by Anne Marsh
Luc pulled him into a fierce embrace and Jackson pressed his face against his brother’s neck, drinking in the comforting scent.
“You should think about goin’ after her,” he said.
There was no need for him to say who the her was. They both knew Jackson meant Luc’s missing mate.
To his surprise, his brother flashed him a feral grin as he started to shift. “I’m findin’ her next.”
Chapter Seven
Jackson put her in Luc’s truck and drove them both down to the boat launch. He seemed to have accepted his brother’s fiat that there was no going into the bayou after the injured wolf and, while she would have welcomed a chance to help the animal, she couldn’t help but be relieved. She didn’t need a run in with one of these skin hunters and nothing about a fast and furious journey inland screamed romantic or even pleasant. Heading out to Jackson’s place for the night seemed far more promising than camping in the great outdoors.
The boat he waved her onto was nondescript and typical of the bayou fishermen. Maybe seeing where he lived would tell her more about the man she was falling for. The Breauxs lived a good distance out of town, although that wasn’t unusual. Plenty of bayou residents liked their privacy. Living alone didn’t make the brothers any different. “Breauxville,” when the boat finally got closed, looked like any other cluster of bayou homes. Her quick count turned up two houseboats and five cabins perched on stilts over the glassy waters. Between the geraniums in coffee cans and the pillow-piled Adirondack chairs on the screened-in decks, the place seemed almost disturbingly normal except for the eyes she felt watching as they motored in. She caught a flash of something—someone—large and four-legged pacing alongside them on the bank. Wolf.
“That one’s mine.” Jackson pointed to a weather-silvered cabin perched on stilts a few feet above the night-darkened bayou water. Masses of orchids floated around the piers and the tin roof would sound magical when the rain came down. Pretty, she decided. The screened-in porch with Adirondack chairs called her name, practically begging her to curl up with a book—or with Jackson. Cypress and tupelo trees brushed the roof, draping the whole place with a soft curtain of silvery-gray Spanish moss.
“You’ve lived a lifetime here.” She still found that hard to believe.
“Oui. The bayou is our home. France was a long time ago.”
He pulled in and moored the boat at the small dock extending the length of the cabin. There was silence for a moment as he killed the motor. Owl’s wing whirred as the bird move through the trees, hunting for dinner. A crocodile splashed into the water with a roar in the distance.
Technically, she hadn’t grown up in the bayou, but she’d spent every high school summer at her Auntie Jo’s place and then she’d done an internship with a local vet up the river. Alive and colorful, the place called to her. She loved both the mysterious, darker shadows of the night and the way the daylight hours burst with color and heat. Something in her needed the outdoors and that contact with nature. Saying that out loud sounded corny as hell, but she felt like she’d been waiting a lifetime to start living and didn’t take a deep breath until she’d set foot in the bayou.
When she’d shared those feelings with Auntie Jo, the older woman had simply smiled and said the bayou took some people that way. There had to be a reason, after all, why generations of the same families lived out there, piled up in ramshackle cabins and houseboats. Eden had argued the point halfheartedly. Maybe they didn’t have any other place to go. Maybe they lacked the job skills or the education.
When she’d ticked off the possibilities, her aunt had just smiled. “Or maybe they don’ want to go.”
Her aunt had passed when Eden was in high school and Eden still missed the older woman fiercely. Auntie Jo would have loved the Breaux camp. Jackson tossed
her bag onto the dock, then swung himself out. He held out a hand for her.
“Come on, shug.”
She didn’t care if it was the riskiest thing she’d ever done. She’d come all this way, so she’d go the distance.
She took his hand and let him guide her up the short ladder and into his home. She didn’t have a plan for this and she’d agreed to give Jackson two days. This night belonged to him. Her body buzzed with anticipation, each casual touch, each brush of his fingers on her skin building her arousal. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tight.
Why shouldn’t they explore these crazy feelings they had for each other? Sensations, she told herself. Not feelings. Because she couldn’t possibly be in love with a werewolf who had stood her up on their first date. God knew, she didn’t believe in love at first sight.
Once inside, she sank down onto a battered wicker loveseat. Yeah. Who was she kidding? She didn’t feel anything remotely logical when she was near Jackson. Nope. She looked at him and thought mine. Unfortunately, bayou bad boys were a limited time only offer.
She wasn’t planning on forever, she told herself. Just two nights and a little fun. He padded back over to her then, bringing a picnic basket.
“Looks like my brothers’ mates have been cookin’,” he said. He set the basket down, did some rummaging and came up with dinner. Look at that. Cold chicken and a potato salad. Pickles and fresh rolls. Brownie to die for. Whoever their benefactress was, the woman was a goddess. Jackson poured her a glass of wine in a Mason jar, a Chardonnay that was cold and crisp. Perfect, although it also brought on a terminal case of the sleepies. Wine had always put her down for the count.
Long minutes later, she yawned, setting down her plate. Jackson whisked it away somewhere.
“I can help,” she protested sleepily.
“No worries.” Warm hands tugged on her feet, removing her sneakers. Fingers stroked over her hair. “I got this.”
Bayou night music filled the air with the sound of frogs and bats as the stars carpeted the sky overhead. Jackson’s place was surprisingly peaceful and not what she’d imagined a werewolf den would look like at all.
He watched her sleep, for just a few minutes. She looked peaceful and right at home on his couch. After he’d touched bases with his brothers about the camp’s defenses for the night, he came back inside and secured the place. She didn’t stir when he picked her up, cradling her against his chest as he took her to his bed. Fierce possessiveness competed with the gladness filling him up inside. He didn’t deserve this chance, but she’d given it to him.
Carefully, he pushed back mosquito netting surrounding the bed, set her down and tucked her in. Then he settled in to watch. Trouble wasn’t sneaking up on him, not tonight when he had the most precious thing in the world curled up next to him.
He wouldn’t sleep.
He wouldn’t lose any one of the moments he had with her.
And he damned certain wouldn’t lose her to a fucking vampire. So he held her close and guarded her with everything he had. When it became clear she was out for the night, he stripped her down to her T-shirt and panties because the night was too hot for clothes.
The hours ticked by too fast, because it seemed like he’d just got her into bedroom when the dark started lightening up some as the sun began its get-out-of-bed routine and the birds woke up with a clatter. He’d tucked her against his chest somewhere around one a.m. and so, when she woke up, she smiled up at him, her eyes sleepy and trusting. Her hair was tousled and her face flushed, but what he noticed most was the sweetest smile in the universe aimed at him. He’d wanted a mate. He’d wanted a reprieve from going wolf and never coming back because, damn it, he did like being human even if he wasn’t always good at it. He hadn’t realized, though, that what he really wanted was this woman. His Eden.
I love you.
He tested the words in his head. The words felt right. There she was, lying in his arms and in his bed just inches from his heart. His mate. His other half. If he’d known he’d been waiting for her, he wouldn’t have bitched at Fate for the empty years. He’d had his Pack, but now…now he had everything.
“Jackson?”
She blinked, but her smile didn’t fade. Thank God.
He could have that smile every day for the rest of his life. If he was any kind of decent, however, he’d give her one last chance to escape.
“Oui, I’m right here.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, silky strands clinging to him. So very pretty.
“Were you planning on letting me sleep the night away?”
“You were tired.” In his world, it was that simple. She’d needed sleep, not sex.
“I’m not now.” There was all kinds of promise in her eyes as she offered him everything.
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He could say the words out loud, but that would change things. He didn’t want her to ever feel trapped, not when he needed to be her choice.
“I got somethin’ to tell you, shug.”
Soft fingers stroked over his stomach and nudged beneath his T-shirt. His mate had been making plans of her own.
“Tell me quickly.”
“I told you the blue moon led me to you.”
“Fated mates.” Her fingers inched lower, teasing his stomach and the strip of skin at the waist of his jeans. Oui. He was iron hard, like he always was around her. His body never quit wanting on her and he wasn’t subtle. She didn’t seem to mind.
“My brothers—they said there’s a mating heat that comes with the moon”
She pinched him lightly. “You’re going into heat like an animal—or I am?”
His huff of laughter stirred her hair. “You, shug.”
She swirled her fingers beneath his waistband and the tip of his dick bumped against her fingertips. Heat tore through him. “So this is all your fault.”
He tightened his arms around her. “A wolf tends to get a wee bit possessive. There’s not goin’ to be a divorce or any gettin’ away from me. If you accept me, you accept all of me. It’s one of those for better or for worse situations.”
“You’re saying you’d force me to stay if I wanted to go?”
He shook his head. Hurting her was the last thing he’d do. Not that it couldn’t happen on accident—he’d seen too much shit to rule out the possibility of life crapping on them—but never on purpose. Not that. “No, but I’ll always be by your side. At your door. Waitin’ for you.”
Because I love you. Those words he’d keep to himself for now.
Wow. The man packed a punch in more ways than one.
“Okay,” she said. There were likely better responses to his possessive declaration but…she was out of words. All she knew was that being with Jackson felt right and so she was running with it. Everything else would have to sort itself out later.
“You done this before, oui?”
He set her carefully beside him on the bed and then he levered upright, checking the doors and locks before he started stripping. Hello. It was clearly her lucky day. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, the cotton hitting the floor. Then he sat down and went to work on his boots. Apparently, he’d spent the night beside her fully armed and ready to fight.
“You think I’m a twenty-six year-old virgin, Jackson?” She answered his question with one of her own. He hadn’t asked when he’d laid her out on her desk after all. It was too late now, in her opinion. He got what he got.
His eyes darkened as he stands up and his hands go to his jeans. Pop those open, big boy. “I wouldn’t mind that. You’d be all mine.”
Huh. She chewed on that for a minute, a frisson of awareness zinging through her. There was nothing polished or polite about Jackson. He said what he thought—and he thought she was beautiful.
Sexy.
When he looked at her, his black-as-sin Cajun eyes undressing her, she didn’t feel like a Hanes kind of gal. Her practical pink cotton panties felt like Agent Provocateur.
“You agreed to take a chance.” The first button popped open, revealing that Jackson went commando. Definitely her lucky day, because his lack of boxers meant the tip of his dick stretched up toward his stomach, ripe and heavy. Moisture beaded the broad head and her mouth watered, wanting to lean forward and tongue him. When the second button slid free, her view got one hundred percent better. Jackson Breaux was a fine man.
“On you?” How well did she really know him? He was a werewolf and he could still possibly be Cruz’s killer, although she didn’t really believe that. If Jackson had killed Red Shug, he would have said so. For all his reputation as a sweet talker, he was blunt. It didn’t mean, however, that he was safe. Far from it. Her pulse kicked up a notch and only partially because he made her nervous.
He also made her wet and the smile in his eyes said he knew that too. He stood up and shoved his jeans down. All the way down and, sweet baby Jesus, he was glorious.
“On us.” He leaned in toward her, naked and sun-bronzed. His hair brushed his shoulders, wild and free. The thick ridge of his erection jutted between them. “Oui. Look at how you make me feel.”
His voice was voice rough with desire. Need. She stared, hungry, and he fisted himself. He was raw and rough, a predator and far too dark. And hers. He could be all, all hers.
“Jackson—” Alone with him out here, she felt vulnerable. He could do anything. His world clearly operated by a set of rules she neither understood nor wanted to know about. Where she ran a veterinary clinic and shopped at the supermart on her days off, this man hunted. He stood on his own two feet and fought for everything he wanted.
“You promised me two days,” he said, his words reminding her of her promise. He’d push, but he’d never force. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. Stab of desire.
“You want time?” She leaned back against the headboard, wrapping her arms around a pillow. He tugged and the sheet dropped. His gaze went right to her breasts. At some point in the night, she must have slipped off her bra, because she’d woken in just a T-shirt and panties. Already the bayou pumped sultry heat into the room, the overhead fan lazily slapping out a cooling breeze. When she drew her legs up, his eyes followed. Nope. He wasn’t the one in charge here. Not really.
He was coiled and tense, waiting for something from her. Permission, she thought.
“I want all the time you’ll give me,” he growled, watching.
Before she could overthink things, she jumped out of the bed, laughing. With a flick of her wrist, she launched a pillow at him.
“Come and get me.”
Then, not being stupid, she whirled and ran. She got four steps before he pinned her against the wall, his eyes laughing down at her.
“Never run from a wolf, shug. Not unless you wan’ him chasin’ you.”
He pinned her in place, his fingers threading through hers and his hips pressing into hers. His erection cradled by her hips. She wanted that thick, hot length spearing her. There was nothing pretty or civilized about how she felt, but Jackson wouldn’t mind. Thank God.
“Good.” She tipped her head back, letting her eyes slip closed. Her skin felt too hot, too sensitive, the T-shirt rubbing against her nipples.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he ordered.
The position made her intensely vulnerable, but his big hands cupped her butt, steadying her. He wouldn’t let her fall. Sweet sensation speared through her as her pussy parted, rubbing against him. His fingers curled around her cheeks, massaging deeper, so close to her rear hole, her front. Wetness drenched her.
“You’re in a rush.” He sounded satisfied.
His mouth trailed over first her cheek and then her jaw. He pressed a small kiss on her ear and then moved down her neck.
“You want me.” He said the words like he needed to hear them.
“Yeah. So do something about it.”
He slanted his mouth over hers, silencing her the way he did best. That was fine. She didn’t need words—she needed doing. He tasted like their picnic, and something wild and savage as well. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue pushing inside and kissing was almost enough.
He reached for her panties, snapping the strings on the side be
fore she’d had time to register what he was doing. The scrap of cotton went fluttering as he speared her carefully with his fingers. One, two, the pressure exquisite as he twisted gently.
Yes.
More. A blunt finger rimmed her butt and she stiffened. Anal sex was not something she’d ever tried. Sure, she’d wondered about the act and fantasized some, but she’d never met a man who tempted her to give it a try. Thinking about Jackson taking her there was one of the hottest, most exciting thoughts she’d ever had. As his thumb pressed inward, barely penetrating her, she could feel herself growing wetter. She’d let him. Hell, she might even beg him.
He lifted his mouth off hers. “Open up. Let me in.”
That bright spark of pleasure-pain grew where he touched her.
“Jackson—” His name was a needy whimper.
“I’m goin’ to get in here.” His finger moved. He eased his thumb deeper before pulling back. A dark burst of pleasure-pain accompanied the unexpected caress, her body stretching for him.
“I’m not sure that’s going to work well.” For me. He wasn’t small and she had no idea if he’d be gentle—or if she’d want him to be.
“Uh-uh. No arguin’.” He gave her a little tap on her mound and, oh God, she liked that too. The pleasure built and built and she was so close to coming. She didn’t want to argue. No, she wanted more.
He couldn’t wait. He had to be in her now.
Swinging her around, he carried her swiftly to his bed and spread her out. She’d lost her panties and he’d shoved her T-shirt up above her breasts. She wriggled as he joined her, shoving the T-shirt over her head. Yeah. Good move.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“You are,” she whimpered but, fuck, neither of them believed that. She held all the power, held him in the palm of her small, callused hand.
“Tell me what you wan’.”
Pick me. Say me.
“Vanilla,” she said, framing his face with her hands. He turned his cheek so he can nuzzle her palm. He didn’t have the faintest fucking clue what she meant, but whatever it was, he’d do it. Surely, he could do vanilla?
