Force of Temptation (Mercury Pack Book 2)

by Suzanne Wright

  She snorted. “You’re only saying that because you’re good at pool and think you’ll win.”

  He slid in the bed next to her and yanked her close. “I’d win for sure if you were dressed. But if you were all naked and distracting me, you’d have the upper hand.”

  Her lips pursed. “That is true.”

  “So you’ll think about it.”

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll think about us playing pool together while naked.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “I should warn you that I’m actually not too bad at pool.”

  “Yeah? Who taught you?” Her face fell, and he instantly knew . . . “Michael.”

  Her nod was jerky. “Yep.”

  “Tell me about Michael.” Jesse watched as she bit down hard on her lower lip. He didn’t think she would answer, but then she flashed him a sad smile.

  “He was my arch nemesis.”

  Taken aback, Jesse laughed.

  “That’s how it feels when you’re a kid, doesn’t it? That the point of your sibling’s existence is to make your life hell? He was only around for the first seven years of my life. He dedicated that entire time into driving me crazy. Not in a malicious sense. It was playful torture.”

  “I know what you mean.” Jesse skimmed his hand up and down her arm. “What kind of stuff did he do?”

  “He’d wake me up by breathing in my face—teenage boy morning breath is foul. He’d hide my favorite toys. Eat my candy. Sometimes we’d sit on the little sofa with a blanket over us . . . he’d drag that blanket over my head, trap me there, and then fart.” Watching Jesse grin, she gasped. “You did that to Mia, didn’t you?”

  “It’s a brother’s right.”

  Whatever. “Wherever we went, he’d find good hiding spots and show them to me. At the time, I didn’t understand why. I think he was worried that Clive would one day start hitting me. Michael wanted me to have somewhere to hide, somewhere he’d know where to look.” She swallowed hard. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “No, baby, he didn’t.” Jesse kissed her, hating the pain in her eyes.

  “He would have liked you.”

  Jesse snorted. “He would have hated me for the simple reason that I was his sister’s mate and he believed it was his job to protect you. He would have tried to chase me away.” Probably would have told him that he had no right to claim her when she had a true mate out there waiting for her. Maybe he would have been right, but it wouldn’t have stopped Jesse from claiming her.

  He licked over his claiming bite—it had become a sort of talisman to him. “I’ve wanted to put that there for a long time.” He splayed his hand possessively over her stomach. “I want to wear your mark. I want to see it every morning when I look in the mirror. I want others to see it and know I’m yours.”

  She tensed. “I know.” But Harley just couldn’t return the claim yet. She’d told Tess it was because she needed to know he could open up, but it was more than that. The little girl inside her who had never been indelible to anyone, who had never really belonged anywhere, worried that she would only ever be second best to Jesse.

  He’d told Harley that wasn’t the case, and she was sure he even believed that. She just wasn’t sure that it was true. How could it be? How could she possibly have the same significance to him that his true mate—his other half—did? She didn’t think it could be possible, even if he wanted it to be.

  What worried her was that there might be guilt behind his protective walls, guilt at claiming another female. If he had never met and then tragically lost Torrie, it would be different. She would have only existed in his mind as an abstract person. It was easier to forgive yourself for mating another when you had never known your true mate—or, at least, that was how it was for Harley. But Jesse had known Torrie. She’d been a flesh-and-blood person to him, and her death had wrecked him, left a black mark on his soul. Harley had sensed that mark the second she’d met him and looked into a pair of dead eyes.

  It was worth noting that he’d had years to come to terms with his loss. His vacant eyes could sometimes gleam with emotion, though it was rare. And he’d actually found enough life in him to want to claim another female. She’d found enough hope in all of that to accept his claim. But to claim him in return, she needed more. She needed the surety that there could be a mating bond.

  There were couples that chose not to imprint on each other, but those relationships never worked because their inner animals would accept nothing more than total commitment on every level. If they didn’t get it, they withdrew from the relationship . . . and their human side then had to do the same. As such, her worries about his emotional ability to imprint on her weren’t insignificant.

  He’d said Torrie’s death had shaped him into a different person. Maybe it had. Or maybe he’d become a different person to protect the boy who’d lost his mate. Maybe his hard personality was more like a protective shell that guarded his real self.

  Harley knew all about building another personality to protect who you truly were and to escape the pain. People did it all the time. But if a part of him deep inside—no matter how small—couldn’t accept Harley without guilt, imprinting would never happen. Then they’d have to go their separate ways and look at each other’s claiming mark in the mirror every freaking day, and remember the mistake they had made.

  Tess was right; Harley needed to talk to him. As gently as possible, she said, “Tell me about Torrie.”

  Now it was he who tensed. “Why?”

  “You never talk about her. You can, you know. I’m not bitter about her being your true mate.”

  He rolled onto his back. “I know. But there’s nothing to say.”

  Harley tried not to bristle at his icy dismissal, but it was hard. Her cat really didn’t like it. “What was she like?”

  Jaw grinding, Jesse merely said, “I told you. Passive. Timid.”

  “Yes, but I find it difficult to believe any person could ever be summed up in two words.”

  Jesse turned to face her, pinning her gaze. “If there is ever anything you want I’ll give it to you. No limits. I’ll give you whatever you want. Any question you have I’ll answer. But she’s a subject we won’t touch,” he clipped. “I told you about her once so I could make my point. I made it. You got it. We don’t need to speak of her again.”

  Irritation and hurt rushed through Harley and her cat in a powerful wave. “Why is she a subject we won’t touch?” Did he think she’d be bitchy about Torrie? Did he really think that little of her?

  His nostrils flared. “She has nothing to do with us.”

  “She’s not a memory you need to protect from me. I’d never taint your loss with petty jealousies.”

  Jesse slid out of bed and shoved a hand through his hair. “She’s fucking dead, Harley. There’s nothing else to say. You don’t need to know about her.”

  “Jesse—”

  “No, Harley, drop it.” Jesse watched as Harley slowly uncoiled from the bed to stand upright, making him think of a snake ready to strike. And he knew he’d just messed up big time.

  “All right,” Harley drawled, remaining cool and collected. She would not let him see her pain. No fucking way. “You want to drop it?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Something about her tone made his hackles rise. “Harley.”

  “I’m gonna take a shower.” Grabbing her robe, she pushed past him and shut herself in the bathroom.

  Jesse flinched at the snick of the lock. She hadn’t even slammed the door to make a statement, and that worried him more than if she’d yelled at him. This wasn’t a tantrum. This wasn’t rage. He’d hurt her.

  Pressing his forehead and fist against the bathroom door, he closed his eyes. “Harley . . .” But he had no idea what to fucking say. No idea what to do. His wolf began to pace, anxious. Shit, he needed some air.

  Standing under the hot spray of the shower, Harley swallowed past the lu
mp of emotion in her throat. She refused to let it escape. Refused to shed the tears welling up in her eyes. She’d expected him to find it hard to speak of Torrie, even expected him to be reluctant to do so, but she hadn’t expected the harsh dismissal.

  She’s a subject we won’t touch.

  It wasn’t even so much what he’d said as the way he’d said it. Like she wasn’t privy to his memories of Torrie. Like she had no right to ask him to share them. His eyes, his tone, his expression—all of it had been so cold.

  Hey, Harley respected that people carried wounds, and she respected their right to withhold their pain. And if Jesse hadn’t insisted on claiming her, and if so much wasn’t riding on his ability to fully open up, she wouldn’t be so cut up about it. But how could he demand that she claim him, that she give him everything she had to give, and then keep a part of himself separate?

  No, he didn’t get to ask Harley for everything but then only give her the parts he chose. She wanted the broken parts too. Wanted all of him. And Torrie was a part of him—the other half of his soul. If he couldn’t share that part of himself, Torrie’s memory would effectively become a barrier between them.

  Maybe a part of him needed that barrier. Maybe he was hiding behind it, not wanting to risk feeling that depth of pain ever again. Harley didn’t know. She did know that she’d been wrong about her place in his heart. She wasn’t wedged as deep as she’d thought, wasn’t as vital to him as she’d clearly fooled herself into believing. And now she didn’t know what to do about it.

  She could cut her losses and leave. But she knew what would happen if she did. Jesse would tell her what she wanted to know, sure, but he’d do it for the wrong reason. It wouldn’t be him lowering his walls. It would be him doing what he had to do to make her stay—and doing it begrudgingly. That wouldn’t fix anything.

  She could stay, giving him the time to see for himself what he needed to do to make imprinting work. But she’d, all the while, be aware that he didn’t care for her as much as she’d thought, aware that she cared for him more than he did her. That would eat at her and twist her up inside, though not enough to grow to hate him . . . which was a shame, because that would have made it easy for her to go.

  So what the fuck should she do? God help her, she didn’t have a clue. Her cat was just as mixed up about the whole thing. Harley did know that making such a decision while her emotions were running high would be a bad idea. Harley never made good decisions while she was hurt or pissed. And there wasn’t a lot she could do at this late hour anyway.

  Tomorrow. She’d figure it out tomorrow. One thing she was sure of was that if she did decide to go, she’d need to have the words to make him understand that it was best for both of them. If she couldn’t get him on the same wavelength, he’d just harass her to stay. And she was weak enough to do just that, hating to hurt him when he was already so wounded.

  Stepping out of the shower, she quickly dried off and pulled on her robe. Opening the bathroom door, she found an empty bedroom. The bastard hadn’t just dismissed her; he’d left her. With a low growl, she exchanged her robe for shorts and a tank top before sliding into bed. It took a while for the chaos in her mind to calm, but eventually sleep crept up on her.

  She was half asleep when a solid body curved around hers and one hand splayed over her stomach. Ignoring him, she forced herself to relax. She’d need her sleep to deal with him tomorrow.

  Jesse woke up alone. It took only mere moments before memories of the previous night pushed to the forefront of his mind. A sick feeling took hold in his stomach. He’d fucked up last night. Slammed up his guard and, in doing so, hurt the one person who shouldn’t have to fear he’d ever hurt her. If he’d just calmly explained he didn’t want to talk about Torrie, Harley probably would have accepted that. But no, he’d been unnecessarily cold.

  Rolling onto his back, he pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he was such a dick. His wolf pushed against his skin, urging him to seek her out. That was what he’d do. He needed to find her and fix this. Cats were notorious for holding grudges, but Harley would accept an apology with grace if it were heartfelt. He was counting on that now.

  Once he was washed and dressed, Jesse headed downstairs. Harley was nowhere to be seen, so he exited the patio door and saw that, yep, she was sitting in the tree with a book. She didn’t look at him, though she had to have sensed him. She was fully dressed in a pair of slashed jeans and a pale-blue T-shirt—a T-shirt that hid his claiming mark. He was hoping that wasn’t intentional. In any case, it annoyed his wolf.

  “Morning, baby,” he greeted gently, testing the waters.

  She looked down at him and softly greeted, “Morning.” She seemed serene. Relaxed. Trouble free. Which made absolutely no sense to him. Her attention went right back to her book.

  “Come here,” he coaxed.

  Gold eyes cut to him. “Why?”

  “So I can apologize.” That got him no response. All right, he’d do it from where he stood. “I hurt you last night. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

  She pursed her lips. “Apology accepted.”

  He sensed it wasn’t a lie. He also sensed that, though she may accept his apology, he’d broken something. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to fix. And it didn’t bode well for him that she’d resumed reading her book as opposed to climbing down the tree.

  “Baby,” he said. “Baby, look at me.” Her gaze met his, and his enhanced vision picked up that it was clear and tranquil, yet there was something missing. Anxiety trickled through him, and his wolf’s hackles rose. “Don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Then don’t wish you could.” Her eyes flashed. Ah, he’d hit the nail on the head there. “I told you before that you’re more important to me than anything. I meant it.”

  Harley knew her smile was a little sad. She was more important to him than anything, but not so important that she had any rights to his memories of Torrie. She’d spent the past hour debating on whether to stay or go. She was very tempted to just pack her shit and march out, but that was fueled by anger and wounded pride, not good sense. And walking out felt too much like giving up. Harley had never been a quitter.

  Besides, it wouldn’t be as simple as that. Jesse had already lost one mate; he wouldn’t let go of Harley so easily. They’d have the argument of all arguments. Harley wasn’t a fan of drama. But she could only stay if he understood that he couldn’t stonewall her, that he’d only have everything from her if he gave her everything back.

  So, she reasoned, she’d have to make him understand. Yes, she could lay it all out and give him the chance to fix it. And if he couldn’t give her what she needed, she’d just have to wish him well and then leave. Her cat didn’t fight the idea of leaving him, still hurt by his actions.

  “Come down and—” Jesse cut off at the sounds of voices. Dammit. “Give me a sec, baby.” Returning inside the lodge, he strode to the front door and opened it wide. A grim and enraged Derren, Ally, Bracken, Eli, and Roni were fast approaching. “What?”

  “Don’t freak out,” said Derren.

  So, of course, Jesse began to freak out. “Is this about Hector?”

  “No. Although Donovan says he’s close to tracking the guy’s parents.”

  “Then why are you here?” Jesse frowned as Derren held up a folded newspaper. Taking it, he stepped back to allow the wolves to enter.

  At that moment, Harley walked into the living area, arms folded. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Jesse. He wanted to go to her, hold her, but she had a warning “everyone keep your distance” vibe going on right then.

  “Check out page four,” Derren told him. So Jesse did, and then swore.

  Harley glanced from person to person. “What’s going on?”

  “Looks like a reporter managed to get some photos of you and Jesse when you visited your aunt,” said Roni.

  Harley’s face went slack. “You’re kidding me.�
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  Roni shook her head. “There are pictures of you both inside the SUV; one is of him kissing you, and another is of him stroking your claiming bite.”

  “The reporter writes that you’ve ‘switched sides,’” Jesse growled. “That by mating into a pack and quitting your job, you’ve turned your back on humans.” Crunching the paper in his hands, he looked at her. “As if that’s not bad enough, the extremists will now know where you are.”

  Harley’s cat hissed. “Let me guess . . . the author of the article is Gabrielle Rowan.”

  Jesse’s brow creased. “Yes.”

  Her cat went insane, raking Harley’s stomach—wanting freedom so she could hunt down this person who had endangered her. “Let me see.” Harley held her hand out for the newspaper, and Jesse reluctantly handed it over. As she looked at the photos and skimmed over the article, she growled. “That bitch!”

  “I take it you know her,” said Ally.

  “Gabrielle Rowan has been on my case since I moved to California, asking for information on Clive—what he’s like, if he’s part of The Movement, if he created The Movement.”

  Eli folded his arms. “The way she talks about you is almost . . .”

  “Bitchy,” supplied Ally.

  The Head Enforcer nodded. “She really doesn’t like you, Harley.”

  The feeling was mutual. “Yeah, well, I was pretty rude to her.”

  “Hector has to be behind this,” said Eli. “He talked of going to reporters with the testimonies. Maybe this is his way of letting us know he has no problem causing trouble for us. Maybe he even thinks trouble will drive us out of here.”

  “I agree,” said Jesse, a muscle in his cheek ticking. “He could even be hoping to cause trouble within the pack. The reporter’s claiming that ‘sources’ from my old pack and this pack say that Harley was instrumental in my deceased sister’s addiction and they feel upset and angry at me for taking her as my mate. That’s a load of shit. No one from this pack would do anything like that.” He couldn’t say the same for his old pack, though.