Okay.” He set to work, aware he was showing off for her, much as a ten-year-old Calvin had shown off his ability to climb trees for a pony-tailed Shari-Jo and her giggling girlfriends back in fifth grade. Craptastic. It wasn’t even as if big, sturdy Arutta was some kind of centerfold.

  But his brain couldn’t erase the sight of her large, round breasts with their puckered brown nipples jiggling in the cold air. He had believed she was more or less flat-chested. But nothing was further from the truth. She must usually wear some sort of industrial-grade harness to strap them down. You’re not in Denver now, Bascom.

  He was a city guy, nowadays, he reminded himself as he heaved snow from before the garage door. Civilized. He dated women who never behaved like animals.

  Arutta busily swept the snow that had stuck onto the door itself and would prevent it from rising, as if she was determined to drench him in her female perfume. He gritted his teeth against his unwilling arousal. But his pecker had a mind of its own.

  “Good enough,” she said right beside his ear. A practical gesture given the howling of the wind. But to his overexcited senses it sounded like yet another husky come-on.

  He barely restrained himself enough to stand out of the way while she heaved the door up. He packed the snow with the edge of his shovel to forge a clearer trail to the carport. The snow was coming down faster and heavier now. And the wind was driving it into the garage.

  “Get the snowmobile,” he shouted.

  It felt like a major achievement when the garage door descended and the snowmobile was safely beside Arutta’s SUV. Arutta took off her helmet and swept her hood back. Who knew that her no-nonsense haircut repressed soft curls?

  “Yee haw!” she cried. Her cheeks were rosy and her hazel eyes sparkled.

  He reminded himself that Arutta was plain-faced. That she was several years older than he was. That she had had a rough night. That he didn’t hit on employees. Didn’t help. His cock acted like it had never been near a woman before.

  Outside the wind rattled the metal garage door with a noise like thunder. “I don’t know about you,” Arutta said, “But I would kill for a drink of water.” She squeezed between him and the SUV to get to the door to the house. The brief contact made him haul in a deep Arutta-scented breath that hit his pulse like a shot of adrenaline. Crap.

  They stepped into a tiled mudroom. The hooks held an assortment of jackets but there were only two pairs of boots under the bench. He sniffed cautiously. The damned house smelled like her. Earthy and desirable. He swallowed the words burning on his tongue.

  They stripped off their bulky, sweaty snow suits and hung them up. Now the space smelled like sweaty bear shifters. The sexual charge kept smacking him right in the belly. This was why he showered twice a day. He turned away to hide his bulging jeans.

  She waved a hand at the washroom off the mudroom. “Help yourself,” she said.

  The mirror showed him his unshaven jaw. He opened cupboard doors and checked in the drawers, but no one had left a razor. There wasn’t a shower, but he washed up as best he could. The damned towel smelled of her.

  He didn’t feel much cleaner when he joined Arutta in the kitchen. And his erection was still trying to poke a hole in his jeans. He had pulled his shirt out of his pants to hide it, but he figured she wouldn’t be fooled.

  The coffee pot was brewing. She handed him a glass of water. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. It sounded flirtatious, even though common sense told him it was not.

  “Take your time.” His words were gruffer than he wanted them to be.

  Surely that wasn’t a blush staining capable, competent, sneering Amanda Arutta from collar to hairline? He swiveled to gaze at her departing rear. Why had he never noticed how delectable her rump was? Big, round and muscular, it filled out her jeans in a manner that made his fingers itch to squeeze both globes.

  Her ass was probably on view because she wasn’t wearing one of those baggy tunics she favored. Ugly garments that hid her rack and covered her practically to the knee. Hopefully she would put one on when she was done showering.

  Calvin reminded himself that he preferred women who could pass for models. Sophisticated, elegant, urban women. That he never went out with athletes or military types. He might be in the reserves, but he kept that part of his life separate from his real life. The National Guard was just to provide his fricking bear with some wholesome occupation to keep it under control.

  The women he slept with were polished. Sleek and cultured. As far removed from the crudeness of bear shifting as possible. For preference he dated financially-secure females who weren’t after him for his money. Or not just for his money. Amanda Arutta didn’t meet a single one of his entirely sensible criteria. Any more than he supposed he met hers.

  She had established early in their acquaintance that she outranked him. A major to his captain. Regular Army to his reserve status. She called him Bascom to make sure he knew his place. Beneath her. And wasn’t that an image he didn’t need right now?

  8

  Amanda~

  In a vain attempt to wash that black bear out of her nose, she scoured herself raw. Didn’t help. She was red and clean when she was done, but her hormones were still in overdrive. She dragged a
comb through her wet hair and left it alone.

  It took willpower to put on her work bra and mash her chest into one uniboob that wouldn’t get in her way, when her lacy lingerie was calling her name from the back of the drawer. Of course it helped that her bedroom was a shrine to José. From every surface, his beloved face met her guilty eyes.

  Her late husband beamed at her from every surface, his love-struck eyes shining. Her affable, protective alpha male embraced her and José Jr. Even in uniform, when he was every inch a severe commanding officer, his goodness was apparent.

  She wished her stepson had not gone to spend the holiday with his elderly grandparents this year. She had encouraged José Jr.’s plans because José’s parents might not have many more Christmases. But still. If her stepson had been around, she would have been insulated from these crazy feelings. Or at least sure she wouldn’t act on them.

  Calvin Bascom was nothing like José. Her mate would have scorned to repress his bear as Calvin did. Not that José was idiotic enough to flaunt his grizzly. But he sure as heck had never plucked his eyebrows or waxed his chest. Or pursued women with no meat on their bones.

  Amanda owed Bascom only thanks for searching for her in the face of an approaching blizzard. Which had now arrived. Even though it was midmorning, she had turned all the lights on in her bedroom.

  The wind was whipping snow at the house like an army of small boys with an infinite pile of snowballs. Her snow-covered window was totally blocked, and the howling of the gale sent shivers down her spine. Even in grizzly she might well have perished if Bascom had not come for her.

  She could smell bacon cooking. Bascom must be making breakfast. Her mouth watered. Suddenly she was aware of hunger. And not just for unwashed bear shifter. She needed to eat. Through the glass of the portrait on her dresser she touched the line of José’s square jaw in silent apology.

  On the way to the door, her eye caught the mirror. She glared at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Her sweater clung lovingly to her curves, outlining her waist and swelling hips. She looked more like a woman on the way to an assignation than a respectable, grieving widow who had survived suffocation and hypothermia by a narrow margin. What the heck was wrong with her?

  It had to be her imagination that the portrait by the door winked at her. She snatched a long, heavy coat-sweater from a chair and dragged it over herself. There. She was decently covered.

  Bascom had made himself right at home in her kitchen. A pan was heating on the gas stove, bacon was draining on paper towels, and a big bowl of cut veggies had been placed on the kitchen table. Who would have figured this billionaire knew his way around a kitchen?

  “Hungry?” Calvin asked. He turned his back to her before she could answer and began to beat eggs. Even though he had untucked his shirt, he still looked delighted to see her. A quivering began deep inside her.

  “Yes.” It was all her suddenly parched tongue could manage.

  She poured herself coffee and found the cutlery. She laid the table for two. Dragged her eyes away from the back of his jeans. She told herself she had a professional interest in his backside, but she knew she was lying. She found plates and set them on the counter beside the bacon.

  She snagged herself a piece and savored its rich goodness. She had burned through a ton of energy just shifting from one form to another. That was normal. But the frigid night had also depleted her. The bacon was a reminder that life was good.

  The eggs sizzled as Calvin poured them into bacon grease. He stirred gently. “You should keep drinking,” he ordered. “This dry air...” His voice trailed off and he shrugged, returning to the eggs.

  He was right. Colorado was notoriously dry. She had used up even more moisture than usual in grizzly. Taken bigger breaths respired more air vapor. Still she resented him telling her to drink. She bit her tongue on an ungracious response, and defied him by pouring herself a glass of orange juice instead of water.

  “Would you like some?” her voice was two shades deeper than it had any right to be. Throaty.

  “Sure.” Bascom deftly divided the eggs, added bacon and toast to two plates. He set her food in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said gruffly. She put his juice at his place and sat down.

  “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

  “Bit of a headache. Little stiff. Hungry.” She began to eat. The eggs were light and fluffy. The bacon crisp. Who would have thought pampered Calvin Bascom would cook for her?

  She was hungry. Starving. Shifting took energy. It was true that taking grizzly also revved you up. But energy was energy. She had been cold and worked hard. And she hadn’t eaten since suppertime last night. No wonder she was ravenous.

  He tackled his own plate with enthusiasm. For a while they ate without conversation. But eventually she had to remember her manners. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said stiffly.

  He looked astonished. His well-groomed eyebrows rose. He shrugged, outlining his broad chest under his western shirt. “No problem,” he said. “Just doing my job. I figured you would go to ground if you got lost, and I was right.”

  “Hmm.” She ate the last bite of her toast. “I’m still grateful. I could have died out there.”

  “I’m just glad I located you before you got spotted in grizzly. I don’t know how I would have explained losing her new vet to Laura,” he said, shaking his head. His teasing voice sent shivers through her foolish body.

  “More coffee?” She stood up to cover her confusion.

  “Thank you.” He leaned back in his chair. “Mind, you can’t go shifting on Double B land,” he reproved. “That’s a good way to get shot.”

  “Shot?”

  “Well, sure.” His voice was easy. “Ranchers aren’t supposed to shoot bears, but they will if they’re scared or think they can get away with it. And all our hands make their rounds with a shotgun.”

  “I would have died trying to get to my house or the stables on foot in my human form,” she reminded him. The violence of the storm would have rapidly overcome her efforts to walk through the deep snow. To say nothing of the lack of visibility.

  “Better dead in human, than buried or eaten as a grizzly.” His voice was sober.

  “Huh?”

  “If some trigger-happy rancher killed a grizzly during a blizzard, he would probably just leave the carcass for the coyotes and cougars to scavenge.” He stopped talking, probably because he saw her face.

  “Thank you for that visual.” She sat back down with her coffee cup. “Is that why you avoid your own bear?”

  He flushed. “No.” He set his jaw. Clearly he had no intention of discussing his prissy shifter avoidance.

  Her phone beeped. It needed charging and she had missed a call. She checked her call history before plugging it in. Remembered her manners. “You saved my life when you called this morning,” she informed Bascom as she fiddled with the charger. “Thank you.”

  “What?” He frowned. “How so?”

  “I was in torpor. But I hadn’t made a ventilation shaft.” She shook her head at her own stupidity. Now that she was not dazed from lack of oxygen, she could better appreciate how close a call she had had. “When my phone rang, it got me sufficiently awake that I damaged the walls and let in a little fresh air.”

  “Torpor?”

  “Bears can hibernate. Or go into torpor. The first is long-term shutting down of the body, like mama bears with their cubs. Lasts all winter. The second is a short-term slowing of metabolism to use less energy. I had never tried either, but I figured that if I was in a confined space, for who knew how long, I should use the minimum amount of energy I could.”

  “Oh.” He looked amazed. “But you still needed a source of fresh air?”

  “Sure. My breathing slowed down, but it didn’t stop. I fell into a hollow – maybe a ditch? – when I was trying to find the stable block. There was some fresh air – at first. Just not enough for hours of even the slowest respirati
on.”

  “Huh. Could be that’s why you have a headache.”

  “That’s certainly my take.” Although food and coffee seemed to have turned off the thumping in her temples.

  The kitchen lights flickered and then went out.

  9

  Calvin~

  When they both stood up, he cannoned into Arutta. His arms automatically went around her to steady her. She felt firm and resilient under his hands. He wanted to haul her closer, breathe in her fragrance. Unite their bodies. He could feel her pulse accelerate to match his own. Hear her gasping – as he was gasping.

  It was as natural as breathing to find her mouth in the dimness. It opened under his and their tongues sparred. Her arms went around his neck and drew him into her warm, womanly body. She tasted like Eve, like breakfast, of some elusive, elemental flavor. Of she-bear. Of Aphrodite.

  Amanda was making faint, guttural noises as she devoured him. Her lips moved from his mouth to trace the angle of his jaw. Her tongue tasted the dimple in the center of his chin. Her teeth grazed his stubble. He growled and lifted her against his erection. Almost roared at the relief of her softness pressing into his aching cock.

  She ground her hips against his groin, igniting his already overheated body yet further. Her dangling feet climbed his legs and clung hard. He sought her mouth and plunged deeply into the spicy interior, reveling in her voracious response. The kitchen was scented with their hot and heaving bodies which only increased his desire.

  Her hands found the snaps on his shirt and wrenched them apart. Her fingertips traced his pecs and located his nipples. She circled them, using his own sweat for lubrication. His cock twitched and bucked as if she had tied a red-hot wire from his nipples to his dick.