Bearista

by Zoe Chant

  "Long as I'm quick, it should be okay to change here, right?"

  Her mouth dropped open. "Uh ..."

  Derek didn't wait, just stripped quickly out of the white T-shirt he was wearing, and any attempt at rational thought went up, poof!, in a bombardment of muscles! and tattoos! and flexing! and ... wow ...

  Then he turned and she saw the scars on his side. Her breath caught in her throat. Pale, parallel scars, wrapping all the way around his ribs and across his stomach. Like someone had tried to disembowel him with a parallel set of knives.

  Claws, some part of her brain told her. Those are claw marks.

  And the way he was looking at her as he pulled on the T-shirt was not just flirtatious, it was challenging. He wanted her to see this.

  Did—did the Ghost do that?

  He's trying to make me change my mind. He wants me to know what I'm up against.

  Well, if this was the game he wanted to play, then she'd play it right back. Instead of looking at the scars, she flicked her gaze up to his face, and touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. Lasciviously, she let her gaze trail down his pecs and the flat muscles of his abdomen.

  The hair on his head was buzzed off too short to be sure of the color, but his chest hair was a medium brown, curling gently across those incredible pecs. Gaby's covetous gaze followed his treasure trail down to the waistband of his jeans, where the belt for his gun holster was slung low across his narrow hips—

  —and then it all vanished under a Daily Bean T-shirt. The chest of the shirt, like Gaby's, was printed with the cup-and-coffee-beans shop logo. Gaby couldn't help thinking that those were some very lucky coffee beans.

  "Holy Mary Mother of God," Polly murmured behind Gaby.

  Gaby's reaction astonished her: a sudden, intense surge of territoriality. Mine! she wanted to snarl, whirling around on the older woman.

  She got control of herself almost immediately. Derek wasn't hers! He was just a security guard who was protecting her. Nothing more.

  But she could feel right down to her bones (and other parts of her), as Derek sauntered back to the counter, that he wasn't "just" anything. This was the kind of man who slammed into your life like a freight train. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  .... a man like Sandy's father?

  No! cried one part of her, but it was overruled by the cautious part of her—the part that had learned to be cautious, after getting burned so badly by a charming asshole who'd waltzed off and never wanted a thing to do with the son he'd left her.

  She was not getting close. She was not falling again.

  Firmly she pushed down her feelings beneath a cool, professional veneer.

  This got harder when Derek came around the end of the counter and suddenly it felt much, much too small back here. She wasn't even going to be able to turn around without bouncing off him.

  Why did I suggest this?

  Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

  "What do I do first, ma'am?" he asked, smiling down at her. She hadn't realized he was so incredibly tall. The top of her head didn't even come up to his chin. She was on eyeball level with his chest, and the T-shirt straining across his pecs. It looked like she could've bounced a quarter off those coffee beans.

  Sandy's father was tall too, she reminded herself. Be cool! Be professional!

  She also tried to remember that Polly was standing right there, and the last thing she wanted to do was rub her face all over Derek's pecs in front of her boss.

  "What do you want me to show him first?" she asked Polly, taking a step back so she wasn't standing quite so close to Derek and all his tantalizing ... everything.

  "I don't suppose you have the first clue how to make a proper cup of coffee, do you?" Polly asked him.

  "Sure I can. Just give me the coffeemaker and the can of roast."

  Polly winced. "I'm going to say that's a 'no.' Why don't we put those muscles to some use, and have you start by taking the trash out."

  Derek glanced at Gaby. "She'll have to come with me. I'm not leaving her unattended out here."

  "Oh, for Pete's sake!" Gaby exclaimed, causing the couple who had just entered the coffee shop to jump back in a clash of tinkling bells. "Is this what it's going to be like all day? You don't have to be glued to my hip every waking minute!"

  Derek leaned forward, into her space, so close his breath tickled her hair. "Yeah, I do," he said quietly. "If you won't do this my way and go to a safe place, then I'm gonna stick to you like glue. You don't know what this guy is like. I do. I'm not leaving you along for a minute."

  Gaby gulped. He was so ... close ...

  She could smell his spicy male scent, mingled with the scents of cinnamon and coffee.

  If her control lapsed for an instant, she could lean forward and touch the five o'clock shadow already prickling his jaw—brush her lips across his too-near mouth—

  Gaby took a hasty step away, reclaiming some space and also some self-control. "Okay, fine. Stick with me like glue, I don't care. I really couldn't care less what you do," she lied.

  "If you're going back to the kitchen, you could bring out a fresh batch of donuts," Polly suggested. "And see if the calzones are cool enough to put out on the rack. I'll handle the customers."

  Feeling a little better with some sense of purpose, Gaby went into the kitchen with Derek at her side. She obstinately did not look at him, which made her aware of how very silently he moved. How could such a big man be so silent? He was like a ghost himself.

  Maybe he was serious about being able to turn into a bear ...

  And it was true that she did feel much safer with him around. Being in the kitchen brought it all back: the sound of snuffling outside the door, the awareness that a giant predator was right on the other side—

  "You okay?" Derek asked quietly, and she realized she'd stopped, staring at the door.

  "I'm fine." She pointed to the trash bags beside the door. "Those go out in the bin in the alley. That's, uh, that's where the Ghost was, so I'll just be over here at the calzones, if you don't mind."

  When she looked up from using a pair of tongs to take the calzones off the rack, she saw that Derek had drawn his gun from the holster at his waist. "Stay back there," he told her, and opened the door, looking out into the alley.

  "Do you think he's still there?" Her voice rose in a squeak of nervousness.

  "Just making sure he's not." Derek holstered the gun. "Come here."

  "Why?" Gaby asked, but she put the tongs down and came over to the door. Even with Derek there, she had to nerve herself to step out into the alley. It was obvious at a glance that they were alone, though.

  "I'm guessing this wasn't here before," Derek said. He pointed to the bricks beside the door.

  Gaby looked, and swallowed. Fresh scrapes gleamed in the soot-stained brick, four parallel marks beside the door, as if a huge paw with claws like scimitars had scraped it.

  She couldn't help noticing that the marks were just about the size of the scars on Derek's side.

  "He tried to claw his way in," she said in a faint voice.

  "If he'd really been trying to get in, he probably could have," Derek said. "He's just marking the door so he can come back later. Now do you believe me that you need to get somewhere safe?"

  Gaby balled her hands into fists. "You still don't get it, do you? It's not that I'm not afraid. I know this guy is dangerous. But I need this paycheck. I'm a single mom trying to support my kid and my widowed, disabled mother. I can't just disappear. We've barely got enough people to run the coffee shop as it is. Polly would have to hire someone to replace me, and I get that, but—look, you're only going to be in my life as long as the Ghost is after me. But I'm still going to have to live my life after you're gone, including paying my rent and my tuition and my grocery bill, okay?"

  Derek gazed at her for a moment before he murmured, "Stubborn woman."

  He sounded admiring.

  "So we'll stay here, right?" she said, folding
her arms. "You'll protect me here?"

  A smile quirked up the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I'll protect you here."

  Chapter Four: Derek

  He'd stay here with her, if this was where she wanted to be. Derek was willing to be wherever Gaby wanted to be.

  But being this close to his mate, not being able to touch her, was torment.

  In the narrow space behind the counter, it was impossible not to brush against her constantly. Every time one of them turned around, those sweet curves were sliding past him, her round hip bumping against his.

  It didn't take long before he was fighting down a raging hard-on.

  Gaby showed him how to use the cash register and process credit cards. "Probably better if you stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. That's Polly's domain, and she's very particular about it. Why don't you handle the next customer? It looks like she's ready to order. I'll make the drinks."

  He couldn't believe was doing this, he really couldn't—"Hello, ma'am," Derek said with his most winning smile. "What can I get for you?"

  "Well, hello there." The woman gave him a long, appraising once-over, lingering on his chest and on the tats peeking out from under the sleeves of his Daily Bean T-shirt. "You must be new. I think I'd remember you."

  Behind the coffee machine, Gaby scowled.

  Derek wasn't quite sure how to react, between his mate's flattering yet utterly misplaced jealousy and the customer who was looking at him like a prime slab of beef in a meat market. "I'm new here," he said. "Just started today."

  The woman leaned on the counter. "I know where I'm getting my coffee from now on."

  Gaby wiped down the coffee machine with needlessly brisk strokes of a damp rag, her expression murderous.

  Derek cleared his throat. "And ... what did you want?"

  "Oh, I think I'd like a tall latte ..." Her gaze ran up and down his body; now he knew what "undressed me with their eyes" meant. "—extra strong, with a shot of ..." Now she was attempting to gaze into his eyes. "—hazelnut."

  Derek tried not to encourage her by making eye contact; he stared at a point over her shoulder instead. "Got that?" he asked Gaby.

  "I've definitely got it," Gaby said in a strangled voice.

  Derek watched out of the corner of his eye to make sure Gaby didn't spit in the drink, but she was perfectly professional.

  The woman stuffed a $10 bill in the tip cup before she left, drink in hand, with several longing looks back.

  "The nerve of her," Gaby muttered. Then she noticed Derek looking at her and cleared her throat. "I mean ... you're an employee. Just doing your job. The way she was objectifying you! How very ... inappropriate."

  She didn't look at his pecs once throughout that entire speech, just kept her eyes fixed firmly on his face.

  Our mate is fierce! his bear said approvingly.

  She certainly was. Derek hoped they could get through the entire day without his fierce mate flinging herself across the counter to take down the next woman who looked at him that way.

  She feels it too! She wants us; we can smell it. Why don't we just take our mate out into the forest and find a nice patch of grass—

  Because it's more complicated for people, Derek thought at his bear, and besides, we're in the city, so forest is hard to find. I'm not making love to my mate for the first time in a public park.

  Oh really? his libido contributed to the conversation, perking up.

  No one asked you!

  There was a steady stream of customers after that, which at least kept him busy enough to distract him (sort of) from Gaby's tempting curves right next to him. A suspicious number of the customers were young women. It seemed that word was getting around.

  If looks could kill, Gaby's death glares would have left smoking craters on the floor.

  On the bright side, the tip jar was filling up fast.

  "You know, I have an idea," Gaby said when the last customer left and they had a few moments of peace again. "Why don't you make the coffee and I'll hold down the counter."

  "Yeah, but—" Derek hesitated at admitting that he didn't know how to run the machine. He'd brought down drug dealers! He'd rescued kidnapping victims! He could hold his own in a firefight or a South American jungle.

  He should not be brought low by a machine that made overpriced coffee drinks.

  Still—all those nozzles—

  His bear didn't like it either.

  "Come here," Gaby sighed. She pointed out the different parts of the machine, showed him how to turn the steam nozzle on and off, and how to run the coffee grinder. "Why don't you start out by making me a latte."

  We can provide nourishment for our mate! His bear approved.

  "That's the one with coffee and hot milk, right?"

  "Right," Gaby agreed.

  "Why not say 'coffee and milk'? It doesn't need a fancy name. Lots of people put milk in coffee."

  "Because—it—look, just ..." She slapped the coffee-containing device (a small metal cup with a spigot, on a handle) into his palm. "This is a portafilter. It holds two shots of espresso. Fill it up at the grinder, tamp it down with this—" She put a little mallet in his other hand. "And lock it onto the machine. Okay? I'll get the milk."

  The milk was kept in a little fridge underneath the counter. To get it, she had to bend over, giving him an excellent view of her firm, round behind ...

  He wrenched his eyes away and tried to get his mind back on business. Coffee. Right.

  Gaby straightened up with the jug of milk and set it on the counter. "Got the coffee? Okay, now you clamp the portafilter onto the machine—here—"

  There was barely room for two of them at the machine. Gaby put her arms around him from behind, guiding his hand to clamp the portafilter into place. Her small, strong fingers wrapped around the back of his bigger hand—her curves pressed against him from behind—

  "Like this?" he murmured.

  "Like that." Her voice was throaty. Derek looked down as she peeled off him and ducked lithely under his arm, catching a glimpse of the blush tinting her tan cheek. She took a deep breath and her voice steadied. "You'll heat up the milk with the steam nozzle, in this pitcher here, while the hot water runs through the coffee into this little cup. The thermometer shows you when the milk's up to the right temperature. Don't let it get too hot, or it'll scald."

  "I didn't think it would be this complicated," Derek admitted, dipping the head of the steam nozzle into the pitcher while the soft pressure of her hands guided him. "All the coffee I ever made, you just fill the pot. If you're camping, you boil it. No wonder these stu—er—these drinks are so expensive."

  "Wait'll I get into making cappuccinos. For a latte, you just want a little bit of foam on top of the milk. Cappuccinos are all foam and they take a delicate touch. "

  "I'm not so good at delicate," Derek said, his eyes not on the thermometer but on the small hands still covering his own.

  "Oh, I don't know," Gaby murmured. "I bet you can be careful with those hands, when you want to be ..."

  She blinked, made a tiny sound in her throat, and stepped back, the warmth of her hands and her body sliding away, leaving cold spots in their wake. She set a mug on the counter. "Your milk is almost hot enough. Coffee goes in first, then pour the milk after it, stirring as you go. Add a little dollop of foam on top, and you're done."

  It smelled good, at least—the homey, enticing smell of hot coffee. Derek held the cup out to her. "Your latte, ma'am?"

  Gaby smiled at him, dimpling adorably, and took the cup. She sipped. "Not bad. I declare this a passable latte."

  "Only passable?"

  "Well, it is your first one. Everybody improves after their first time."

  In the limited space behind the counter, they were almost touching. She smelled like coffee and perfume and warm female skin.

  "There are a few other things I'd like to improve on," Derek said quietly. "But to do that, we have to get to the first time."

  She didn't step away. H
ead tipped back, lips parted—luscious, touchable lips. "Are we supposed to be doing this?" she asked on a breath.

  "I'm not police," he whispered back. "I don't have any rules to follow. I won't tell if you won't."

  Her lips—so near his own—

  And then the doorbell tinkled and they took a quick, mutual step back. Derek bumped into the donut case; Gaby nearly dropped her latte.

  The newcomer wasn't a customer. It was Lt. Keegan, dark and sharp in his black suit. "Ma'am," he said, nodding to Gaby, and jerked his head at Derek. "Ruger, a word."

  Derek went to the corner table with him, glancing over his shoulder at Gaby, who watched with a look of concern.

  "I see getting her to a safe place is going well," Keegan remarked, glancing at Derek's Daily Bean T-shirt.

  "Protecting her here seemed preferable to throwing her over my shoulder and hauling her off to a safehouse by force," Derek said dryly. "People frown on that kind of thing these days."

  "Noted," Keegan sighed.

  "And there's another thing. You won't like it."

  "Try me."

  "She's my mate."

  Keegan stared at him. Then he closed his eyes and rubbed at a crease between them. "Talk about a complication we don't need. I can guess what you'd say if I tried to pull you away now."

  Derek's bear rose up with a rumbling growl. Derek shoved it down, but not all the way. "You're right about that." A hint of the growl lingered in his voice.

  "Don't posture at me. I get it. In fact, as a fellow shifter, I get it better than anyone else could. Neither of you can stop it, and I know what'll happen to anyone who stands between you. But—" He leaned forward. "Be discreet, all right? At least as much as you're capable of. What I saw when I walked in wasn't discreet."

  "I can be discreet."

  "Uh-huh. Anyway," Keegan went on, "I came in to tell you, first of all, that we've sent a couple of uniforms around to keep an eye on her family. There's a kid and a grandma. The kid's dad doesn't seem to be in the picture."