by Anne Marsh
Eden’s cry almost drowned out the hard knock on the door as Jackson’s protective instincts kicked in hard. Loving on her here hadn’t been his smartest idea. There was a chance that the vampires had managed to track him out of the bayou—and then he would have lead them to the one female he would die to protect.
He surged up, covering her with his body as he assessed the potential threat. It had been one hell of a night. The unexpected visitor could be the fucking meter reader or the milkman, but he wasn’t taking chances. He braced himself on his elbows, her head caged between his arms. She made a noise of protest. He wasn’t sure if she wanted out or because the move had pressed his cock against her. Too bad. She stayed safe.
“You expectin’ company?” Through the glass front doors, the outline of a big man in uniform on the other side was clearly visible. His little mate twisted her head, eyeballing the guy, then she tried to jerk away from him, a bright red flush spreading over her body. The color was cute, but he didn’t scent alarm from her, only embarrassment. Whoever it was, she knew him and he was no vampire.
“It’s Cruz. Oh, my God. I’m naked. We’re naked.”
He debated the reasons why the local sheriff would have paid her a visit, replaying her recent phone call in his head. Maybe the guy was just a good Samaritan, checking up on a female business owner who was alone at dark o’clock. Or maybe he wanted something more, because Jackson was damned certain that he wouldn’t be satisfied with a hi-how-are-you and the occasional meet and greet around time. He wasn’t aware that he was growling until she slapped him on the chest.
“Let me up,” she hissed.
Yeah. He should do that.
“We’re naked,” she pointed out, as if he’d somehow missed that fact.
He wasn’t naked, or not entirely. He’d kept his pants on. Still, he moved back because she’d asked him to. She bolted upright like prey startled in the forest, wriggling away and grabbing for her clothes. Her face was flushed, both from coming and from embarrassment, and her hair was mussed, her lips swollen. Oui, the man knocking at her door would know exactly what Eden had been up to.
“You don’ need to answer, boo.” He leaned against the edge of her desk. The desk where he’d had her. His mate.
“I absolutely do. I called him. Maybe he’ll come on in if I don’t answer and…”
She babbled when she was embarrassed and that discovery charmed him. The Pack had no problem with casual nudity. Or sex. At home, if one of his brothers had shown up and he was having sex, the other male would have joined in.
“And what?”
“He’ll see us.” Eden dressed rapidly, her face flushed, the guilt written there for the good sheriff to see.
“Uh-huh. And this seein’ is a problem?” He didn’t care who saw them. In fact, the seeing was probably going to happen on a regular basis now that his Pack had started mating. They had always shared, he and his pack mates, and the memories were mighty fine. Apparently, some things were going to change, however.
She stared at him like he’d dropped in from another planet. “Uh, yeah. I work in this town. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“I see a beautiful woman, boo.” He cupped her jaw with his hand. “You don’ need this job. I’ll take care of you.”
The irritated look on her face warned him that he’d managed—again—to say the wrong thing. For a man who’d charmed half the bayou, he’d apparently lost his touch with this woman. She yanked on her T-shirt, skipping the bra. The soft fabric skimmed her curves, her nipples tightening when the cotton rubbed the sensitive tips. Then she lost her battle to keep silent.
“Newsflash. This is a modern century, bayou boy. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“You sure?” He wrapped a hand around her hip, curling his fingertips over her skin. He couldn’t imagine not touching her. “I like takin’ care of you.”
“I have a job. I’m damn good at it too.” She glared at his injured side and the pink scar. He knew that too. Wolves healed fast, but he’d been badly injured. She’d saved his life, in more ways than one. Even without the injury, if he hadn’t found her, he would have lost himself more and more inside his wolf. Eventually, he would have stopped shifting back to the man and would have become the beast. He loved being a wolf, loved the freedom to run and to hunt, but this…thing…he and Eden had wasn’t something he wanted to lose. She’d brought him back from that edge when she’d patched him up and she didn’t know it. She’d made him more and for that alone he wanted to treat her like his queen. It was just too fucking bad he didn’t know how to tell her that, hence his desire to show.
“You’re my mate.” The words shot out of his mouth and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He knew how to sweet talk a woman. He looked at Eden, got his hands on her, though, and he couldn’t be strategic. She wasn’t a battle to be won or an enemy to take down. She was Eden.
She was his.
“You say the sweetest things.” The artificial sweetness in her voice conveyed ten different shades of fuck off. She’d changed in the last few years. Going off to school, becoming a veterinarian, and starting her own practice—oui, she was stronger for it. His wolf liked the new strength in her. She’d make a hell of a wolf, if she could shift. Her gaze met his, her spine straight. She propped her hands on her hips, bringing his gaze right back to her sweet spot.
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged. She could believe him or not. Fate was a delicious bitch some nights and the blue moon had chosen Eden for him. He’d take her.
Love her if she let him.
Which was apparently not happening now. Instead, as the sheriff repeated his insistent rat-a-tat on Eden’s front door, she slapped a T-shirt into his hands. “Get dressed, lover boy.”
“You don’ believe me.” He made no move to take the shirt. Had he noticed her eyes that night when they’d dated? Her eyes were brown with a pretty little ring of gold. Her long lashes had a naughty tip to the ends. Oui. Now he understood all too well what had happened to his brothers when they’d met their mates. This small bit of a woman had him wrapped around her fingers—and other places, as well—and he couldn’t even bring himself to mind. Instead, he looked at her and all he wanted to do was smile.
“Your track record speaks for itself,” she said.
“Because we had one bad date?” He’d enjoyed himself, but she’d made her displeasure clear.
Her incredulous look was plenty of answer. She sucked in an indignant breath and her T-shirt tightened over her breasts. Oui, he shouldn’t have been looking there. The T-shirt retreated from his hands and then slapped against his chest. This time she let go and he closed his fingers over the fabric.
“I thought we were on a date. We had oysters and a couple of beers. Then you left. You didn’t explain. You just went—and you never came back or called. So, yeah, that was strike one.”
She leaned toward him, all her attention focused on him and not on the man banging on her front door. She was angry, without a hint of sweet now, but he loved the way her eyes danced. He didn’t want to tame her, but there were so many ways to take the edge off her anger. Games to play with her. Sometimes, she’d need to listen to him. To obey. His world was more often brutal than not, and the Pack’s hierarchy existed for a reason. He’d bet with every ounce of his being, however, that those times when he demanded her obedience would grate. His Eden didn’t like not being in charge. He grinned.
He pushed just a little harder. How far would she let him go? “So I got two more chances before I’m out.”
“You wish.” She whirled and headed for the door. He considered pulling her back until her ass was snug against his dick. A new knock, firmer than the first ones, warned him that his play time was over. Cruz tried the door. Oui, he didn’t like that guy.
Eden strode away from Jackson. He irritated her, made her blood boil with his sexist statements and…made her wet. Darn it. She could feel him watching her as she made her way toward the door. She had no idea
what he wanted, other than the obvious. A guy like Jackson could have plenty of girls. She had no idea what he saw in her. She definitely didn’t play the kinds of sexual games she’d bet he was used to. She liked her sex vanilla and she was just fine with that. Some people were more Cheetos than five star gourmet, and she knew which category she fell into.
“You don’ have to open that door,” he called. His rough, low voice was sexy as hell. She wasn’t listening to him. She really, really wasn’t. This whole night had been impossibly weird and she figured that maybe normal would walk in the door with Cruz.
“My door. My rules.” She didn’t need to spend five more minutes in Jackson’s company to know that, if she gave him an inch, he’d take a mile. Sure, he’d kiss her senseless, love on her some, but she’d pay a price. She didn’t need or want that kind of complication in her life.
Okay. So she wanted that kind of complication, but she wasn’t giving into temptation. It was that Cheetos thing again. She knew where the corner store was and she could afford a lifetime supple of chips. Five-star cuisine, on the other hand, wasn’t happening to her on a nightly basis. Jackson and his brand of loving was too fine, too exotic. If she got a taste for him, she’d be spoiled for the Cheetos kind of man the bayou usually dished up.
“We’re goin’ to be discussin’ that.” Clothing rustled as he spoke. Maybe, please God, the man was getting dressed. He was positively lethal naked. Each step she took reminded her of what he’d done to her body. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, he’d gone down on her, with a lethal skill she wanted more of. She’d taken two lovers while she’d been at university and neither of them had come close to Jackson’s skill. Having that interrupted by sheriff banging on her door was definitely not her first choice. She was swollen and sensitive where Jackson had kissed her. All she needed was ten seconds—five—alone with her fingers. Her vibrator. Hell, the damned banana from yesterday’s lunch even looked like a possibility.
“What do you have against the sheriff?” She risked a look behind her as she reached the door and started flipping locks. Jackson melted back into the dark and shadows. He’d have been invisible if she hadn’t known he was there.
“I don’ like havin’ another a male around my female,” Jackson growled.
Her lips parted. “Archaic, much?”
“I’ll always be honest with you, boo.” He didn’t sound like he cared. “He’s my competition.”
“He did ask me out on a date.” She could feel the small smile curling her lips. She knew Jackson couldn’t see it but, yeah, it felt good to have Mr. Bayou Bad Boy on the ropes. For some reason, he wanted something from her. Something other than the obvious, because she knew good and well a man like that had more offers of casual sex than she did junk mail solicitations for credit cards.
“You remember this.” His voice was pure molten caramel. He kept talking like that and she’d come on the spot. Bad libido. “I’m the one pleasurin’ you.”
“You better be ‘finishin’’ the job.”
She undid the last lock on the door and slipped the chain free with a short, hard jerk. Really, she didn’t need this kind of aggravation. What do you need? The little voice doing the asking in her head was a bad sign. Jackson clearly made her crazy.
Which she’d known since the night of their ill-fated date.
What she didn’t know was why Jackson had disappeared out of sight right now. That was both unexpected and interesting. He’d made it clear he didn’t care if the entire bayou knew what they’d got up to in her office—and he had himself a playboy reputation anyhow—so why did he feel the need to play out-of-sight with Sheriff Cruz?
Chapter Five
Eden popped the door open and sweet early morning air flooded inside. The sun coming up bathed everything in that soft, pretty light as the birds sang up a racket. The patrol car didn’t fit. The lights were off, but maybe Cruz hadn’t wanted to announce his presence.
Cruz himself was every bit as fine as she remembered, his long, powerful legs encased in khaki uniform pants. From the weapons belt slung low on his hips to his strong, capable hands, he radiated security and confidence. She’d never a bad word about Cruz. His family lived in the next town over, sleepy little bayou town. He came with a bunch of brothers and one sister, who somehow found the time to run both a women’s shelter and a shrimping business. He was a good man and the kind of man she should be dating. Unfortunately, the betraying throb in her core warned that Cruz and she might not have much of a romantic future. Her body preferred the bad boy wolf lurking behind her.
Cruz frowned as he looked at her, a tiny pucker growing between dark slash of his brows. He had gorgeous eyes. Hell, he was a gorgeous man. He could make a fortune as one of those underwear models, but instead he was all protect and defend. She liked that too. He wouldn’t cause trouble and he’d be the perfect partner.
“Welfare check.” Whatever he saw on her face must have reassured him, because the frown disappeared and he grinned, flashing her a fantastic dimple.
“Sheriff Jones.” She didn’t move out of the doorway.
“Cruz,” he corrects her gently. That was another thing about Cruz. He was no pushover. He was definitely steely wrapped in a side of soft. “I got your pictures. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” She fought the urge to smooth her hair down. Yeah. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed—or Jackson’s arms—but hopefully he’d chalk the bad hair-do up to the early hour. He leaned a little closer and she’d almost swear he was smelling her. Now she was paranoid.
He braced an arm on the doorframe and looked at her. “You wan’ to show me your wolf?”
He’d listened to her. Even though he disagreed, he was willing to consider her point of view. She didn’t need an owner’s manual to know that the wolf-man lurking inside wouldn’t do that. Pick Cruz her head demanded. He checked every item off her mental wish list for a mate. Unfortunately, her body was team Jackson.
“I let him go,” she said. Lying sucked the big one, but there was no way to tell him the truth. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the truth that Jackson turned into a wolf. And belonged to some kind of primitive, hunt-you-down pack. She said as much to Cruz and he’d haul her off to the funny farm.
Cruz stared at her, his face impassive, and she wondered what he saw.
“We don’ get much in the way of wolves out here,” he said finally. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I’d have liked to take a look. He was a big one.”
“If I run into another one, I’ll lock his butt up and keep him for you,” she promised.
“You do that.” Cruz sounded deadly serious. Huh. Maybe he took wildlife calls as seriously as she did. It was good to know and another point in his favor.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Any time.” Again, she thought he meant his words. He didn’t go, though. Didn’t make any move to walk away from her door. “Things have been happening out in the bayou,” he said finally. “I’ve been workin’ a crime scene this mornin’ and there’s some bad shit goin’ on out there.”
“And?” she prompted, because he clearly wasn’t done.
He shook his head. “You turn on your news?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not much of a news watcher,” she admitted.
“You need to make an exception for this one, Eden. We found Red Shug’s remains out there in the swamp. We’re keeping the details on the down low for right now, but it wasn’t good. He died pretty hard.”
Red Shug had been out of town for a week or so now. His absence wasn’t all that unusual. Plenty of fishermen and trappers came and went. The bayou was a great place for the antisocial or for folks who just needed plenty of space. Red Shug? Well, he had been both.
“Can I come in?” Cruz asked.
She hesitated, every instinct she possessed screaming no. Instead of answering right away, she propped the door open and stepped outside. The early morning air was still relatively cool, a welcome tre
at on her face. Somehow, inviting the sheriff inside, where he’d be in close quarters with Jackson seemed dangerous. Jackson’s reasons for disliking the sheriff weren’t clear, and she’d never suspected him of being a violent man, but…taking chances with the other man’s safety seemed stupid.
“I’ll come out. I could use the fresh air,” she said instead, smiling to invite him to share the half-joke. She’d positioned a bench right outside the front of her practice. Yellow pansies with black faces spilling out of terracotta pots on either side, budget-friendly but cheerful. She sat, but Cruz didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he loomed over her, pressing an arm into the wall over her head, bracing her. She’d expected him to sit down beside her. His eyes moving, assessing. Hand near his gun, nostrils flaring as faint breeze stirred the tupelo leaves. Whatever danger he saw, it was invisible to her.
Something—someone—had injured Jackson Breaux badly enough that he’d come to her for help. Whatever had happened, if both Cruz and Jackson were on edge, it had been bad and she wanted no part of it.
“What’s up?” she asked when Cruz didn’t immediately start explaining.
“You want to discuss this in my car?”
No. She didn’t. “Are you arresting me?”
His dark eyes swung back to her face. “There a reason why I should?”
His question held a more familiar, playful note.
“I’m good.”
The gleam in his eye was promising. Maybe he had had dating potential after all. “I doubt that very much.”
This time, that was definitely a wicked note in his voice. Huh. Two hot men, although the one inside was the one who really got her motor revving. She filed that away to think about later.
“I don’t have a thing for cuffs,” she said and then wondered if she’d misread him. His eyes smiled at her, even as his mouth remained solemn. “Duly noted,” he drawled. “Although I reserve the right to try and change your mind.”
