by Diana Seere
“You will not speak of her like this.”
Sophia had never been intimidated by him. If anything, being the only girl in a gaggle of boys had made her a fierce woman, willing to go toe-to-toe, or nose-to-nose, in an argument.
“You reek of her.” Her chin jutted up in defiance.
“So what?”
“And only her.” A tone of despair tinged her words, those eyes so much like his going wide until the irises no longer touched her eyelids, pure white encircling the brown.
In opposition, his own eyes narrowed as he took in her words.
And then he snorted with incredulous disgust, dropping her arm.
“You’re berating me for sleeping with only one woman?”
“You’ve gone monogamous, Derry!” Sophia spat out the word like she’d discovered he was a serial killer who cooked live babies and fed them to Buddhist monks. “I can’t let you do this to yourself!”
“What?” His voice rose an octave.
Sophia sniffed him, circling around him, taking her time. “Normally you smell like so many different women I can’t tell them apart after a while. I’ve identified some standard threesome scents.”
“You’ve—huh?” His words devolved into grunts. He was speechless. This was new territory with his sister. While he, too, could smell various men on her, he’d never taken inventory. Never cataloged them. Never given them names, like a botanist identifying genus and species.
“You’re so… flat. Dead. My nose finds you so boring now. One scent. One!”
“You realize that where I stick my cock is absolutely, positively none of your business.”
“It’s my business when I am watching you ruin your life!”
“I’m ruining my life by spending less than twenty-four hours sleeping with the same woman?”
“Lilah can tell the difference, too.” Sophia said this with the declarative air of a woman using her final option to negotiate.
“Lilah knows?” His throat went dry. Fuck. That meant Gavin knew, or would.
Soon.
Sophia rolled her wide eyes. “Of course. She’s become one of us. Plus, she’s The Brain’s sister. She figured it out quickly.”
At least Sophia wasn’t using the term Magic Pussy, even if he had to admit it held a certain charm.
And truth.
He looked down and saw to the final button on his shirt, finished dressing, and tucked his shirttails into his waist. The casual gestures didn’t bother Sophia, who had seen him in every state of dress and undress. As shifters, being nude was the norm half the time. In human form, though, she conformed to societal standards.
As he buckled his belt and threw a tie around his neck, she paced, her long legs eating the floor, thick, dark hair wild and untamed around her agitated face. Then she halted before him, grabbing each end of the loose tie, and tied it for him.
He half thought she only did it for the opportunity to legally strangle him, even if only for a few moments as she tightened, then loosened, the noose.
“Our kind is not meant to be monogamous,” she declared.
“Some of us do find the One,” he said slowly. “Look at Gavin. That means we pick one and stick with one.”
“Gavin is a wolf! We’re bears! We don’t mate for life, Derry. When it’s my time for breeding, I’ll go out and find as many men as I can…” Her eyes went dreamy at the thought. “And you are supposed to spread your seed.”
He twitched slightly, not exactly enamored with hearing his sister talk about her sex life and most certainly not about his seed.
“We are part human,” he pointed out. “They tend to be monogamous.” Why was he so defensive? He wanted this conversation to end.
Time to end it.
“But the human side of us doesn’t have to be so… staid. Sad. Depressing. Once you pick just one, all the variety is gone. Then you might as well cut off your dick and become Asher.”
The comment jarred him. “Asher cut off his…?” He cocked his head to the side and peered at her, waiting for a satisfactory answer.
“I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Thank God.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Asher has spent his best years pining away for the One. Once you pick a ‘one,’ that’s it. You’re toast. As in, all you get is toast. One kind of toast. The same kind, over and over, forever and ever, and—”
This conversation felt familiar. He frowned. Why?
Oh. Yes. Because he’d berated Gavin in exactly the same way just a few months ago.
Ah, karma.
His stomach growled. “Speaking of toast.”
Her stomach growled back. “Yes?”
“There must be a ridiculously overattended reception somewhere on the ranch. With food. And minimal conversation.”
She smiled. “Two out of three, yes. I’m afraid the conversation is what you have to suffer in order to stuff yourself.”
The storm had moved on. Hot tempers, the both of them—but they always cooled off quickly. With the deep understanding that came from being womb mates, they left Derry’s cabin and went out in search of food.
The place was filled with people Derry didn’t recognize, mostly businessmen from Gavin’s extensive circle of associates. A handful of wealthy, old-school shifter family members were here. He saw a Rosini jaguar shifter, and good old Jorg Jensen and his sons, with their fine, aquiline noses—all male, of course, for that bloodline had not produced a female in five generations, a running joke in the shifter world. Gavin had invited very few shifters, and Derry knew why.
Lilah. Gavin was protecting her from undue scrutiny, preserving the sanctity of their special day.
It was cute.
But Gavin couldn’t hide her forever.
His mind created a map of personalities and families in the crowd, a kind of sorting that started with shifter or non-shifter, then known or unknown, and finally—male or female.
As a waiter offered bacon-wrapped scallops with lavender sprigs and lemon zest, he took five in a row, barely chewing, just hungry enough to register the bloom of flavor on his tongue. As he waved the young man off with an empty tray, he searched the room with a scanning precision, an involuntary reflex that kicked in before his conscious mind recognized it.
Fuckability.
Who, in the room, could he seduce?
As he looked around, observing and calculating, something was off. Different. Strange and unnerving.
He was not attracted to a single woman in the room, and by his quick count, there were forty-seven present.
The odds of not being attracted to at least one woman out of forty-seven were about as likely as choosing Boone’s Strawberry Wine over Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon.
His brow creased.
“Fish taco, sir?” asked a barely legal, leggy blonde waitress with tits like cream puffs and skin like velvet. Big, bright green eyes framed by long, black, gleaming lashes met his, her flirtation obvious.
He took one, and as he put it in his mouth in one bite, the flavor turned from a burst of savory to the bitterness of confusion. His eyes zeroed in on her high, round rack, and he willed himself to feel… something.
Anything.
He was dead below the waist.
“You like the taste of fish?” she tried again. Derry just cocked an eyebrow, an anemic laugh escaping between his lips, his look chasing her off. Sophia was in a corner by the bar, a crowd of three men surrounding her. He scanned the room again. Eleven of the women were old bedmates, so this wasn’t a stale room for him. Once, he’d been at a party and realized there wasn’t a single piece of fresh meat among the female attendees.
Out of twenty-three women.
But here? This was… What was going on? It wasn’t as if he were going to sleep with anyone other than Jess.
Jess.
As her name ripped through his mind, his blood began to race, then pool quite neatly, filling him with an engorgement that made him flex his thigh muscles in a fe
eble attempt to adjust himself without the vulgar display of reaching down and moving his erection into a more comfortable arrangement.
It wasn’t quite the Beat of shifter lore, but it was damn close.
The most comfortable arrangement for his cock, though, wasn’t in his pants.
It was buried deep inside her hot, tight, curvaceous body.
He had to find her.
Marching past the throngs of women who once had been colorful and delicious, their scents like ripe fruit begging to be plucked and devoured, he found them gray and dismal, no more interesting than a pile of gravel.
Her.
He had to have her.
Now.
Again.
Forever.
Chapter 16
Jess stole one of her mother’s french fries and popped it in her mouth. Marilyn Murphy had arrived just a couple of hours earlier and was enjoying a quiet evening in her private quarters near the pool, just a short walk from Jess, with a massage and room service.
Naturally, the Stantons had an on-site, full-time massage therapist. And although Marilyn wasn’t a health nut—she was eating a bacon cheeseburger and fries with a tumbler of grape Fanta—she did like a nice back rub. With Jess’s encouragement, Marilyn had typed in the number in the phone by the bed, and handsome Ron had appeared in a black sweat suit with a folded massage table under his arm. Now, an hour later, he was just packing it up as the food arrived.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a session, Ms. Murphy?” he asked Jess.
She could only imagine how he and her mother would react to the signs of wild lovemaking on her body. “I’m sure. Thanks.”
“Call me anytime,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Jess saw him out and went back to the table to steal another fry.
“Why didn’t you order your own food?” Marilyn wore her yellow bathrobe from home, an ancient fleece thing from T.J. Maxx that needed to be retired to the great rag pile in the sky.
Making a mental note to get her a new one for Christmas, Jess turned her gaze to the burger, which smelled incredible. “I did. I don’t know why I’m so hungry.” She had a suspicion that the marathon sex burned a lot of calories.
“Do you think they’d mind if we asked for more?” Marilyn licked her fingers. “This is a really good burger. I don’t want to share.”
“Mind? Are you kidding? They’ve got more money than God. It makes them feel good to use it.”
With a happy sigh, Marilyn took another bite. “And to think Lilah is marrying into all of this. I just can’t believe it.”
Jess sipped the grape soda. Their mother had no idea just how much her daughter was marrying into. “I know, right?”
“I was thinking, sweetie. This would be a great place to meet somebody.”
Inhaling suddenly, Jess accidentally snorted soda into her nose. Her mother had always felt bad about not giving them as much as she’d like, and a few dozen rich, single men must look like a bonanza of opportunity. “No. It isn’t,” Jess said. “Lots of these guys are members at the club. And I hate rich guys.”
“You don’t hate Gavin, surely.”
“No, he’s great. He’s different.” And so was Derry.
“So, there are other men that are different. You just have to search for them. Don’t be so quick to dismiss people based on their looks. You can’t judge a book by its cover, that’s what I always say.”
You can’t judge this family by its cover, that’s for sure, Jess thought. You might miss the detail about them being shape-shifters.
For the first time, it occurred to her that the Stantons might not be the only family like it.
The thought struck her like a baseball bat to the head. Why hadn’t she thought about it before? If one family could have shifters, there must be others. And it would be natural for them to know each other, seek out each other socially, professionally, perhaps even marry each other.
In fact, the Platinum Club might be just the kind of place where a secret society could form, where supernatural beings could meet and congregate with some protection from outside exposure.
Who else was a shifter? Was Eva? Sweet, lonely Molly? Carl?
Her mind spun.
“Are you all right, dear?” her mother asked. “You look funny. Did you get enough sleep last night?”
“I slept all afternoon, actually.” After lunch, she’d crawled into bed for a nap, only waking when her mother arrived.
The hours apart from Derry were like a century of solitary confinement in the deepest cell of a medieval dungeon.
Well, she thought, stealing yet another french fry, perhaps that was a slight overstatement. But her body felt that way, tingling all over, cold then hot, itchy, restless. Diagnosis: sex fiend. If she concentrated, she could feel Derry moving around the house, as unsettled as she was.
Marilyn reached across the table and put a hand on her forehead. “Maybe you’re sick.”
Jess started to disagree, nudging her mother’s hand away, but realized it gave her the excuse she needed. Feigning a yawn, she wiped her greasy fingers on her mom’s napkin and got to her feet. “Maybe you’re right. I should go back to bed so I’m feeling good for the bachelorette party and rehearsal and everything.”
“I think that would be a good idea. Your face is definitely flushed.”
“Is it?” Jess lifted her hands to her cheeks. “You’ll be all right without me tonight?”
“Absolutely. I told Lilah I’d rather rest in my room tonight. She tried to get me to join that big party out there, as if I could relax with all those rich and famous people.”
“But that’s just what you want me to do,” Jess said, exasperated.
“You’re single.”
“So are you,” Jess shot back.
“And lonely. Don’t argue, I’ve always seen it, and it breaks my heart,” Marilyn said.
Mom was right. Jess felt extremely lonely. Painfully, breathlessly, unbearably lonely.
Where are you?
She heard the words in her mind, not knowing if they were hers or Derry’s.
Come to me.
It was Derry.
“Good night, Mom.” In a daze, she kissed her mom’s cheek and moved to the door. “See you in the morning.” If Marilyn said anything else, she didn’t hear it. Her feet were moving automatically, propelling her out the door into the open courtyard that led to the wing that held her own bedroom, through a hallway she’d never been in before, into a full commercial kitchen—she waved hello to a dozen white-coated staff—but didn’t slow down until she was standing outside in a covered driveway.
Come to me.
Shivering in the cold, she looked down at herself and realized she was barefoot, wearing only the T-shirt and yoga pants she’d slept in that afternoon. But the voice was coming from up ahead, down the drive in one of the large, semidetached garages. Going back for a jacket or a cocktail dress or sexy lingerie was out of the question. She had to continue. Nipples puckering in the chill, she jogged out into the driveway, rising on tiptoe when bits of gravel and ice dug into her heels. A snowflake landed on her cheek, sizzling as it melted.
She paused at the first garage, but it wasn’t the right one. The feeling was coming from the next one.
Come to me, said the voice.
“I’m coming,” she whispered, walking around the side of the next garage to a small door. To her frustration, the doorknob didn’t turn. The delay felt like a tragedy she’d never survive. Heart racing, she knocked on the door, tentatively at first, then banging with all her strength.
The door swung open, and a massive figure swept her off her feet. “What took you so long?” he asked, his deep voice setting her on fire. Crushing his mouth against hers, he carried her into the garage, kicking the door shut, enclosing them inside the dark, quiet space. Before she could draw a second breath, he was pushing her against the door and she was lifting her legs to straddle his hips. They greeted each other with sighs, mo
ans, caresses, tangled tongues, fumbling hands.
“Jess, I can’t stop—I want you. I want you.” He kept saying those words over and over, against her ears, her throat, her mouth.
“I heard you,” she gasped. “I felt you.”
He pushed the hard bulge under his trousers into her pelvis. “Feel me?”
“Not enough.” She reached down to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants, unzip his fly, free his cock—so many damn steps, and she was coming at it from a bad angle—but he stopped her and set her gently on the floor.
“Good,” she said, lunging for his belt. “Now I can reach you better.”
“Easy, love. I have an idea.” He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, tongue tracing her knuckles in that way that drove her crazy, and pulled her through the dark garage. She bumped into something hard and, reaching down, felt a canvas cover over what she assumed was a car, but it seemed lumpy and small for that.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing her shin.
“Sorry.” He reached up and pulled a chain for a bulb on the ceiling, lighting the cavernous garage in a faint yellow glow. “I forget you can’t see the way I can.”
Around them, vehicles slept under white covers.
“Asher’s collection,” Derry said. “That car there is older than I am.”
Lots of cars were older than they were. Just how old was he?
Later, she told herself, she’d wonder why he’d said that. Later. She put her hands on his belly and slid them around to his back, tugging his shirttails out of his trousers, all conscious thought falling away. His skin was warm, so warm. And she loved the curls, the way they felt springy under her palms, her cheek, her lips.
“Not here,” Derry said, kissing her as he captured her hands.
“You called me here.”
“Just over there.” His palm came up behind the back of her neck, stroking her nape, digging into her hair. He stopped and bent down to kiss her. “Or here is good.”
“No, you’re too tall. Is there somewhere we can get horizontal?”
“Too tall?” He recoiled, sounding wounded.
Smiling, she stroked his hard cock through the wool of his trousers. “For what I want to do.”
