by Anne Marsh
“It’s not night yet,” she said and Cruz caught the warning there, even as he didn’t know what the hell the two of them were talking about because they were continuing a private conversation. Yeah. He wasn’t that much of a dumb shit. The two of them had an inside thing going on.
“Sun’s down soon,” Luc countered, following up his words with more fingertip action. Gianna melted against him and Cruz discovered that defeat was a hollow, achy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, she’d promised him a week. That was something right there. She hadn’t chosen yet.
He stood up. Choice or no choice, watching Luc touch Gianna wasn’t something he could deal with right now. “Take care of her.”
“I will.” Luc’s no-bullshit gaze held Cruz’s. Those two words sound too much like the wedding vows Riley and Dag had traded earlier in the day in a family-only ceremony deep in the bayou.
Luc could fuck off.
“I’ll see you in a week,” he said and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
4
Luc strode towards the bayou. No surprise, but he was a possessive bastard. He’d have said he deserved a fucking medal for reining himself in, but who Gianna slept with wasn’t his call.
Even if it was his fantasy.
“I’ll take you home,” he said. He’d left his boat tied up down at the water’s edge. Once he got her deep her into the bayou, he’d coax her into paying attention to him. Remind her why he wasn’t such a bad bargain, one kiss at a time. It wasn’t kidnapping. Just…persuasion.
She wasn’t stupid. “Define home.”
“My place,” he said, tucking her small hand into his.
She dug in her heels, all four sexy inches of them. “And all of my things are back at the B&B. I’d rather go there.”
The inn might not be the safest place for her. Cruz would watch like a hawk—it stood in the heart of his territory—but the place was also the logical hidey-hole for a guest in Port Leon to stay. If any of The Breed had followed her from Baton Rouge, the inn would likely be first on their hit list.
“Hell, shug. I don’ know if that place is safe or not.”
The Breed were not known for their progressive stance on women’s rights—or even a fundamental belief in fair play. The gang members played hard and they played for keeps. A male earned his place in that Pack with his fists and his teeth. For a female, the only option was on her back and, even though, most of them were pass-arounds.
She eyeballed him calmly, but she started moving again. “I’m a lawyer. I’m not an innocent flower. If there’s danger, you tell me.”
“Got it.” She was his to protect though, and he wouldn’t fuck this up the way he apparently had the last ten years.
“I’m also not stupid, nor do I have my head in the sand. You tell me to your face that you believe there is a credible threat to my safety if I return to the inn, and I’ll listen. I came down here because my partners believed getting out of Baton Rouge temporarily was a good idea. If it wasn’t enough, then give me the facts.”
He handed her down into the boat. The boat was stripped down and built for speed, light enough to skim over the swamp. He’d needed to ride the open water today and not the road. Now, he was glad. The bayou waterways were safer for Gianna than the roads.
“I’m the Alpha of the Breauxs. Cruz, he’s the Alpha of the Port Leon pack.”
“So I’ve been told on multiple occasions.” Her lips curled up in a saucy smile, all but begging for a kiss. He could do that. Leaning in, he kissed her hard and quick.
“Coming down here would usually qualify as dropping off the radar, but the biker gang isn’t human. Not entirely, and definitely not the leadership.”
“They’re werewolves,” she said.
They were definitely that. He started the boat and pointed them towards the darkness.
“I’ll send someone for your things,” he compromised.
“Telling, not talking.” She didn’t look at him, staring out into the bayou. Birds rose up as the boat moved away from the bank, the bullfrogs singing a bass song. The bayou was peaceful and quiet, the water and the cypress trees wrapped in shadows.
“Those werewolves will look for you with the other Packs first, especially once Cruz’s name hits the paperwork.”
“Okay, then.” She kicked off her heels with a blissed-out sigh and tucked her legs up beneath her.
“Do you trust me?” He needed her to say it.
“For seven more nights.”
***
The sky darkened overhead, stars coming out and the swamp came alive around them. Herons rose up out of the reeds, wings beating through the air, racing the frigate birds for the horizon. A fish jumped out of the water, a silver flash here and then gone.
“You mind the dark?” Luc steered effortlessly, hands on the wheel, legs braced against the water’s gentle bump and swell. He’d pulled off his shirt and rolled up his pants. He was barefoot and, God help her, the man even had sexy feet. He exuded strength and confidence as he guided them deeper into the bayou. This was his territory. His home. The only outsider here was her.
He must have interpreted her shrug as a negative, because he stepped away from the wheel for a moment and snagged a lantern, lighting the wick with a flick of his fingers.
“Company for you,” was all he said as he set it down beside her.
“Are we almost there?” A gator roared somewhere too close by for comfort, the harsh bark echoing off the cypress trees. The dark surface of the water rippled away from her pool of light in a spreading vee.
He gave his attention back to the water. “Fifteen minutes.”
The lantern’s light reflected across the dark water in crooked stretches. Once, a gator bobbed in the brown water, yellow eyes gleaming as it watched her. She was glad not to be swimming—or dinner. The rough wooden seat beneath her was a welcome anchor.
The moon rose above the bayou, full and white.
Luc flicked a glance up at the moon and then over at her. “Moon’s a full one.”
Something teased her memory, a quick flash of their Vegas night, and then nothing. Whatever it had been, the thought was lost once more in her subconscious and must not have been important.
The Breauxs’ camp seemed to rise up out of the swamp in front of them. Deep in the bayou, the brothers had a collection of cabins on stilts and houseboats. The set-up was charming in a ramshackle way, but damned if it didn’t smack somewhat of a trailer park in the middle of a swamp. Crickets exploded in bursts of sound as they motored through a curtain of Spanish moss. She checked her phone—zero bars—and discovered their silent boat ride through the swamp had taken almost forty minutes. Even if she’d wanted to, hotfooting it back to the B&B was now an impossibility.
Luc guided them past the spongy banks, thick curtains of moss parting around the boat’s prow. A snake slid off a low-hanging branch and into the water. Roots broke the dark surface, visible only as they glided past. Thick clumps of spikey reeds brushed against the boat’s side and, when she reached out a hand, she touched duckweed and water hyacinth.
Lights spilled out of some of the cabins, while others were dark. Maybe not everyone had made it back from the reception yet. Or maybe the members of Luc’s pack preferred maintaining separate space. She had no idea how these wolves lived.
“Dag’s taking Riley on a honeymoon,” Luc said out of nowhere.
She had no idea what to say to that, other than the obvious. “Where did they go?”
“When he catches up with her?” Amusement colored Luc’s voice. “Tomorrow’s he got plane tickets for a casita on the beach near Tulum.”
She tried—and failed—to imagine werewolves on a beach vacation. She’d spent several weeks herself exploring the wild beaches south of Cancun, reveling in the harsh pounding of the waves on the shore and the crumbling ruins perched above the flat blue of the ocean. It seemed about as far removed from werewolf territory as she could imagine.
Luc killed the motor, angling th
em towards a small, plantation-style cabin set back some from the others.
“Your place?”
“Mine,” he agreed, a rough note in his voice.
He tied up, then helped her up. Putting her heels back on seemed suicidal, so she let him swing her up onto the dock, curling her feet into the sun-warmed wood. The door opened easily when Luc pushed—no keys necessary this far out into the bayou. He had at least two rooms, a screened-in porch and a bedroom beyond that.
“Bienvenue.” His rough Cajun accent sent shivers down her spine and made her hyper-conscious of his warm palm pressed lightly against the small of her back. Here they were. And…now what? Her pulse was a drumbeat of anticipation, the glimpse of the big four-poster bed with mosquito netting making her imagine all sorts of possibilities. Tied up, held down…taken. Okay. So she had a few fantasies. That had been the point of coming here—to see if in-the-flesh Luc measured up to her memories.
He stepped away and lit a row of creamy white candles. The scent of citronella filled the air.
“I’m goin’ to check on your things.” He pointed towards a second door. “There’s hot water for a bath if you wan’.”
The indecision paralyzing her in the middle of his cabin was out of character. She’d driven her life for the last fifteen years or so. College. Law school. Career. Check, check and check. Their night in Vegas had been a delicious blip in her road trip to financial and emotional security, but even then she’d known how that would end. She’d been in charge. Her hotel room, her girls’ night out. This place and this time were Luc’s. She might have agreed to let him take charge, but after she’d said the words, he’d done exactly that. The sex had better be damn good because she hated, hated, hated feeling this off-balance and out-of-control.
Hot water did sound good. She thought about Luc and the wedding while she padded towards the direction he’d pointed. Sure enough, the man had himself a bathroom in the heart of the bayou. She decided not to ask how or why, because she damned sure hadn’t come here for a lesson in bayou building codes. Instead, she shut the bathroom door behind her—some thing she wasn’t ready to share—and took care of business while she ran hot water into the claw-foot tub. Twisted her hair up on top of her head and stepped in.
She was almost asleep when the door open, lulled by the steamy air, scented with lavender and hyacinth. The hot water had worked out the day’s kinks and she’d grabbed a hand towel, rolling it up and shoving it beneath her neck.
Opening her eyes was almost too much work. “You ever considered knocking?”
“Not really,” he said gruffly. He was honest. She had to give him that.
She cracked an eye to stare at him. God, he was worth looking at. “You think it’s possible to housetrain a werewolf?”
She drifted in a cloud of relaxed, arousal a low-level buzz. See? There was nothing scary about this. Nothing to worry about. Luc was still fully dressed although he’d lost the boots at some point. That still didn’t make them even since she was naked, but whatever. She’d work on getting his clothes off him.
Promises…
“Time to come out.” He prowled towards the edge of the tub, a towel in his dark hands. He reached into the tub for her, lifting her out with one powerful arm while he worked the towel around her with the other. The tameness was an illusion, she realized. Cradled against his powerful chest, she couldn’t help but compare her body with his. Soft to his hard. He was bigger. Stronger. Although likely not meaner. She’d earned her reputation in the courtroom after all.
He ran a thumb over the corner of her mouth, where the smile tipped up her lips. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“You’ve obviously never hired legal help or you’d know my hourly billing rate is far, far higher than a penny.” She slid her arms around his neck, hanging on as he stood. He didn’t seem to mind her weight and that right there was grounds for celebration.
“Uh-huh. I don’ get a discount?”
He carried her out of the bathroom, abandoning the tub. His bedroom was shadowy and smelled like geranium and vanilla. He sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding her.
“I was thinking about you,” she admitted. So much for having a tactical advantage.
He must have liked the sound of that because there was no missing the erection pushing against her backside. Her towel and his pants suddenly seemed like no barrier at all.
“Let’s get you dried off,” he said, but he pulled the clips out of her hair first, letting the heavy weight fall down her back, running the strands through his fingers.
Then he ran the towel down her arms, over her breasts. Cotton rasped against her nipples, teasing them into hard points. Then lower down her belly, over the round curve she hated, moving south. Oh.
He covered her mouth with his, his tongue taking over. Pushing inside her, exploring and tasting ruthlessly. Her body fired right up, on board with his interest, her breasts ached for more of his touch.
He ran the towel slowly over her mound, exerting a soft, sweet pressure where all her attention was centered. Wicked.
More pressure, the cotton pushing in a bare half inch. The erotic friction drove her crazy, heat roaring through her body. She trembled and held still and tried to push deeper into his touch. More. Less. He made her feel so much. The air shot out of her lungs, her breathing a harsh pant.
“Luc.” She said his name once, then chanted it like it was a lifeline in the erotic maelstrom.
“Oui,” he whispered. He might have said something else, something more. Lost in the pleasure, she didn’t give a damn. He dragged the cotton over her clit, giving her more of that sweet friction she craved. His fingers worked deeper between her folds, the towel the only barrier between them. Rough-gentle. Perfect.
He shattered her, held her close as she came apart for him. Whimpered his name and twisted her fingers in his shirt because she needed him closer still. The pleasure and the white heat swallowed her up and she let it happen, because she had no self-control around this man.
“Bedtime,” he growled when she surfaced long moments later.
Oh, please.
***
She pushed to her knees, the towel falling away. Christ, he was a lucky bastard. His Gianna was all sweet curves and full breasts, her creamy skin white and pink.
“I’m naked,” she said, like there was any way he hadn’t noticed. “Join me.”
He was so on board with that plan. He fisted the hem of his T-shirt, pulling the cotton over his head in one smooth move. Dropped the shirt on the floor. Her eyes were all over him. He’d done a whole lot of living in this body. As a werewolf shifter, he had a built-in immunity from injury, healing supernaturally fast. Hurt him bad enough and he scarred. Claw marks covered his rib cage from a close encounter with the original Alpha of the pack. He’d walked away. The other male had not.
“You’ve been busy.” She brushed her fingers over the marks and heat seared through him.
“Occupational hazard.” He figured she didn’t need to know that his opponent had tried to remove his heart the old-fashioned way, straight through his ribs.
“Mmmm,” she hummed, her fingers finding his belt. He helped her undo the leather and pop the button on his jeans. When her fingertips brushed the hot, wet tip of his dick, he jerked. Jesus. He wouldn’t last long at all if she kept that up. He shoved his pants down his legs and stepped out.
Her hands on his hips urged him closer, tugging until his knees bumped against the side of the bed and she moved between his legs. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, watching his face. Her hair fell around her shoulders, over his thighs, in the sexiest damned sight he’d ever seen.
“Is it my turn to eat you up?”
Hell, yeah.
“Whatever you want, shug.” He’d happily stand here and let her torture him. Like she’d read his mind, she skimmed her fingers up and down his shaft. The light touch barely touched his aching flesh, but he felt the connection between them all the way to his core. T
his was his female—and he was every bit as much hers as she was his. He knew this. Welcomed it.
She sucked just the wet, aching tip of him into her mouth with an erotic little pop of sound. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue rubbing against the head. Once, twice, dragging her tongue over him, running the tip of it up the vein until she hit pay dirt where he was wet. He fisted his hands in her hair, hips rolling. He’d had women take him like this before, but this was different. This was Gianna. Gianna fisting him, opening her mouth up for him.
She sucked him in deep.
Her eyes flew to his face, checking to see how she was doing. Her gaze watching him was an even bigger turn on. Those brown eyes of hers stared at him, while she swallowed him with her mouth, moving up and down his shaft as he fucked her mouth.
Pulling free because, Christ, he was too closing to coming, he reached for one of the candles.
“You got any idea what I could do with one of these candles?”
***
Luc’s question sucked the air right out of her lungs.
“Not a clue.” She answered him, breathless from the erotic longing that slammed into him. She had ideas. Wicked, impossible ideas spurred by his capable hands turning the candle around. When she said yes—because it was a question of when and not if—he wouldn’t stop. He was a hunter at heart and he went after what he wanted until he caught it.
And he wanted her.
“Lie on your stomach.” His rough order was sexy as hell.
He was dangerous.
He was a wolf and a predator—and, for seven nights, all hers.
The sheet felt deliciously cool beneath her heated skin when she rolled over and gave him her back. He watched while she obeyed, his gaze sliding over her bare skin. Back, butt, thighs—all open to him. She shivered, her nipples pebbling where the cotton rubbed against them.
