Her Purr-fect Lions

by Jane Jamison

  Winnie pushed the spaghetti they’d thrown together around on her plate. “I told you. I’m tired. I mean, that’s what you said, too. That you were tired, too. Why can’t you understand that?”

  Bree scooted into the seat beside her friend. “Why can’t I understand that? Because I’ve seen you go thirty hours straight without so much as closing your eyes to rest all because some sexy guy invited you to a party.” Winnie had to have some other reason. Otherwise, it just didn’t make any sense.

  “What does it matter now?” Winnie shoved her plate away.

  “I just want to know.” She tried another tactic to get her friend to open up. “Were you afraid to meet them without me? Because, yeah, I can get that. Still, if you’d wanted, I bet I could’ve talked Matt and the others into going along, too. With me, of course.”

  “Then why didn’t you suggest it?” accused Winnie.

  Bree had already lost her appetite. She poked at the noodles with her fork but didn’t eat a bite. “I wish I had now.”

  “But you wanted to be alone with your guys.”

  Bree lifted her gaze to meet Winnie’s doe-like one. “Well…”

  “And to be alone with your guys, you figured it would be good to get me alone with mine. Am I right or what?”

  Bree chuckled. One of the good things about having a best friend was that Winnie knew her so well. Yet it was a two-sided coin. One of the bad things about having a best friend was that she knew her so well. Even when she wished she didn’t.

  “I guess so. But don’t make it sound like I was pimping you out. I really thought you’d jump at spending time with the Landerson guys.” She shrugged, ready to give it up. “Okay, okay. So I was wrong.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Winnie averted her attention.

  The best friend thing ran both ways. She knew Winnie well, too.

  “I wasn’t?” Of course I wasn’t wrong.

  “I said you weren’t,” grumped Winnie.

  Bree sat back, slumping into the chair, and frowned. “Okay, now I’m really confused. If you wanted to be alone with them—even if being alone meant me and the other guys would stay on the other side of the bar—why didn’t you say yes to them?”

  Winnie gave her a pointed look accentuated by the arch of one eyebrow. “Think about it, Bree. First of all, we don’t know anything about these guys.”

  “Which is why we’re staying in the bunkhouse instead of the main house. But at least that puts us in close proximity to them.”

  “Second, we don’t know if these guys are shifters or not. Which, if you’ll remember, is the reason we came to Lonesome. Or has your lust made you forget why we’re here?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” Bree hated to admit it, but Winnie was right. Once she’d seen Matt, Ridge, and Burton, she’d put the whole finding-a-shifter thing on a back burner. Of course, she still wanted to find another shifter, but she couldn’t deny the incredible chemistry she felt toward the men. She wanted them, all three of them, just like any sane woman would. She searched for a good reason and came up with the best she could find. “So why not kill two birds with one stone? I mean, I want to know if they’re shifters or not. And I’m pretty damn sure they are. But they’re also hot as hell. Why not have a little fun, too?”

  “I suppose.” Winnie sighed then picked up her plate and took it to the small sink. “But I really am tired. Can we get some sleep and talk about all this tomorrow?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Bree turned toward the small window next to the door. The lights in the main house were still on.

  I wonder what would happen if I paid them a visit? Would I catch them in the act of shifting? Or would they catch me?

  Excitement tingled in all the right places.

  Ooh, I wonder what’d they do to me if they caught me?

  Bree gave her plate to Winnie, and as her friend cleaned up from their dinner, she slipped off her jeans but kept her T-shirt and panties on. Thinking that Winnie would ask her why she hadn’t put her pajamas on if she noticed, Bree got into the nearest bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Winnie frowned at her as she dried her hands. “You sure got into bed fast. What happened to your nightly ritual?”

  Bree always washed her face and brushed her hair before going to bed. Most of the time, she applied lotion to her arms, legs, and face, too. Thankfully, she’d already hurriedly brushed her teeth. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought I was. Besides, I don’t want to keep you awake.”

  “Uh-huh.” Winnie gave her a suspicious look then went about getting ready for bed.

  Bree did her best not to let her nervousness show. Closing her eyes, she waited until she heard the other bed creaking as Winnie crawled into it.

  “’Night, Bree.”

  “’Night, Winnie.”

  Winnie reached out and turned out the lamp sitting on the small table at the head of her bed. Darkness enveloped the bunkhouse, but the almost full moon still gave enough light that Bree could see everything around her. She clutched the blanket, forcing herself to be still. Once Winnie was asleep, then she’d make her move.

  But her move to do what? She had no other plans other than sneaking into the house. What happened after that was up to the men.

  At last, she hadn’t heard any more noises from Winnie. Although she didn’t hear her friend’s usual light snoring, Winnie hadn’t moved any, either. Knowing that Winnie was a sound sleeper, she tossed back the cover, sat on the side of the bed, and pulled on her jeans as she stood up. Tiptoeing to the door, she turned the handle slowly, looked back once to make sure she hadn’t awakened Winnie, then stepped outside in her bare feet.

  Thankfully, the yard between the bunkhouse and the main house was grassy and soft. She crossed to the house as quickly as she could and put her hand on the side door leading outside from the kitchen. Although the light was on in the small cozy kitchen, the room was empty. Pausing, she reconsidered.

  Should I do this? What if they throw me out?

  Yet, she remembered their hungry expressions and knew they wouldn’t ask her to leave. If anything, they’d keep her there for as long as possible. But Winnie was right. They’d come to Lonesome to find a shifter. That should be her first concern.

  Still, hadn’t she been right, too? Couldn’t she kill two birds with one stone? Couldn’t she have fun and make them admit they were shifters?

  She took in a deep breath, hoping to steady her nerves, then pushed the door open. Excuses for coming into their home without knocking raced through her mind.

  I was hungry and nothing in the bunkhouse, aka the guesthouse, looked good.

  I was lonely and Winnie is asleep.

  I wanted to grab an extra towel or two.

  None of the excuses sounded great, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t think she’d need an excuse, but she picked one to have handy. The tiled floor was chilly on her bare feet, but that wasn’t the cause of the sudden shiver racking her. She thought it strange how she could be burning up inside, her body coming hotly alive and ready for action, and yet she could still shiver.

  She peered into the living from the doorway. Their home was so cozy. Manly, yes, with browns and blacks dominating the color scheme. A woman could do a lot with the large leather couch and recliner. Photographs dotted the walls, but other than those and the enormous television hanging over the brick mantel, decorations were non-existent. A crude wooden bar was against one wall while an obviously homemade bookcase rested against another wall.

  What now? Sneak up the stairs? Slip into bed with one of them?

  Suddenly, she pictured herself in bed with all three men. Need, so overwhelming that it was almost painful, whipped through her. Her legs grew shaky, her breath catching in her throat.

  What was I thinking? That I’d jump on top of their beds and start demanding they change?

  Yeah. Like that’ll happen.

  But that was the problem. She hadn’t been thinking at all. Instead, she’d been going on
pure, blind instinct and a determination to make them reveal themselves as shifters. Yet as soon as she’d spoken to them, as soon as she’d gotten a whiff of their scent, her goal had changed. Or, rather, expanded. Now getting them to admit to what they were had a narrow lead over another goal. A narrow lead that was growing thinner by the second.

  I want them.

  She wasn’t the easy kind. Had, in fact, never given any real thought to having sex with more than one man. Yet here she was, standing in the kitchen of a trio of very hot cowboys and wishing they would find her, throw her over one of their shoulders, and haul her ass to bed. Or to the couch. Or to the floor. Or wherever the hell they wanted to toss her.

  She was excited, heat turning her body into a sensual torch of need. And yet, she still had sense enough to be afraid.

  They’re shifters. You could be in danger.

  But she couldn’t make herself believe it. Her gut told her they would never hurt her. And her gut had rarely been wrong.

  She turned on her heel and headed for the door. Just as she put her hand on the doorknob, a rich, dark voice flowed over her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The voice flowed through her, bringing a rush of life to every nerve and every sensation. Her pussy grew wet before she managed to gather her wits enough to turn around. She wanted to respond. Even opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

  Burton, clad only in jeans that dipped provocatively toward his crotch, tilted his head. “Puttin’? Cat got your tongue?”

  Someone else had asked her that question. Her memory jumped back to the restroom at the bar and a very naked woman. She forced the image away.

  A few more moments passed until her tongue—which was still in her mouth and not hanging out—managed to move. “Uh, I was hungry.”

  His eyes, the dark blue brightened by amber, narrowed. “You’re hungry?”

  She nodded and did her best to keep her gaze from traveling down the smattering of dark hair running from between his pecs to that delicious dip in his jeans.

  “What? You didn’t like the food we left in the bunkhouse?” A smile formed, highlighting his dimples.

  How can such a manly man have such damn cute dimples? And how can such damn cute dimples be sexy as hell?

  But they were. Just like every last inch of him.

  “Puttin’?” His eyes narrowed more. “Bree?”

  “Um, no. I mean, it’s fine. I, um, needed some mayo.” She’d have to remember to get rid of any mayonnaise in the bunkhouse.

  “No mayo, huh? Sorry about that. We kind of grabbed what we could and stocked the place right before you got here.” He strode toward her.

  She held her breath and got ready for him to put his hands on her. Would he take her by the shoulders, or would he capture her hand in his? Better yet, maybe he would snag her by the hair and tug her into a kiss. She almost groaned out loud when he turned to the refrigerator.

  Damn it.

  He tugged the door open, and light spilled onto his six-pack abs. Her mouth dried up even as the wetness between her legs grew. She had to resist the urge to squeeze her legs together.

  Wouldn’t a shifter have a great sense of smell? Could he smell her arousal? If he could, would he do anything about it?

  He snagged a jar of mayo then pivoted to face her. She inhaled sharply and hoped he hadn’t noticed. But wouldn’t a shifter notice? Weren’t all their senses heightened? Would her eyes give her away? Or the way she was biting her lower lip? Or were their senses heightened only while they were in their animal forms?

  “Here you go.” He held out the jar. “Sandwich?”

  She blinked and tried to make her suddenly-gone-dumb brain function again. “What?”

  He thrust the jar a little closer. “Are you making a sandwich?”

  “Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Feeling desperately stupid, she took the jar. As she did, her fingertips brushed against his. The sensation, one straight out of a romantic movie, sent electricity flashing through her and down into her soul.

  If she’d thought breathing was difficult before that moment, she’d been wrong.

  Sucking in a breath, hopefully without being noticed, she forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He crossed his arms.

  She had to suck in another hard-won breath. What kind of man had that many muscles in his arms? Every time he moved even the slightest bit, a muscle would flex, sending yet another zap of lust to take control of her pussy.

  “Puttin’?”

  It was a silly, stupid name. One she was beginning to like a whole lot more than she should. “Yes?”

  “Do you need anything else?”

  She squeezed the jar tightly. What could she say? Her mind whirled, searching for something witty to say, something that would make him want her as much as she wanted him. Unfortunately, her mind struck out. “No. I think I’m good now.”

  “Okay.”

  When she didn’t move, his mouth quirked upward a bit more. She bit her bottom lip again, harder, doing her best not to put one of her fingertips into one of those tantalizing dimples.

  He came forward, and this time, she knew he wasn’t going to turn away. Even though she knew it was coming, she still startled when he put his hands on her shoulders. Leaning her head back, she brought her gaze to his.

  “Puttin’?”

  That’s my name. Say it again. And again. And again. “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you sure there’s not something else you need?”

  Maybe it was only her imagination, but she would’ve sworn he put an extra emphasis on the last word.

  “Do I need something else?” She slicked her tongue over her upper lip. There was so much more she needed. So much more that she wanted.

  I want to take hold of your jeans and yank them open. I want to shove them to your bare feet. And, if there truly is a God in Heaven, you won’t be wearing anything under them. And if that’s true, then I’ll get on my knees and go to church.

  Instead, the one remaining brain cell that still held rational thought chimed in. “Yes. I want you to admit that you’re a shifter. And that Matt and Ridge are shifters, too.”

  She expected him to take his hands off her. She expected him to get angry. What she didn’t expect was for him to crush his mouth to hers.

  Stunned, she couldn’t react. At least, not at first.

  Then her desire flared, scorching to a bright bonfire of lust that could no longer be controlled. She put her arms around him, locking her fingers behind his neck. Moaning, she commanded him to do more, to take more.

  He lifted her off her feet and carried her to a counter. Setting her down, he plundered her mouth, his tongue searching for her flavors, his hands scouring her body, skimming here then there. When he cupped her breasts, she arched her back, silently telling him she loved it. His moan joined hers as he moved one hand under her shirt to cup her breast.

  The coarseness of his rough hands felt wonderful against her skin. Even her flesh burned for his touch as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Clutching her hair, he nibbled his way down her neck, over the material of her shirt, and found her hard nipple. His tongue went back to work as he lashed at her nipple then gave way to a bite just hard enough to cause a delicious pain. His other hand gripped her butt cheek as he switched from one nipple to the other.

  “Please. Oh, please,” she murmured.

  A rumble rolled out of him to travel into her.

  “Burton, please.”

  He brought up his head then, his gaze piercing. “What do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

  Fuck me. Make me scream your name. Take me and make me yours.

  But that damn logical part of her now-functioning mind betrayed her. Instead, she said, “Show me. Shift for me.”

  She doubted he would’ve turned her loose faster if she’d literally set him on fire. He backed off, leaving her precariously balanced on top of the counter. The bulge in his jean
s, however, said she hadn’t totally turned him off.

  “You are fucked up, woman.”

  What? I’m fucked up? Bullshit.

  “The hell I am.” Thankfully, anger replaced need—or at least some of it.

  “We’re doing”—he waved a hand over her—“good shit, and you have to go and ruin it. Fuck, woman, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” She slid off the counter, rubbing against the edge as she did. It hurt, but not as much as the anger in his amber-flecked eyes. Not as much as the fact that he still wasn’t telling her—showing her—what she wanted.

  “Just admit it and then we can get back to what we were doing.”

  He blinked then burst out laughing. “So all I have to do is turn into a werelion and you’ll have sex with me?”

  She held back her triumphant feeling. “So you’re a werelion? Are the other guys werelions, too? Is Carol?”

  The realization of his mistake washed over his face, but his expression grew unreadable quickly enough. “I was only giving you an example.” He ran a hand through his hair, turned his back on her, then whirled back around to face her. “Get it through your head. We are not shifters. Werewolves, werelions, none of those things exists. If you think they do, then you’ve seen way too many sci-fi movies.”

  “I promise I won’t tell a soul. Except Winnie, of course.” She crossed her heart. “But no one else. I swear. You can trust me.”

  “This is crazy talk. Just let it go, okay? Take your mayo and go back to the bunkhouse.”

  The bulge in his jeans had gone down, much to her dismay. Maybe if they got going again, she could rekindle his lust and convince him. “How about this? You can give me your allure. You’d trust me then, right? Besides, I want to know what it feels like.” She walked toward him, hoping she was doing her best sexy walk. “Give me your allure, Burton. Make me yours.”

  Chapter Four

  Bree was everything that turned Burton on, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. He’d made a promise to Matt and Ridge, and he’d keep that promise. “Bree, I don’t know how many times I have to say this. I’m not a shifter.”