by Anne Marsh
She didn’t want to be one more notch on their collective bedpost.
Too much thinking meant too much worrying, and no way would she climb back into that bed and lay there sleepless. Instead, she pulled on a T-shirt and panties, curling up in the chair by the front window. When she nudged the curtain aside, that strange, blue-moon light was long gone now, leaving the parking lot and dark hotel rooms, the bayou lapping two hundred yards away. The Bayou Sweetie was out there. She still had time to grab the rest of her clothes and hightail it. Be back out on the water and far, far away by the time Dre and Landry woke up.
Maybe.
And maybe she needed to admit the truth, if only to herself. She was scared, and the shit that had happened out on the bayou was only part of it. Right now, that violent hand-to-hand seemed like a bad dream, a memory partially washed down the drain with her shower earlier that night. No, Dre and Landry had given her plenty to think about.
She liked the way they’d touched her. That was the plain truth of it. They’d taken care of her, first on the boat and then in bed. She’d spent years proving to herself that she could stand on her own two feet, and then in one day they’d sweet-talked their way onboard, and she’d caved.
Landry shifted, the sheet pulling away from the hard, muscled chest she’d had her hands all over earlier. The light from the parking lot was more than enough to make out the scars wrapped around his rib cage. Those marks were pale silver lines now, but something had clawed him real good. The bayou was a harsh place to live, dealing out hurt like nobody’s business, but no one Mary Jane knew had scars like that. He’d been places, done things she couldn’t imagine.
Like fighting vamps.
Landry had killed on the bank. Without hesitating. At best, he was some kind of cold-blooded killer. Her own daddy dearest had hit without hesitating, and Landry hadn’t pulled his punches, either. That worried her. He hadn’t shown her anything but gentleness, true, but he had that other side.
So did Dre.
She hugged her knees to her chest, the cold from the ancient AC cranking away finally seeping in. Searching for her clothes was item number one on her to-do list, because sitting around without her panties smacked of vulnerability. Or sexy. Hell, she wanted pants. And a suit of armor. Because she had a feeling that when Dre and Landry woke up, things would heat up again and she’d be right back to moaning please and more.
That would be fun, but it wasn’t a good idea.
Or was it?
What was she doing here? She eyed the door and then the bed. Hell. She should have been able to figure this out. Either she stuck around for the sex or she didn’t. She deserved a little adventure and she’d had it.
Adventures ended, though, because otherwise you’d drop dead from the endless adrenaline rush. You had to come down from the high.
“Mary Jane?” The low question came from the bed. Busted. Landry’s golden eyes glowed in the semidark as he watched her sit there and stew. “You need somethin’, sha?”
Those eyes were a wake-up call. Her boys weren’t human. They were werewolves. They fought and they killed and, no matter how good the sex was, the three of them came from two different worlds.
She needed to keep her distance.
When she didn’t answer right away, Dre sat up in the bed. “She’s in a motel room with two werewolves,” he pointed out. “I’m guessin’ she’s gettin’ a head start on the morning-after regrets.”
Funny how he read her so well. Before she could find the words she needed, Dre crossed the room swiftly, scooping her up and depositing her gently back in the bed.
Landry pulled her into his arms, rubbing away the chill and erasing the distance she’d put between them. “You got to sleep now, honey. We’ll do all the talkin’ you wan’ in the morning.”
Chapter Nine
As she picked through the breakfast buffet in Styrofoam that Landry had brought her, Mary Jane kept her mind firmly on the food. Eggs and coffee and toast. She wasn’t thinking about anything else, and she definitely wasn’t letting the memories back in. No, she picked at squares of cantaloupe while Dre and Landry worked their way though an impossible quantity of bacon and steak. Hell, those boys could eat. Going out to eat would have been easier, would have helped defuse the tension building between them, but she wasn’t turning down breakfast. Dine and dash, though? Yeah, that was in her plans.
“We need to talk,” Landry said finally, closing the lid on the box he’d emptied, and she thought, Uh-oh. Here it comes. He’d trot out the canned speech about thanks for the good time and see you around.
“No worries,” she said, cutting him off. This would be easier if she got the goodbyes going herself. “Last night was great, but I’m not expecting a repeat, okay? It’s probably best if you all don’t come back to the boat.”
Of course, without the extra crew, filling her contract would be impossible. Even if the Breauxs had been ready to ship out, though, she didn’t think it was happening. She needed to check in with the parish sheriff. Even with Riley back, there would be follow-up steps to take. She was sure of it. Plus, her mechanic might not want to go back out into the bayou after her experience yesterday. Damn it, she needed to see the other woman, needed to see for herself that she was okay.
“That’s not what I was goin’ to say.” Landry looked at his brother. “Dre and I, we’re not goin’ anywhere. We were hopin’ you’d come back with us to our camp.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. “You want to play sleepover?”
Landry shook his head. “We wan’ you to move in.”
“With us,” Dre added, in case Landry’s invitation hadn’t been perfectly clear.
She got it. “You invite all your lovers back to your camp?”
Dre gave her what she was coming to think of as the look. “You’d be our first.”
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice as she shoved her plate back. She didn’t know where this inner bitch was coming from, but damned if the words weren’t piling out of her mouth now. “That’s awfully fast.”
“Maybe,” Landry allowed. “But I’m sure. So’s Dre.”
“Yeah.” Dre added his deep rumble to his brother’s invitation. “Come back with us. Please.”
“We look at you,” Landry explained, “and we know, sha. You belong with us. You’re ours. We’re yours. It’s not complicated.”
“Last night wasn’t some kind of game?” She wrapped her fingers around the paper cup of coffee, letting the warmth sink into her skin. She was out of her league. Again.
Landry shook his head. “That’s not who we are, Mary Jane. We’re not just looking for a good time in bed. We want you.”
“All of you,” Dre drawled.
Theirs. Hers. She was no rocket scientist, but their voices broadcast possessiveness, and that meant trouble. She didn’t like confrontation, but that didn’t make her a doormat, either. Anything she did with the Breauxs, she’d do it standing on her own two feet.
“Choose,” Landry said, giving her his small smile. He’d fixed her coffee the way she liked it, creamy and sweet. “Choose us both, okay?”
“Maybe I already did.” She smiled. Things were looking up. They wanted more. She wanted more. All she needed now was to get on the bayou, and life would be back in order.
“You all seen Riley this morning? Did she have to swing back by the sheriff’s first?” It wasn’t like her mechanic to be late to the party. “Is she freaked out about last night? Tell me where you left her, and we’ll stop by and pick her up.”
Her own memories of last night were now more confused blur than crystal-clear eyewitness testimony, so she only hoped that Riley had been able to give the 4-1-1 to the parish sheriff. The fight and its aftermath felt more like a nightmare remembered after waking up. Most of it was fading, leaving a few sharp images her mind played on an endless loop. The gun coming up. Shells hitting the deck. Dre’s face as he rushed their attackers.
“Before we get sta
rted today,” she continued, “we should probably check in with the sheriff ourselves and see if there’s anything else he needs from us.”
If that kind of attack happened to other fishermen and she said nothing? Then that was her fault. She’d learned the hard way that speaking up was important. Sometimes it was all a person could do.
Dre watched her carefully. “Can’t do that, sha.”
“Excuse me?” Prickles of alarm ran up and down her spine. This wasn’t sounding good. “You went after Riley and that guy. The vamp. You said she was okay.”
Landry cursed. “I did go after him.”
“And?” Here came the kick in the teeth.
“And he got away, okay.” His voice was tight.
“You let her go?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice, and Landry swore again. Holy crap, where was Riley? Landry had promised to go after her—and then he’d said she was fine. How could he not bring Riley back and keep that kind of information to himself? “Where is she?”
“The vamps took her deep into the bayou.” He grabbed for her hands again as she bolted to her feet. “I got the Pack on this, Mary Jane. They’re going to find her. That’s a promise.”
“Then we need to go to the sheriff now. Tell him what happened and get him to help. That’s what you do. The sheriff has an office right here.”
What was she supposed to do now? She’d spent the night having hot sex while Riley was out there somewhere in the bayou, in trouble. How could she not know that her friend was hurting and needed her? How could she have failed her so?
Dre didn’t budge. “We don’ go to the police.”
“I do.” She moved double-time. She wasn't sure where she could go, but she definitely wasn’t going back to bed with either of the Breauxs, wasn’t making herself naked and needy all over again. That part of their relationship was over.
“You don’t.” Dre paused and looked over at her. “Not happening.” There was no give at all in his voice. Last night’s playful lover was gone.
“You can't stop me,” she pointed out, when he didn't volunteer any more words. He unzipped the duffel bag he’d hauled onboard yesterday—God, had all this happened since yesterday?—giving her an eyeful of an arsenal. The man didn’t pack boxers or T-shirts. No. He was carrying enough knives for ten men. Then again, the way he was loading up on weapons, Armageddon appeared to be waiting in the bayou. Maybe it was. What the hell did she really know about this world she'd landed in?
He gave her a look that was all wanna bet? but kept right on strapping a blade to his forearm.
“Dre…” she tried again, wondering if Landry would be easier to convince. She shot a glance at his face and decided not. His puss was as set as his brother’s, his arms folded over his chest as he casually blocked her exit.
“Of course I can. I am. We don' need to go over this now, Mary Jane.”
Going toe-to-toe with Dre wasn’t number one on her to-do list for the morning, but some things needed doing. This mattered. Riley mattered. If she backed down now, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
“There’s right and there’s wrong, Landry.” Her voice rose.
“Take a deep breath, sha.” She saw sympathy in his eyes, and that didn’t help. Sympathy meant he figured she wasn’t getting what she wanted. “This is hard to get used to.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “This isn’t a new job or a vacation overseas. This is my friend we’re talking about. This is about Riley and doing what’s right.”
“The Pack stays on the down-low. We don’ go to the police, sha. We take care of our own problems.”
“I saw how you took care of that man last night.”
“He wasn’t a man.” Landry dismissed her concerns. “He was a vamp. You leave him walkin’ around, sha, and he’ll kill you dead.”
“You’re worried that the police will go out in the bayou and find his body,” she accused. “You’re talking about sacrificing Riley to save your own ass.”
Anger flashed across his face, and she forced herself not to back up. The germ of an idea formed in her head.
“No,” he bit out. “I don’ like your opinion of me, sha. That’s awful low.”
“There’s not goin’ to be a body,” Dre added. “Soon as the sun came up and light hit that vamp, his body was a pile of ash. No worries there. I’m thinkin’ you owe my brother here an apology.”
“We’ll take care of this. Riley’s comin’ home. She’s one of ours too.”
But to what? As she stared at Dre and Landry, trying to wrap her head around a world where going to the police was not only off-limits but foreign, she realized she had bigger problems.
“I want to go back to my boat. Now.”
She didn’t say anything more, but pulled on her clothes, fumbling with the clasp of her bra and dragging her jeans back up her legs. It looked like going commando was on the menu because there was no salvaging her panties. Kind of like her day. She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that Dre finally finished hauling weapons out of the closet and simply watched her.
“Give me a shirt,” she demanded. He grabbed a T-shirt from his bag and tossed it over. The shirt was too large, but she wanted it on anyhow. Right now being naked was a liability.
“That's a waste,” he observed. “You look good naked, Mary Jane.”
“You would know.” She could hear the bitterness in her own voice. Worse, she was still damp and throbbing between her legs—and the look in his eyes said he knew that, too.
“You stay here,” Dre said. “This room or on the boat. No further, Mary Jane. You need anything, you wait until I get back.”
“Anything?” That damned heat was uncurling deep inside her again, and it wasn't all due to the sensual rasp of the denim against her soaked pussy. He was watching her. She could come again. It wouldn't take much.
“Everything you need, from here on out, you get from us.” That rough growl reminded her all too well that he was part wolf. “We'll take care of you.”
“Maybe I won't let you.” Pushing him wasn't wise, but she couldn't make herself back off. His T-shirt rubbed against her breasts, and her nipples hardened, making the bra an irritation.
“You'll let me, Mary Jane.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I can take care of myself.”
His big hand slid up her jaw, tangling in her hair as he angled her head backwards. The sensual tug of those fingers on her scalp didn't help her dial back the heat building inside her again. “That's not the way this is goin’ to work. I take care of you. If I don’, Landry does.”
In the tense silence that followed, she exhaled sharply. Go. Stay. She needed to make a move—and she needed to mean it.
He rested his forehead briefly against hers, then his hand slipped away. That gesture said something, even if she wasn't hearing the words. This wasn't just sex and it wasn't just possession. There was something more. Something an unexpected, unrecognized part of her wanted to explore.
They left the hotel room and strolled outside with a quick pit stop at the motel office to return the room keys. She and Landry stayed put, while Dre went in. Her quick glimpse of the day clerk’s knowing smile was yet another wake-up call she could have done without. He knew, and pretty soon the rest of the bayou would know as well that she was the latest notch on the Breauxs’ bedpost. Even if they were looking for something semi-permanent—she forced down the little burst of elation—no one else would believe that they’d picked her.
The bayou’s residents certainly enjoyed sharing the stories of two-on-one action.
Of course, she considered, as their feet hit the docks and she headed towards the Bayou Sweetie, if Dre and Landry really were serious about giving their new relationship some longevity, she wouldn’t care what the rest of the damned bayou believed. She thought that over while she got the boat ready to cast off, checking the tank and inspecting the deck. Now, in the morning light, there were no visible signs of last night’s fig
ht.
“I'll be back as soon as I can,” Landry offered. Like his company was a treat she'd begged for.
She turned away, because whatever this was shaping up to be, it wasn't a romance. He'd touched her, tasted her, and she'd come shamelessly, pushing herself against his mouth and his tongue.
“Take your time.” She waved a hand. “I seem to be waiting.”
“Yeah.” He paused, clearly not done delivering his message. “You're waiting, Mary Jane. For everything. I come back and find you've been touchin’ that pretty pussy of yours, I'll spank your sweet little ass.” There was no missing the sensual threat in his voice.
She stilled, his words ramping up the erotic heat burning in her already. She'd had girlfriends who'd played these kinds of games with their lovers. She'd never wanted to play. Not like that, not then, but the sensual images his casual words evoked had heat flushing her. So she apparently had an imagination after all, because she could certainly imagine Landry pulling her across his lap and paddling her backside. A game. A darkly erotic, wicked, bad-idea game.
“Don't,” she said.
Damned if he didn't growl. “Don' push me, Mary Jane.”
“Why? Because no isn't in your vocabulary? Time to learn then, big boy.” She wanted him to stop, wanted him to turn around and look at her. He'd gone from covering her body, his tongue and his fingers deep inside her, to this cold-eyed predator. She wanted to scream with frustration.
“You enjoyed it.” His eyes dropped to the zipper on her shorts. “You want me to tell you how sweet you taste, sha? Cotton-candy sweet, all pink sugar.”
He couldn't say those things. Not if he was leaving. He might be a fighter, that might be what he'd trained to do, but now she knew how unsafe the bayou could be. How could he walk off into it, like he didn't care about the danger? As if any tomorrows were an unexpected bonus?
Another tremor shook her as that damned fever built inside her and memories pushed harder at her head. When she breathed in, too many scents assaulted her. Dre’s scent and those of his brother. The metal tang of his weapons.
