Drive Me Wild

by Christine Warren

  The Accord of Silence had been reached centuries ago, long before the split between the witches and the Others, even before humans had begun writing down tales about men who changed into beasts or cast spells to wither flocks and tell the fortunes of kings. Since the first time when humans began to realize there was something different about some of the creatures walking among them, witches and Others alike had relied on the power of the Accord to keep their existence separate and hidden from humans. It was a formal agreement that none of the races or powerful sects on earth would reveal their existence to humankind. To do so would be folly, but in order to preserve their secrecy, the cooperation of all supernatural creatures and magic users had been vital.

  The idea that all of it might end because the witches were tired of hiding made him grind his teeth in frustration. That issue had supposedly been settled in 1627. Why would the witches want to rehash it now? How could they be so irresponsible as to risk the lives of so many non-humans just because they wanted the right to wear pointy black hats in public?

  “Don’t sound so grumpy or you’ll scare the human,” Graham said, grinning.

  “She is not human. She is a witch.”

  “Last I heard, witches are human. So unless they’ve been doing some experimentation that we Others haven’t heard of…”

  “Bite me.”

  “You’re too old and tough. I’d much rather kick you out and go nibble on my wife.” He paused, lifted his head, sniffed. “Who I see has been nibbling on something herself while we were busy. Roast beef, I think. With extra-hot horseradish. They’re in the kitchen.”

  Rafe already knew that. He could smell Tess’s sweetly pungent fragrance drifting to him from down the hall. He tried to resist the urge to inhale deeply, but failed, and then he had to snarl at Graham when he caught the Lupine eyeing him with an amused expression.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Oh, nothing.” Graham’s grin belied his nonchalant tone. “It’s just nice to see the man who once said he’d never be happy with one woman at a time be so focused on one woman.”

  “What are you talking about? Don’t confuse me with one of your bloody packmates, wolf boy. You Lupines are the idiots who think mating with one person for all eternity is a good idea. We Felines know better, at least most of us do. We know that variety is the spice of life.”

  “But you didn’t always.”

  Rafe gave his friend a warning glare. “Don’t bring up that idiotic old wives’ tale. There’s no evidence to prove a word of it. No one in the last dozen generations has been able to remember a time when the spotted Felines mated for life. Leos and Pumas can do what they like, but Felines like me? We’re cats, not bloody wolves.”

  “I didn’t say a thing about it. I just think it’s an interesting legend, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, think about it,” Graham continued, ignoring the way Rafe was baring his teeth in annoyance. “It’s the stuff romantic movies are born of. A beautiful witch; the arrogant jaguar shapeshifter who broke her heart by sleeping with another woman just days after she’d promised her heart to him. The curse she laid on him that his progeny would grow fewer and fewer in number with every passing generation until they died out of this world, unless one man of his blood could find true love and remain faithful to her for a year and a day. That’s a hell of a story.”

  “And that’s all it is. A story. With no basis in fact and no evidence supporting the idea that it ever happened. Remember that.”

  “Who are you reminding, Rafe? Me? Or yourself?”

  He shot his friend another scowl and stalked toward the kitchen. He entered through the swinging door to see Missy and Tess seated at the island counter looking at what appeared to be tarot cards. His eyebrows shot up as surprise momentarily took precedence over his annoyance. “What are you two doing?”

  Tess jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand jerking awkwardly, the deck of cards striking the edge of the counter. She cried out as the cards scattered, landing all over the sprung-wood floor.

  “You’re a little jumpy,” Graham observed, stepping into the kitchen behind Rafe and quirking an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”

  Tess blushed and quickly shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired. It’s late. I’ll just pick these up and go.”

  Rafe bent down to help her retrieve the cards, scooping up a handful where they lay facedown on the floorboards. “You read tarot cards?”

  “I used to,” she muttered, snatching the cards out of his hand and shoving them into a little velvet bag the color of burgundy wine.

  He looked at her, trying to puzzle out what she meant by that. Obviously, if she’d just been reading for Missy when he and Graham had walked in, used to had to be a fairly new development. He picked up another handful of cards and handed them to her.

  “Well, at least they all seem to have landed facedown,” he pointed out, trying to think of something to say that would calm her. When he saw his innocent observation make her stiffen, he realized he hadn’t found it. “I mean, so you don’t have to spend all that time flipping them over. That would be a pain.”

  “Right,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the floor with frantic, darting glances. “A pain.”

  Rafe gave her a puzzled glance, then shrugged, handing her a third pile of cards. He looked around to see if they’d gotten them all and spied one stray card. It must have fallen straight down the side of the counter without getting caught in any of the air currents that had sent the other cards scattering. Instead of falling facedown on the floor, this card had slid down the side of the island and gotten lodged upright in the tiny crack between the top of the baseboard molding and the side of the island. It stood up straight and colorful against the white wooden background.

  “Looks like I spoke too soon.” Rafe looked down at the full-color illustration with interest.

  Poised on the edge of a cliff, ready to tumble straight over the edge and into the unknown, the figure on the card seemed at once jaunty and pathetic, totally unaware that he was about to leap into a situation that could easily spell his doom.

  “That’s an interesting image.” He leaned down for a closer look. “A little unnerving, perhaps, but intriguing all the same. The baseboard is covering the caption, though. What is it called?”

  When he got no answer, he turned his head to look up at Tess. She was staring down at the card in front of him with an absolutely stricken look on her face. Her skin was pale, her blue eyes were wide and dilated, and her lips had parted on a strangled gasp.

  “That,” she said, after a long pause and a couple of silent false starts, “is the Fool.”

  * * *

  Tess stared at the last card in the deck and thought she heard the faint echo of Fate laughing at her in the background. More than anything in the world, she wanted to deny her suspicions and tell herself that it couldn’t be true, that the reading she’d tried to do for Missy couldn’t possibly have ended up being about herself instead.

  There was no way the cards had decided to inform her that she was destined to have an affair with a passionate, fiery, charismatic man with an arrogant streak and enough charm to seduce the pink off a flamingo. A man who sounded a lot like Graham Winters, but—unlike the smitten, thoroughly faithful werewolf—one who remained unmarried and unattached. One who maybe had sharp, Latin features and melting golden eyes. They certainly couldn’t be telling her she was the fool, poised on the brink of a journey that would change her life and leave her a different person than she’d been at the beginning.

  No, that couldn’t possibly be happening to her.

  Except that it was.

  She swore, silently but creatively, and snatched up the last card in her deck before shoving the whole thing into its pouch and the pouch back into her jacket pocket, where it would be safe until she could take it home.

  And burn it.

  “Um, thanks … for … everything,” she fumbled,
easing toward the exit, “but I have to—uh … I have to go now. Nice meeting you.”

  She darted out of the kitchen and down the hall so fast she’d practically reached the front door before she heard them launch into protests behind her. She was just reaching for the knob when a large, dark hand closed over hers and stopped her.

  A dark head bent toward hers, and Tess found herself suddenly feeling small and vulnerable, surrounded by this man for the second time in one night.

  “What’s the matter?” His voice rumbled in her ear, low and rough and dark, and she fought back a shiver. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Tess laughed. “No, I’ve seen ghosts before. They’re not this scary.”

  “Then what is? I know you’re scared of something, sweet Tess. I can smell it on you.”

  She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Do you have any idea how disturbing that is?”

  He chuckled and nuzzled her hair. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Tess’s eyes flew open, and she shook her head emphatically as she fought back the panic that vow engendered. “No, I won’t. I’m not going to get used to anything about you, because I’m going to leave this house and go home to my apartment and pretend that I’ve never seen you. I’m never going to see you again. In fact, I think that’s going to become my favorite new hobby. Pretending that you just don’t exist.”

  “You can pretend all you want, sweet Tess.” His tongue darted out to rasp at the sensitive skin behind her ear, making her shudder. “That won’t make it true. I told you in the alley earlier that I wanted to eat you up just as soon as I found out what you wanted with me. Well, guess what, Tess? Now I know. And now I’m feeling very, very hungry.”

  “Tough.” She jerked away from his hold and tugged the front door open, darting down the steps as fast as she could. The Felix followed at her heels as if he didn’t even have to make an effort. She growled in frustration. “Would you go away? What do I have to do to convince you I am not interested?”

  Rafe smiled and continued to walk beside her as if they were out for a casual stroll. “If you want me to think that you are not interested, gatita, you’re going to have to find a way to stop yourself from becoming wet every time I talk to you. You will have to stop your scent from heating and ripening with your desire. Until you manage that, sweet Tess, I am going to know that while your lips tell me to leave, your body wants me to stay as much as I want it myself.”

  She turned on him and let out a strangled groan of frustration. “My body also wants to eat three pounds of chocolate on the fourth Tuesday of every month. I don’t let it have that, so what makes you think I’m going to let it have you?”

  “I think it,” he said, hooking one arm around her waist and pulling her to him until her hips pressed close against his, “because this is also what I want, and I do not believe in denying my body what it wants. I think it because this is more than desire, sweet Tess; this is a need, and I am going to give you what you need, gatita, whether you ask for it or not.”

  Then his mouth cut off her protests, and she forgot what she’d been about to say anyway.

  Six

  He touched her, and she felt every single one of her protests melting. Just like her knees, her spine, and a percentage of her brain cells she didn’t even want to contemplate.

  But none of that mattered, because the taste of him was the most perfect thing Tess had ever experienced, and the rest of reality ceased to exist when his hands settled on her hips and tugged her closer against him.

  Tess wrapped her arms around his neck on a groan, her fingers burrowing into the thick silk of his hair and twining themselves in the strands. She heard him purring with pleasure and felt the rumble of it like distant thunder rolling through her. When he angled his head and deepened the kiss on a growl, she shuddered and forgot all the reasons why she’d intended to avoid this. All the reasons she’d thought of to tell Fate to take a hike and stop messing with her plans. Right now the only plans she had were to never, ever stop touching him.

  Rafe didn’t seem likely to object to those plans. Not judging by the way his hands had settled on her ass again, like they had in the alley earlier.

  The man seemed to have a thing for her ass, and used his grip to tug and angle her hips until she felt his erection settle into the groove between her legs. Tess moaned and, feeling benevolent, made it easier for him by pushing her feet off the ground, spreading her legs, and wrapping them around his hips.

  She felt him shift to compensate for her weight, spreading his own legs and getting a firmer grip on her bottom. He shifted her higher and rolled his hips in a slow, lazy thrust, and Tess moaned against his mouth. He was driving her crazy. And this kind of crazy, she didn’t even mind.

  She did mind when he tore his mouth from hers and avoided her whimpering attempts to recapture his lips in a deeper, hotter kiss.

  “Damn it, come back here!” she hissed.

  “No.” He turned his head and arched his neck to stay out of her reach, and the frantic tugs she gave to his hair, his cheeks, his ears, anything she could reach, seemed not to even register with him. She bit back a curse against all shapeshifters and their damned superhuman strength.

  He reached up to peel her arms from around his neck, pressing them to her sides and trying to lift her away from his body. She clung like a barnacle, locking her ankles together behind his back and tightening her thighs to clamp herself in place.

  “Yes!” She gave her own credible growl and glared at him. “Now get back here and finish kissing me before I get cranky.”

  She hadn’t expected him to move, and sure as hell hadn’t expected him to move so fast. She didn’t even have time to gasp before she found herself spun around and backed up against a wall for the second time tonight. Only this time, she thought it was a safe bet that the man pinning her there had more on his mind than asking her some questions.

  He grabbed her wrists and slammed them up beside her head. He leaned forward, using his weight to keep her still, and rolled his hips against hers. She cried out as her clit throbbed to life beneath her jeans. Jeans that would probably have a huge wet patch between the legs if he didn’t hurry up and get her out of them. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but he cut her off with a snarl and a sharp nip to her lower lip.

  “Quiet. Not another damned word.”

  Tess felt her eyes widen, and she went still. She could see a hot, savage glow in his cat’s eyes and suddenly remembered that for all this man’s sophisticated appearance and urbane polish, inside he harbored a beast that could make dinner out of her entrails. And if that thought wasn’t enough to get her hormones under control, she was a sad, sad woman.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed, though her breath still came in ragged pants.

  “Oh, it is much too late for that, gatita,” he informed her, eyes glinting. “You should have apologized back when I cared. Now I am far, far beyond such things. The only thing I want to hear from you is you screaming my name when I am inside you.”

  Her mouth opened then closed, and she swallowed convulsively. His hips rolled in another lazy, taunting thrust, and she had nothing else to say. Not a damned word. All she could do was moan at the pleasure of it.

  At some point her eyes drifted shut against her will, leaving her unprepared for the heightening of every feeling. Each sensation—the rasp of his stubble against her skin, the harsh sound of his breathing against her ear—was so intense, she had to fight the need to beg him to touch her.

  “You know that I am going to get inside you, sweet Tess. Don’t you?” His tongue swept the pale curve of her ear in a rasping caress, and one of the hands that had moved back to her ass moved lower, sliding between her legs to cup her from behind. “I am going to take you until you cannot remember your name, until you cannot lick your lips without tasting me, until you make yourself hoarse from screaming my name.”

  Her hands clenched, nails biting into his shoulders. The heat and tension inside her threate
ned to snap, and she thought she might break in half along with them.

  “Your only choice is whether you want me to take you here, where half of Manhattan can see you writhing in pleasure, or whether I take you in privacy, where I can touch you all night long with no interruptions.”

  His teeth closed on the sensitive skin at the curve of her throat and bit down, sending her desire into overdrive and making her body overflow with cream. “Which is it going to be, Tess? Here and now? Or in my bedroom until you cannot stand any more?”

  In the end, it wasn’t the idea of being seen that decided her. It was the knowledge that one quick encounter against the side of a building, while it sounded great right now, was not going to satisfy the hunger he’d created inside of her. She needed more.

  “Home,” she said, and cried out when he answered with a low growl and a hard shove of his hips. If there hadn’t been so much cloth in the way, she would have climaxed right then and there.

  Instead, she had to get her feet under her and try not to collapse on rubbery legs when he withdrew the support of his body. He kept one hand on her elbow, and that alone was probably more responsible for keeping her upright than her own wobbly sense of balance. He never said anything to her, just tightened those fingers around her elbow and began dragging her through the dark streets toward Park Avenue.

  The very first cab he flagged stopped for him. In any other circumstances, Tess would have snorted at that and said something about the perks of power, but as it was she didn’t think she could say her own name. She damned sure couldn’t remember her address, so she let Rafe tell the cabbie where to go while she climbed onto the big werecat’s lap and proceeded to try to undress him in the back of the taxi.

  It was a surreal experience for Tess, almost like being drunk. There was one part of her mind still thinking clearly, and that part sort of stood back with its arms crossed and shook its head, while all her other parts attacked Rafael De Santos’s clothing as if he were a tightly wrapped present on Christmas morning. She fumbled with buttons, tugged at hems, and was reaching for his belt when the cab screeched to a halt.