by V. Vaughn
“You’re years younger than I am.”
“You think?”
She knew exactly how old he was. Finding out the details of his life was easy. Calvin Bascom, CEO of B&B Oil was big news. His biography was all over the internet. She cleared her throat. “I’m forty-three.”
“Forty-two,” he said. “You won’t be forty-three till next March.”
He knew when her birthday was? “I’m old enough to know better.”
“Young enough to remarry. You really think the general would begrudge you happiness?”
15
Calvin~
His question had left her silent. He knew that his own father and mother had loved one another, deeply and sincerely. Unto death. Daddy hadn’t looked at a woman since his Brenda had passed.
Calvin hadn’t liked the idea of Freddie in bed with Amanda Arutta, but that didn’t mean he thought his father should never know joy with a woman again.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” she said weakly.
He was a good negotiator because he could usually tell what the other person was really after, even when they threw up road blocks or made unreasonable demands.
Amanda was fragrant with desire. Heady female hormones rolled off her in seductive waves. But this was not the moment for pouncing on her. He could probably inveigle her into round two, but what he needed, craved, required, was her whole-hearted agreement to marry him.
“Tell me,” he whispered into her curls.
“A bear only ever has one true mate.”
“At a time.”
“Ever,” she argued.
“Do you think little Amber should have been true to her high school sweetheart*?” Patrick had informed him that his sister-in-law’s steady had been KIA when she was just seventeen. But she seemed to have found true love a second time.
“That’s different.”
“I don’t think so.” He cleared his throat. “I may not be the man your husband was, but we could be happy anyway.” He paused and stroked her back. “Would he have remained a widower if you had died?”
“Probably.”
“Only probably?”
“José would never have forgotten me.”
“I’m not asking you to forget José,” Calvin assured her. “Your marriage was a huge part of your life. Your love was real. I don’t want you to forsake your memories. Just to give yourself another chance at love.”
“A marriage like mine ought to be enough for any woman.”
“Hmm.” And suddenly this was not about winning or getting his own way. He needed Amanda to be happy with their decision. Her happiness mattered more than his own. “I’m sure it would have been if it hadn’t been cut short.”
“Why’d he have to die?” she mumbled. Her voice was thick with tears.
It wasn’t a question with an answer. He might not be Amanda’s hero, but he knew enough about grief to know that it had no expiry date. He rubbed her back. Trying desperately to find words to comfort her however inadequate they would be. “Not because he didn’t love you. He didn’t intend to abandon you.”
She hiccupped. “He didn’t abandon me.”
“I know. But death feels like abandonment.” He swallowed hard. “Grief isn’t rational. It’s taken me years to see that I wouldn’t allow myself to fall in love. To be happy. To have a family. Because those things were denied to my twin.”
“Luther?”
“Yeah.”
“How does refusing to grow up help Luther out?”
He kissed the top of her head. “It doesn’t. Of course, if I had sat down and said to myself, ‘Calvin, my boy, no she-bears for you. No wife. No kids. Not until Luther returns.’ I expect I would have seen that I was being irrational.”
“Were you close?”
Even now, talking about Luther hurt. “Like Chip and Dale.” He kept his voice flippant.
“You still miss him?”
“Of course.”
“I thought your cousin Patrick was your best buddy.”
“Patrick and Zeke are great guys. We’re more like brothers than cousins. I’d go to war for them. We’re tight. They miss Luther too, but they aren’t replacements, if you see what I mean?”
“When did you have your big epiphany that you were punishing yourself for Luther’s death?”
“Don’t laugh. Last spring while I was up that tree guarding Amber’s cabin.” During that chilly vigil, he had finally come to terms with his loss. Finally recognized that what he needed was a she-bear like his mom. Like the women his cousins had married. Just before he fell out of said tree and got his ass shot by one of the two villains stalking Amber.
Amanda didn’t laugh. She howled. He would have been offended if there hadn’t been a faint note of hysteria in her amusement. He settled for growling in her ear.
“Did you just growl at me?” she demanded.
“Yeah.” He licked the rim.
She jumped and squealed. “Cut that out, Bascom.”
“Mockery has to be punished, my love.” He blew where his tongue had left her ear damp.
She melted satisfactorily into his chest. Whether she knew it or not, they belonged together. “I’m too old to have a baby,” she said.
He took another sniff of her ear. She smelled ripe and nubile to him. But who knew? “No worries. If we don’t have our own, we’ll steal some cubs.”
“I think that’s illegal.”
“Trick is to be subtle.”
“Subtle.” She was laughing so hard he was shaking too. “How do you make kidnapping subtle?”
“Start by offering to babysit. Buy some of those plastic dinosaurs. Lay in some soda and ice cream. Pretty soon the kids will be running in and out of the kitchen, raiding the fridge, and wanting your car keys.”
“I’m a pretty good aunt,” she said.
“I’m going to show Kenny Luther how to throw passes. Just as soon as he develops some eye-hand coordination. He’s already pretty strong. Bopped me in the eye real good the last time I held him.” Kenny was Laura’s infant son.
Amanda laughed harder. “That’s a sign of athletic prowess, all right.”
“Yup. And just in case, we’ll work on Lucy Brenda’s throwing arm too.”
“You have it all worked out, do you?”
“Nope.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m just trying to tell you in my clumsy, inept way, that we can be happy whether or not we have our own kids. My brother would want me to be happy. I’ll bet the general would want you to be happy as well.”
“We don’t have anything in common, Bascom,” she said sleepily.
He adjusted them so they were lying spooned on the couch. The fire blazed merrily. The lights flickered and went out. He held Amanda a tiny bit closer. It felt almost as good to hold her as it had to make love to her. Almost.
The generator began to hum. In a while he would go check on the furnace. For only a few moments longer, he would just enjoy holding his mate and imagining their future.
*Bear Fate
16
Amanda~
They were under attack. She was pinned to the floor by the weight of debris, struggling for air. The deep roar of artillery fire dragged her from a conversation with José Jr. The dark eyes that were so like his father’s reproached her wordlessly. Overhead the barrage grew even louder. She had to get out of here before the building collapsed on her.
“Sorry,” Bascom said sheepishly. He levered himself off of her and jerked himself erect.
Lightning flashed, illuminating her living room. Bascom loomed over her, extending a hand. She let him pull her off the couch to her feet. Overhead, bullets rattled on the cedar shake roof. Not bullets. Hail. Hail? During a blizzard?
“What’s going on?” she whispered. Her body did not want to accept that the attack was just her imagination. She was shaking and damp with fear.
“Thundersnow.” Calvin held her in place when she would have gone toward the window to look at the light show.
The wind had s
wept the front window clean, removing the thick layer of snow left by the first round of the storm. Another flash lit up the clouds, turning the outdoors into a surreal negative of daylight.
The tall pine trees growing in the front yard were draped in snow. The flowerbeds were barely a ripple under the blanket of snow. The thunder that followed the lightning was faintly muffled and then it crashed overhead again.
Bascom flinched. She shivered. Hail continued to hit the roof like shrapnel. And then the noise stopped.
“What the fuck is thundersnow?” she demanded into the silence.
“Welcome to Colorado.” His arms tightened. His front warmed her back. “If atmospheric conditions are right, we get thunderstorms during blizzards.” He raised his voice as the sound of shelling began again. “There’s more energy in thundersnow. It’s more dangerous too.”
“Why?”
“Positive polarity.”
“You’re shitting me!” As if to deny her accusation, the outdoors was again briefly illuminated. The entire sky turned a luminous pale gray. For a few seconds she could see clear to the creek. Then blackness returned.
“Nope.” The thunder rumbled directly overhead but she was safe in his arms. “Regular lightning has negative polarity. Thundersnow has positive. Hence the increase in wind speed and destructiveness.” She heard strain in his voice. He didn’t like the sound effects any more than she did.
“Sounds like mortar fire,” she said.
“Yeah.” She felt him gulp hard. “But it isn’t. It’s just the weather getting wild,” he recited mechanically. “If you hear the thunder, the lightning missed you.”
“You’re afraid of thunder?” she said in surprise.
“Always sounds like shelling to me at first. But we’re safe indoors – so long as we stay away from the windows.”
“I didn’t know you had seen active service.”
“Two tours,” he said. “Never took a direct hit, but I still don’t like the noise.”
“No. It brings back memories.” She allowed herself to relax in the circle of his arms. “Why do we have to stay away from the windows?”
“Lightning will shatter glass.”
“We have a lightning rod on the roof.”
“Let’s play it safe, huh?” His words were drowned out by another blast of hail.
The sky lit up. Exactly as if they were being shelled. She only counted to two before the thunder burst overhead. Another flash. Another crash. Two or three pastures over, a tree burst into flames.
Bascom hugged her fiercely as the blaze leapt into the air. “Cottonwood,” he murmured.
The fire was all they could see. The wind dropped. “Is it over?” she asked.
“Probably not.” He tensed. The howling resumed. The burning tree flared up and just as suddenly went dark. “The wind fed the fire,” he said. “And then snow hit the tree and extinguished it.”
“Completely put it out?”
“I doubt it. It’s probably still smoldering inside. Just like me.”
“What?”
“The storm woke me up. Holding you lit my fire.” He poked her gently with his erection. “Wanna play? You can be on top.”
An explosive crack, louder than gunfire, louder than the rumble of the thunder blasted them. The tree detonated as if it had taken a direct hit. She flew through the air, carried by the shock waves. Bascom landed on top of her, knocking all the breath out of her. Not shock waves, he had thrown her to the floor.
She shoved at his shoulders. He pushed himself onto all fours, still covering her. “What was that?” he asked.
“I think the tree shattered.”
By the firelight, Calvin’s face was gray. His heavy stubble stood out like black bristles against his pale skin. He looked mortified. His sensual amusement had disappeared.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Hell, no.”
“Thank you for making sure I was safe,” she said. She pulled him back down on top of her. His heavy body made her feel secure. It was all very well and good to know that the storm could not touch them indoors. But his comforting weight made her feel safe.
“I overreacted,” he mumbled.
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“Battle fatigue – the gift that keeps on giving,” he said wearily.
She chuckled. “We’re quite the pair. Do you jump at fireworks too?”
“How did you know?”
“How do you think? Firecrackers ought to be banned.”
“Good luck with that.” He kissed her forehead.
“I thought I got to be on top?” she murmured.
“We could even move to the couch.”
The floor seemed hard, although they were lying on the rug. “Sure,” she said. “If you think the sniper has gone.”
He snorted. “I never hoped to see the day, when I would be making jokes about my little nervous habit.” He shoved the coffee table out of their way and helped her to her feet.
“We could even use a bed,” she offered.
He swept her into his arms. “Let’s do it.”
She felt a moment of panic at her surrender. But either their shared sense of danger, or something else, was making this seem like the obvious thing to do. She feared that something else was love. What else could it be compelling her to turn to Calvin?
As if he had picked up on her vacillation, he grinned down at her. “Relax, you’re going to enjoy yourself.”
“I’m not worried about that.” She wasn’t. She was worried about what came afterward. The attraction between them was undoubtedly strong. But they were very different. Could she trust her feelings?
“You know,” he juggled her in his arms. “You have to stop second-guessing this.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yup. Every time we get a shade more intimate, you pull back. And come up with more reasons why we don’t fit. Which room is yours?”
“Let’s use the spare room.” She couldn’t make love to Calvin with José staring at them.
He shoved the bedroom door open with his shoulder, and set her on her feet. “You want to discuss this some more?” he asked. “Or celebrate the fact that we aren’t dead?”
“We weren’t in real danger,” she pointed out.
“I meant earlier. When you were lost in the blizzard. And I was running out of gas.”
“Oh. I thought you meant the rolling around on the floor because of the thunderstorm.” Her voice trailed off. “You’re teasing me.”
“Uh huh. Listen, sugarplum, we are both jacked up. Adrenaline will do that. But this state of arousal isn’t because of shared danger. Or not entirely. We’ve spent months ready to jump each other’s bones. Why don’t we let our hair down and find out all the ways we fit?”
17
Amanda~
“What if this attraction just blazes up and burns itself out?” she asked. “Like that cottonwood.” She didn’t want to gamble her entire future on something as ephemeral as passion, no matter how hot.
Calvin laughed and peeled her sweater down her arms, trapping them against her sides. “Not going to happen.” He punctuated his words with hard little kisses on her face. “We are fated mates.”
The sweater came free and fell. She kicked it away. “I’m nothing like the women you usually screw,” she pointed out.
“Ah. You got me there, darling. You’re my first bear. But see, it doesn’t matter, because the plan is for you to be my last. Also, we’re going to make love, not screw. My screwing days are over.” He wrenched her pullover over her head, leaving her in her sports bra.
She clutched her breasts. His face softened. He pulled her hands away. “Mine,” he growled and nipped her nipples through the black Lycra and cotton. “How does this thing come off?” He traced a line of wildfire under the breast band.
She felt her face heat. If there was a less sexy garment in the entire world than a sports bra, she didn’t know what it was, unless it
was full-body armor. “It pulls off. Hang on, I’ll do it.”
He slapped her hands away. “I’ll open my own present,” he rumbled. He tugged at the breast band. It barely rose. He pulled harder and raised it partially over her breasts. “Don’t worry, I work out. I can do this.”
“It’s not pretty, but it does the job,” she returned stiffly.
He gave a last wrench and tossed the bra aside. “I should have used my knife,” he said. And then his mouth was on her skin, lapping and suckling, circling her stiff nipples. Growling against her skin. She thrust her hands into his hair and held on as he bent over to ravish her breasts.
She shivered in response to the lashing of his tongue. Tried to find the snaps on his shirt. Her fingers were clumsy but she found the edges of the placket and wrenched them apart. She savored the wide expanse of smooth muscle she exposed, circling to locate his hard male nipples.
He raised his head to kiss her mouth. Thrusting his tongue against hers. She wound her arms around his neck and hung on as they went on a prolonged sensual exploration. His mouth was hot and she could taste his bear-shifter pheromones. Everything female in her responded to his delicious masculine taste.
She grappled with his belt buckle and then with the button of his jeans. He groaned when she yanked down his zipper. “Have a care, woman, it’s the only one I’ve got.”
“And now it belongs to me.” He wasn’t the only one who could stake a claim.
“That’s right. But you don’t get a replacement if you break that one.”
“I’ll be careful.” She dropped to her knees and pulled his shorts and jeans down his legs. “Step out,” she ordered.
He kicked them away. “Should I take off my socks, Major?”
“Yes.”
He stood on one leg and yanked off one sock. His package swung before her eyes. Well, for a wonder, the man did not wax his genitals. She gave him a little pat of approval and he staggered sideways.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“No need to apologize. I have that effect on men.” She smirked at him and cupped his balls in her hands, squeezing lightly.
