by Anne Marsh
Shit. Hell. Fuck. She tried out the words she never used out loud and used all of them because the night shouldn't have ended like that, with her fully clothed and Jackson Breaux God knows where, but definitely not in her arms or her bed even if he'd tricked his way into her heart.
And then she'd grown the hell up—her new favorite curse word—and gone back to Louisiana State and vet school. But Jackson Breaux was always there, in the back of her head and under her skin.
He had absolutely no business standing here in her clinic, buck-ass naked with that half-smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
So, hell no. She so did not want a hand from him. Or a tongue, dick or any other part of his anatomy he might be volunteering. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. She’d moved on and was over him.
Liar, a little voice cried. Denied, her head hollered right back, knowing exactly which part of her was doing the begging and pleading. Even if part of her wanted to beg him to come on over and slip his fingers beneath the edges of her panties. He’d definitely know how to touch her until she hollered and that was one more reason to avoid him.
He’d dominate her.
Take everything she had to give and then some. He made Cruz Jones look like a puppy dog and she was so far out of her league, it wasn't funny. Her younger self hadn’t recognized the danger of letting this man anywhere near her body. Or her heart. How nice that she was older and wiser now.
“You get the hell out of here, Jackson.” Just to emphasize her point, she slugged him again. Too bad he had abs of steel and didn’t as much as flinch. Nope. All she managed to accomplish was to set her knuckles to stinging.
He shook his head. Slowly. Regretfully. “Can' do that, shug.”
His warm, hard fingers closed carefully around hers.
Chapter Three
Eden tugged.
“You absolutely can. My clinic. My rules.”
Jackson gave her a long look and then dropped his head to examine her knuckles. She tugged again. She was the doctor here, not him, even if parts of her thought playing doctor with Jackson was a fine idea. Those parts tingled in the best of ways when he brushed a soft kiss across the bruised skin where she’d struck him.
“I don’ wan’ you hurtin’, shug.”
Then you shouldn’t have left all those years ago.
Those were crazy thoughts, though. She knew that. Jackson Breaux was like the best possible kind of dessert. Decadent and wicked. The kind of sweet taste that made a mockery of her diet, but had her savoring each and every bite until she was done. And that was another thing, one that she’d known even back then on that night of their failed date— Jackson was a one-time special treat.
And she’d had her one taste.
So she pulled hard and this time he let her go. Hands on her hips, she stared up at him. “What kind of business do you have here in my clinic at”—she squinted at the desktop computer—“half past six in the morning?”
If he’d been any other man, she’d have been worried about her cabinet of pharmaceuticals or yelling her head off for Sheriff Jones. The Breauxs, however, had a reputation for being honest to the core—along with being stubborn, rough around the edges loners. Jackson had plenty of faults, but larceny wasn’t one of them. Nor did she really believe he’d come here to hurt her. Instinctively, the same way she knew what her animals were doing and feeling, she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not on purpose.
He sighed and pointed behind him to the backroom. “You patched me up, shug. I'm much obliged.”
Naked and crazy. She sure knew how to pick them.
“The only patch job I've done tonight is a wolf. And I picked up three kittens.”
He chuckled. “I'm no kitten.”
They agreed on one thing.
“What kind of business do you have with me?” She ducked underneath his arm, brushing against his warm side—eyes to yourself, she warned herself—to come up free. She had a feeling he wasn't trying too hard to hang onto her and that just made her madder. He didn’t see her as any kind of threat and yet this was her place and he was in the wrong.
He shrugged and leaned back against the door, his silence all the answer she got. She averted her eyes. The man had no shame, although naked was a damned fine look for him. She looked at the bare feet planted on her floor, legs slightly apart. Looked up the long, muscled legs with a coarse dusting of hair that demanded touch me and up to…well, nature had been plenty kind to Jackson and rumors hadn’t exaggerated about this. The man was seriously, fantastically hung. His penis was every bit as thick and long as she’d fantasized. He was also hard, a hint of moisture at the tip, and that just set her to wondering again why a naked and aroused Jackson was parked inside her clinic. Instead of dialing 9-1-1 like any sensible and sane woman, however, she imagined fisting that tempting length and feels the heat in her cheeks. God. What would he feel like pushing inside her, all big and hungry?
“You’re peekin’, shug.” He didn’t sound like he minded one bit, however, and his rich caramel drawl only heated her up more. Damn it. He had to go.
She snuck one more peek—at his chest because she had some self-control—and then spun on her foot and made for the counter and her purse. She didn't know what he wanted and, trust or not trust, she'd feel better with her cell out. She’d been wrong about Jackson before.
“You really wan' to know why I’m here?”
His eyes watched her as she dug around in her purse and found her cell phone. Set it on the counter in easy reach. He didn’t try to stop her, however, so that was something. Proof she wasn’t wrong about his decent intentions, however wrong this whole situation seemed.
Yep. That was why she'd asked. “Try me,” she suggested.
“I was out in the bayou,” he said, watching her. “Doin' some huntin'.”
“And you lost your clothes doing that?” He gave huntin’ a whole new meaning.
He grinned again. “You seem awful concerned about those clothes, shug.”
“Where's your truck?” This didn't add up. “And how did you get in here?”
Her assistant usually left a gym bag stashed beneath the counter because he liked to run at lunchtime. Swiping the bag, she unzipped it with one angry jerk and borrowed the contents with a mental apology. Getting Jackson clothed trumped her assistant’s post-workout preferences. She tossed Jackson a pair of cotton sweats and he caught them one-handed and pulled them on. He was taller than her assistant and the pants hung low on his hips, exposing teasing hollows and shadows.
“Start explaining and make it good.”
Eden’s hair tumbled around her face, making her look like she’d just rolled out of bed—or a lover’s arms. He wanted to thread his fingers through all that pretty brown, hold her still for kiss and muss her up further. Finish what she'd started back there on the bed. Jesus. She'd been so beautiful, taking what she needed. He should have waited until she finished. Hell, he shouldn't have shifted at all in her clinic, shouldn't have let her see him.
But apparently he had some decency left after all, because watching her come when she didn't know he was there was all kinds of wrong in his book. He'd play any game she wanted, but the wanting was the key. Eden had to say yes. Yes please and More, Jackson also worked for him.
Her eyes widened and, damn, he probably was grinning like the wolf he was. Despite having covered him up some, the scent of her nervousness grew stronger. Of course, he could also scent her arousal—which only made him harder—but he’d clearly scared the shit right out of her and that wasn't okay. She'd dated him that once and he'd left her standing high and dry, alone on the dance floor. He was no Casanova, but even he knew that was a sure fire recipe for wrecking a woman's evening. And it wasn't even as if he'd been uninterested in her. He'd been on fire to touch her. Kiss her and love her some. But then the call had come from Luc, his Alpha, and staying hadn't been an option. When Pack called, he went.
Too bad life didn't offer do-overs.
“Tell me what you
're doing here.” She waved a hand, not quite looking at him. “Here in my clinic where you've got no business being.”
That was where she was wrong. The blue moon, she'd made it clear that everything about Eden Roy was his business. Unfortunately, he'd brought trouble right to her doorstep. Coming here was the last thing he should have done and yet she was a gift he couldn't possibly pass up.
“Be sure, shug.” He flattened his hands on the counter. She'd put space between them and he regretted that as much as her nervousness. “I tell you and there's no goin' back.”
She laughed disbelievingly. “You a secret agent, Jackson Breaux? Because you've never struck me as the type to rob a bank or run drugs up the bayou.”
At least she believed he was a man with some honor. That was a comfort.
“You check on your wolf lately?” he asked, because it was time to be done with these games. He had to tell her the truth.
Her eyes darted past him, but she couldn't see the cage where she'd locked him up. Not without coming closer. Not without putting herself in arm's reach. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking her answer over.
“Don't mess with my wolf,” she warned.
“Nuh-uh.” Her concern warmed him, even though he knew it wasn't personal. "I'm not goin' to hurt him."
“Good.” She hesitated, clearly gearing up to ask something.
“Spit out,” he suggested gently. “You can ask me anythin'.”
"Are you planning on hurting me? Is this the kind of visit that gets the sheriff out here later? I’m ninety-eight percent certain that’s not the kind of guy you are, but the other two percent is screaming I can’t be sure of anything except that you being here is fifty shades of wrong."
Jesus. "Come on over here? Please?"
She was killing him.
She didn’t move, though. Nope. His shug stood there and stared at him, the scent of her nervousness increasing as she silently demanded the words from him. He admired her for that.
"You are the last person I'd ever be hurtin'. You need to believe me on that. No matter what else you think, know that I'd give everythin' to keep you safe and happy."
"Wow." She blinked at him. "That first date must have gone much better than I remember."
"Come here." He couldn’t keep the command out of his voice. He was her mate. Her Alpha. Doubting his willingness to protect her was unacceptable.
"This is crazy." She muttered the words, but she padded over, still giving him a wide berth as she came closer. He appreciated her caution, but not with him. He waited until she moved behind him toward the cage to start moving himself. He knew the moment she spotted the open door. Her fear and nervousness spiked in an adrenaline rush as her eyes scanned the room and the counters, looking for his wolf and finding only him.
"Jackson.” His name was a sharp catch in her voice. “We've got to get out of here."
She thought the wolf was out, hunting them both from the shadows, and she was only partially correct. The wolf was right in front of her and he’d already caught her.
"I told you, shug. I'm never hurtin' you."
Not again, his conscience reminded him. He'd apparently done a damn fine job of doing just that the last time he'd seen her.
"That wolf is injured—the pain will make him aggressive."
This was his moment of truth. "You patched me up jus' fine."
He forced himself to stay put, although he itched to go to her if she wouldn't come to him. Everything he was urged him to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight against his chest. He wanted other things as well, but he'd wait as long as it took for her.
"I'm your wolf," he said, because there couldn't be any confusion about this.
"That's not funny," she snapped, shooting one last glance at the empty cage. Then, moving fast, she snatched her purse from the counter and eyed the kittens. They must have seemed safe enough for the moment to her, because she ran for the door. "We need to get out of here. We're bait in a can."
He gently snagged her arm as she passed him, tugging her to a stop.
“Jackson.” Her pale face looked up at him and she tried to drag him toward the front door “I don’t want to die in a wolf attack. He’s in here somewhere and we have to get out. The drugs are going to slow him down some, but he’s a wild animal.”
Hell.
"Me and my brothers, we shift. That's the God's honest truth, shug. I’m the wolf you rescued."
"You're tellin' me the bayou has a pack of shape shifters living in it? That all you Breauxs like to go furry at the full moon?"
Close. He rubbed the pads of his fingers up and down the soft curve of her forearm. "You've got your stories mixed up. We're over three hundred years old and we can shift whenever we damn well feel like. No one tells a Breaux what to do."
She pulled again, hard. "I'm telling you to get out. I'm done with whatever games you're playing here. I've got a wolf on the loose."
Show and tell it was. "Remember." He rubbed a thumb over her jaw. "We've already established I'm not hurtin' you, oui? You remember that for Jackson here."
She nodded, looking both impatient and nervous. If she’d been right that they were trapped in her clinic with an injured wolf, he’d have been ten kinds of crazy not to hit the door with her. Any injured animal was a threat, no matter how many drugs she’d hit it with. He shoved the sweatpants down, because he figured she’d want him dressed again when this was over.
"Jesus, Jackson." Her impatient shriek rang in his ears. She looked though. Oui. He was bastard enough to notice the flicker of interest in her eyes right before he shifted.
“Oh, my God.” She sat down heavily on the stool. Her purse hit the floor, spilling stuff everywhere. The look on her face said she couldn’t believe what she saw and he could practically hear her mind racing to come up with logical explanations for a two-hundred-pound wolf standing where a man had stood moments before. He padded over, watching her carefully.
"This is impossible." She didn't move, though. Didn't run. He didn't know if he'd shocked her so bad she was about to plant on the floor or if, because sometimes miracles did happen, she was actually going to accept this.
Accept him.
The wolf knew what they both needed. His animal moved in slowly and parked it right by her feet, raising a paw to her thigh. She flinched then glared. "Change back. I'm not having this conversation with a wolf."
He bumped her thigh with his head, rubbing his scent on her and marking her. His brothers would know exactly who she belonged to when he brought her home to the Pack.
When he shifted back, his sweatpants hit him in the head. His mate was definitely pissed. He smiled. But not scared. Nope. For whatever reason, the fear scent had vanished, replaced by outrage.
"You're a wolf." She leaned forward, bracing her head on her hands and closing her eyes. He didn’t want her shutting him out, so he pulled on the sweatpants and came back to her.
She cracked an eye when he nudged her. "This can't be happening."
“It can, shug.”
“There have always been werewolves in the Louisiana bayou?”
“Always? Non. We came here from France centuries ago because this place, she was better for us. We could run deep in the bayou. Our wolves don’ like rules much and the Packs in France had taken a bad turn.”
He was fiercely, deeply grateful she hadn’t been born in that time and place. The original Packs hadn’t valued their mates, had taken the women they found like a God-given right rather than a beautiful privilege. Finding her now, after so long, and imagining the world of hurt those first Packs would have inflicted on her…no.
"My brothers, they're goin' to love you,” he promised her.
Literally.
“The Breauxs are some kind of wolf pack?”
She was clearly still trying to rationalize this all away. That was okay. He knew they were a lot to take in.
“Not a large one,” he said. “Jus’ my brothers and I. Luc is our Alpha and he runs t
he show.”
She snorted.
"What?" He leans against the counter next to her.
"You don't strike me as the type of guy who takes orders."
"Only from Luc."
"Uh-huh." She was thinking something. He could tell.
"Spill." He gently bumped her shoulder with his own, savoring the small contact. He should give her space, should back off and let her think about what he’d shared, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d waited centuries for this woman and the heated rush he felt when he looked at her was too powerful to ignore. Carrying her off to bed wasn’t an option right now, not when she was running nervous, but he couldn’t back off completely either. She meant too much to him. So he put himself in her space, pushing her just a little. Testing to see how far she’d let him go.
The impish look he loved flashed in her eyes, making his pulse pound. His boo was going to be such sweet orders. "You never take orders? What if I'd wanted to give you orders five years ago?"
"Shug, you tell me what you wan' in bed, I'll be givin' it to you. I'm hopin' I didn't blow my chance."
"Present tense?"
"Present and future."
Jackson leaned down and nipped her ear. Sweet Jesus, his little bite shouldn’t have heated her up so much or so fast. The small sting of pleasure-pain had her sucking in a breath and then she flushed. Did he know what he did to her? She’d bet he did. There had always been something knowing about Jackson’s eyes and he’d earned his reputation as the bayou’s bad boy. Thinking about Jackson Breaux and second chances in the same sentence was painfully stupid.
She’d thought about their date more times than she cared to admit. She’d promised herself that his allure hadn’t been personal—he’d loved half the bayou, or so the stories went, and she’d been curious. Her attraction hadn’t been to the man, but to the fantasy. Fantasies she could accept. The flesh-and-blood man? Well, yeah, that might turn out to be a little too real.
“You’re thinkin’ too much,” he drawled.
“Maybe you don’t think enough,” she accused.
