by Helena Ray
“Marta,” Chelsea said from where she sat in the round booth reserved for the Cash family, “do you still want something to eat? We came here for that, too.”
The brown-haired beauty blushed, and her mouth formed an O. Reluctantly, Sam withdrew his hand from hers and nodded at Chelsea.
“Chelsea’s right. You should definitely stay for lunch. On the house.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense. You need to learn the menu, and no time like the present, right?”
Sam’s offer was rewarded by a beaming smile that lit up Marta’s eyes. God, he could get lost in those beautiful green orbs.
“Right.” Marta still stood beside the booth, staring at Sam. He couldn’t help chuckling at her reaction. He felt the stirring of his body’s response to her, every inch wanting to touch her skin again, to run a finger down the side of her face and trace lower.
“Well, take a seat, and we’ll get right to you.” His voice was deeper than usual and held an edge of some emotion he couldn’t yet identify. All he knew was he couldn’t let his body, his mind, or his inner lion run, at least not like this. He tried to assume the stature of a newly dubbed boss, but he knew the effort was futile. As Marta gracefully glided back into her seat at the booth, Sam turned and made his way toward the kitchen.
After rounding the counter, he pushed through the door to the kitchen and looked around. Who was working? He only saw Dave leaned over the grill, flipping a flank steak.
“Table five’s bein’ real noisy, Dave. Any word on when those steak and eggs will be ready?” Rita called as she leaned through the window separating the kitchen from the area behind the counter.
“Hold your horses a minute, lady,” Dave shouted then returned to muttering at the grill as he abused the unfortunate piece of meat. “Who orders steak and eggs for lunch, anyway?”
“Rita, hold on,” Sam called before the waitress and de facto Queen Mother of Savage Valley disappeared back onto the floor. “Do you know when Phil’s gonna be in?”
“Sweetie, he’s your brother, not to mention your chef. I’d think you’d know better than I would.”
Normally, Sam appreciated Rita’s maternal teasing, but today was turning out to be anything but normal.
“Damn it, I didn’t have time to look at the schedule this morning.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Hotshot.”
“Sorry, Rita, just a little stressed right now.” Sam massaged his temples with his fingers. He needed to speak with his brother, or this Marta situation could spiral out of control quickly.
“Oh, I’m used to you boys being little smart-asses.” Sam quirked an eyebrow, and Rita returned the expression with a smirk. “Anyway, I don’t think he’s supposed to come in until tomorrow morning. Something about needing to take care of some business in Steamboat Springs for Oliver and Roarke.”
Sam sighed in exasperation. Although he appreciated Phil’s favor-doing tendencies, they could sometimes make for a very tedious fraternal relationship.
“Thanks, Rita.” He turned and stepped through the door that led from the kitchen to his office at the back of the diner. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it. Was this what Oliver had told him about? The overwhelming sense of need that pushed out all rational thought?
He grabbed the clipboard that held the master schedule for the next week. As he started to rearrange shifts in order to have someone available to train Marta, he had to restrain himself from scheduling her all day every day. If she worked at the diner, Sam would see her plenty. The methodical work steadied Sam, and after he finished, he took a few deep breaths and headed back out through the hallway behind the counter.
The sight that greeted him squeezed at his heart. Marta had finished her sweet honey burger and was leaned over the table, her dark hair tumbling down over her shoulders. Rita had the menu open in front of her, and the two studied it together. Sam leaned against the wall and watched for a moment, admiring the way Marta pushed her hair behind her ears as she read the menu, the way her mouth opened as if to say something then closed when Rita began another diatribe, the way a glance to Chelsea seemed to calm her. I’m in trouble.
He crossed back to the table, and Marta’s head shot up when he stood across from her. The way she leaned on the table pressed her breasts together, and it took physical effort for Sam not to gaze at the cleavage revealed by the low neckline of her long-sleeved shirt.
“I’ve got the schedule for the next week. As much as I appreciate Rita orienting you already, do you mind if I take a few moments of your time to go over the schedule?”
Without missing a beat, Marta smiled and said, “Take all you need.”
Chelsea and Rita both retreated, leaving the two of them together. As they went over Marta’s training schedule, the tension between them was palpable. Against his better judgment, Sam brushed his knee against Marta’s.
“And so if I work a double, I go home at ten?” She didn’t appear to react to his touch, but Sam swore he felt her foot brush against his calf.
“That’s right, unless you’re taking over for someone else.” He decided to see if he had indeed felt something and extended his leg underneath hers and wrapped it forward so their calves touched. He studied Marta’s face for any reaction.
“W–Well, what happens then?” This time he was rewarded by her slight stutter and a flushing of her cheeks. Figuring that if he was going to hell, he might as well go all the way, Sam leaned forward, ostensibly to study the schedule, and ghosted a hand over Marta’s thigh.
“As you can see, you’ll work both full shifts, but you’ll take an hour break in the afternoon instead.” The flush had spread to Marta’s lips, turning them a dark pink color. Something within Sam begged him to take her mouth with his, to claim her as his—
No. Sam reined in the puma begging for escape and sat up straight, keeping his hands and his legs to himself. Marta cocked her head to the side as he sat up, but otherwise showed no sign of any chagrin. Damn it. He couldn’t imagine that her inner struggle could equal his. Unless the Shoshone curse was far more widespread than he believed, she couldn’t have a beast inside her heart attempting to claw its way to the surface.
He cleared his throat and thankfully found his voice again. “I think that’s all for now, Marta. We’ll make sure we have a uniform for you tomorrow.”
They said their good-byes, and Sam couldn’t help but study her every move, her every breath. Somehow, all his senses had sharpened to watch her. Finally, she and Chelsea took their leave, her tight ass wiggling from side to side as she strutted out the door.
Yes, considering his circumstances, Sam was in big, big trouble, because he couldn’t see resisting Marta for a second longer.
Chapter 2
“Sam, come on. Calm down. Our situation can’t be the first of its kind in the history of the Valley.” Phil unbuttoned his chef coat as he emerged from the kitchen. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, unwilling to cover his face with the flour on his hands. He shrugged out of the coat and used it as a rag.
“I’m not sure, man. I can’t describe to you how it felt to see her. Just, each cell, every part of me—”
“If you can’t describe it, then don’t try.” Phil leaned on the counter across from his brother. “Look, I believe you. I sat listening to Roarke’s attempts to describe the situation for hours on end after he met Chelsea.”
“Right, but our situation is different.”
Phil shook his head at his brother. Sam had a tendency to jump to conclusions. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What? What could I be forgetting? I called Oliver last night and talked about it, and he confirmed everything we’ve learned since birth. If all the male siblings in a mountain lion-shifter family don’t mate the same woman—”
“Their offspring will die before three years of age, I know. But you do realize that’s not a concern yet, right?”
“How can it not be a concern? The
way I felt yesterday, I know she’s the one for me.”
“I understand that completely.” Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing his vain attempt to talk some sense into his hardheaded brother. “But how do I know she’s the one for me?”
Sam stared at him blankly, as if never having contemplated that possibility. “Well, shit.”
“It’s true that siblings tend to share attraction to one mate, but it’s not always that way, Sam.”
“But say it is, Phil. Say it is. We’re fucking screwed.”
Phil could do nothing but silently nod his head. They were, indeed, screwed if Phil had the same reaction to Marta.
“Mel.”
“Damn it, why couldn’t Mom and the Dads have stopped after they had you?”
Phil shrugged his shoulders. “Well, they didn’t, and we’re bound to our youngest brother.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot,” Sam roared, and Phil could see the glint of his lengthening canines. “I know damn well that Mel has to mate her, too.”
“You and I both knew this day was coming.”
“Damn right, we did.” Sam’s fully extended canines muffled his words. Phil flicked his eyes down and saw Sam’s nails extending and curling into claws and the skin around his hands darkening. Phil knew Sam was upset, but partially shifting? That usually only accompanied extreme anger unless—
“She’s coming.”
“Fuck!” Sam shot off the stool and ran around the corner toward the hallway that led to his office. Clearly, he needed some cooling down time before seeing Marta again.
A mixture of anticipation and fear stirred in Phil’s stomach. If Sam’s reaction to her was this visceral and immediate, chances were that she really was their mate, and Phil couldn’t wait to see her. But at the same time, disaster lurked around every corner. If Phil felt the same way as Sam, they had to cope with Mel, something neither ever enjoyed particularly. And if Phil didn’t feel the same attraction to Marta, Sam would be the odd one out.
Phil mulled it over as he put his coat back on and returned to the kitchen to take the morning’s batch of honey almond muffins out of the oven. Even though he hadn’t focused on pastries in culinary school, he was proud of his skills as a baker. The fact that his famous honey almond muffins sold out each morning was a testament to his prowess.
The sound of a knock on the glass door to the diner interrupted his reverie. He looked through the opening in the front wall of the kitchen, and never before had a sight affected him so fully. A beautiful, curvy brunette with legs for days stood looking a bit confused in the early morning sun. As she pressed her face closer to the door, her breasts pushed through her partially buttoned denim jacket. The sight caused Phil’s cock to lengthen, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his pants. He felt his pulse racing and his blood boiling as heat rushed to his face.
“Sam! She’s here!” He used his last breath to shout then ducked out of her sight.
Shit. Now came the hard part.
* * * *
“I take my coffee black.” The unconventionally handsome man with a mop of blond hair sitting at the booth eyed the bowl of creamer Marta set on the table then looked up at her. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
He spoke with cool apprehension, but his demeanor couldn’t faze Marta this morning. She woke up determined to take on her new life with vigor. She had moved into her apartment last night and firmly decided to make the best of this adventure. Think of it as fodder for your future memoirs. Her dream of becoming a famous essayist was one of the very few things keeping her going, but she clung to it for dear life.
“Sorry about that, sir.” She picked up the bowl and turned back toward the counter. She checked on a few other tables as she made her way down the aisle of booths.
“My, my,” Rita said as she deposited a few dollar bills in the cash register, “he didn’t upset you, did he?”
Marta shook her head. “I’ve handled drunken rednecks with grabby hands. It takes much more than a snitty attitude to faze me.”
“Well, if you can handle Clayton, you can handle anything that’ll come your way here. I don’t think you need much more of my training.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Marta smiled at the woman who presided over the waitstaff at Savage Hunger. “I’ll still need your help with the menu. I keep forgetting what comes with polenta corncakes and what comes with whole wheat jalapeño rolls.”
“You’ll learn soon enough, sug. Phil does like to change it up all the time, though. I think he does it just to mess with me.”
“Phil?” Marta had heard the name batted about, but had never had felt quite comfortable enough to inquire after him until now. “That’s the chef, right?”
“You haven’t met Phil yet?” Marta shook her head, and Rita took off shouting into the kitchen. “Philip Pope, you rude little man, you haven’t even introduced yourself to your new employee.”
“Wait a second, Rita,” a soft male voice called from the kitchen. “I need to start the batter for—”
“Not important!” Marta heard shuffling and the clanging of pots and pans followed by several muttered curses. Rita emerged through the swinging door to the kitchen grasping a disembodied elbow.
“Now Marta, I want you to meet—”
A body followed the elbow Rita held in her death grip, and all sounds faded away. Marta had thought Sam was gorgeous, but she had never expected her luck to double like this. Phil looked down, and a slight blush stained his chiseled cheekbones. His face was all flat, masculine planes except for his full, sensual lips. He raised his head, and blue eyes identical to Sam’s pinned her to the spot. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he still towered over Marta. His lips spread into a smile as he ran a flour-covered hand through his slightly curled light brown hair, leaving a white streak in his locks.
“You’ve got a…” Marta gestured to her own hair in an attempt to alert Phil to the streak through his own hair.
“Excuse me?” He looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“Your hair.” She pointed up at where the streak was settling into his brown locks. “You have flour in your hair.”
His cheeks stained with the same endearing soft blush of before, and he ran his hand through his hair again, leaving an identical white stripe on the other side. “Better?”
Marta heard herself giggling and inwardly chastised herself for her schoolgirl behavior, but she couldn’t help her reaction to him. Gingerly, she took a step closer to him, lifted a hand, and gave him a questioning look. “May I?”
He stilled for a second, and Marta worried she had pushed too far. He smiled, though, lowered his head, and nodded, raining a dust of flour on Marta. She laughed as she tangled her fingers in his hair and shook out the flour. His hair was soft in between her fingers, and even once she was sure any sign of flour had disappeared, she kept her hand there.
They made eye contact again, and Phil smiled wider at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a display of his habitual mirth. Marta felt a stirring in her upper thighs, and warmth spread from her pussy.
She coughed, breaking contact with Phil and stepping away.
“Thanks,” he said quietly and then took her hand in his. The friendly gesture felt intimate, and the sparkle in his eyes told her the feeling was mutual. “We’re glad to have you on the team.”
“Glad to be here.” Boldly, Marta winked after her comment.
“I’ll leave the two of you for a second,” Rita said, backing away and hitting the counter. If what Chelsea had told Marta last night was true, the whole town would get word of her flirtation with Phil in less than half an hour.
Marta was about to speak when the door to the kitchen flung open, and an older man clad in an apron came storming out, gesticulating wildly with a white towel in his hand. “Steak and eggs! Everyone wants steak and eggs! Everywhere I look it’s steak, and then it’s eggs, and then it’s steak, and—”
“Good job today, Dave. With Norman br
eathing down our necks, we really appreciate it.” Dave gave Phil a dirty look as he rounded the corner that led to Sam’s office and the emergency exit. Marta wondered what exactly he had against steak and eggs, but Phil broke into her thoughts by taking her by the shoulder and directing her in the direction Dave had gone. The small corridor muffled some of the noise of the diner’s midmorning rush. “Sorry, just wanted to get out of the path of any disgruntled employees.”
“Completely understandable.” Marta rested her shoulder against the wall, and Phil delighted her by mirroring her action.
“So, you used to live in Europe.” How did Phil know about her stint in Europe after college? The confusion must have shown on her face because Phil laughed and said, “Your résumé, remember? I looked it over after Sam hired you, just to be sure.”
Marta shot him her best smirk. “Be sure of what?”
Phil hesitated for a moment, and Marta remembered who he was. He was her boss, too, and she shouldn’t be initiating any sort of flirtation with him. Shit, shit, shit. She grasped for any threads of professionalism left within her.
“Oh, you know, the usual.” Phil gave a kind smile, easing Marta’s embarrassment a bit, but only a bit.
“Yes, I lived in Europe,” Marta said in a rush, eager to get their conversation back on an appropriate track. “I interned with Condé Nast after college, just making coffee at various international offices, but it was the time of my life.”
“Where were you?” Phil seemed to respond to Marta’s newly businesslike manner and added, “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
“Not at all.” Damn it, now she had really done it. She was about to blow her business relationship and her personal relationship with all her flip-flopping. “I spent most of my time in Hungary, the Czech Republic, Switzerland, and—”
“Switzerland? Where were you?”
“Zurich, mostly.”
Phil’s expression and stature relaxed, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “I love Zurich. After culinary school, we went on a trip to Europe—I was only there two weeks, no big deal—but we studied chocolate making at the Confiserie Sprüngli. I fell in love with that city.”
