Bad Moon Rising

by Delilah Devlin

  Glossy black hair fell to his shoulders, and she had the urge to drag her fingers through it and feel its weight. The texture would be warm, silky. She resisted the urge to sink her nose into a handful of the sexy silk and smell him.

  His profile offered a stronger, more masculine perspective. His nose was long, barely a dip at the bridge. A Roman nose. His chin jutted at the bottom curve, a dimple bisecting it. A dark, bluish shadow hugged his jaw and again, she wished she had the nerve to scrape her nails across it.

  His worn plaid shirt was clean and unbuttoned to the center of his belly. The man didn’t believe in undergarments so it flapped open to expose the dark fur clinging to the carved muscle of his chest. She glanced quickly at the rest of him, but remained fascinated by the rise and fall of that bare chest.

  “I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to touch,” he said, smiling in profile.

  “You have buttons.” She waved a hand toward him. “Why don’t you use them?”

  “It’s hot.”

  “Wear a t-shirt.”

  “Harder to get out of. And I can’t open them to air my skin.”

  “Sure it’s not to attract the women of Bayou Noir?”

  “I’m only concerned about attractin’ one woman.” He glanced her way, his gaze flicking over her body so that she didn’t miss his blatant come-on.

  DiDi shifted in her seat, rested her elbow on the side of the car, and looked out her window. The narrow road they traveled cut through thick foliage. Under a canopy of oak and sycamore, the ground was covered with vines and short bushes. The ditches on either side of the road were filled with brackish water.

  They passed no houses, no fences, but at last came to the entrance of a graveled road.

  “This be the place,” Bobby said, turning onto the track, two gravel lines with grass filling the space between and closing around the outer edges. A hundred yards in, they entered a clearing, and DiDi unbuckled her seat belt, scooting forward to take a look through the dirty windshield.

  The two-storied Victorian was weathered—paint peeling, windows grimy with dirt. However, the roof looked to be intact. The porch didn’t sag. Maybe just applying a little elbow grease was needed to get the place habitable. She opened her door and slid to the ground, not waiting for Bobby to cut the engine. Hot, humid air made breathing hard.

  “You got de keys or do I get to break a window?” he called after her.

  Not bothering to answer or even look back, she held up her hand and dangled the key. She climbed the steps, bouncing once to test each one. No squeaks. Same with the porch. Other than the fact the space needed to be pressure washed to remove the spiders’ webs hanging from the rafters, it was a rather pretty porch with Victorian cornices beneath the eaves.

  The door was pretty too. A large, oval amber-colored glass at the center and a cat’s-head doorknocker. She inserted the key, gave it a twist, and the lock opened easily. She pulled down the door latch and pushed on the door. It creaked inward. She sniffed the air. Other than dust, there were no other troubling odors.

  “Door needs a squirt of graphite is all,” Bobby said from just behind her.

  She hadn’t heard his approach, and was thankful she hadn’t jumped. Inside, she toggled the light switch, but of course, the power was out. Why hadn’t she thought to call ahead and have it turned on?

  “I can make da call,” Bobby said. “I got a cousin at da power company.”

  This comment was too closely in synch with her thought, and she shuddered. “Of course, you do,” she murmured and stepped deeper inside. The foyer floor was covered in thick dust. She scooted the tip of her shoe across it and exposed the gleam of golden oak. A staircase, a little narrow and the steps a little high, but with a lavish balustrade, stretched up the right side of the foyer.

  She entered the room to the left and found the mess she’d been expecting. Newspapers sat in several stacks next to the couch. Every horizontal surface of every piece of furniture was covered in boxes and baskets. She reached inside one and pulled out an item wrapped in more newspaper. Feeling a solid object inside, she peeled away the paper to find a yellow hobnail milk jug. “Pretty,” she said.

  “She collected junk. Swore one day she’d open an antique store, but never wanted to sell a thing.”

  The look of masculine puzzlement on his face made DiDi laugh softly. She trailed between boxes and papers toward the door at the back of the living room and entered a kitchen. The counters were filled with dust-covered dishes in neat stacks. She opened the cupboards to find them filled with more dishes. Dust and clutter but no refuse. Her aunt had been a hoarder, but a neat one.

  “She painted in the attic,” Bobby said, gesturing toward the stairs.

  She turned. “Were you friends with my aunt? Sounds like you knew her well.”

  He shrugged. “I was as close as anyone could be. Lady liked her privacy. Liked to paint. I delivered groceries. She made me pose for her.” He wrinkled her nose. “It was torture, standin’ still.”

  “I bet,” she said, biting her cheek to halt a smile. “Show me.”

  Bobby grinned and stepped past her, leading her down a narrow walkway that opened into the back of the foyer. He rounded the stairs and took them two at a time.

  Footsteps marked the dust. Ones besides those he left now. And about the same size. DiDi wondered if Bobby still made himself at home here. She’d have to disabuse him of the notion that he could come and go as he pleased.

  Hand on the banister, she followed. She was already uncomfortable about what had occurred the previous night. And although he hadn’t done anything to make her feel embarrassed about it today, she still didn’t want him thinking she was interested in continuing a sexual relationship.

  “In here,” he called, his voice echoing down the hall.

  She stepped into a room lit by a long row of windows, facing the southern sky and the swampy forest below. As with the rest of the house, dust covered the floor. However, here no furnishings were present. Only easels and paintings leaning against the wall.

  Her footsteps slowed, and she reached for the first one she passed, carrying it to the window and the waning afternoon light. A panther stood in the center, all sleek fur and burning gold eyes, looking very like the creature she’d only gotten a glimpse of before aiming her car into the ditch.

  “He’s handsome, no?” Bobby said, with a crooked smile.

  “This creature doesn’t exist. Not in North America, anyway.”

  “No? I heard you may have seen one…”

  She shook her head. “What I saw was a dog.”

  He lifted his chin in a quick jerk. “More pictures of mythical cats over dere. The old woman was obsessed. Folle.”

  Sure enough, every picture depicted some variation of the first one she’d held. Single cats, cats with cubs, cats sitting at the edge of the forest gazing upward… Glancing outside, she realized this particular painting was of the forest line below.

  She set aside the painting and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The place isn’t quite as bad as I expected.”

  “Still a lot of work. Dere be repairs de ole woman didn’t want and heavy cleanin’, too. You make a list, after you look real good.” He tapped a finger on his chest. “I’m your man.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I can’t hire you.”

  “You don’t have money, it’s okay. Pay when you can. I want you safe.”

  “I don’t mean I can’t pay. I can.” She turned sideways and ran her palm over the top of one frame, wiping away the dust. “But I won’t be paying you.”

  “Because of what happened last night?” His dark eyes watched her, but his expression held no hint of what he was thinking.

  No sly humor, no sexual subtext that would have made her uneasy.

  “I get that you were frightened. That Breaux be the man you want. What happened was made by da moon. So long as you stay inside, you be safe, chère.” He stepped closer and lifted her hand from the top of the frame, supporti
ng it on the edge of his forefinger, but not engulfing it.

  The action let her know she could pull away any time she wanted. His steady dark gaze bored into hers, and she felt herself sway toward him, drawn as though pulled by an invisible string.

  His lips parted, her head tilted. His thumb curved under her chin, and he kissed her.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  The sharp, angry edge of the familiar voice had her jerking away. DiDi turned her back to Bobby, quickly, before he read the dismay in her face. What the hell had just happened?

  “I be back tomorrow to start work, Miz Devereaux.” Bobby’s footsteps moved away.

  Hard fingers wrapped around her forearm and turned her roughly. Mason’s gaze slammed into hers.

  She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stared back cautiously.

  “For a girl who isn’t like that, you keep gettin’ yourself into situations.” His hands tightened, and he dragged her closer.

  His mouth slammed over hers, and she felt no hesitation, no fascinated dread. The kiss was hot, carnal—everything she wanted.

  A cat squalled in the distance, and she pulled away, her gaze going to the window and the edge of the forest. The sun had fallen. Darkness sank into the base of the tree line and crept across the grass toward her house.

  Maybe it was a trick of the light, DiDi didn’t know for sure, but her fevered imagination, already filled with dark, sensual felines, found a dozen shiny, golden ovals—like cats’ eyes—glinting near ground level.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Mason felt DiDi stiffen against him and followed her gaze out the window. He noted the dozen, golden pairs of eyes peering upward from the forest floor. The clan had gathered. Probably to check out the sweet little chatte in his arms. They had to be concerned about the timing of her arrival so close to the full moon, as well as his impulsive behavior.

  Some would no doubt see her presence as an omen; some might worry The Prowl would be affected. Others might simply be sniffing around, drawn by her fresh human scent.

  Not that he blamed them. He wasn’t unaffected himself. Despite the lingering stink of Bobby Sonnier on her skin, he couldn’t resist her musky, spicy aroma, filling his nostrils with it, breathing her in. His body reacted predictably, hardening even more.

  Seeing Bobby and DiDi’s embrace had been enough to spike his blood with possessive fury. His body had tightened in rejection, even while his cock had filled at the hint of arousal wafting in the air.

  DiDi snuggled closer to his chest, resting a hand over his heart. “They’re cats, aren’t they? Big cats,” she said, her voice small.

  Mason rubbed her back, wondering how much he dared tell her. If she stayed at Gauthier House for good, then maybe the family could bring her into their circle. But she hadn’t said whether she meant to stay, and she was a writer. They couldn’t have her telling stories about the things she discovered here. Even if the tales were depicted as fiction.

  Her aunt had understood, and although an artist, she never offered her panther paintings for sale. She’d kept them for her own amusement or had given them to friends in the community, knowing they’d never be seen by anyone outside their circle. “They’re cats, yes.”

  “Panthers.”

  “Yes.”

  “They aren’t supposed to exist here.”

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair, enjoying the feel of the hot silk against his skin. “Cougars were native to this region long before people settled here,” he murmured.

  “But they were eradicated,” she said, speaking slowly.

  The cadence sounded as though she was thinking her way carefully through a problem. Mason almost wished she wasn’t quite so clever. He stayed silent, hoping that if he didn’t respond she’d let the subject drop.

  Then, she said, “Black cougars are an urban legend.”

  Growling, he dug his fingers into her hips. The woman was as stubborn as a pit bull with a rawhide bone. “And yet, one jumped into the road in front of you.”

  Her head bobbed up and down, her cheek rubbing his chest. “I thought the thing had to be a dog, a big dog. That my mind had played tricks on me.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with your mind.”

  DiDi stayed quiet for a long moment, and then he felt her tense again. She stirred against his chest and tilted back her head to meet his gaze. “What you saw…with Bobby…”

  He kept his expression neutral, not wanting her to see how angry he still was. He didn’t like how possessive he felt. Didn’t like that he’d stepped over the line he’d drawn between himself and the rest of his clan for her. “What did I see?”

  Her gaze searched his, pretty blue eyes reflecting doubt. “I didn’t mean to kiss him. I don’t really want him.”

  “Really?” he drawled, arching an eyebrow. “You two looked cozy.”

  “He’s attractive. Insanely so. But he’s not really my type.”

  “What’s your type?”

  A frown creased her forehead, and her lips pouted. “You are.”

  Any other woman he knew would have shied away from such a naked answer. She’d left herself open and vulnerable. And he couldn’t help feeling fiercely glad she hadn’t wasted their time pretending something wasn’t happening between them.

  Still, that kiss rankled. He didn’t want to let her off the hook just yet. Not when she was so deliciously regretful.

  He kissed her forehead. “All the girls want Bobby.” Which was only too true. The arrogant cat reeked pheromone. What woman could resist his allure, especially a human woman?

  “I didn’t want to come here with him, but he was…persuasive. He said he’d behave.”

  Mason fought to hide his anger. Me and Bobby are gonna have a talk. “Don’t believe that man’s promises. He means well, but he’s led by his d—” He cleared his throat.

  DiDi’s lips twitched. “You don’t have to spare me the word, you know. I use it all the time. The word, that is.”

  He suppressed a smile and gave her a narrowed glance. “I don’t mind at all if you use mine.”

  Her jaw sagged, and a blush painted her cheeks. Even in dusk, he could see how her eyes sparkled with excitement. His pulse pounded in his ears. She was his for the taking.

  She glanced back out the window and frowned. “It’s getting dark. I didn’t realize I’d been here so long.”

  He understood her confusion. His mark had left her mind clouded, her body an easy target for any male’s attentions. Even he wasn’t immune to the effects. He’d gotten through the day, but only because he’d forced himself to go through the motions.

  She, on the other hand, couldn’t have a clue why she felt the way she did. Why she’d been so aroused and willing to enter a rut—with two strange men, no less.

  Mason knew he should feel guilty for what he’d done, but he had a hard time feeling any regrets. She’d been magnificent. He still bore the marks on his back where she’d raked him with her nails.

  Her hands smoothed up his back.

  He felt the individual tracks of her fingers, scratching over the welts she’d raised. He moved his feet, widening his stance an inch or two to ease the pressure in his groin.

  DiDi pressed closer, her belly meeting his and rubbing over the aching bulge. “Not going to do anything about that?” she whispered. Her eyelids lowered.

  Her expression seemed nearly feline. Heat surged into his cock. Already hard, already frustrated, he ground his teeth and gripped her hips to keep her from rubbing against him again. “You really want to go there?” he growled. “Last night I got the feelin’ that you hated me.”

  Both hands smoothed over his shoulders, cupping the corners. Her gaze took his measure, and her sweet blush deepened. “I hated feeling helpless, but I remember everything you did.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t stop thinking about the sex.”

  “About me and Bobby?”

  “That…” She shivered, lips curling in disgust. “That was an aberration. Neve
r to be repeated.”

  “Glad to hear you have some standards.” Warmth circled in his chest.

  Glaring, she leaned back. “That wasn’t nice.”

  He grunted. “I don’t feel nice when I think about him touching your body.”

  A light brown brow arched. “Really?”

  He forced her hand down his body and cupped it around his hardened flesh. “You have to ask?”

  Her fingers tightened, squeezing and slipping lower to follow the length of the shaft, which lay against his thigh. “Nice isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  The curve of that wicked brow was all the invitation he needed. “I stopped by to bring you dinner. I thought we might eat on the dock.”

  “Dock?”

  He cocked his head. “Haven’t you been outside at all? There’s a dock over the water out back.”

  “What about mosquitoes?”

  “I have repellent. Nothin’ but me will be bitin’ you tonight.”

  Her jaw dropped just a little, then clamped closed. “Promise?”

  Even knowing the others would be around them, that his actions would be reported, he couldn’t resist her lush, smiling mouth. He fisted a hand in her hair and lowered his mouth over hers.

  He’d brought more than just the meal, which consisted of thickly cut slabs of roast beef and cheddar, slathered with horseradish and mayonnaise, and sandwiched between slices of freshly baked bread, courtesy of Andy. They sat on a blanket at the end of the dock, an uncorked bottle of red wine just within reach. He’d already filled her glass twice, but had refused more than a sip or two for himself. “I’m still on duty.”

  DiDi wrinkled her nose, enjoying the impromptu meal and the sight of the large man stretched out beside her. “Are you ever off?”

  “Of course.”

  “And yet, I’ve never seen you out of that uniform.” She angled her head.