by Lila Dubois
Jane tossed a pack of sliced cheese into the fridge and fled the kitchen. She couldn’t be close to him, not right now. Jane shut the bedroom door and leaned against it, eyes closed.
Surely she didn’t love him. There was nothing between them but sex. She couldn’t love him because he’d said he didn’t want anything more than to fuck her, and it was stupid to fall in love with a man who would never love her back.
Jane thunked her head back against the door. Stupid, stupid girl.
She loved him. Despite the million reasons she shouldn’t love him, she did.
When had that happened? While he forced ice cubes up her pussy and ass, when he spanked her? How masochistic was she?
Or maybe she’d fallen in love with him as he’d pleasured her, gaze on her, watching her as he touched her in ways no other person ever would. Maybe she’d fallen in love with him because she knew that when he was with her he thought of no one, and nothing, but her. He said he desired her, needed her. He took care of her and treasured her. After each bout of rough sex, he’d cradled her in his arms, putting her to bed as he had the first night.
She’d fallen in love with him, because he loved her.
She’d tried to remember that he said he didn’t want a relationship with her, tried to remember that this was just sex to him. But his actions felt like love, and those actions had been stronger than his words.
Jane slid down the door, resting her head on her knees.
What the hell was she supposed to do? There was nothing she could say, or do, to make herself fall out of love with him, and it was clear that nothing he said would destroy the love, and his actions were the problem. Even if Jane could convince herself to listen to his words and ignore the way he touched her, she wasn’t sure that would be enough to kill what she felt for him.
But, he was a monster.
Jane closed her eyes and brought up a mental picture of Luke’s monster form. Thick claws and bat-like wings rose nightmarish in her mind. Jane shuddered and swallowed.
That was her only hope. Her deep instinctive fear of what he was would destroy her feelings for him.
All she had to do was get through the next two days without blurting out “I love you”. When the week was over and he fulfilled his part of the bargain and changed into a monster, she’d fall out of love with him.
Chapter Twenty
EXT. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA — NIGHT
The BLACK SPORTS CAR cuts through the night along a deserted highway. Both the BLOND and NATIVE AMERICAN MAN are inside.
They pull off the road and stop. Both men exit the car. The BLOND MAN leans against the hood. The NATIVE AMERICAN MAN stands tense, arms folded across his chest.
Dinner was a picnic on the coffee table.
Michael’s grocery shopping included a lot of sliced meat and cheese, pre-made side dishes and bread. Hiding her smile, Jane had arranged everything on platters and carried it to the coffee table.
Michael munched in silence for a while, occasionally reaching over to feed her a bit of meat or cheese. Jane, absorbed in her thoughts from earlier, at first didn’t realize that Michael was selecting the best pieces of meat and cheese for her. He carefully examined each piece of food, putting the fatty ones on his own plate and feeding her the best pieces.
Jane sucked in a breath. This was another example of his actions making mockery of his words. She remembered tales of medieval banquets, where lords would feed their ladies the best cuts of meat as an act of respect and homage.
Jane loaded up a plate and urged him to sit back. Curling up beside him she took over feeding him. She wrapped a piece of cheese into a slice of turkey and fed it to him. Her plan had been to keep him from feeding her so her heart would stop fluttering, but as he kissed her fingertips and slid his arm around her waist, Jane realized that her feeding him was little better.
When he’d finished everything on the plate, Jane was melting with arousal brought on by no more than her fingers on his lips and the look in his eyes.
“Beautiful Jane,” he whispered, kissing her long and deep.
“Mmmm,” she whispered, swinging her leg across his so she straddled him. Her robe slipped down her shoulders and his hands stroked her back.
“Do you want me to pleasure you?” Michael asked.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Michael twisted, seating her on the couch as he slid to his knees on the floor. Jane scooted her ass to the edge of the couch and Michael dipped his head between her legs, kissing and licking her sex.
Jane came in mere moments, the repeated brush of his tongue over her clit bringing her to a soft orgasm.
Michael rose between her legs and lifted her off the couch, taking her into the bedroom where he lay her down and curled around her. They settled into now-familiar positions—Jane’s head on Michael’s arm, her back pressed to his chest.
Feeling both protected and loved, Jane fell asleep.
When had it all gone so wrong?
Michael stroked Jane’s cheek with the back of his fingers.
It was just sex. It was supposed to be just sex. True, he desired her, true again that he enjoyed spending time with her. But it was just sex.
He’d been right. She was passionate in the feral way potent females were. She’d come alive under his touch, becoming this darkly passionate, creative lover whose scent drove him mad.
She’d stayed with him even after he had lost control. She had not run away in fear after he’d used the old language to control her. She was so strong, so brave, and yet dismissive of that bravery.
She was afraid of seeing him as a monster, and after her responsiveness to the old language Michael half wondered if she carried an old memory, maybe from a previous life, about monsters. And yet, despite that fear, she’d stayed with him when he started to lose control.
She was beautiful and passionate and smart. She was courageous and brave, but thought she wasn’t.
She was all the things he wanted in a mate, assuming he’d ever stopped to think about what he wanted in a mate, which he hadn’t.
Michael rested his cheek in her hair and breathed deep. She smelled so good.
In two days, he would show her his monster form and it would be over. That was the deal they’d made.
But there was a problem.
She was his mate.
He didn’t want a mate, didn’t need one. He’d told himself his attraction to her was nothing more than his desire to show her the passion he knew was in her. He thought human sexual repression was depressing, and reveled in the chance to liberate Jane. He’d managed to convince himself that was all this was. Sure, he’d overreacted a bit when Henry mentioned Jane, and then again when Jane mentioned Henry. But still, he’d been able to convince himself that she was nothing more than a distraction, a project, some fun sex.
But looking down at her sleeping face, Michael was forced to face the fact that she was his mate. She was his and he was hers. They were bound together now, forever.
A strange peace settled over Michael.
He hadn’t wanted a mate. When he was young, Michael’s cousin had lost her mate to human hunters. He’d watched her wither and die from the loss. She was one of the few females left of their Breed, and because her mate had died, she hadn’t been able to find another male to love. She’d suffered and died, alone.
Young as he was, her death had terrified him. He could not imagine being so attached to someone who wasn’t a member of his family. He didn’t want to bind himself to another so securely that her death would drag him down into the dark earth.
But for Jane…with Jane…
He understood. He understood that a mate was as essential as air.
He wanted her as his mate. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. As the humans said…he loved her.
But how did a monster, who’d done everything in his power to convince a female all he wanted was sex, convince her that now he wanted a relationship?
Chapter Twenty-One
Jane stared at Michael.
He fidgeted, glanced sideways at her and then looked back at the TV.
Jane inched away from Michael. There was something seriously wrong with him.
After she woke up from her nap, Jane had showered and come out to the living room. There had been something slightly different, and it took Jane a minute to realize the living room was clean. The perpetual clutter of glasses, napkins, DVD cases and magazines that had been spread across the room, due to the fact they were spending so much time there, was gone. Michael had cleaned.
She’d found Michael in the kitchen, a glass of white wine in each hand. He’d handed her a wine glass, then pulled a perfectly arranged cheese plate out of the fridge. He’d carried the cheese to the coffee table, set out coasters for their wineglasses, then gone back for plates.
He’d handed Jane a plate, sat on the couch beside her and stared at her. Not sure what was going on, Jane had set down her wine glass, put two pieces of cheese on her plate and then eaten one.
As soon as she’d taken a bite, Michael looked away, staring at the wall to the right of the TV. He’d been sitting that way for ten minutes.
Jane had no clue what was going on. A small part of her mind was freaking out, insisting that somehow he knew that she’d fallen in love with him and he was tense because he didn’t want her anymore but was stuck with her for the next few days. In any other circumstance she would be curled into a self-hating ball, sure that the object of her affection was pulling away because she loved him, but in this case…
She was so perplexed by Michael’s behavior, her instinctive freakout was pushed to the side.
“Would you like a foot massage?” Michael asked, while staring at the wall.
“No thank you,” Jane stammered, startled by the sudden offer.
“A back massage?”
“No… Wait a second.” Jane dove for Michael, shoving her hand into his pant’s pocket before he could get away. Her fingers closed over paper and she pulled it out.
“No!” Michael lunged for the paper, but Jane danced back, darting into the kitchen. She unfolded the thin glossy sheet.
It was an article out of a magazine, titled “Fifteen Ways to Show Your Woman You Care”. She scanned the list and saw Clean the House, Wine and Cheese, Foot and Back Massage, Flowers for No Reason…”
Michael snatched the page out of her hand. He was red from the collar of his shirt to his ears.
A grin of pure happiness split Jane’s face. She threw herself into Michael’s arms, never doubting that he’d catch her, and kissed him. She held the kiss for a long moment, one of her hands behind his head, pulling him down for the kiss.
“You’re so cute,” she mumbled against his lips.
“You were not supposed to see that,” he whispered.
She kissed him again, her lips telling him, without words, that she’d fallen a little bit more in love with him.
She was doomed. Utterly doomed. This latest cuteness was another way his actions said “love” as his mouth said “sex”. Why would he do these things if he didn’t love her? If it was just about sex the way he said, wouldn’t he ignore her any time they weren’t fucking like bunnies?
“Are you…are you sure you don’t want a foot rub?” he whispered against her cheek.
“I’d love a foot rub.”
Michael carried her over to the couch, where he sheepishly admitted he didn’t actually know how to give a foot rub. Jane offered to teach him, and when he accepted, she ran to the bathroom for some soothing foot balm. She urged Michael to lie back, then took his long, bony feet into her lap and gave him a foot massage.
When she was done with both feet they switched, Jane lying back on the couch, her feet in Michael’s lap. He took over, pressing her insteps with his thumbs, rubbing the balls of her feet and working the heels. His hands moved up her legs, his fingers kneading her calf muscles.
He lifted her legs one by one and kissed her toes, shins and knees. He settled her left leg on his shoulder, bending his head towards the apex of her things. He paused.
“Do you want this?”
“Oh yes.”
He dipped his head between her legs, tongue sweeping along her sex. He buried his face in her, tongue and teeth pleasuring her. Jane tipped her head back, hands stroking her breasts.
She came quickly, the foot rub enough foreplay to have her arching up into his face after only minutes. Jane sighed, utterly content.
Michael pulled her up as he lay back, so she wound up with her head resting on his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he growled.
“Why are you sorry?” Jane murmured sleepily.
“This wasn’t supposed to be about sex. I wanted to have not-sex with you.”
“I thought everything we were doing was ‘not-sex’ by your definition,” Jane teased.
Michael growled. Jane could hear it though his chest. Her eyes popped open, the post-orgasm lethargy fading fast.
“Why are you growling?”
“I meant what I said. This wasn’t supposed to be about sex,” he said angrily.
“What was it supposed to be about?” Jane asked, a knot forming in her stomach. Had he been planning to break their arrangement early? Was that why he was being so nice? Letting her down easy?
“It’s supposed to be about us…spending time together.”
Michael choked out the words, sounding almost confused by his own admission. Jane’s heartbeat went wild, her squishy romantic side unable to resist reading into what he’d said. Could he be falling in love with her?
“I’d like that,” she whispered against his chest, cuddling herself more securely against him.
Michael, usually so physically sure of himself, tentatively rested his hand on her head and stroked her hair. He petted her, and for the first time his touch wasn’t arousing.
The foot rub, which could have been merely pleasurable, had been sexual when he’d done it.
But curled up on his chest, his hand rhythmically stroking her hair, Jane felt nothing but pleasure at being in his company.
“We could watch TV, or a movie,” she whispered.
Michael shifted his head to look down at her. “I’d like that.”
Jane smiled and rolled off Michael, checking the DVD player to see if the first disc of the series they’d watched on his first night was still in there. It was, and Jane grabbed the remotes before climbing into Michael’s open arms and settling on the couch to watch TV with him.
The next few hours passed in a blur of pleasant companionship. At one point Jane made popcorn, and as the first disc ended, they sat spooned, Michael’s feet up on the table, Jane curled against him, the popcorn bowl on his lap.
“I think they’re dead,” Jane said as she got up to change the discs.
“They’re on an island that has a direct line to the deep parts of the earth. I never heard of whole islands being steeped in magic, just forests, but that’s what it’s got to be.”
“But the writers are human, how would they know about monster magic?”
“The magic is the Earth’s not the monster’s.”
“Fine. Fine. But still, how would they know about it?”
Michael’s eyes darkened. “Perhaps they are part of one of the groups of humans that hunt and study us. Perhaps I should talk to them…ask them which of my clansmen they tortured for information.”
“Whoa, whoa! I was just trying to make a point. I don’t think they are part of any sort of underground monster-hunting organization.”
“Maybe I should talk to them anyway. I want to know what happens in the end.”
Jane laughed. “You and everyone else. Come on, if you think those first six were good, wait till you see what happens next.”
They staggered to bed as the sun rose, eyes bloodshot and brains stuffed, woke at noon and did it all over again. They argued and commiserated, swapped theories and had a pillow fight during a break.
For the first time, Ja
ne and Michael spent time together as just friends. No sexual tension.
They touched, never straying far from one another as they watched. But for the first time in days, Jane was fully relaxed. When he touched her shoulder, she didn’t tense in anticipation of his hand sliding to her nipple. When she accidentally gave something away and Michael’s outrage turned into a wrestling match, ending with Jane facedown across Michael’s lap, he didn’t take the opportunity to spank her or play with her. Instead, he tickled the back of her knees, demanding more information.
Their relationship, had, from the day they met, been colored by sexual tension. The days spent contentedly in one another’s company proved that there was something between them besides sex. And it proved to Jane that she was madly, deeply in love with a monster.
“Where’s the next season?” Michael demanded as the credits rolled on the final show of the second season.
“I’m cutting you off. We need food. We need to leave the apartment.”
“Who was that guy? Why did he tell her that? Is that girl dead?”
“All questions that will be answered in season three. Okay, maybe not. Doesn’t matter, we’re leaving the apartment.”
Jane coaxed Michael into clothes. They dressed up, Michael in slacks, Jane in a front-wrap dress with silver jewelry. They went to a wine and tapas bar within walking distance to Jane’s place. It had been trendy years ago, and its clientele had faded to locals and tourists with outdated guidebooks—just enough people to keep it open, but slow enough to ensure there was always a private table.
They walked hand in hand, Michael opening the door for her, lightly touching her back as she preceded him inside.
They got a secluded booth and sat beside, rather than across, from one another. Jane ordered a selection of tapas and two pasta entrees from memory as well as a bottle of red wine. Michael toyed with a stray lock of her hair as she ordered, brushing it across her shoulder.
When the server had slipped silently away, Jane tipped her head to rest on his shoulder.
“I’ve really enjoyed today,” Jane said. I love you.
“So have I,” he whispered. Michael kissed the crown of her head. “Luke and Henry…they are my brothers. They are my brothers by Clan if not Breed, and I would die for them.”
