by Rosanna Leo
His gaze narrowed on her hips and then made the slow climb back up to her face. He gaped at her for a long moment before turning and marching over to his brother.
Ryland addressed the kids. "So, I’ve been flapping my gums at you all morning. How about you guys telling me something you've learned about being shifters?"
Soren cleared his throat. Gioia watched, far too amused, as a dozen teenaged heads turned toward him and as Soren bit his bottom lip. "As a shifter, you'll sometimes be forced to rely on your senses and speed."
Ryland gawked at his brother, clearly unaccustomed to receiving input from him. "You're right, Soren. Can you give us an example of when that's happened to you?"
"Sure." Soren shrugged, but then his eyes widened in excitement. "Oh, I remember this one time. Three of the more aggressive fans from the Nevada chapter of my fan club had followed me after a gig at Caesar's Palace. Those girls chased me all over the Vegas strip. I finally lost them and stumbled back to my suite at the Venetian, only to find the guys from Mötley Crüe had kicked in the door to my room and brought a dozen models with them. Someone puked all over my luggage. I'm still not sure who, but I haven't returned Vince Neil's calls since. I really wasn't in the mood to party, so I had to escape, even though Tommy Lee’s new girlfriend was coming onto me like it was nobody's business. I made a dash for it. And when I did, the girls from the fan club found me again. They followed me, but I lost them somewhere in the casino. Sometimes a guy gets tired of the whole Beatlemania thing, you know?"
No one said a word for a full minute. The only noise in the woods was a red squirrel, scurrying along a tree branch.
Soren shifted his balance from one foot to the other, clearly realizing a second too late that his story might not really be appropriate for the crowd. And even though Gioia considered his tale to be probably the most outlandish she'd ever heard, she smiled at him, wanting for some reason to put him at ease.
As the kids followed Ryland down another path, seemingly eager to escape, Soren looked at her, red-faced. He shook his head, regarding her through hooded eyes, and offered her a begrudging smile in return.
* * * *
Soren watched the Clementine woman from a distance as she stood on one of the docks at the lake's edge that afternoon. She was trying to persuade her son to take a turn in a pedal boat with her. The kid did nothing but shake his head and stare into the lake with barely-disguised loathing. Gioia aimed her flashing eyes at her son, drummed her fingers on the dock railing, and then proceeded to tumble into the pedal boat with as much grace as a swan who'd been shot in the foot. She sat, positioned her feet on the pedals, and smiled at her son.
"See?" he heard her say as she pedaled back and forth next to the dock, going nowhere. "It's fun."
Gunnar took one look at his mother and lifted his leg, as if about to get into the boat. Instead, he kicked the boat and shoved her vessel farther away from the dock. He then ran away toward the woods.
"Gunnar, get back here!"
Grinning, Soren meandered down the length of the dock. As she flailed in her boat, pedaling in aimless circles, he grabbed a long pole from the lifeguard station. He reached over, hooked it onto the edge of the boat, and pulled Gioia back to the dock. Her eyes widened as she glided to him. Once he had a proper hold of the pedal boat, he offered her his hand. She paused, took it, and stood. Her hand was warm in his, and its fine contours felt smooth and oddly familiar. As he helped her out of the vessel, he realized he was going to have trouble returning her hand to her because he liked how it felt.
Nevertheless, return it he did. He frowned as she slid her hand into her pocket.
"Your kid likes playing the punk," he commented. "Would you like me to tan his hide for you?"
"Yes, I would like that very much," she joked. "Or feel free to toss him in the lake next time you see him. The little bugger." She laughed, but her laugh quickly turned to a sadder, softer noise that pulled at his heart strings.
He motioned to the dock. She surprised him by sitting, and he joined her. He watched as she whipped off her pink flip flops and dangled her toes in the water. He didn’t understand why he found her feet so fascinating. In all his sexual history, he’d never been so driven to distraction by a pair of feet, but he realized he could gladly contemplate the sweet curve of Gioia’s for hours. As her high arches dipped into the cool water, he felt mesmerized by the way the water made her skin appear pale and luminous.
“Why don’t you take off your boots and dip your feet in?” she asked, eyeing him with curiosity.
“Nah,” he replied. “The lake is crammed with snakes.”
Gioia yanked her feet out of the water so swiftly she toppled and almost fell in. He reached over and steadied her. As he placed his hands around her biceps, her eyes met his, and his bear reacted. The animal panted inside him, and Soren’s own lungs felt tight and bereft of air. All the air in his lungs must have shot right down into his cock because the organ was suddenly inflated and sore. It always seemed to be so in her bewildering presence.
Fuck. What was it with this woman? She was perfectly ordinary. Nothing special about her at all. And he didn’t do ordinary.
She dragged her gaze away from his, as if having trouble doing so. “Um, are you for real? Snakes?”
He grinned in spite of himself. “There aren’t any snakes here. You’re safe.”
She stared at him through narrowed eyes and then laughed. “You’re a growing concern, aren’t you, Soren Snow?”
“I appreciate a good laugh. Nothing wrong with seeing the humor in a situation.”
“Even at someone else’s expense?”
“Especially at someone else’s expense,” he teased. “I guess I’ve always been a bit of a joker. Ask Ryland. He’s been on the receiving end of my pranks all our lives. It’s amazing he’s never strangled me in my sleep.”
Her face grew serious. “I suppose coming to Gemini Island and meeting my son is payback to Ryland?”
“No, I’ve always wanted to meet Gunnar Clementine,” he deadpanned.
She did a double take and then swatted him in the arm, grinning. “Yeah, well, he’s over the moon at meeting you. I know he doesn’t really wear his heart on his sleeve, but this is huge for him.” She frowned. “Just, please don’t…well, you won’t lead him astray, will you?”
“You mean by taking him out and partying all night at the Ursa Fishing Lodge nightclub?”
“This place has a nightclub?”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, it has everything else. How was I supposed to know?” Her gaze fell to his lips and lingered there until she snapped out of it. Her curious smile showed her clear amusement and her dread. “You are trouble, Soren Snow. Capital T trouble.”
He would have normally taken pride in the statement. This time, not so much.
* * * *
Toward dinner time, Gioia was trying to convince Gunnar that he should indeed partake in at least a cracker to keep his strength up. He was getting too skinny. Her background was Italian, and as a rule, her people didn’t trust skinny folk. They sought to feed others. Her mother would be so disappointed Gunnar hadn’t had at least seven solid meals that day. Luckily, her parents were an ocean away on an extended holiday with family in Treviso and didn’t have a say in the matter.
She followed him through the hallways of the resort as he ambled, all too aware of the masculine eyes on her. A couple of men poked their heads around corners, staring at her. They seemed to be inhaling her as she passed. One of them called, “Hey, gorgeous! You and me. What do you say?”
“Um, no thanks,” she replied with a polite smile. “I’m busy with my son.” She followed Gunnar but still felt several eyes on her back as she continued down the hallway. There must be something in the air in this part of Ontario. The men were very forward. Of course, even back home they had been, especially after Paul died. She was beginning to wonder if she was wearing a beanie that said, “Hey there, big boy.”
Gunnar just wandered. She watched as he raised his arms and then let them crash as if pounding on a huge cymbal. And then, strangely enough, she did hear a cymbal. And the rat-tat-tat of a real drum.
Gunnar heard it too. His eyes wide, he raced toward the noise and Gioia followed. As they drew closer to the sound, it became clear the music emanated from a large conference room. They reached the closed door and peeked into the little window in the door. What they saw made Gioia’s tongue thicken.
It was Soren playing on his own fancy drum kit in the middle of the cavernous room. He was bare-chested and sweaty. Gioia told herself it was no big deal. Rock drummers usually took their shirts off when playing. They all worked up a sweat. So why was it that Soren’s sweat looked so delectable shining on his sculpted chest? Why did it appear tasty, and why was her mouth watering?
He was unbelievable. Nothing in her memory was quite as immense as the curves of his shoulders. On his broad and powerful chest, blond hairs tickled his pecs, leading to his washboard abs. His arms were veritable sex weapons, corded and strong, capable of imprisoning one on a mattress. Each time he hammered the drums with precision, his muscles flexed and his soft hair flew about his face. His eyes were closed, and his lips tight. Soren seemed to be completely lost in his music. Gioia fancied he must look the same way when making love. Focused. Intense. Determined to please.
An expert at his craft.
Her pussy contracted and sent out sweet moisture. She prayed the infuriating wetness wouldn’t seep into her jeans.
Before she could stop him, Gunnar opened the door and walked in. “Gunnar, don’t bother Mr. Snow,” she hissed.
Soren’s eyes popped open, and he took them in. He frowned at her, no doubt for letting her son run rampant. Gioia’s heart started to pound. “I’m sorry, Soren. We didn’t mean to disturb your practice.”
He jumped up. “No, no. You’re not. I’m done.” He looked at her, and his lips moved silently, as if deliberating his next word. He turned to Gunnar. “Hey, kid. You wanna play on my kit?”
Now Gioia’s heart really started to do jumping jacks. For Gunnar to be able to see Soren Snow’s drums was a dream come true. For him to be allowed to play on them was a bloody miracle. Soren seemed to understand…
Gunnar stared straight at Soren, his mouth hanging open. “Uh, sure.”
Two more words. Gioia felt her eyes well up. Soren had elicited five whole words from her son. He might as well have wrung a novel from Gunnar. Only this time, she didn’t feel resentful. She was grateful. Even if they never saw Soren again after this retreat, she would take this memory into her dotage and so would her son.
Soren motioned for Gunnar to take his seat behind the big bass drum. Gunnar just stared at the assortment of instruments. The snare, the hanging toms, the hi-hat. He had a similar set at home, but Soren’s was a thing of beauty. The bass drum bore the picture that had become an iconic representation of Soren Snow: a field at nighttime covered in a blanket of snow. In the corner of the picture, Soren’s autograph was scrawled. Gunnar licked his lips, unsure where to begin.
“Just try it out,” Soren urged, caressing the nearest drum. “It won’t bite.” He grinned at Gunnar.
Unsure about handling his idol’s instruments, Gunnar paused. And then he lightly touched his sticks to the surface of the floor tom, getting the feel of it. After a moment of testing the waters, Gunnar launched into a rhythm Gioia had heard many times before, one he often used as a warm-up. Only on Soren’s kit, Gunnar didn’t sound as tense. His technique was much better, less wobbly. Before long, he was bringing the other drums into the piece and ornamenting it with the clang of the cymbal.
“That’s awesome, little dude,” Soren coached. “Try out the snare now.”
He did. And as his drumming grew in intensity, Gunnar looked up and smiled. First at Soren and then at Gioia.
Overcome by emotion, Gioia snatched at a breath. She hadn’t seen her son smile in what felt like ages. Soren had made him smile in true happiness. She knew she’d never forget this moment. She turned away and dabbed under her glasses with a tissue with what she hoped was discretion.
Soren was in front of her in an instant, clutching her arms. She dared to look up. He was so tall. She could get lost in him…and his bare chest. Little golden hairs on big muscles…
“Gioia,” he said on a low rumble, his face pale as if she terrified him to the extreme. “Why are you crying?”
She tried to laugh it off. “Because I have a problem and should be medicated.” She drenched her tissue and searched her pocket frantically for another. There were no others. Dammit. Now her nose was a faucet in front of a gajillionaire rock star.
Soren smiled and looked around. Not seeing any tissues, he leaned over and grabbed his T-shirt from where he’d tossed it. He handed it to her, his eyes burning into hers. “Here.”
She stared at the shirt, her wet nose wrinkled in confusion. “This is Hugo Boss. It costs more than I make in a month, and you want me to wipe my snot on it?”
Soren laughed. “Give it to me.” Rather than put the shirt on, he surprised her by tugging at her glasses. At first she held onto them, but he pried them off her face. “Relax.” He proceeded to wipe her eyes with his shirt, his fingers feathering over her skin in soft touches she’d never have expected from a man of his size and apparent strength. And then he wrapped her nose in the shirt, still grinning at her, and said, “Blow.”
Horrified, Gioia wrested the designer shirt from his hands and put her glasses back on. “I can do it.” Channeling whatever inner lady she had, which wasn’t much, she blew into the shirt. Somehow, somewhere, she just knew Hugo Boss was going into apoplexy at having his luxurious creation so mishandled. After emptying her nasal cavity into Soren’s shirt, she looked at him. “I’d offer to wash it for you, but…”
He smiled wider. “Keep it.” He fingered the edge of the shirt and then looked at her in a way that made her squirm. “I always liked this color of blue, but it would look nicer against your olive skin.”
She could swear a flock of seagulls had just taken off inside her belly, it was fluttering so hard. He was talking about putting things against her skin. And he’d noticed it was olive. Damn. He’s good. Too good. He probably says that to all the olive-skinned women, and those who aren’t.
Gioia tore her gaze from him, even though it stung, and stared at her son, who was still playing drums. Gunnar might be oblivious to the cesspool of reluctant lust she’d just fallen into, thank God, but she was overly aware of it. And she was certainly aware of Soren’s heated gaze still lingering all over her.
“Gunnar will never forget this moment,” she whispered, more to herself than to the bear man next to her.
Soren touched her arm, forcing her attention back to him. “I’m glad. He’s a talented kid. But why did it make you cry?”
“It’s a long story. You wouldn’t be interested.”
He tipped up her chin. Her nerve endings sizzled and exploded, and mad desire rampaged all over the surface of her skin. “Gioia, you have no idea what interests me.”
He certainly looked interested in her right now. With the way his blue gaze narrowed on her lips, and the way his hot fingers caressed the tip of her chin, a hair’s breadth away from her trembling bottom lip. Thank God her mouth couldn’t remember how to move because she’d lost all words anyway.
As determination once again flitted across Soren’s features, he turned to Gunnar and called out. “Hey kid, would it bother you if I take your mother to dinner? You can come too.”
All the blood drained from Gioia’s head. No one ever included her son in anything back home. They all recognized there was something different about him. The human kids made fun
of him, and human adults avoided him.
Gunnar stared. “Nah. I’ll practice and grab some pizza later.”
Wait. What? A smile wiggled its way onto her face as her heart leaped. All of a sudden, her kid was loquacious. “Sure, honey. As long as Mr. Snow doesn’t mind.” She looked at Soren.
“Take as long as you need, Gunnar,” Soren said. “Hey, maybe tomorrow I can teach you some of my technique.”
Gunnar’s mouth fell open. He nodded and went back to happily causing a racket.
Soren grinned at her, and his cerulean eyes lit up. “So, I guess that frees us up for dinner. I just need to grab a shirt. Do you mind if we stop at my suite on the way?”
Gioia nodded, her speech still incapacitated. His suite. She was dying to tell him that dinner without a shirt sounded good to her, but she followed him out of the room like the good girl she was.
* * * *
A few moments later, newly-clothed, Soren sat across from Gioia at the resort’s Italian restaurant. It was a new addition to the lodge and had become the most popular eatery there, with its white tablecloths, many candles, and incredible northern Italian specialties. Soren liked it because it boasted a few quiet, dark corners. He’d asked the host to direct them to the quietest and darkest, and he realized immediately Gioia was stunning when bathed in candlelight. Of course, standing in the conference room with her snot all over her face, she’d been pretty cute too.
Sadly, the shadowy ambience of their little corner was doing nothing to dissuade some of the other men in the restaurant. As soon as they’d entered, several waiters turned to Gioia and gave her a good sniff. Soren had seen their pupils dilate; he’d glimpsed their hunger for her.
And wasn’t impressed.
Trying to keep a lid on his need to introduce the male wait staff to his claws, he took a deep breath and looked at her. He was feeling a little better than before, but not by much. Ryland had been right. As soon as Soren told himself to keep an open mind about this mate malarkey, the pains in his gut had settled down. And now that he was sitting with Gioia in relative harmony, his bear rumbled his approval inside his rib cage.
