by Amanda Jones
Knew it.
“She’s handy. Strong, too. Already thrown one guy out on his arse.”
“I bet it was quite a show.”
Having seen a couple of Shrews in action, he didn’t doubt it.
He gave his uncle a slap on the back and continued to his office. “I’ll be out in an hour. Need to catch up.”
“Right-o.”
Before proceeding down the hall, he grabbed a stout from the kitchen fridge. He sipped it as he approached the office, and paused with his hand on the knob.
There was breathing inside. No…breathing in chorus.
Quietly, he turned the knob and pushed the door in, hoping to take whomever it was inside off-guard, but they hardly jumped.
There were four women inside. Two he recognized. The other two were unfamiliar.
Grinning, he approached the one leaning onto the edge of his desk holding a glass of green wine. Before greeting her, however, he nodded at the woman perched on his credenza.
“Hello, Sarah.”
She nodded back. “Mr. O’Dwyer.”
He shoved his hands into pockets and shifted his gaze to the woman on his desk. “Hello, shrew.”
Dana let a little smirk quirk her lips up. “Hey, dirty cat.”
“Let’s keep that on the down-low, shall we?” He winked. “Lovely to see you. What’s with the audience?”
“Oh, I thought we should take you up on your offer for drinks.”
He hoped his raised eyebrow conveyed the degree of suspicion he was feeling. “Really, now. Today? On the busiest day of the year? I thought you wanted privacy for your revelry.”
“Mm-hmm. Don’t worry, though. Mr. Drake has got us all set.” She pointed to the six bottles of green wine uncorked on his desk and the six-pack of stout Sarah was indulging in.
“Wouldn’t you like to have a bit more space? I can open the private dining room.”
She shook her head, and her coy smirk sagged a bit. “Good to know you have one, but booze isn’t the only reason we’re here.”
“No?” He wanted to wrap his arms around her, kiss her thoroughly, and drape her over his desk, but he could do none of those things with the six extra eyes on him, watching his every move. Here they were, having a conversation as if they hadn’t been intimate two days ago—as if she hadn’t seen him at his absolute worst. As if his cat hadn’t taken a knife in the leg for her.
His thigh tingled where the silver blade had grazed even thinking about it.
“No. Sorry, we’re going to have to pull Tamara off the bar. We need to be in DC tonight.”
“DC?”
She cleared her throat and looked at Sarah. “Got referred for a government contract. We’re going to have to shut down the agency for a few days.”
“Oh.”
She stared down at her hands and he knew, even without catching her scent or feeling the beat of her heart, that she was nervous. The little hellcat, nervous.
Shit.
He reached across the desktop and picked up his phone. He stabbed an internal extension. “It’s Pat. Can you pack the ladies some dinners to go? Something that won’t sweat in Styrofoam. Thanks.” He hung up and looked at Dana. “Give him ten minutes.”
She nodded.
“Hey, ladies. Why don’t we go keep Mr. Drake company in the kitchen?” Sarah suggested. I think Dana needs to settle the bill.”
She scooped up the bottles and winked at him as she backed out. The other two ladies followed her, eyeing him warily and wearing scowls on their lovely faces.
“They’ll kill me if I hurt you, won’t they?” he whispered.
“In your sleep, probably. Cleaner that way.” Her voice was flat, serious, but she managed a grin, and that made him laugh.
He placed a hand at either side of her thighs and leaned in close so their noses touched.
She closed her eyes and dragged her lips across his, gently, feeling him more than kissing him.
“You scare me, Patrick. I guess I should have expected that. You were in trouble the day I met you, and you still are. I can’t keep you safe. And you…jumble up my thoughts. I feel like I can’t make heads or tails of anything lately.”
Now he did wrap his arms around her, and rested his chin atop her hair, nuzzling it. “Oh, is that all? Fuck, woman.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest and sighed.
“Keeping me safe isn’t your job, sweetheart. I don’t have plans to do anything stupid. I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. I hate politics, but if there’s a way I can smooth some things out for those Were-cats…”
“I understand.”
“And here you are, driving to DC to probably do something really fuckin’ dangerous, huh?”
“That’s part of my job.”
“Look at you. This little thing with only a gun and an attitude, and you’re worried about me.”
She laughed against his chest, and when she stopped, they held onto that embrace for a moment, saying nothing.
Finally, she peeled back a bit, and looked up to say, “I don’t want to get hurt, Patrick. Not again. It’s too hard to put those walls back up once they crumble down.”
Somehow, he knew she wasn’t talking about the kind of hurt that came from bullet holes and knife pricks.
“And are they down? Those walls?”
“There’s a crack in the foundation and it’s spreading rapidly. The building will likely be condemned soon.”
“Nice metaphor. I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart. I know you’ve been through some shit. All I can tell you is I’ll always show you your worth—the way you are, and not the way other people think you should be.”
“I think you’re a little bit nuts, Patrick.”
He grinned. “No, I’m not nuts. It’s like I said before. I’m not the kind of man who takes the easy way out. I’m going to work for this, because I think you’re worth it. That’s my promise.”
She smiled, too. “I’m worth it, huh?”
“You’re like a goddamned phoenix, woman. You walked through fire, and probably died a bit inside, but here you are. Better and badder, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Arguable.”
“Do you like me, shrew?”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and worried at it while her eyes smiled. She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Maybe! What do I have to do to get a yes?”
“Don’t know. Maybe letting me and the girls tag along with you to your little full moon hootenanny next month will sway me in that direction.”
“You want me to wait a whole month for a date?”
She rolled her eyes and thrust her empty wine glass out to him. “No, we can have a date next week. Tell me we can come help deal with the Cats, and I’ll make sure every little mountain lion in heat in that clearing knows you’re taken.”
He had a sudden urge to bite her neck and wrestle her down to the floor, but somehow he managed to resist.
“You realize you’re offering to commit to a dirty cat, right?” he asked as she backed out.
“Yeah. I’ve never had a cat. I think you’ll be fun.” She winked, gave him a mock salute, and disappeared into the hall, the sound of her high-heeled boots clacking against the old wood.
He stabbed the power button on his computer and straightened the stack of invoices on his desk. He grinned again. He didn’t know which of them was the one who needed taming. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe wild was just fine.
It damn sure felt like it.
The End
The Shrew saga continues with Framing Felipe—available now.
Holley Trent
amazon.com/author/holleytrent
Holley Trent is the author of more than forty works of contemporary and paranormal romances ranging from sensual to erotic. She’s a winner of the inaugural CIM-RWA Abalone Award (for My Nora) and a three-time Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence finalist (My Nora, Calculated Exposure, and A Demon in Waiting). A Demo
n in Waiting was a RomCon Readers’ Crown finalist in 2014. Her Den of Sin novella Winterball was a 2015 Passionate Plume award winner.
Link to the second book in the series: http://www.amazon.com/Framing-Felipe-Shrew-Company-ebook/dp/B00CUSEF1U/
Link to Holley's email list: http://eepurl.com/IJsAn
Social media/website links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writerholleytrent
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/holleytrent
Website: http://www.holleytrent.com
Billionaire Alpha Seeks Curves
by Cynthia Fox
About This Book
Peter Zelnick appreciates the curves of a feminine body. He aches for the welcoming embrace of a plentiful bosom and full hips. The strength of a sculpted calve muscle or the silky skin on the back of a soft thigh sends his hormones into hyper-drive. It’s not just the man in him who craves these delicious, feminine traits. The wolf inside also has a weakness for curves that sometimes makes it difficult for human restraint.
He has reached the pinnacle of financial success, but finds himself single in Manhattan. If only he could find a strong mate. One who is independent and driven, but kind and quick to smile. A woman who loves her life as it is, but wants to share her years with a fellow explorer. Add curves and he’d be in heaven.
Then he meets sweet teacher, Mia Carter. He believes she’s the one and will do anything to win her over, even if it means a little bit of deception. He knows he needs to come clean and reveal his secret. Will he lose her forever?
Chapter One
“She’s too thin.”
“What? She’s beautiful, Mr. Zelnick. You asked me to find models.”
“I never said she wasn’t beautiful. I just need more of her. You know, more of a shape,” he said as he curved his hands along an imaginary hourglass.
“But, they will be modeling lingerie and frilly dresses. Why don’t you choose a few from these photos and I’ll…”
He looked up from the pile of modeling cards and sighed. “When I’m driving my Porsche, do you think I have more fun on the straightaways or the curves?”
“Probably the curves.”
“That’s right. And what’s the name of the line?”
She cleared her throat and said, “Curves and Lace.”
“Now please do as I ask, Daphne. This is a new division for us and I want it to be a success.”
“Yes, sir,” she said as she exited the office.
Peter Zelnick flipped through the stacks of photos on his desk, staring at the sunken cheeks and bony hips Daphne had selected for the upcoming campaign. What was she thinking? These models would be fine for the sportswear ads, but not for this project. He’d waited years to start Curves and Lace and he was going to get everything he wanted, right down to the shapely models he hoped would feel empowered and sexy in his beautiful garments. Daphne Kohl came with the company. Her father was his old business partner and he would only relinquish control if she was able to remain gainfully employed. She had a trust fund waiting for her, but Mr. Kohl was old school and wanted her to understand the importance of hard work, a philosophy Peter firmly believed in. She was a sweet kid, but a little clueless at times. Growing up in Manhattan surrounded by the waifish, upper crust of society, Daphne had a certain image in mind when it came to the definition of “sexy.”
Peter, on the other hand, appreciated the curves of a feminine body. He ached for the welcoming embrace of a plentiful bosom and full hips. The strength of a sculpted calve muscle or the silky skin on the back of a soft thigh sent his hormones into hyper-drive. It wasn’t just the man in him who craved these delicious, feminine traits. The wolf inside also had a weakness for curves that sometimes made it difficult for human restraint. He was able to temper his wolfish desires by expending his energy with weightlifting and lengthy runs through Central Park. The resulting human form was chiseled to perfection, bringing admirers from the most successful families in all of New York. He could have had his pick of the crop, but nothing felt right. Occasionally he would succumb to desire and have a brief fling, but he felt like a prick giving the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech to the smitten females. The exercise was safer and easier in the long run. If only he could find a strong mate. One who was independent and driven, but kind and quick to smile. A woman who loved her life as it was and didn’t need improving, but wanted to share her years with a fellow explorer. Add curves and he’d be in heaven.
He turned his chair towards the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding his office and stared down at the green trees blanketing the park. His penthouse at the top had an even better view from the outdoor garden. He’d brought in tons of greenery to mimic the park below for those nights when he needed to soak in the outdoors in wolf form, but the crowds prevented a public outing. Peter knew he was one of the lucky ones. Very few people had access to views like this, but he’d worked hard his entire life and earned every penny of his fortune. He lied about his age and started working in a factory for Kohl Manufacturing when he was just sixteen. His work ethic impressed the elder Mr. Kohl and earned him quick promotions and a fast friendship with the younger Kohl, Daphne’s father. It was Peter’s experience living in the Artic with his shifter tribe that helped Kohl Manufacturing rise to the top with its line of winter clothing and jackets. His designs couldn’t be beat and were soon worn by adventurers the world over. No one could understand how this kid, who supposedly came from Connecticut, had such a great understanding of extreme weather conditions.
Saying he was from Connecticut was easier than explaining that your family had sent you away to avoid the encroaching oil industry and they were depending on you for survival. Luckily for them, he was plucky enough to succeed and relocated the tribe to the Lake Cayuga region of New York where they could thrive. He tried to move them closer to Manhattan, but city living wasn’t for them. His mother wanted him to join them in the countryside, convinced he would have better luck finding a mate away from the hustle and bustle. He was beginning to think she was right. Starting Curves and Lace would hopefully bring the right one to him. That was the plan, anyway.
Peter decided to take a long stroll and partake in some people watching. He usually cut through the park, but something told him to head uptown and explore a new neighborhood. He walked past the pre-war buildings lining Central Park West and nodded at the doormen waiting to open taxi doors and hold armfuls of shopping bags. He cut across to Amsterdam Avenue and grabbed a hot dog from a vendor, walking as he chewed. Each block had its own soundtrack and scents, reflecting the energy of the residents. It made him feel like an urban anthropologist as he made up imaginary biographies for every person he passed. He watched a man on rollerblades grab onto the back of a taxi and coast down the street at high rates of speed without a trace of fear. Neighbors sat on stoops sharing laughs and the latest gossip. There was no shortage of entertainment on these streets. He made a mental note to search the real estate listings for the area and add to his substantial holdings throughout the city.
As he approached a street corner, his ears perked up and twitched as if they had picked up a secret frequency. He closed his eyes to direct more energy to his sense of hearing, a trick his mother had taught him, and zoned in on the source that seemed to be only a few blocks away. It was the laughter of children mixed with a sweet female voice. He opened his eyes and let his long strides steer him towards the sound. As he got closer, his nose also perked up and began twitching. Her scent was even more appealing than her voice, causing his muscles to ache in a way he hadn’t experienced before. Every fiber in his body was propelling him towards her until he suddenly found himself pressed up against a chain-link fence surrounding an outdoor playground with a basketball court. There she was.
A curvy brunette dressed in a yellow dress and matching cardigan was trying her hardest to get the ball through the hoop and failing miserably, much to the amusement of the children on the blacktop.
“This is the money shot,” she sai
d as she attempted a layup, but only managed to send the ball in a pathetic arch. She retrieved the ball and clumsily dribbled back under the net for another attempt. The children laughed and heckled her.
“You’ve spelled H-O-R-S-E about one hundred times now, Miss C. You’re out!”
“You know you’re technically cheating with all these extra throws.”
She looked back at them and smiled. “You guys know I cheat. Play with me or don’t, but you can’t complain about it.” She removed her cardigan and pretended to stretch her neck and legs. “I’m going to show you some mad skills right now. You’ll be calling me ‘Magic Johnson’ from now on.” With that she threw the ball with all her might, sending it smack into the pole and hurtling back at her like a boomerang. She managed to get her hands up in time to protect her face, but the force sent her to the ground in a pile of yellow cotton.
Peter instinctively raced around the gate opening and gently reached through the cluster of children who’d circled to help their teacher. Mia was now laughing too hard to stand. She was surprised to see a large hand separating the crowd and quickly grabbed hold, assuming another teacher had come to the rescue. She fell silent when she saw who the strong grip belonged to. When did we hire this hottie? She didn’t recognize the dark eyes and chiseled chin.
“What grade do you teach?” she asked.
“No, I’m not a teacher. I just saw you go down. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and blushed a little. “How embarrassing.”
