Her Lycan Lover

by Susan Arden

  “Oh, course not.” She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue in the most delicious fashion he’d ever seen. “Only it’s hard to swallow… from you’re past dalliances. Given your history, I have doubts even on the Queen’s command you would succeed.”

  “But would you agree? Her Highness aside.”

  Her eyes twinkled and a twin set of dimples on either side of her cheeks played upon his focus. “To see you just attempt this feat, sure. I’ll agree. But you won’t make it past Friday night.”

  “Shake, right now. Starting today. Seven days and then we’ll go on a date. Soup to nuts.” He held out his hand.

  Sherry stared down at his outstretched palm and shook her head. “Do the bookies know what is about to hit LoDo?” Her firm, cool grip was heaven in his hand.

  In his eagerness, he had to take care not to squeeze hard for fear he could easily hurt the slight bones in her hand. Together, they shook and silently contemplated each other. “I would have gone through much more to get you to say yes.”

  “I might have required less. But now, we’ll never know. Will we?” she asked in a low, silky tone.

  “Don’t say that.” Without knowing it, she had pushed all his buttons. “I intend on winning this one.”

  In his more serious assessment of this deal, he understood one mistake and that would be it. Final. No second chances. Not with Sherry. It had been a long while since he’d had a woman to contemplate. Holy smoke, in truth it had been never. This would require much contemplation.

  Sherry tugged her hand free. “You look like you’re under pressure. It’s only sex, if that’s your worry. Take up a hobby.”

  “I was thinking. Not about the abstinence of sex… but a real date. It’s been a long while for me.” He cleared his throat, trying to unstick the bolder lodged there. “Do you date much?”

  For a moment, they simply regarded each other. God, if only he had some telepathic skills. Eons might pass, and he’d never know what this woman had going on behind those amber eyes. Longer when she stared unblinking and bit her lip.

  Shrugging, she drew her brows together. “Not much, I’ve been busy with Shawn’s absence. And now with another new restaurant, I doubt I’ll have much time for anything.”

  “You work way too hard. We’re lucky to have you.” Again he studied her face, her expressions, and of course her incredible hot body that had him thinking about tearing off clothes. Hers specifically.

  And then doing things… the kind that stole a man’s senses.

  A growl erupted from his mouth and had him on verge of begging. As if on cue, Sherry turned away from him and canted over his desk, her skirt stretching across her perfectly sculpted rear end.

  She shuffled a stack on his desk, then straightened. “By the way. This Friday is the 23rd,” she said, shoving a file into his hand before she brushed back her hair out of her eyes.

  “Yes. So, what’s the big deal?”

  Sherry seductively curled strands of her hair behind her ear while her lips showed the glimmer of smile. “It’s Pete Karpunia’s bachelor party. You’re hosting, sweetheart. All weekend long. You’re holding the file.”

  These parties were getting on his nerves. The fun had long since departed, and the ability to relieve his nightmares seemed to be dissolving. If nighttime rolled around and he were alone, he preferred to stay awake. He kept an apartment in town and had a house—several houses—outside the city. Drinking alone was a situation he didn’t want to find himself in. It had been easier to party hard, than drown inside a bottle on a solo mission. Except now, the party part was hard to stomach. The Den couldn’t afford him indifferently discarding guests as he had done last night.

  It had always been about drinking and partying to the point his mind blanked which did not make remembering easy. And that was the point until this morning. Until Sherry stepped out of the shadows and into the daylight, right in front of him in skintight clothing that begged to be ripped from her body.

  Gritting his teeth, he set the file on his desk and played it cool. “Another one. No biggie. What do you think I can’t do without? You don’t know me.”

  She picked up a pen from the credenza. “Or you don’t know you. I get the impression you don’t fully recollect your evenings like normal people. Do you? Normally?”

  Without meaning to, his eyes widened. Damn her. Sherry proved again her skill at hitting the nail on the head. Handling his nightly adventures he did by way getting too lost to think straight. Definitely, this mindreading they had going on was more than coincidental.

  “Normally? Can’t say I’m overly impressed by anything in the normal range. In my book, it’s not a virtue.” He leaned toward Sherry, observing her right down to the flutter of her thick eyelashes.

  “Your book? One can only imagine the contents.”

  There was just no tiny piece of normal lurking anywhere near him. Not a bloody shade. And so it seemed she lay outside that category as well.

  “It’s not what you think. And you aren’t either exactly normal yourself. So don’t throw stones, love.” He took in her slight gasp and the flare of her nostrils. The wolf pacing the cage of his mind stopped, sniffed. She was hiding something and that detail that had him curious. He pushed forward, intrigued that his angelic manager might have a decadent secret. “Don’t you find anyone who strives for midlevel as lacking courage?”

  “We’re hardly in the same book, forget being on the same page of normal?” She bristled as though insulted. The truth lay in the color rising from her chest and heating her skin.

  “Methinks thou dost protest way too much.” She didn’t fool him. His little commandant of the Den definitely was shielding herself. They’d crossed into some uncharted territory. He uncovered a tiny part—unusual—about her that he longed to sink his canines into that including her body bared him.

  She lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye, defiance dripping from her stance. “Then prove it.”

  The line of fire he’d walk for a chance to take Sherry out did not matter; just so long as he’d have the chance and solve why she got under his skin. Fine, he’d lose the alcohol. Stay clean and sober. Maybe the dreams weren’t as bad as before.

  He clenched his jaw. “Time will tell. Won’t it?”

  Outside in the hall, Sherry stopped and leaned against the wall. What in hell just happened? For the last two years, she’d run the Den on her terms. That meant every staff member answered to her directives in the absence of Shawn, and even Quinn acquiesced to most of her decisions. Really, when she thought of it, nearly all of her decisions. That didn’t mean, he rolled over and let her have her way. No, he made her explain her rationales and then nodded either from boredom, or he had gotten a text, or something came up to steal his attention. But it had been all business. Never, ever any hanky-panky.

  It was lunacy to veer off course, especially with a shifter who could work a girl over with his achingly untamed good looks.

  Quinn personally owned the term badass with his Lycan kick-ass persona.

  What was she thinking? Crap. Of all the ways to get off track. She officially had done it—and with Quinn of all people. Normally in his Gieves & Hawke bespoke English woolen suits and #15 Savile Row tailored shirts, she established and kept the distance between them.

  How on Earth had she allowed herself to accept a potential date? Quinn was overpowering masculinity from head to foot, more so naked as she’d found out this morning. Frustrated, Sherry picked herself up off the wall.

  No argument Quinn burned the candle on both ends. And, she surmised, went for the middle on occasion. He worked hard, and partied harder… Wasn’t that what he preached? The shifter had most of the men beat in the looks department. Tall, dark, and brooding he wore all too well. Quinn possessed that English steely breeding and over-the-top arrogance. She was certain his family was listed in the official records book for Britain. Unlike hers. This was turning out to be a fine catastrophe.


  Sherry inhaled, straightened, and then started down the hall. She heard the sound of Quinn singing. “Lord above,” she muttered.

  He was a series of never ending contradictions. And being in his target sight, she seriously doubted it would be possible to walk away from his laser focused attention until he was ready to let go. The type of puzzle a careless woman could get hopelessly entranced in trying to solve. No wonder he possessed an endless list of dates. Men and women desired him. She had no idea which way he actually swung. Neck deep in naked flesh on too many occasions, but from all accounts, he did not give off the vibe that he sought male-on-male action.

  But what did she really know? Considering her lack of experience and the fact that he’d been in plenty of gatherings where anything and everything was a green light, meant she had no clue and best to keep it that way. The Sisterhood frowned upon caster dalliances. Her life had no room for screw ups. One bleep in her focus and the energy shield that ran along the ley fault line would falter. Her schedule was jam packed and tonight she had an all-nighter ahead in energy line maintenance.

  Sherry sucked in her breath at the vivid memory of seeing him half-naked. His hard muscled body construed a seductive roadmap composed of a series of perfectly synchronized grooves and ridges set under smooth olive skin and had her shivering at the image in her mind. His jet black hair—a wreck. Thick waves that begged to be touched, if not yanked. And God, should she go there? Why the heck not. One more image and she’d put a stop to this insane trip into the land of employer man candy. She twirled her hair, reminiscing about the fine hair sprinkled in a diamond shape on Quinn’s chest and that gave way to the line that ran down his six-pack abs. In front of her office doorway, she reached for the knob and sighed. Each image was unadulterated Quinn torture.

  Bowing her head, she pressed her forehead into the smooth wood. A blanket of heat flamed over her face and she closed her eyes, hoping to dispel the sexy image of rippling male flesh plaguing her mind.

  “Quinn,” she whispered to herself.

  The second her eyes closed, she was locked in a timeless zone where only she and Quinn existed. He didn’t stop the way he’d held back today. In this dreamlike state, Quinn exercised a type of brutality where he took whatever he craved. And in his eyes, there was no mistaking the feverish desire capable of searing her skin.

  She struggled to escape, but it hardly mattered. In body, mind, or soul, he came for her. His hot mouth connected with her lips. The kiss they shared a tsunami to her senses, wildly erotic, and her body freely responded. His large hand curled around her waist as his body melded against hers. Oh, there was no argument—she burned for Quinn.

  Her head pressed harder against the door and she gripped the knob unable to let go of the metal in her hand or the power of the fantasy.

  “No,” she exhaled, opening her eyes, and firmly stepping forward. Eyes wide open at all cost when it came to Quinn! Turning the knob, she almost fell into her office.

  One night in his bed would reduce her ability to command the respect of the Den staff and worse, a mind corrupted by lust meant she’d be ineffective in her Sisterhood post. That could potentially provide the Fae with the means of egress into the Earth’s realm. Her whole purpose in life teetered with the onslaught of this Lycan’s attention. Was this how her mother felt before she’d fallen furiously from grace?

  Sherry gritted her teeth. She had two careers. Both about to be thrown away if she didn’t watch out. Her one reason for being hired at the Den was discussed during her interview. It was the selling point she’d used with Shawn for goodness sakes. She wasn’t a shifter with out of control heat cycles. Nor a vampire susceptible to sexual deviations due to age-old blood lines. She was beyond being enslaved and maintained her own soul. The price: mortality. But while she lived, it was her volition, her desire, her choice in who she decided to sleep with or not. And so far, it had been not.

  Just as the stud services that had put the Downtown Den on the map were of no interest to her, so should any date she had planned with Quinn. Had she forgotten he was a wolf shifter? Lycan with a capital ‘L’ that went with lust, lunacy…licking. Seriously wrong!

  She pressed her fingers along her temples. That type of shifter only settled for an alpha like himself; the rest of the world was a playground for his enjoyment. He did not need to work. A reputation meant nothing to him.

  Quinn was a sexual being. Polar to her.

  Oh really, her traitor mind warbled softly. A sensual being could be entertaining. Oodles. And a powerful Lycan such as Quinn. She could almost feel the tickle of his beard on her thighs and his long tongue sliding between her legs. A tremor of excitement swam in her belly. Without considering her action, she let her hands rub the aching skin of her breasts, trailing her fingertips over her tight erect nipples. Strumming her fingers over the tips, she caught her delicate silver chain and the pentagram medallion stabbed her breast. She had to get a hold of herself and stop these ramblings.

  Drawing her brows together, she walked over to the table in front of the window to pick up her tablet. Yet the bubble of doubt grew within her throat, hovering and refused to burst. Or shrink.

  As spellcaster she’d taken the oath of a third level conjurer. She was empowered to lock her dark nature away. It had always been an easy choice and without turmoil, making her existence a relatively simple decision to live beyond the sexual cravings that brought men and women to their knees. For lust and love, her mother had used her spellcaster talents to do the bidding of her lover. It’s what had taken her mother’s life. But it wouldn’t take hers.

  And Quinnlan Rothschild, IV for all his suave, debonair outer trappings was still a wolf. And his nature knew only one law: track, hunt, and devour. One couldn’t dislike a creature because of his nature. Only a dumbbell would ignore a wolf’s natural predatory instincts.

  To pretend Quinn was a lamb was the epitome of ignorance. As a conjurer, she’d learned early on about facets of creatures, infinitesimal details, studying and memorizing the essence of life in order to transmute physical properties. To put aside the primal nature of a being, deadly mistakes were made. And not all mistakes could be repaired. The death of her mother reminded her of that each and every day she lived. Resolutely, she moved away from the window from which she’d been staring.

  “Coffee. Strong,” she said, with a blast of steady conviction. Perfect. That’s all she required to resume her steadfast demeanor. Unshakeable where sexy wolf shifters were concerned.

  Sherry walked, repeating a credo to remain unwavering with each footstep taken. A type of incantation to the wet bar forged during the fifteen steps, and there she stood, filling the coffee pot with water.

  It was early but the deliveries would begin soon, followed by her generating expense reports for Shawn. In no time she’d be up to her ears in work and able to put aside this nonsensical detour into craziness. The head chef was on a rampage this morning and would be here ready to discuss menu changes. On and on and on the day would blaze. She could arrive at dawn and by midnight, she’d find herself with a whole new to-do list of projects awaiting her attention.

  Just look at my desk. Overrun with files, requisition forms, staff meetings bulletins, new hire resumes. Without question, there was a mile high pile of work there. It wasn’t just the Den, either. Since Shawn’s marriage he’d given her a promotion which meant additional responsibilities in his other restaurants along with the increase in pay. Tomorrow she’d be at Shay’s, a Sushi bar further uptown and Nero’s Pub, a sports bar and grill a few blocks over.

  Opening the bag of ground organic coffee, she inhaled the pungent aroma of dark roasted beans. She’d missed out on her latte this morning booking it to get here to meet Quinn. Odd considering her morning yesterday. She’d alerted Alvin she really had a change in plans.

  Grinding completed. A double scoop into the metal filter and she hit the button, turning her attention to who was on staff today. She crossed bac
k to her desk, folded into her chair, and clicked the computer mouse. The screen lit up, filled with digital sticky notes across her computer desktop. The daylight hours were busy in operational tasks. The cleaning crews came and went. After last night, she’d need to give them strict instructions for the east wing. She typed one more note and clicked. Rotating the silver ring she wore on her thumb, she glanced at her calendar.

  The governor’s son’s stag night would require her best staff. Luckily this would-be bachelor wasn’t one of Quinn’s chums. Nevertheless, the female and male entertainment had been carefully screened. Sherry quickly scanned the medical reports and noted one club Dom had failed to show up for a tox screening. She pulled up his file. Too late and so sorry, but she marked him as a no-go and sent him a message his services were no longer required.

  Stud records were vital to maintain and one no-show at a medical screening meant release from services. No ifs, no ands, no buts.

  “Oh, shambles.” This meant she needed a replacement. She clicked her mouse and brought up her file on possible studs. Karpunia was a Bengal tiger shifter. Sherry bit the center of her lip.

  “Doll, when you do that, it makes everyone in the room lose their concentration.” Quinn lounged in the doorway.

  “Loitering?” she asked, refusing to gawk at his clean-shaven yummy face and turned her attention back to her computer screen. For a second. Over the top, she watched him through her lashes. Laughing, he sauntered in. A predator’s prowl.

  Immediately, her chest tightened so much her nipples hardened as though he’d done more than flirt. She pushed back in her chair, uneasy with his agile bodied grace moving into her office and taking up way too much space. He had the self-assurance to make a woman—this woman—understand he was always up for a shag.

  Dressed in a perfectly fitted dark suit had her brain in Bedlam. And it had been a while since she’d seen him in a starched white shirt and tie minus the five o’clock shadow. In the evenings when their paths crossed, he arrived suited up and quickly changed. His usual mode of dress for an evening at the Den was dark pullover and trousers. And with the dim lighting, she’d bumped into him countless times in the corridors on the top floors when she’d been moving at a fast clip.