Shifters in Seattle: Box Set Books 1 - 5

by Thorne, Truli

  That ought to do it.

  She appears stunned again. Maybe he went too far. She's probably never met a movie star before.

  Forget about the bear. God knows he's tried to, despite the demands that rise within him—to shift, to mate, to run free. His inner bear growls louder and louder every day.

  "You had another question?" He encourages the girl.

  She looks down at the digital recorder in her hands like she's never seen it before and then giggles again.

  "Yes. Umm...Why are your lips so full?" she blurts out, pushing the recorder toward him.

  "What?" Cliff bursts into laughter. God, she's adorable.

  I want her, his bear grumbles. For once, he doesn’t tell the beast to shut up.

  The girl is mortified. She gasps.

  "Not enough kissing, I guess," he says, still laughing. "Or is it too much? I always forget."

  "No," she says. "I'm so sorry...I mean..." The girl is as pink as a rose, panting with embarrassment. Her long blond hair shines in waves over her shoulders.

  "You sure you don't want to talk about my lips? And their fullness? And kissing?"

  She appears to gather herself and then stomps her foot as if that will help.

  "No," she says. "What was the pivotal moment in your life? So far?"

  "Wow. You sure?" He's still grinning. "You could ask me absolutely anything and that's what you most want to know."

  She looks at him with determination and pushes the recorder closer to his chest.

  "Okay. Great question," he says. "Honestly, I just want to be happy. I guess realizing the truth of that made a lot of decisions easy for me."

  "Are you happy?" she blurts out.

  Her. His bear roars inside him, and Cliff reaches out and runs his fingertips up her arm, enjoying the shivers he leaves in their wake.

  "What's your name, sweetheart? And how old are you, anyway?" Cliff remembers to ask.

  "Frankie Knightly." She blushes, bites her lip again. "I'm twenty-one."

  She seems more alive than most girls. The scent of her is deeply sweet.

  Cliff decides to have her.

  "Well, Frankie Knightly. You know what would make me very happy? Spending more time with you."

  He decides to have her tonight.

  As soon as possible.

  "Would you mind terribly if we finish the interview in my room?" he asks her. "I need to get out of this tux. To be honest, I'm really more of a jeans and T-shirt man."

  Hah. That's a good one. Cliff’s mood is improving rapidly.

  He walks into the hotel lobby. Bringing Frankie along with him is as easy as herding a lamb.

  "And then we can come back and have a drink together in the bar," he adds, sweetening the deal with a kiss on her ear. "Afterwards," he whispers.

  Maybe this weekend won't be a total waste of time, after all.

  All he has to do is get his bear to stop growling. Frankie’s our mate, the bear insists.

  Cliff doesn’t even know what the fuck that means.

  5

  Frankie glides across the lobby, which has filled up with beautiful people and the sounds of happy chatter and clinking champagne glasses.

  She feels like she’s floating on air.

  When did the music start?

  When did everyone else arrive? A jazz band plays standards she's heard a hundred times before, but it’s as though she’s hearing them for the first time.

  She's walking with the most handsome man she's ever seen.

  She peeks up at him.

  Nope.

  She's not dreaming. Cliff Tatum is right beside her.

  It's like time stopped while they were talking, but just for them, while the rest of the world kept going. Everyone arrived. The partying started.

  How did that happen?

  As they walk, Cliff slides his arm around her shoulder, pulling Frankie close, then drops his hand to tuck it between her arm and the side of her breast. He eases his fingers up and down, caressing her, right in front of everyone.

  Her breath catches.

  What's he doing? It feels completely naughty. Frankie checks the champagne fountain for Mr. Michaels, but can't see him through the crowd.

  "Don't worry," Cliff whispers in her hair. "No one can see what we're doing."

  She looks around and realizes he's right. Although plenty of people are staring at Cliff Tatum’s face, no one is paying attention to his hand stroking her breast.

  No one except for her, that is. She feels a delicious heat spread through her breasts and down her belly.

  Why is Cliff Tatum flirting with her?

  He must like her.

  Frankie breaks into a grin, looking up at him.

  Cliff Tatum likes her.

  Frankie has heard that movie stars are short, even the men, but Cliff is tall and powerful. Frankie is 5'4" and wearing heels, but he towers over her. His face is classically handsome, with chiseled cheeks and dimples.

  Movie star handsome. This is what that means.

  She’s never thought that men looked good in suits before, but Cliff’s tux is perfect, with a black bow tie and a little handkerchief in his pocket. He is so gorgeous; she can hardly look at him without swooning.

  But she does look. She can't resist.

  He smolders back at her, looking deep into her eyes. He drags his hand from her breast to her neck, his fingers drifting over her skin, electricity lighting up in their path.

  She feels a connection sync between them, pulsing energy and promising heat. Does he feel it too?

  "My suite is on the top floor," Cliff whispers into her hair. "We'll be alone for as long as we like."

  Hell, yes. He feels it.

  By the time they reach the elevator, she's melting into his arms. Frankie turns to Cliff as the doors close and he slides against her, cupping her breasts with his strong hands, kissing and exploring her mouth with his full, perfect lips.

  Oh my god.

  No one has ever kissed her like this before.

  She's lit up. She feels her whole body open to him, her breath captured by his breath, her body seized into his heat. His kiss roughens and her excitement builds, matching his passion and urgency.

  "Oh, yes," he growls.

  He presses her against the elevator wall, his mouth on her mouth, his hands caressing her breasts with rough circles, her dress nearly dissolving under him.

  Frankie gasps as pleasure floods her body.

  Is this what movie star sex is like?

  Bring it on.

  Her heart hammers in her chest, blood rushing to her head. She would never be kissing someone she’d just met if it weren’t Cliff Tatum.

  But she can’t think straight.

  She can’t think at all.

  She wraps her arms around his shoulders, grasping his thick hair. He slides his tongue into her mouth and she moans, nearly swooning. Frankie presses her hips forward, offering him more, her head falling back.

  "Have you ever been fucked by a movie star?" he asks.

  Of course not.

  He'll be her first.

  The question of "will she or won’t she?" isn’t even part of the equation.

  He’s Cliff Tatum.

  Of course she will.

  He gazes tenderly into her eyes as he grinds his hips into her.

  The elevator doors ping open, and no one is in the hall, thank god. They kiss their way down the hall to his suite, and once they're in the door, they grab for each other, mouths on mouths, hands on bodies. He rips off his tuxedo jacket and pulls her closer.

  "Come here."

  She gazes up at his handsome face.

  God, he's gorgeous.

  She just met him twenty minutes ago. Is she really doing this?

  "Sweetheart," he moans, pressing into her, deepening the kiss.

  Her body melts into his, her blood racing, quivering, as desire pulsates straight to her heart. She really can’t resist him.

  But then the closet door flings ope
n with a bang.

  Is that a camera?

  Frankie screams and falls onto the sofa, pulling Cliff down on her chest for cover.

  Is that...Elle Hudson?

  Cliff’s girlfriend—and one of the biggest stars on the planet—storms out of the closet, a cameraman behind her, pointing his camera right at them.

  Elle screams at Frankie, "Get up, you little whore!"

  6

  "That's my man you're fucking!" Elle launches herself at the sofa, digging her nails into Cliff’s back, ripping his shirt to shreds when he flings her off.

  "My man!"

  She's screaming at Frankie, but skewering Cliff. Her nails draw blood while her knee aims at his balls, landing on his upper thigh as he twists away.

  He tosses Elle across the room and she lands on her feet, crouched on the carpet, ready to inflict more pain. America thinks this girl is a princess, but he knows she's a wolf shifter—and a street fighter.

  It's not the first time she's attacked him.

  "Get the fuck out!" Cliff hollers, standing full height. "Now!"

  Frankie grabs a throw off the sofa and runs into the bedroom. Good. She doesn't need to be subjected to Elle’s wild madness.

  Elle immediately shifts gears, bursting into tears. "Darling, don't you love me anymore?"

  Cliff points at the camera. "And turn that goddamned thing off before I call my goddamned lawyer!"

  "We have one little fight and you go straight to a whore?" Elle plays to the camera. "I told you I was sorry for spending so much time with my family. But you know that my little sister is struggling with anxiety, baby. Family is everything to me."

  Elle's face is wet with tears, but her makeup is still perfect. It's all a show.

  They didn't have a little fight.

  He dumped her canine ass.

  Elle is just trying to enrage him. And it's working.

  He yanks Elle by the collar of her leather jacket and shoves her toward the door.

  "Get. The. Fuck. Out!"

  He grabs the camera, which is still pointed at him, and pulls it away from the cameraman, Dave, who is always trailing Elle for her show.

  "Out," Cliff says. "Now."

  Dave tries to hang on to his camera, but he's no match for Cliff.

  No man is.

  Cliff holds the camera away with one hand and shoves Dave after Elle with the other. He herds them straight to the front door of the suite, pushing them out and slamming the door behind them.

  "And stay out!" Cliff yells.

  Bang. Bang. There's immediate pounding on the door.

  "I need my camera back!" Dave yells through the door. "That's felony theft, my friend. You want to go to jail?"

  Cliff flips open the back of the camera and removes the memory cards. He opens the door and tosses the camera into the hall.

  He slams the door, bolts it, and looks around to survey the damage. A few couch cushions are on the floor and the desk drawer is ajar.

  Not too bad.

  Cliff grabs the bottle of vodka and two glasses. He has to admire Elle on a certain level. She's never boring.

  He's just not into her anymore.

  In the bedroom, Frankie hides under the throw at the foot of the bed. Cliff sets the drinks on the side table.

  "Frankie?" he says. "You can come out now. Or better yet, let me come in to you."

  Cliff pulls back the throw just enough to join Frankie under it. He lies back and lifts his knees to create a tent around them.

  "Now where were we?" he says, reaching for her.

  "Are they gone?" she asks.

  "So gone. Evidence destroyed. Plus, I bolted the door."

  "That’s your girlfriend? You love her?"

  He ignores the question and pulls Frankie closer. "First rule of Hollywood: Never let a crazy TV star keep you from getting what you want."

  She sits up suddenly and tosses off the throw, scrambling up to standing.

  Dammit!

  "I’m supposed to take you to the bar for a drink," she says. She holds up the all-access pass that is still dangling between her breasts. If it hadn’t been for Elle, those breasts would be naked now. They would be his to enjoy.

  "No, baby," he says, staying in bed and reaching for her. "That can wait."

  "I don’t know what got into me. I’m not usually like this."

  Here we go. He’s heard that before.

  "It’s okay if we’re late," he says. "No one expects me to be on time."

  She shakes her head.

  "I’m the festival production assistant. I’ve got to be on time or I’ll get fired."

  Cliff’s bear implores him, Keep her safe.

  He feels the pull to be protective. To be tender. That's not like him.

  What the fuck? He doesn’t have time for games.

  "Whatever," he grumbles. "I’ll take you to the bar for a drink. But then we’re done."

  "What do you mean we’re done?"

  "I don’t give second chances, baby."

  She stares at him, her lower lip trembling. She'd better not start crying. He storms to the door and throws it open. He checks up and down the hall to make sure Elle is gone. All clear. "You don’t want this?" he says to Frankie. "Fine. Let’s go."

  "Fine." Frankie crosses her arms over her chest and marches into the hallway.

  7

  What an asshole. Frankie couldn’t believe it. She really dodged a bullet.

  She hits the elevator button, relieved that Cliff’s not in the car with her, but as the doors are closing his hand slides between the doors and he slips in.

  She glares at him and props her fists on her hips.

  He ignores her.

  Anger pulses through her body and her cheeks are hot with shame. Thank god she didn’t sleep with him.

  But damn. He’s so hot. She takes another long look. She may never be this close to him again, or even alone with him again. She should try to salvage things, just in case she runs into him in Hollywood, but she can’t think of a single thing to say.

  She just glares at him as the elevator takes them back to the ground floor.

  In the bar, Cleo and Diana and Liam sit on loveseats in the VIP section. They’re laughing. They look so happy. Frankie checks her dress as she joins them, running her hands down her thighs. She fluffs her hair.

  Frankie slides onto the sofa next to Cleo.

  "There she is. Did you get your interview?" Cleo asks, patting her on the back.

  "No," Frankie admits with a pout. Before she can explain, Cliff shows up and everyone turns to stare at the movie star. Including Frankie.

  "We’ve got a problem," Cliff announces, looking down at his phone.

  Oh, god, no. He’s going to tell everyone what they just did. Frankie sinks into the sofa.

  "What is it?" Cleo asks.

  "My goddamn agent promised me a Porsche for the festival travel. Where is it?"

  Cleo holds up her phone. "I got a text from the rental company saying that your license was suspended, so they couldn’t give you the car."

  "It was just parking tickets. My accountant was supposed to pay them." He rubs the back of his neck. "How do I get around?"

  "Doll, it’s not my fault your license is suspended. That’s between you and the state of California."

  "So get me a limo and a driver. Unless you want me to go back to LA tonight."

  She sighs.

  Cleo dials her cell. "Transportation? I need the mayor’s car and driver this weekend. Oh, yeah..." Cleo listens. "The brakes, huh? Gotcha. Thanks."

  She hangs up.

  "The limo’s in the shop. You can have it on Monday. Until then, may I offer my lovely production assistant, Frankie Knightly. And her car, which is a..."

  Everyone turns to her.

  Frankie jerks to attention. She hadn’t expected the conversation to focus on her. "My car? It’s a 2001 Honda Civic." The last thing she wants is a movie star in her Honda. It’s kind of beat up, even though its name is Jane Fonda
Honda.

  Cliff looks down his perfect nose at her. She’s sitting beneath him on a sofa, but still. She feels evaluated and found short.

  She stands up to her full height and extends her hand. "Let’s start again. I’d be happy to help with your transportation issues."

  Before he can refuse, she turns to Cleo. "I’ll need a hotel room since I can’t go back to the city tonight and still be here tomorrow to drive him all over the island."

  Cliff sniffs and turns back to Cleo. "I’d rather take taxis."

  "There are no taxis on Salish Island," Liam says. "And no empty hotel rooms, either. We’ve been fully booked for weeks."

  Frankie pulls her hand back in. It seems that Cliff isn’t going to shake it. She turns to Cleo for help. Cleo is grinning at them but says nothing.

  "The only empty room is in your suite, Cliff. Your assistant, Billy Callahan, left the island two hours ago. You have an extra room," Liam says. "Give it to Frankie."

  "NO!" Frankie and Cliff say at the same time.

  "No way." Frankie adds. "I’m catching the last ferry tonight. I'll just come back in the morning."

  "You'll be too late for the outgoing ferry."

  "Staying is the only option," Liam says. "Otherwise, Cliff will be stranded here in the morning when the rest of the festival leaves for the next screening."

  "But..."

  "Frankie, you can do this." Cleo tells her. "And so can you, Cliff."

  Cleo pulls a large envelope from her handbag and gives it to Frankie. "Here’s $1,000. Petty cash. Save your receipts. You have a reservation on the eight a.m. ferry to the west side of the island, so you’d better get some sleep. Cliff’s itinerary is in the envelope."

  Cleo ushers them toward the lobby.

  "Cliff, you have a film screening in a different theater on the island tomorrow and Sunday. I’ll try to have the limo to you on Monday for the ride to the airport, but until then I hope you and Frankie here will become friends. It’s only two more days. We’re all adults here, right?"

  She stops at the door, rubbing her belly.

  "Sorry to be rushing out, dolls, but I need to get on the ferry. I have an appointment with my obstetrician first thing in the morning. Did I tell you I’m having a baby?" Cleo beams, running her hands over her baby bump.