by Eve Langlais
Megan wanted to blame her racing pulse on her indignation at how he manhandled her without permission. Perhaps a fever was to blame for the heat coursing through her frame. But what excuse did she have for the arousal moistening her sex? The tingling anticipation prickling her skin?
She said screw it to the little voice that told her she should run from the wolf. She pressed herself against him, clutched at his muscled biceps, and let herself enjoy the kiss.
What a kiss. His hard mouth claimed hers with a fervor she’d never experienced before. This. This hard, hot, breathless embrace was passion, not the tepid acts of her past with boys.
Gavin was a man. All musk, power, and intent.
He didn’t waste time coaxing her lips apart. He demanded they open. He took over and went on a quest for her tongue that he might twine with it and draw soft cries of pleasure from her.
While her knees might buckle, he didn’t let her fall. He braced her with his body and the wall, pinned her with his solid frame, and rubbed.
Oh God. He rubbed, the hardness of him pressing against her core. She throbbed between her legs. She needed more than just rubbing.
She made a noise, an incoherent one, but he deciphered it, and next thing she knew, her pants were around her ankles and he nudged her legs apart. He inserted his thigh, and she ground against his muscled leg. Her breath caught at the sweet friction this created on her delicate sex. Her clitoris pulsed with each pass.
Her fingers dug into his biceps, the cruel fabric of his jacket keeping her from his skin. So she went after the flesh she did have access to, nipping his jawline and hearing him finally groan.
“Megan.” Her name emerged on a husky note. The sound of a zipper lowering had her shivering as anticipation hummed through her.
The head of his shaft rubbed across her lower lips, and she gasped at the heated steel length of his cock. So erect, and ready for her.
So big. For her.
She couldn’t help a long, slow moan as he penetrated her, the length of him sliding into her moist heat, inch by slow inch. Tighter, she clawed at him, arching her pelvis forward.
“Impatient, little rabbit,” he chided. He stopped all movement, and she could have screamed. Especially when he used the gap still between their bodies to place his hand. More like his fingers, which delicately rubbed her clit.
Oh my. With him partially inserted, along with the decadent pleasure of his stroke, she quivered and cried out, hips rocking in an attempt to drive him deeper.
She only partially succeeded, as he refused to let her take what she wanted. He was very much in control, only allowing himself partial entry into her sex.
His finger worked her fast and she made a frustrated cry as her body tensed. Everything within her coiled as the pleasure built. And built.
When he did finally slam the rest of the way in, she yelled and pretty much came. Minor quivers rocked her channel as he stroked, in and out. Each thick thrust hit deep within, deep enough that a second round of bliss built and throbbed.
Both his hands now gripped her, cupping her ass cheeks so he could hoist her to the proper height. Deeply seated within her, he thrust, each smooth strike hitting her sweet spot making a mockery of her first miniorgasm as he rolled her into a proper second one.
A mind-blowing, mind-blanking, body-shuddering climax.
Still coming down from her high, she felt him come, the heat of him bathing her womb. He went still, buried to the hilt, hands cupping her, body pressed tight, his head lowered so, once again, their foreheads touched and their ragged breaths merged.
It was an oddly emotional moment, and yet nothing was said. She wasn’t sure either of them had the mental capacity or words in that moment.
Why ruin utter perfection?
Why unless you were a man, and he did it with just two words.
Softly said.
Intimate.
Possessive.
“My mate.”
“Excuse me?”
Wisely, he slipped away from her, a wolf in a lawyer’s suit, calmly buttoning his pants and straightening his tie.
As for her? There she stood, more like slumped against the wall, with her pants in a puddle at her feet, hair sticking out all over, and eyeing him with dawning suspicion—and a touch of horror.
“I don’t know how much you know about our kind,” he said as he wisely stayed out of reach.
“Enough.” She didn’t elaborate on the how. She wasn’t in the mood to share secrets, not when he’d just dropped an epic bombshell.
“Wolves have this thing. Some call it fate. Some call it—”
“The mating fever. You’d better not be saying what I think you are.” But didn’t she already know? Hadn’t she suspected once she knew what he was? But then again, what were the chances in a city this size she’d run into a wolf? It wasn’t like they were that common.
She closed her eyes as he confirmed it. “You’re my mate.”
“No. You’re mistaken.” This wasn’t happening.
“I’m quite sure.”
“I refuse.” Because she could just imagine the havoc this would wreak.
“Too late.”
It had been too late the moment they’d met. And especially so once they slept together.
“You trapped me.” How that galled, and after all the lessons from her father.
“Claimed you.”
“Same thing. You made me yours without permission.”
“It’s not like I had much of a choice. Once I saw you…” He shrugged. “I’ll admit at first I was kind of freaked out by it, but I’ve come around to the idea.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Now, little rabbit. There’s no need to—” He ducked as she threw the glass bowl of candy on the table.
“I see you need time to process this, and I really should go get that paperwork done.” He just couldn’t help himself. He flashed her a cocky grin and said, “See you later … mate.”
The lamp hit the door a second after he shut it. However, the crashing noise couldn’t erase the echo of his words.
Mated. To a wolf.
Oh no. This couldn’t be happening. Why, oh why hadn’t she spotted his beast side before it was too late? A side she failed to recognize, distracted by her situation and his good looks.
I’m a wolf’s mate.
Life as she knew it would never be the same.
The knowledge made her rash.
CHAPTER 15
While Gavin hated leaving Megan after having declared her his mate, given her somewhat temperamental reaction he thought a cooling-off period might work in his favor. And possibly keep him alive longer.
Sure, he’d not exactly sprung the news of their wolfish nuptials on her in a romantic way.
However, the whole situation since he’d met her had proven less than normal or ideal.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that the woman he’d tied himself to for life was a proclaimed assassin and spy for his nemesis.
What would this mean for their future? Would she insist on pursing her career? If she does, at least she’ll have a damned good lawyer to keep her sweet ass out of jail.
Speaking of law, how did he feel about the fact that his mate was a woman on the wrong side of it?
The answer took less than a second to arrive. It didn’t really bother him. Gavin was used to defending criminals. Innocent or not, he’d not previously cared. It was up to him to give them their chance in court. To battle against the myriad levels of legal mumbo jumbo, discredit evidence, and tear apart witnesses—verbally, not physically—to win.
Did that make him a bad person? Depended on who you asked. The clients he acquitted loved him.
But treading a gray line with the law didn’t mean, though, that he’d cave to Fabian’s repeated request to come work for him because, as his creator claimed as Gavin left the mansion, “Now that you’ve claimed my cousin, that makes us family.”
Ugh. The remind
er put him in a foul mood, which Larry wisely didn’t test as he sat in the backseat of Gavin’s car, hands tethered and mouth clamped shut. Wise man.
The police station antics went as expected. Gavin showed up to proclaim Megan’s innocence. The officer in charge laughed and said they had all the evidence needed. They changed their tune once Gavin presented them with the hotel evidence that she hadn’t been home the previous night, and then, when Larry began to talk, it wasn’t long after that the warrant for her arrest got canceled and the murder charges were dropped.
Simple really, except all that took a few hours. A few hours away from Megan. A few hours for her to come to grips with the situation or stew over it. A few hours for her to get in trouble.
When Gavin’s phone meowed, he welcomed the distraction, especially when Broderick announced, “I think I have a lead on the culprit.”
As Broderick relayed his findings, Gavin exited the police station and jogged to his car, phone pressed to his ear with one hand while the other dug out his keys from his suit—which he’d stopped and changed quickly at his office, lest people note the distinctive scent of passion it bore. A pity he’d not gotten to enjoy the perfume of his mate longer. Megan’s erotic response to him was something to revel in. However, that scent belonged to him alone.
He growled as he realized his keys were in the other pocket and he had to switch hands. As he juggled the phone to the other ear, he asked, “Are you sure of the identity?”
“Are you seriously questioning my ability to follow money trails?” an aggrieved Broderick replied.
“Have you told Megan?”
“Not yet. I actually haven’t seen her since you left this morning. But then again Fabian’s place is huge. She could be hiding anywhere.”
Such as in his backseat with a garrote. Gavin flicked a glance in his rearview mirror but didn’t spot his sexy mate. A shame. Even if she planned to murder him, he wouldn’t have minded seeing her.
I have it so bad.
“Do me a favor and don’t say anything to her. I want to take care of this myself.” Because he had a score to settle with the person who’d orchestrated the attacks on his little rabbit. The knowledge she could handle herself didn’t mean Gavin could so easily force his protective instincts into a box and tell them to stay there.
In this instance, he reverted to a primal driving force. My woman. Must protect.
“I’ll keep my lips sealed, buddy. By the way, I never had a chance before to say congrats on the whole found-your-soul-mate thing.”
“Congratulate me in a few months if I’m still alive. She was less than pleased at the announcement.”
“She’ll come around.”
He sure hoped so.
Perhaps gifting her the mastermind behind her arrests and attacks would pave a truce and a starting point for his forgiveness.
Not that he planned to allow Megan to sulk or punish him for doing what came naturally. If she protested too much, he’d just seduce her. It seemed to work well on the other occasions he’d resorted to it. It works well for both of us.
Arriving at the address Broderick gave him, Gavin noted the lack of guards for the estate. Unusual, but not unheard of. It could be they were subtle and hidden. Perhaps the owner didn’t believe in twenty-four-hour on-premise security. Or maybe I’m walking into a trap.
The possibility didn’t affect his step or purpose. He knocked firmly on the solid wooden door. When no reply was forthcoming, he pushed on the levered handle. The portal swung open without a creak, and he stepped in.
No butler greeted him, or an army of guns. Not even the owner of the house. In a glance Gavin took in the empty, soaring hall with its polished marble floors, wide archways leading off into the house, and the waft of perfume from the left.
Smelled like someone dunked herself in the cloying fragrance. At least the stench provided him a direction. He entered a dining room, where a lone figure sat at the head of the table, a bottle of wine and a glass partially filled with amber liquid set on the gleaming wooden surface.
One person. A woman who looked like anything but a criminal. On the contrary, she could have graced any high-row social event with ease. Hair layered in perfect golden waves that spilled over the shoulders of her red tailored suit. It matched the crimson of her lips and went well with the darkness of her kohled eyes and the big shiny gun she held aimed at him.
What was it with him running into deadly women lately?
“Do you always greet your guests with a revolver?”
“I was expecting someone else, not a legal wolf in lawyer’s clothing,” the blonde said with a hint of a Russian accent.
The expression went “a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” as if he’d get caught—or really drunk—in anything so ridiculous.
Gavin only ever wore Armani. Anything less was simply uncivilized—kind of like him during a full moon.
Vivienne, who also went by the name Scarlet Widow—a fact Broderick had only discovered with some deep digging—didn’t bother rising from her chair as he strode farther into the room. Nor did she drop the gun.
“So you know who I am?” he said.
“As if I wouldn’t recognize the lawyer who’s taken on the case of that awful woman who murdered my dearly departed husband.”
“Gee, I hadn’t realized I’d accepted a retainer from you.” His subtle jab didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you implying I killed Pierre? Have you not read the police file yet? The evidence is irrefutable.”
“And missing. A funny thing happened last night. The original knife and bloody clothes have disappeared from the precinct. No one knows where they went. Not that it matters, given the search where they obtained them was illegal. It seems the warrant to toss her place was issued after the cops showed up at Megan’s apartment. Since they didn’t have it, everything they found is—” He made a noise as he splayed his hands, miming an explosion. “Gone. And even if recovered, inadmissible. Lucky for the police, I came across some evidence that led them in a new direction. They’re investigating it right now and have someone in custody.”
A slight moue of displeasure momentarily creased Vivienne’s features. “So you’ve freed the secretary. How nice for you. That doesn’t explain your presence here. Or did you feel a moral obligation to offer me closure by telling me who truly killed my husband?”
“We both know who killed him, and he isn’t sitting in a jail cell.”
“Are you telling me you’ve implicated an innocent man in a crime?”
“Oh, we both know Larry’s not innocent. His hands are covered in blood, just like yours. You’ve got quite the reputation, Vivienne. Or do you prefer your nickname, Scarlet Widow?”
The rouged lips parted in a wide smile that flashed white teeth. “I see someone did some intensive homework. But I don’t see what good it does you. My electronics detector at the door shows you aren’t wearing a wire. Your phone signal is jammed, and you are unarmed.”
“Am I?”
“Ah yes, the wolf thing. I’ve run across your kind before. Tough to kill in a hand-to-hand battle but still susceptible to a well-aimed bullet.”
He didn’t flinch as she raised the gun, aiming it at his head. As a matter of fact, he still smiled. Against a human man she might have held the upper hand, but Gavin didn’t play by human rules, nor was he bound by human speed. She might know his secret, but he doubted she’d ever come across a truly strong Lycan. Or one as determined as Gavin to protect his mate.
“Aren’t you going to beg for your life?”
“I don’t beg.”
“Perhaps some final words? I’m sure you’d like to know why I did this.”
He shrugged. “Actually, I don’t really care. I’m sure you think your reasons are valid. Even if they were, they don’t matter. You tried to hurt something of mine, and I won’t allow that.” Murder might be against the law; however, something had to be done, especially against a woman who wouldn’t hesitate to use deadly force again. Th
e list of killings attached to her reputation staggered. I wonder how Megan’s own accomplishments would rank.
“Won’t allow?” Vivienne let out a husky laugh. “Such cockiness. Such a shame I have to kill you. With your looks and that attitude, I’ll wager you would make a wonderful lover.”
“He does. But that’s not something you’ll ever know.”
With those words, Megan, who’d arrived without a sound or warning scent—damned heavy perfume—shot Vivienne dead.
Gavin, no stranger to violence, blinked as he processed the quick and quiet efficiency of it. “Did you seriously just do that?”
“I did.”
“Even though I had the situation under control and didn’t need your help.”
“You call that under control?”
“Yes.”
She snorted. “From my perspective, I’d say you were taking too long. My daddy taught me that letting your enemy talk is a sign of stupidity or suicidal tendencies. Efficiency always comes first.”
“What about answers?” Gavin asked. “Don’t you want to know why she was after you?”
“I already figured it out. Work-based rivalry. I stole a few hits from under her. Even though we never officially met, I guess she recognized me when she saw me at Pierre’s office. She might have also held a grudge that I killed her stupidly rich fiancé a few years back before she could get her claws on his fortune.”
“You killed her boyfriend?” That explained the vindictiveness.
“The guy was a drug lord and trafficker of women. He deserved it.”
“Do they all deserve it?”
“Are you asking if I have a moral code that only allows me to kill the guilty?”
“Do you?”
She smiled. “Everyone has sinned at one point in their life. But if it’s any consolation, I do have lines I won’t cross.” Piece spoken, Megan, wearing gloves, pressed Vivienne’s fingers around the stock of the gun before letting the limp arm flop, dropping the weapon. The other gun, which Vivienne never fired, was tucked into the waistband of Megan’s tight jeans.
Moving his focus away from the way the denim showcased the curve of her hips and clung to her thighs proved a chore. Especially since he couldn’t stem a visual of himself peeling the fabric from her skin. He shook his mind free from the distracting image. “Forensics will dispute the suicide because the angle is wrong.”
