by Anne Marsh
Jackson snorted behind him. “You got a secret to share?”
He eyed the woman calmly, grabbing the edge of the screen door as insurance in case she was working on a belated case of the panics. “I’m a wolf.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and grinned. “But our Riley had you on a leash.”
She did, just not the kind Ellie meant. Ignoring the amused rumblings behind him, he leaned towards the woman. She clearly understood Riley—and had her best interests at heart. “Ellie, I need your help.”
“I’m not dragging her back.” She tugged on the screen door. “Don’t you ask me to do that.”
Smile, he thought. He should smile. Put her at her ease. Unfortunately, his social skills were still rusty. Instead of smiling, he pulled gently on the door until it popped out of her hands. Ellie dropped her hands to her hips and raised her chin.
“I need your help,” he repeated. “Findin’ a book.”
Chapter Fourteen
Funny to watch the sun go down and not worry about vampires attacking.
If Riley was lucky, last night’s battle had been the last. Maybe the vamp who had kidnapped her hadn’t had time to send word about the Louisiana wolf pack to the mother ship or wherever it was he’d hailed from.
Maybe.
If she was lucky.
Until the bastard’s buddies came back, however, she figured she was entitled to a little R&R. She’d defended the safe house and then she’d headed back here to her own houseboat. Dag Breaux wasn’t the only bayou shifter to invest in a little water-based real estate. The Always Runnin’ wasn’t winning any prizes in the looks department—the boat’s paint job had expired at least three years ago, the fire engine red faded to peeling curls of silvery pink—but she was Riley’s free and clear.
Better yet, out here in the bayou, no one bitched about her posture when she slouched in her favorite lawn chair and kicked her bare feet up on the red and white cooler she’d salvaged from the bayou. Hell, she even had herself a redneck air conditioner, the battery-operated fan duct-taped to a Styrofoam cooler filled with melting bottles of Gatorade. Yeah. Cool air plus eleven more cans of Bud if she got the itch to drink.
“That’s a real classy setup.” Dag’s rough voice was almost enough to startle her upright.
She turned her head and, sure enough, the man was there in the flesh, padding up the board connecting the houseboat to the bank. On bad days, she pretended she could make uninvited guests walk the plank—or just draw the board in and declare a royal “fuck you” to the world. The houseboat’s motor ran—at a top speed of five miles an hour—so pulling triumphantly away remained an option.
But God, Dag was gorgeous. And he’d brought more beer, a pair of longnecks cradled in his right hand. A frivolous polka-dotted gift bag dangled from his other hand. Something turned over in her stomach and it had nothing, she told herself, to do with the blue jeans low on his gorgeous hips. He hadn’t bothered with a T-shirt so all those cut muscles were on display and definitely look-worthy. She stared as a bead of sweat trickled down, teasing her. If he came any closer, she’d be demanding to lick him.
“Permission to come aboard?”
She shouldn’t. It had been twelve hours, give or take, since she’d seen him last and those hours were nowhere near enough to put out the fire he seemed to wake in her.
“I never turn away guests bearing beer.” She waved a hand towards the matching lawn chair. “Got a throne and all for you.”
He grunted and made for her, not the chair. Figured. His leg brushed her shoulder, but all he did was hand her a beer. Metal scraped as he swung the empty chair around so he was face-to-face with her when he dropped down into the seat, his bare feet tangled with hers.
Reaching forward, he tapped his bottle against hers. “Cheers.”
Sunset flooded her view of the bayou with color. The air was still hot as hell too. When she’d worked up the energy, she’d been planning on a swim. She had no idea what Dag intended.
“Thanks,” she said, not sure what to say to him. What he wanted.
“Well, hell, boo,” he drawled. “You do know how to say “thank you.””
She flushed, remembering the last time he’d demanded those words from her. “I’ve got manners.”
He grinned. “There’s only one place I’ve heard you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
“What are you doing here, Dag?” She leaned her head back, her eyes drifting shut. She’d ask straight up and hear what he had to say. Her heart pounded, hoping things her head pooh-poohed. Maybe this was mate business—which she liked more than she should let on—or maybe he was just jonesing for more sex. Or he had a spare beer to unload. Hell if she knew what he thought half the time.
He sidestepped her question. “I met your brothers. They were concerned. They weren’t sure I was good for you.”
“Newsflash.” The setting sun warmed her face and swimming sounded better and better. Maybe she could swim all the way to China. “Those are my brothers you met—not my keepers. They just like to think they’re in charge. Remind you of someone else?”
His rusty chuckle had her turning and looking at him. Hell. He could laugh. He made her smile and laugh, rage and lust, so why did she only seem to make him go one speed?
“Yeah, boo. I got the memo.”
“And yet here you are.”
“I was thinkin’ we could do some talkin’.”
“About?”
He took a swig of his beer, set the bottle down on the deck. Leaning forward, he looked her in the eye. “Us,” he said. “Bein’ mates. Livin’ happily ever after.”
###
Riley shot upright in her chair. Conveniently, he’d trapped her in place. Unless she tipped the chair or decided to climb over his lap, she stayed put. She glared at him, her brown eyes snapping with anger and something else. He inched forward, just in case she made a run for it after all.
Her hands slapped his knees and she made a noise of pure frustration. “You showed up and brought a goddamned vampire to the party. That’s a week of my life I’m not getting back. Ameline is dead.”
He’d hoped they were past that. What was the saying about fools and hope? Wrapping an arm around her waist, scooping her up into his arms and taking her inside the houseboat—where he’d bet she had a bed—was far too tempting. He’d seen her naked, but he’d never seen the purple bikini top. The silky cups scooped her breasts up into delicious mounds and he wanted to place his mouth right there in the shadowy vee and then kiss her and kiss her until she forgot all about fighting with him.
“Dag?” She snapped his name. Yeah. She was waiting for an answer and he was staring at her breasts. Irritation surged through him. She’d looked real comfortable right up until he’d shown up. Which was too damned bad. They did have unfinished business.
“It’s too damn late for regrets,” he growled right back. “I’m real sorry about Ameline, but there’s no bringin’ her back. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten on Mary Jane’s boat.”
“How is this my fault?” She stared at him, clearly incredulous. “Needing to earn a living isn’t an invitation to have my life invaded. First Dre and Landry, now you.”
“Wait until you meet the rest of us.” Heads-upping her about the baggage he traveled with was probably smart, but it was only part of what he needed to tell her. Discuss, he reminded himself. Not tell. He was a reformed man.
Mostly.
“Right.” She pursed her lips, glaring at him. “There’s a vast quantity of you Breauxs hiding out in the bayou. Have you invited everyone to this mating shindig of yours?”
Or maybe not at all, although he’d do his best to pretend, because right now he wanted to kiss the snark right off her pretty mouth.
“Not yet,” he drawled. “But they’re goin’ to be your famille. You should be more welcomin’.”
She shot him the bird. Yeah. She definitely needed taking in hand. Fortunately, he was just the man to do it.
/> “I’ve got family,” she countered.
“Now you’ve got more.”
Her bark of laughter was a surprise. “There’s definitely too much of a good thing, Dag.”
Too much alone time, too much what? She had to be the most stubborn woman he’d ever met. Granted, he hadn’t been burning up the dating circuit. His relationships—which weren’t relationships by Riley’s standards—were all get in, get out. A little sex and human contact. With Riley, he wanted more. No. He needed more. He didn’t want to be anywhere but at her side, but he hadn’t convinced her to stay.
Okay. He hadn’t asked. He’d done that telling thing she complained about. She was a woman working in a man’s world and he was likely worse than any alpha he’d ever met. He was a lone wolf with a need to dominate so deep that it wasn’t even a conscious choice anymore.
Ellie had warned him that Riley would be difficult.
She’d also mentioned begging and he’d been skeptical.
Now, staring into Riley’s cross eyes, he knew he’d do whatever it took—up to and including begging.
“I warned you. I’ll be keepin’ you.”
###
God. Dag Breaux was irritating.
Not to mention sexy with a side of sweet.
Like hell. Play defense, she reminded herself. Chest-thumping declarations not included, you don’t know why he’s come here. “What century were you born in? Because, breaking news here, bayou boy, but keeping women is so passé.”
His big hand tightened on her knees. “You could try keepin’ me. I got a book.”
She blinked. “Congratulations. Reading’s a good thing.”
“No,” he growled, frustrated. “I got a book. The kind you wanted, about sex and kissin’. You said I needed work. So I’ll work.”
Her eyes widened and, damn it, she could feel things inside her melting. “Oh.”
“I’m thinkin’ we could work through it together.” He reached down and snagged the polka-dot gift bag from the deck. “Here.”
Oh. God. Her hands weren’t trembling when she took the bag from him. They weren’t. She pushed through the burst of lime-green tissue paper and, yeah, he’d brought her a book. A book about sex and relationships. The pages bristled with little pink Post-It notes.
“I read ahead,” he said gruffly. “And marked a few places I thought you might like.”
She definitely had a lump in her throat, which was a problem, because she really needed to say something right now. Instead, her fingers tightened around the book, holding it close.
“I love you.” He said the words, low and rough, but she heard them clear to her heart.
Wait. Rewind.
“Really?” She needed to be closer, so she climbed over onto his lap. His arms came around her and it didn’t matter that lawn chairs weren’t built for two or that the metal arms were digging into his legs.
“You bet, boo.” His mouth nips hers, bright sting of pleasure-pain. “My kind, we spend a lifetime waitin’ for a blue moon, so we can get on with the important business in life. Huntin’. Matin’. When that moon lit you up, I felt somethin’.”
She cupped his jaw in her hand, savoring the rough stubble and the sensual bite against her palm that was so like her man himself. “You wanted me.”
He didn’t look away. “Oui. You made me feel, boo. For the first time in decades, I felt somethin’ besides the wolf in me. I was all empty, runnin’ on instinct and then you showed up and showed me how things could be. How could I not want to make you mine?”
She pressed a kiss against his jaw. “I’m listening.”
“But then you made me chase you,” he growled, “and I liked that too, boo. Hell, yeah, I liked that.”
That made two of them, because she had fond memories of his huntin’.
“And in chasin’ you, I found so much more than a convenient mate. I found you, Riley.” His arms tighten around her, dragging her against his chest until he could bury his face in her hair, rub his cheek against the side of her neck. “You let me get to know you and I liked you. The feelin’ was somethin’ new for me. And then that likin’ became something more because I love you. And so I was thinkin’ we could do this thing together.”
There was a crack as the lawn chair gave way beneath their combined weights. He landed flat on his back on the deck, but his hands cradled her the whole way down. She couldn’t quite hide her laughter. Undone by ancient webbing and too much shifter.
“This,” she informed him, “might be part of my secret plot to have you at my mercy.” Since she had him stretched out beneath him, she hugged his hips with her legs and captured his hands with her own. She had a point to make here too.
“Mine,” she said fiercely. “You’re mine, Dag Breaux.”
“Have been for a while,” he agreed. “I guess that makes you Mrs. Breaux.”
“Are you proposing to me flat on your back?”
He smiled. “You goin’ to let me up? Or tell me you love me back?”
She pretended to think about it—the way her legs straddled his hips, she could feel his dick pushing at those barely there jeans of his. “Not a chance in hell on the getting up part. But yeah, I love you.”
He grunted. “Put your hand in my front pocket.”
She rocked against his erection. Yep. The sensation felt every bit as good as she remembered. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“Just do it, boo.”
She fished in his front pocket, deliberately prolonging the moment, but the pocket wasn’t big and there definitely wasn’t room for searching. He groaned and she ran her fingers over the hard length of his dick through the pocket before wrapping her fingers around a small box. When she pulled it out, her heart about stopped. A little, square, black velvet box the perfect size for a ring. She thumbed the top open, finger shaking, and the beautiful, sparkly, couldn’t-really-be-here diamond ring winked up at her. Oh. God. He’d come here for more than sex or company. He’d definitely come here for her.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” He sounded anxious and she bit back a smile. And, yeah, the damned tears. “You’re supposed to be happy, boo. I thought we could do this your way.”
He plucked the box from her fingers. “You wan’ to put this on?”
“You’re really going to ask my dad for permission to get married?” She couldn’t look away as he popped the ring out of its velvet nest and slid it onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
“Already did. Your mom too. Your brothers, however, I told to go fuck themselves.”
“Bet they loved that,” she said dryly.
He threaded his hands through her hair, affection and warmth filling his gaze. “Boo, I love you. I’ll put up with those other three.”
“You really love me?” She needed him to say those three words at least a dozen times more and only partly because she liked making him say it. Mostly, because of the amazing feeling she got hearing he cared that much.
For her.
“I asked your parents for permission to marry you. Hell, yeah, I meant it. You know what they put me through?”
She could imagine all too well.
He frowned fiercely, his big hands cupping her ass. “I’ll be getting’ this right. You’re my once in a blue moon chance. You’re my everything.”
“And you’re mine.” Leaning forward, she kissed him, putting her heart and soul into their kiss. Brought his hand to that heart as she broke their contact just long enough to breathe, “Tonight, tomorrow, no matter what color the moon is, you’re mine right here.”
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About the Author
Heated romance. Hot heroes. Happily ever after. I’m the nationally best-selling author of paranormal and contemporary romance. My books have been named finalists twice for the Readers Crown.
I’m a Northern California transplant from snowy Vermont who loves good books, Cheetos and working in the garden. Find more information about my books (including excerpts) at: www.anne-marsh.com or on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Anne-Marsh/225897900782649. Or, come tweet with me at https://twitter.com/anne_marsh.
Booklist
Paranormal Romance
THE HUNT
BOND WITH ME (Fallen, Book 1)
HIS DARK BOND (Fallen, Book 2)
SAVAGE BOND (Fallen, Book 3)
TEMPTED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 1)
PLEASURED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 2)
CLAIMED BY THE PACK (Blue Moon Brides, Book 3)
Contemporary Romance
BURNING UP (Smoke Jumpers, Book 1)
SLOW BURN (Smoke Jumpers, Book 2)
E-book Novellas
ONE HOT COWBOY
VIKING’S ORDERS
REBURN (The Hotshots, 1)
HOT ZONE (The Hotshots, 2)
FIRED UP (The Hotshots, 3)
Savage Bond
Available now in print and ebook... Read an excerpt!
Vkhin’s headset crackled, coming alive, as the slim figure ejected in slow motion from the open chopper bay. Ten thousand feet up, but his view from the helo was still ringside. The gloved hand hitting the small of the jumper’s back had him growling. That hand had touched her. He knew the body falling free of the chopper. Not as well as he wanted, but he’d been watching her for the last month and Fallen intel said she’d gone up in the plane. One pilot. One ride-along MVD agent. And Ria Morgan.
Ria’s body cleared the chopper and he fought his instinctive reaction. That bird was going down and he didn’t want her anywhere near the wreck. He’d warned Zer and the other Fallen that MVD was getting too bold, making moves that would take the human police division right into Fallen territory. Looked like he was going to have the proof he needed. Unfortunately, his professional responsibilities here were at war with something more feral. Possessive. Ria Morgan was his.
