FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  “What now?” I purred like a contented, fat cat as I put an arm on the back of the couch and propped my head against it, just looking at him, wondering.

  “TV?” he asked. “The satellite dish works fine.”

  I shook my head, not moving it from where I’d rested it against my fist. “Nah. Not in the mood. I enjoy talking to you, why would I want a TV going?”

  He smiled, turned his body a little towards mine and relaxed back into the cushions.

  “Will you do me a favor?” I asked after a long moment of comfortable silence.

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Will you tell me everything’s going to be alright again?”

  He smiled, nodded. “Everything going to be alright. I promise.”

  I smiled at first, then frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just thinking, that’s all. Sheila, my friend that’s been doing the books for me.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “She told me the gallery is failing. That I should take the money from Wyatt and run.” Then, I began to lay out the financial problems with the business, about how Blake had been keeping it afloat.

  He frowned as the story continued, asked questions in certain parts for clarification.

  “So,” he said when I was finished, “even if we get these Skull and Bones guys off your back, your business is still going to go under unless you make some changes? What kind?”

  I told him about the gift shop idea, about the diversifying I’d considered, branching out into offering more retail stuff for sale.

  “Well,” he said with a laugh after hearing it, “I could always invest in it, you know. Peter might be interested, too.”

  I laughed. “Oh, come on, you don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Who says?” he asked. “Think security doesn’t pay well enough or something?”

  “I saw my invoice,” I joked.

  He gave me a knowing look of “Come on, Jessica.”

  Then, it dawned on me. They’d cut me a serious discount! “You guys cut your fee, didn’t you? How much?”

  “We like helping out the locals,” he said with a shrug.

  I suddenly had a mix of feelings, and didn’t know exactly how to react. I appreciated that they were willing to help, but I suddenly felt like I was a charity case. I reached down, grabbed my wine and finished it off in one go. “One second,” I said, holding up a finger as I climbed off the couch and headed back to the kitchen, glass in hand. I poured myself another glass as the dogs, having not moved from the couch, watched me from their comfortable spot in front of the fire. When I glanced back to the living room, Richard was looking my direction.

  “You’re not mad are you?” he asked as I came back, glass of wine more full than before in hand. “Or offended?”

  “I don’t know how to react, to be honest,” I said as I sat down on the couch next to him, closer this time, and curled my legs up beneath me. I rested the glass on the cushion in front of me as I leaned my head on my hand and looked into his eyes. “One part of me feels like you’re treating me like a damsel in distress. The other doesn’t mind being treated like one.” I leaned forward. “Is that weird?”

  He laughed as he readjusted himself, stretched an arm across the back of the couch. “No, it’s not weird. The way we see it, the Rock needs to stick together on certain things. Peter and I know Sheriff Peak can’t cover everything, and we want to keep places like art galleries open. If Dixie had come to us like that, I’m sure he would have cut her a deal, too.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another drink of wine. “Well, thanks. Now I don’t feel so special.”

  “Sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, no,” I replied with a giggle and sipped some more wine. “I think you’ve helped enough.” The wine was definitely getting to my head. This was my third glass, and Richard had hardly touched the bottle. It wasn’t a great vintage, or anything, but it was good enough for a long day like today. I reached out, patted his hand that was resting across the back of the couch, reassuring him. I left my hand on top of his, just enjoying how he felt.

  He laughed, shifted a little closer on the couch, didn’t move his hand. “Well, if you can think of anything, I’m sure Peter would like to know I screwed up and told you about the discount. We kind of wanted to keep it to ourselves.”

  I looked at his hand in my peripheral vision, traced my red nails over the back. It was a strong hand, a well-worn one. The kind that belonged to a good, hardworking man. There was a comfort in touching him, the feel of warm skin against mine. Knowing that he wasn’t a total creep, or asshole, helped.

  Geez, I thought. Was that the alcohol talking? No, I’d probably had one glass too many, but I knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. I’d been feeling this way, I realized, since the first time I’d met him the day before. Still, deciding I’d had enough wine for the night, I set the glass aside on the coffee table, but didn’t remove my hand from his. Keeping it there just felt . . . right.

  As I straightened up and curled back onto the couch, we looked into each other’s eyes, his gray going deeper into my green than any man ever had. The flame from the fireplace danced in his pupils, lighting them up like some wild animal on the edge of a campfire.

  My breath caught in my chest a little bit at the realization of how close we were sitting on the couch. We’d just been talking, and I hadn’t thought I’d sat so much closer to him when I’d gotten my last glass of wine. But, between the fire and Richard, I didn’t think I’d ever felt so warm in my entire life.

  Now, as we gazed into one another’s eyes, I realized how deep our connection really went. It felt like he was peering into my soul, and I into his. I bit my lip, tried to look away, but couldn’t.

  Without my even realizing, my fingers entwined themselves in his, my slip digits slipping effortlessly between his big, rough ones. His eyes glanced down to my lips, and mine traced over his.

  Almost as if we were being orchestrated, we slowly leaned in towards one another. As our lips came closer together, inch by aching inch, I closed my eyes.

  His lips were as soft and full as I’d imagined they would be. He kissed me gently at first, then pressed his lips harder, more intensely against mine as our hands grasped each other and squeezed. I brushed my tongue over his lips, groaning as how wonderfully long this wait had been.

  Richard brushed my cheek with his free hand, cupped my face as he kissed me harder, our tongues dancing between us like it only can with two fresh lovers. He growled low in his throat like an animal, and a thrill went up my spine.

  All the worries about the gallery, about the Skull and Bones, about the death threats, melted away like the sun coming out to thaw the high country on the first day of spring. I’d never been kissed like this before, so intensely, but so softly. It was like our lips had been made for one another, like we’d been destined to be together.

  But, then, just as wonderfully as it had begun, Richard pulled back, breaking our kiss. “I’m sorry,” he panted, his hand still tenderly cupping my cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I shook my head. “No, no,” I insisted, smiling, “you should have. You definitely should have.”

  He smiled a little, but it swiftly turned into a frown.

  I grimaced. “It’s against protocol,” I said before he could.

  He nodded, stroking his thumb softly over my cheek. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It is. God, I wish it wasn’t, though.”

  I touched the back of his hand cupping my face, turned lips inward, kissed his callused palm as he gripped my other tighter. “Believe me, I can sympathize.”

  “And, besides, you’ve been drinking. I’ve hardly had a drop.”

  “Oh, believe me,” I said, “I’ve been waiting for that kiss long enough to know it’s not just the wine that kissed you back.

  “It wasn’t?” he asked, a little smile dancing over his lips. “You sure?”

&
nbsp; I nodded. “I’m sure, Richard. Believe me.”

  “As soon as this over,” he said earnestly, “as soon as we’ve got you safe, and the contract is over . . .”

  “I’ll cook you dinner,” I suggested. “But, this time, you won’t be getting paid to eat it with me.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. I’ll be there, even if Peter docks me pay for breaking protocol. Your spaghetti Bolognese if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I replied, pulling myself towards him and laying my head against his chest. “That one’s easy.”

  He wrapped his strong arms around me, embraced me close. I could hear his heart thumping inside his chest, a warm, strong sound like no heart I’d ever heard before. I closed my eyes, felt a sense of contentment wash over me.

  If only I could have stayed like that forever. If only we could have been together like that forever.

  Unfortunately, like all things, it had to come to an end.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Richard

  I paced my room, having not even bothered to undress. What the hell was I thinking kissing her like that? I mean, I wanted to, I needed to, but there no doubt I’d crossed a professional line. I’d taken my focus from the mission, had maybe put myself and her in jeopardy by dropping my guard for even a moment. What if this had been Afghanistan, or some other dangerous situation? I could have gotten us all killed!

  I growled at myself, my fists clinched so tightly my knuckles popped.

  The worst part about it? It had felt so wonderful! Like slipping into a hot spring after a long, hard day. Like running beneath the moon with my pack, the smell of a hunt hot in my nostrils. Like when the bullets whiz right past your head, or the bomb misses its mark. It made me feel alive, I realized, for the first time since I’d been risking myself everyday.

  I shook my head. But, still, protocol. The mission. I’d let it down. Frost was going to be pissed that I’d fucked up.

  Of course, I realized, Peter had to have known it would happen. He had to have known how strong my pull to Jessica would have been, like two magnets drawn to one another across vast distance, two heavenly bodies drifting together from their own mutual, gravitational attraction.

  And, if he’d known I couldn’t resist her, that it was my instinct driving me, then he probably had put me in this position to begin with. That idea, no matter if it was wrong or right, took a little sting from my self-flagellation.

  I was a soldier, though. I was trained to resist my instinct. I was taught to rush towards danger, towards the enemy as they actively tried to kill me. To act on my training.

  That, I admitted, I hadn’t done. I’d listened to the song inside my blood. I hadn’t been able to resist it. I growled again, fought back the urge to lay into the wood panels that lined the bedroom. My hands remained at my side, still tightly clenched, still alive with the feeling of her touch on them.

  My only thought was to maintain the mission. To keep myself focused. Maybe, if I did that, I would keep myself from slipping into her room. And I could, I knew. She wouldn’t turn me down, instead she’d welcome me with a warm bed and open arms.

  I shook my head again.

  No. I needed to remember she was a human, a woman. As much as my shifter urges pressed on me to just go into her room, I still needed to wait. She was my mate, and I knew it, but there was still the mission. Still her to protect.

  But more than that, deeper even than the needs of the mission, or of my own instincts gnawing away at my insides like a hungry wolf . . . how was I going to tell her the truth?

  That I wasn’t even human.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I’d stayed distant from women in the past, specifically because of this. How do you tell a woman you care about that you’re a shifter? That, if we had children, they may receive this blessing-slash-curse, or they may not? But that our grandchildren, or our great-grandchildren might. That it was in my blood as surely as any of my other genes, that it was just an aspect of me that they’d have to hide from everyone they ever knew or cared about if they wanted to keep me safe?

  They’d either try and have me committed. Or, they’d running screaming the other direction. When Mom had given me Dad’s letter about my heritage, I’d been so young I hadn’t even thought to ask how he broke the news to her. I just knew they’d met, fell in love. All the nitty gritty details? Who needed that. Now, though, I wished I’d asked. In detail. So much detail she got sick of giving me all the tiny minutiae that might guide me forward in my own life. By the time I’d thought to ask, of course, they were both long gone from this world.

  Won’t lie. It was one of the many regrets I had with my mom’s passing. How could I have let her go without asking simple questions she’d probably had the answer to? The truth was, though, I’d been so hurt by her and my dad withholding my past from me, I’d shut her off. Why bother listening to any of her other advice when she’d lied to me about one of the single most important things?

  I shook my head at my stupidity, nearly punched the wall again.

  I went back to pacing, growling at myself for being such a fool about everything.

  The other option, of course, was not just not telling Jessica. But what kind of life would that be? I’d always been able to empathize with people who were different because of my own secrets. Rather than a closet, I lived in a kennel. Luckily, I’d found a pack. But, no, I couldn’t just lie to her by omission. How could I? It would just be outright betrayal. Like my dad had done to me. I remembered how I’d felt when the truth had been revealed. Wouldn’t she feel the same?

  I’d dated women in the past, of course. I wasn’t a celibate monk, or anything, living in a monastery with other shifters just because of my heritage. But, I’d never let it progress to the point where our lives became as intertwined as mine and her fingers had been earlier. I couldn’t tell her. Not till I was sure we were going to be together for a long time.

  But, like Frank had told me earlier, she was my mate. She was my one, wasn’t she? If I couldn’t tell her, what woman could I? Would I just have to stay in the kennel for the rest of my life, only free to be me when I was around my pack, no woman allowed unless she was a shifter and in on the secret?

  No, I couldn’t believe that was my only option.

  I had to tell her. I had to tell her soon, too, especially with how quickly these feelings were growing inside me. I’d rather nip them in the bud before they grew too strong, if she rejected me. I didn’t think I could handle building a life, in any sense of the word, with someone, only to have it ripped away as soon as I told them my secret.

  I’d do it. As soon as this was over, I’d tell her I was a shifter. I’d even show her, if she asked.

  Away from prying eyes, of course. And definitely not with a cell phone nearby. Having a video of me, or my transformation, floating around would be decidedly bad.

  And I didn’t care what Peter Frost, or any of the pack said about my decision, either. If they rejected my telling her, then I’d do the same thing the old man had when he met my mom. I’d just leave the company, leave the pack. If that was what it came down to, I’d do it.

  I realized, then, that the apple apparently didn’t fall far from the tree between father and son.

  “Happy, Dad?” I asked the ceiling. “Guess your son’s willing to follow in your footsteps, after all.”

  Full clothed, I lay back on the bed but didn’t crawl beneath the covers. I wanted to stay frosty, and you can’t do that with your socks or shoes off, in my experience. So I lay back on the cushion, closed my eyes against the brightness of the overhead light fixture, thought about my dad and all the things he’d never told me.

  Sometimes I pictured him up there, watching down over me. Over us. Me, Peter, the whole crew. I hoped they had elk in heaven, or wherever shifters went. If we went anywhere at all. I’d like to imagine him bringing home a big elk steak for mom to throw on the grill, or a tenderloin for her to pop in the oven, every now and then.
That way she could share in the bounty, and he could taste it without being in his wolf form. As much as I loved the taste of the gamy meat fresh off a kill, there was still something to be said for salt and pepper and a good sear on both sides. Also, potatoes. I couldn’t imagine living without potatoes forever. Almost made me feel sorry for the wolves that couldn’t become human.

  I drifted off after a little while, my mind bobbing along in the currents of slumber, coming in and going out as the night sounds of the forest surrounded us. I heard the critters moving in the underbrush around the cabin, the deer scratching their antlers on the trunks of the pine trees.

  Somewhere, in the far, far distance, I even imagined that I heard a lone wolf calling out for its pack, a tearful cry as it searched for its companions and asked them to come join his hunt. Barely conscious, I smiled. “You’ll find them, buddy,” I whispered to no one in particular as I rolled over onto my side. “You’ll find them.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Jessica

  I’d never been so over the moon in my entire life! Richard looked at me how any woman would dream to have someone look at her. My toes curled just from the thought of having his strong arms around me again, to feel his fingers intertwined with mine, to feel those soft lips of his crushing against me.

  But, here I was, alone, in a strange bed, without even my two pups to keep me company. And not him.

  Protocol, he’d said. Which, on one level, I totally understood. I mean, he worked in a serious business, and he was in the middle of doing something serious: protecting me and keeping me from harm’s way. In situations like this, I figured, it was always best to follow protocol.

  Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck, though!

  Here we were, locked away in the mountains, in a cozy, warm cabin. Just the two of us. No one coming up here for days to check on us. This should be a love bird’s nest, especially with the way we both clearly felt about one another.