Sanibel Heat -Werewolf Menage

by Scott, Talyn

  “Agreed, see you at the wedding.” Jayce stood facing the floor to ceiling, multi-million-dollar view of the offices of Jordan Marketing. He was ninety-five percent sure that they were doing the right thing. Problem was that he was always one hundred percent with a decision before he made it. What was with the other five percent?

  “Tell me again why I’m wearing blue nail polish?”

  “It’s a theme night.” Renee gave Tatum a duh look as she rolled down Tamiami Trail blasting a C.d. that contained her favorite sixties tunes.

  “Is that why you’re wearing that blue sarong?” It wasn’t just the blue sarong that held Tatum’s attention. Layers of blue cotton, silk, rayon, and assorted beads layered Renee, an eclectic bonanza. She was a sixties wedding cake in the flesh. No, Tatum thought; she was a Moroccan belly dancer.

  “Listen to this new C.d.,” Renee popped a blue tipped nail on the button of her stereo. Black hair whipped around the car as she got her groove on at the stoplight. With a mock pout, she glanced across the seat. “Why isn’t big sis dancing?”

  “Is that Moroccan music?”

  “You got a problem with that? It’s so not P.C.,” she closed her eyes and almost missed the light change. Luckily, the horns of several cars startled them open.

  “Don’t P.C. me.” Tatum snapped, and she couldn’t help it. She surveyed the backseat and prayed that a cobra hadn’t emerged from a basket. “You don’t pick up stray snakes do you?”

  Renee sighed and lowered the volume. “You have such a corn cob up your ass.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a lot to worry about, think about, and figure out.” Tatum clamped a hand over Renee’s open mouth. “Don’t even think about singing that party pooper song.”

  Renee pulled her hand away. “Okay, so you’re divorced and broke. You still have a career and a college degree to back you up. I’m not even finished with my school yet.”

  “You’re twenty-one and I have ten years on you. Ten years of failure.” Why did she get married at twenty? What was the rush?

  “You’re beautiful, young and have a fresh start in life. I’m struggling to make the rent with a dollar twenty nine in my checking account.” Renee shrugged as if she didn’t care.

  “Is there gas in this thing?” Renee looked insulted, “Half a tank.”

  Granny was waiting at the front entrance of Swaying Palms Retirement Village. “What a place,” Tatum was surprised.

  “Yup, Swaying Palms is loaded with indoor and outdoor pools, a game room, hair salon and the worst restaurant in town.”

  “She doesn’t utilize the facilities, does she?” Granny already had her scowl on.

  “Only the restaurant; she dines two meals a day and complains about the portions.” Renee gave granny a salute as she pulled up.

  “Won’t they give her seconds?” Tatum opened the door and stepped out.

  “Sure, whatever she wants, but then she wouldn’t have anything to complain about.” Renee made a grand gesture. “Hey, Granny pants! Look who I brought.”

  Spotlight on, “Hi, Granny.” Guess it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.” Granny’s hug was warm, but her face was cold. “You’re the first one in the family to get a divorce.”

  “Good to see you, too. We should get going across the causeway, right Renee?” Thirty minutes trapped in a shoebox of a car with a ninety two-year old vampire.

  “Go ahead and get in the back Tatum. It takes Granny a few minutes to get adjusted.” Renee’s fists were clenching against the sides of her hips, as Granny pulled a white kitchen garbage bag from her purse.

  All sorts of things ran through Tatum’s mind as she watched granny settle the white plastic across the passenger‘s seat. Granny harrumphed as she sat down. “Don’t you have a car?”

  “I left it in Maine.” Tatum felt a tick start under her eye. “You don’t like this one?”

  “I don’t like dog hair on my clothes. I’m real particular.” As if no one else were, Tatum mused.

  Renee jumped back in the other side. “That’s right, granny is not concerned about our environment, because she washes and dries every dress individually.” Renee flashed Tatum the look in the rearview mirror. “Some of her laundry has yet to be located. The other residents take offense to Granny using two floors worth of laundry facilities to wash, while they are merely waiting for a machine to do their loads. Go figure.” She shrugged and smiled broadly at Granny’s blue hair. “Went to the salon today?”

  “They did a terrible job, so I didn’t tip them.” Granny clutched a can next to her purse.

  “Of course you didn’t.” Renee turned the music back up.

  “What’s in the can?”

  “It’s Key Lime Fizz. She insists that the restaurant is trying to pass off generic for the real thing. She brings her own so that she doesn’t have to send it back to the kitchen, repeatedly.” Renee’s teeth snapped audibly.

  “Why is it in the zippy bag?” Tatum could not believe this conversation.

  “Why else?” Granny pulled the make-up mirror down to meet her eyes. “This car is filthy.”

  He was walking ahead, not next to her. She had hoped that he was the one that wanted to talk to her. Something was strange, different. He smiled over his shoulder, “This way.”

  Chapter 2

  The Blue Pelican didn’t look like The Blue Pelican. Gone were the days of running toy trains and circus paraphernalia floating around circular, salt-water fish tanks. No mention of the scary, black-and-white clown head that used to look down his nose at the bar patrons, she considered. Each server who passed could fill in for a runway model, and Tatum felt underdressed. She wanted to be a wallflower and blend into the night.

  That would never happen with Renee and Granny in tow.

  “Why can’t they turn on the lights?”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Shirley,” The hostess flashed a faultless smile across her model face. “We are waiting for a well-lit table to assist in your dining enjoyment. It will only be a moment.” Gracefully, the host did not mention that granny had asked her the same question five times in the past five minutes.

  Bren took a deep breath as he stood behind a half wall on the top floor. She was just as he remembered, only the improved, grown-up version. She was voluptuous, fair skinned and her golden hair was in a mass of disarray with the longest tips touching the curve of a delectable ass. Her legs began with thin, ultra feminine ankles and didn’t slow down until they hit the ceiling. Of course, his body hardened every time she brushed her long fingers through the damp curls at the base of her nape. What he would not give to replace those fingers with his tongue, his thighs knotted. He had to force his hand to let go of the banister, finger by finger. Fourteen years and he still couldn’t deal with it. It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t fair. Since, Bren could have anyone, except for one.

  The one that he wanted, the one sitting in his restaurant, was the one that didn’t want him.

  “Jody, I’ll be on the floor. No interruptions, well, unless Chef Claude has an apocalyptic fit.” Bren sailed past his host and met the bottom step. He was hot and cold, nervous and fearless, and if he didn’t get his hands wrapped around her throat, his skin was going to slide off his body. He tensed his broad shoulders. Whom was he kidding? Pathetically, he would rather wrap his tongue around her neck and those sexy, little ankles.

  Renee spotted him and waved him over. So much for waiting until the meal was almost over, before he stopped by for a casually planned appearance. Renee the dynamic gypsy had not given him a chance to play it cool.

  Tatum was glancing over the menu for something vegetarian. Not that she was anything like Renee. No, she loved her meat. In a seafood restaurant, she could not risk any cross contamination. Shellfish would send her to the pearly gates if she didn’t make it to the emergency room first. When dining on Sanibel Island, you would have to wait for a helicopter to take you to the nearest hospital. She opted for a salad and closed the menu.

  “Um,
Tatum,” Renee had an unnatural edge of irritation in her voice. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

  Tatum stared across the table into familiar eyes. “I’m sorry. Hello.” It couldn’t be him. No way. Bren was a six and a half foot geek in school. She had dated him once. A blind date set up by her thoughtful, former, best friend. He had only kissed her once. To this day, it was the worst kiss that she had ever had. If memory served, her mouth felt assaulted.

  “Hello, Tatum. It’s fantastic that you made it in for your sister’s wedding.” His voice was rich, dark, and unfamiliar. All the same, a shiver of awareness rocked her in all the wrong places. No one should get horny in a restaurant, especially, sitting next to Granny.

  Six foot six had filled in. No longer the beanpole with a mop of scraggly brown hair and acne, Bren had transformed into a lean-muscled, heart throbbing, dangerously sexy predator. He walked, or prowled, around the circular table to shake her hand. As he clasped her palm into his, she jumped back with a startled laugh.

  “What?” Renee had a Granny scowl on her face.

  “It’s static electricity.” The former geek replied. “Sorry about that Tatum, I must have picked it up from the carpeted stairs.” His sensual lips cocked to the side.

  “Thank you for taking such good care of my sister.” She gave Renee a sharp look. “It seems as though you’ve been spoiling her.”

  He gestured towards the chair next to her, “May I?”

  “Of course,” she answered. Why did it matter to her where he sat? He was hot, and she couldn’t touch him. It took a minute for Bren to coil his long, mouthwatering frame onto the nearby chair. He scooted himself in with his muscled thighs. Already, Tatum had a favorite, the one that was under the table brushing against her leg.

  His heart-punching smile gleamed towards Granny. “How are you tonight, Mrs. Shirley?”

  “I’m not real thrilled to be in this seafood joint. I saw an expose, must have been in the seventies, about the health risks of eating sea creatures.” She visibly shuddered.

  “This isn’t a joint, Granny.” Renee was impatiently tugging at a chunk of her black hair. “You refer to reports that were made decades ago, yet the government hasn’t shut down the seafood industry.”

  “Just because you’re in nursing school doesn’t make you an expert on nutrition.” Granny reached into her purse and plopped a neon green can of Key Lime Fizz on the table.

  Bren glanced at the can and turned his attention back to Tatum. “Do you know what you want?” His eyes cut a visual path across her face and landed at the pulse point of her throat.

  “Want?” Tatum stared at his lips.

  “Do you know what you want for dinner?” A knowing look spread across his face as his thigh took another slide against hers.

  He was toying with her, and she fell for it. The shame was on Tatum for her show of desperation, she schooled her features. “Salad, I’m allergic to seafood.”

  “Do you eat chicken?” He was staring at her lips again.

  “Sure.” In puzzlement, she reached for her menu for a second glance. Tatum hadn’t noticed any grilled chicken options for the salad.

  Gently, he pulled the menu from her hands. “You don’t need that. I’ll have something particular made for you.”

  “I have to worry about cross-contamination, though.”

  “We all do.”

  “What?”

  “Take a walk with me to the kitchen.” He did not wait for a reply, as he pulled Tatum from her chair. “Of course, both of you are welcome to join us.” He gazed over Tatum’s head to Renee.

  Renee waved them on. “We’re good. I’m going to check my messages.” She reached for her purse as Bren tightened his grip on Tatum’s elbow.

  “This way,” His tone held an undeniable sharpness, and Tatum stumbled a few times, as she barely kept up with his long stride. He stopped the perfect hostess and gave explicit instructions on handling Tatum’s dish. “You’re personally responsible.” He stressed as he pulled Tatum to the side deck.

  “Settle down.” Tatum hissed as he pushed her against the outside wall of the restaurant. The stars were out, the moon was full; and a postcard worthy view of the Gulf of Mexico filled in the background.

  “How can I?” He shot out a tanned arm and blocked her sideways retreat.

  “You owe me,” his breath was hot.

  “I owe you for what?” She tensed. What was he talking about again?

  She was warm and soft. Bren leaned down and took a long breath through his nose. The frantic pulse in the base of her throat mesmerized him, so he gave it a good lick. “You know what I’ve wanted since I was sixteen?’ He demanded. “What you denied me.”

  “I was sixteen, too.” Tatum pushed back at his chest. Admittedly, it was a weak effort. “Get off of me.”

  “Gladly,” he didn’t move. “A boon I’ll grant after you grant me my make-out session."

  Her breathing picked up. “A make-out session? You’re asking me to make out with you, like we‘re teenagers, again?”

  “I don’t recall asking.” He nuzzled her throat but didn‘t kiss her.

  “Why?” She could think of a million reasons to say yes. “We can’t go back in time. In fact, I’m surprised you want to.”

  His voice softened. “I’m only going forward, with you. Stay with me tonight.”

  She had trouble with that lump in her throat again. “I’ll admit that a lifetime ago, I screwed up. I never do one-night stands. Not ever.”

  He acknowledged the firmer push against his chest and backed up, slightly. Once more, “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered against the side of her throat.

  Tatum shivered in the balmy, Sanibel breeze, a night that nature made for lovers, “Just like that?”

  “It’s a simple request.” He brought his other arm around her, nudged his knee between her legs, and lightly swiped it back and forth against her core.

  “I think you should let go.” Her voice betrayed her. A fat silicone replacement could take care of that, and she would not have to put up with the repercussions of trusting another man. “No.”

  “No?” He lowered his opposite hand from the wall and traced her collarbone with his fingertips. Bending his knees, he sank his body into Tatum‘s. A large erection strained proudly against the expensive fabric of his pants, and he wasn’t ashamed to thrust it against her pelvis to drive the thought home. He still had not kissed her.

  “Renee’s going to wonder where we are.” She was lost in the intoxicating fog of his masculine scent, and the sounds of the sea.

  “She’ll figure it out.” He leaned his full weight into her and felt the rise and fall of her chest against his. Bren was wearing her down. Renee gossiped with his sister, Rebecca. In turn, Rebecca gossiped with her big brother about Tatum. Unless Tatum was a liar, she hadn’t been sexually satisfied for years. An experienced man could step up to that particular challenge. He was up for it, literally.

  “Seriously, my Granny is here, and you’re wrinkling my dress.” She was aggravated and turned on. Way on. Panties soaked. Troy could have tried for days, and he would not have gotten this kind of response from her body.

  “Never let it be said that I would come between a little girl and her Granny.” His breath was warm brandy, as it mingled with hers. Still, he hadn’t kissed her. “I want your panties.”

  She let out a high-pitched gasp.

  “Don’t act so shocked. Just slip them off, and I’ll pocket them.” Later, he would wrap them around his cock, as he jerked it to thoughts of her. If it were even possible, his body grew harder. “I’m waiting.”

  Tatum tensed at the cold warning in his voice. “Will you let me go back in without embarrassing me in front of Granny? I’m on the endangered species list with my family.”

  “Sure, just pay this piper.” His tongue took another swipe at her pulse point.

  “Fine,” she could do this. As if her head were not swimming with nerves and thoughts of Bren naked, she ca
sually reached under her skirt to make good on her promise.

  “Allow me.” After one light bite at the base of her neck, Bren dropped to his knees and lifted her skirt.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind.” She pushed at his head. Well, she tried to. The silky strands of his hair were tickling her thighs, and her hands experienced second thoughts.

  “Although, it’s exactly what I had in mind.” His voice vibrated against her feminine core. Slowly rubbing his hands on the outsides of her thighs, lingering here and there, he squeezed her hips.

  She suspected that he would rip her panties off, caveman style. Nope. He took his sweet time scooting them down, inch by inch, from her center to her ankles.