by Dunbar, Natalie; Glass, Seressia; Jeffries, J. M. ; Banks, L. A.
“You didn’t tell me he was here,” she snapped, cutting Marcus a hard look.
Marcus just smiled as she slammed the door shut behind her.
“Good to see you again, too, Laurel,” Butch said coolly, really needing that second drink now, versus earlier.
Swiping his used glass off the edge of the desk, he opted for a third one to put more distance between them. He headed for Marcus’s bar. No matter what, he wasn’t going to allow her to see the effect she had on him. It was over. Her toffee-hued skin had always been his strange addiction, just like her long, shapely legs.
A moment of clarity was in order. He couldn’t look at her again yet. Even covered up in black linen pants, they served to-die-for proportions… and no suit jacket and plain white silk blouse could hide the package underneath the loosely constructed linen fabric. Just a whisper of her lace bra peeked over the low-cut shell and had caught his eye just as he’d turned to fix another drink; the same way his nose had caught her intoxicating heat-scent mixed up with whatever incredible perfume she wore.
“So, you’re sniffing around my damned yard again?” she said after a stiff pause, walking deeper into the office to challenge him.
“The potential situation required it,” he said without turning to address her. That wasn’t possible now.
Thoroughly offended that he was giving her his back to consider, she slowly folded her arms and stared at him. She had to pull it together. What the hell was he thinking, coming to Vegas in leather? Why today, of all days, would he bring his fine ass into her casino wearing animal skin!
Laurel counted to ten, half to stem the rage; half to be sure her voice wouldn’t hitch when she spoke. Good God, the man was an awesome specimen. Animal magnetism literally leaked out of his pores in his sweat. Shoulders built like canyon boulders… pure rock posing as sinew across each blade, just like the concrete blocks in his abdomen… chiseled back and that fantastic, tight ass of his that tapered into granite thighs beneath butter-soft black leather.
She turned and walked away, sending her scowl toward Marcus, who, by rights, should have warned her first. The fact that Marcus only smiled an apology irked her to no end.
No, she wouldn’t even think about the way Butch’s spine dipped into a deep valley before it gave rise to haunches that could just make a woman stupid. Uh uh. Not today. Screw him. That arrogant tail-chasing, disrespectful, double-dealing SOB was not gonna make her drown in those liquid brown eyes or touch that smooth, ebony skin he got from his African American-Choctaw blend. Nope. She wasn’t ever again in life running her fingers over his thick, velvety, onyx waves that became long and magnificent curls under a full moon… like she would forget all the shit he did. Butch Maverick could drop that heavy, masculine pheromone scent and baritone voice on another sister that was trying to hear it—she wasn’t the one.
“So what’s the situation?” she finally asked Marcus once she’d recovered, her tone curt.
“Butch has a theory,” Marcus said with a lopsided grin. “This is his hunch, so I’ll let him tell you the dealio.” Marcus rounded her and headed for the door. “I’ll fill Malcolm in while, uh, Butch runs it down. You two play nice—no biting.”
Both Laurel and Butch stared behind him for a moment, incredulous.
“Punk,” she snarled under her breath as the door closed.
Butch took a sip of his drink. “You wanna sit down and talk or—”
“Just say what you gotta say,” she said, too furious and too turned on to move toward a chair.
“I got a tip from my brother in Philly, and I’ve been tracking a series of hard core Midwest robberies that’ve left bodies. There’s an eerie coincidence in the increased production of meth by a strong clan that’s always had their eyes on this hotel gem. Thought I’d check it out to be sure there’s no link that could cause the family long-term problems.”
She casually leaned against Marcus’s desk to appear nonchalant and unimpressed, but partly to keep her balance. She was done, or was it undone? There was no argument that the man could track his fine ass off. Had a mind like a steel trap. Problem was, right now she felt like she was in its teeth. It was the way he was looking at her over the rim of his glass as he slowly sipped his drink, like he wanted to eat her for dinner.
“All right,” she said, conceding only enough to be civil, and knowing Malcolm would demand that. “We heard some rumors, too. We’ll keep an eye out for any suspicious activity that comes our way. Thanks for letting us know you got a tip all the way down in Texas in advance, this time.”
He didn’t immediately respond but just looked at her with a sexy half-smile. The dig had been her way of verbally backing him up, sending him the message not to even try her, and very necessary to keep her distance and to help her focus. She just wished he’d say something or argue with her to staunch the burn, but he just scoured her body with a spine-melting gaze.
Butch’s burnt-gold collarless shirt was clinging to him like a second skin beneath his jacket, thoroughly defining his cinder-block chest. Its hue was a phenomenal contrast to his dark complexion and his eyes in the late afternoon sun… damn, the man didn’t look a day over thirty-five. And he was definitely packing more than just a Glock nine in his shoulder holster. However, just because she was going into heat did not mean she was insane.
“Don’t mention it,” he finally said in a low rumble, his eyes never leaving hers, and then he took a deep swig from the glass and winced, flashing a hint of upper and lower canines that had begun to extend. “You look good, Laurel. Been a long time.”
Just seeing that slight transformation made her stop breathing for a moment. Damn… the man had made her wet her thong, and the moon hadn’t even crested yet.
“Then I’m sure you know our policy,” she said between her teeth, refusing to address the compliment that released butterflies in her belly. “No bullshit on the premises that could spook humans. No wildass firefights, bar room brawls, or anything that could upset our hotel guests and alert civilian authorities. Vampires as hostages or entities to lean on for information are out of the question. There’s already bad blood between the fila from the last incident—and since you didn’t have full evidence, or a credible witness you were willing to disclose, tensions are still high with that group.”
She pushed away from the desk and stood before him with her arms folded, resolute. “We can’t have that this time, even if you suspect a competing were-clan. I want this done clean, without a raggedy aftermath.”
He smiled. God, she was gorgeous.
“I’m serious, Barron Maverick.” Her hands went to her hips.
He almost dropped his glass. Nobody called him by his formal name, but her. To everyone else he was just Butch. And the way she said it… the tone ran all through him. “I want to know your every move,” she said, pointing her graceful finger at him.
He stared at her hand and tilted his head. “My every move?” He’d meant the question to come out more like a challenge growl, versus the baby-come-here-and-I’ll-show-you direction it took… but damn, she was blowing his mind. He remembered those nights with her like they were yesterday.
“Yes. I’m serious,” she said, her pristine enamel extending in her mouth a fraction as she argued. “I’m not cleaning up after you again. The human authorities were crawling all over this casino for months after you left the last time.”
“My bad,” he murmured, unable to keep desire out of his voice. “Won’t happen again.”
“Not on my watch. It had better not… or I’ll personally kick your huge ass myself.”
An alpha challenge from an alpha female… he was in love.
“Baby, I—”
“What?” She cocked her head to the side and got up in his face.
“I meant Laurel,” he said, breathing her in. “The history gets a little confusing this close to sunset.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “I’m not playing with you. Whatever’s going on in the streets, handle it and c
lean it up, but keep it in the streets. That’s your jurisdiction. But once it crosses my threshold here, it’s mine. We clear?”
“Laurel, back up from me a little bit,” he said quietly. “You smell incredible.”
She turned abruptly and walked away to stand by the huge windows and hugged herself. “Don’t start that shit on my job.”
His gaze raked her from head to toe and settled on her firm, round ass. “I’m not trying to start nothing.” He stalked over to the bar and set his glass down hard. He had to get the shape of her behind out of his line of vision. It was making his balls ache. “I’m just being real.”
“Good,” she said with a slight shudder to her breath.
“It always was, though, wasn’t it?” He had to ask. She was making him crazy.
“It’ll be dark soon, the vamp hookers will be out—you have options. Go roll one of them while you’re on the hunt, and keep it in the streets and not my hotel-casino.”
“So it’s back to that, huh?” Now he was pissed.
“It never left that,” she said, her tone lethal as she spun on him, her eyes beginning to flicker gold in the center. “Just like I never left you, but you can’t say the same—can you?”
Why did she have to go there with change-fire in her eyes? Shit. He was dangerously on the edge of a full shape-shift to mate her hard if she didn’t stop messing with his mind. After seeing her pretty irises burn with canines lowering and the spike of challenge in the air, her scent tearing him up, working his sinuses into putty for her, it was impossible to get the image of her on all-fours out of his brain… under the moon with her head thrown back, spine dipped, sweat running… Lawd. He wanted to howl.
“I’ll keep you informed.” He almost wiped his brow but still had some pride.
“Good. You do that.” She lifted her chin, thrust her shoulders back and strode to the door, leaving her fantastic scent trail in her wake.
Rendered momentarily speechless, he just gripped the edge of the bar and shuddered as she slammed the door behind her. It was way too hot in the room. He felt like he was suffocating. Butch closed his eyes and breathed her in deeply through his nose, but refused to pant. Man, this was gonna be a long night.
Chapter Two
Laurel walked away from Marcus’s office, fanning her face and gulping air. She couldn’t respond to Janet’s wide smile.
“Girl…” Janet said in a conspiratorial tone. “I hear you. If it was me, I’d be calling down the moon early.”
Laurel kept walking; she had to. She couldn’t even answer the comment and was thankful that Janet hadn’t shouted the ribald remark like she normally would have.
There was only one way to get Barron Maverick gone—get the potential problem investigated with the quickness, the threat addressed quickly, and then she’d send his big, burly, incorrigible ass packing. That was all to it.
Damn, she needed some water.
He had to go eat. Period. He was hungry as a mofo. Laurel was filleting his mind and his judgment.
Butch left the office not worried about letting Marcus know his whereabouts. He’d get up with him later. Cajun steak, bloody to the bone, was calling his name. He bound down the fire exit stairwell and quickly crossed the gaming floor.
When he practically skidded to a stop in front of the “Please Wait To Be Seated” sign, the restaurant hostess issued him a welcoming smile that had an invitation embedded in it. He had to shake off the temptation. Too young. Summer college help and human. Uh uh. Too close to Laurel. Human on a full moon eve was a tragedy waiting to happen. Laurel. Too much drama. His brain was slow cooking in his skull. “Can I get you anything to start?” she asked in a suggestive tone, seating him at a far table in the back. Butch rubbed his palms down his face and let out his breath hard. “Just a steak, bloody—with everything you got on the side.”
She sidled up closer to him, leaned down to show off a magnificent man-made cleavage, and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Everything, sir?”
“Potatoes, uh, peppers and onions, whatever.” “Oh,” she said, looking extremely disappointed and briefly bit her glossy, pink bottom lip. “Anything to drink, then?”
Butch closed his eyes and nodded. “Iced tea. Non-alcoholic— with a lotta ice and some space.” He looked at her and pulled his cell phone off his hip.
She placed his menu down on the table hard. “In case you want anything else,” she said in a crisp tone.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but was so jacked up he couldn’t address it. Rather than watch her walk away, he hit Malcolm’s number and waited. As soon as the call connected, he didn’t bother with formalities.
“Did Marcus talk to you?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said calmly. “And hello to you, too, man.”
“Yeah, hey. We cool? I can do my hunt?”
“You can do your hunt, but the question is, are you cool?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“You sound out of breath. Where are you?”
“Eating dinner.” Butch held the phone away from is mouth for a moment and took in two, long inhales and let them out slowly. “Little early, isn’t it?” Malcolm’s tone held a level of mirth that grated him. He could hear Marcus laughing out loud in the background. He’d kick his ass later. “I was hungry,” Butch said flatly. “I’m downstairs.”
“Whew… okay,” Malcolm said, sounding cheery. “Might try to bring that down again tonight when the moon is out and it’s better to hunt. Can’t rush it.”
“Talk to you later, man.” Butch hung up and flipped his phone shut. Everybody was a comedian.
Food. Then to the Black Jack and poker tables to watch the floors for who might come through flashing a wad of cash. Then he’d go to work when it got dark.
The moment the sun set, he got up from the card table and began walking to the lobby entrance. He’d put in a cell voicemail message to Ecstasy, but didn’t need to compromise her customer relations by having her seen on his arm. Some things just weren’t done.
The vamp high-rollers didn’t like sloppy seconds, which is how they thought of hooking up with a female vamp after she’d been with a Were for the night—elitist bastards. But they thought nothing of passing her around in ridiculous, multi-partnered orgies all night, as long as it was all vamps. Sick. Wolves didn’t play that shit. Males squared off, battled for dominance, and then may the best man tag it. The poontang was his and his alone for the night. To his mind, that was the way nature had planned it.
Butch shook his head as he stepped out into the parking lot and stared up at the moon. The cool night air felt good against his face. Male vampires were some foul entities with sordid behaviors he could never consider. They’d do anything with an orifice. Same deal with those nasty-ass serpent demons.
Anacondas would do twelve males to a female all at the same time in a mating ball. Twisted, literally. Exactly why he didn’t deal with succubae, they’d do anything in any shape, too… just like those damned transvestite incubi would. He shivered. Another good reason not to mess with that species. With the phantoms you didn’t know what you were getting, male or female, and as an alpha male wolf, aw hell to the no. If he woke up and it was male, he’d have to kill it.
“Hey, lover,” a seductive voice said in an airy voice behind him.
He turned quickly with a start. As fine as Ecstasy was, he could never get used to the materializing from mist thing that she did. He liked concrete sensory cues—like sound and hearing; something rolling up on him that had a definitive scent. But, she was still fine.
“Hey, baby. Called you.”
“Uh, huh,” she murmured, showing fang. “You’re awful jumpy tonight.” She glanced up at the moon with a knowing smile, then tapped her cell phone and shook her head. “You have my private telepathy down pat. All you had to do was howl it in your mind, and I would have picked it up as a stat call… 9-1-1 emergency, baby,” she said on a breathy whisper, moving closer as she stared at his jugula
r. “Why—”
“I just called about business.”
“Isn’t it always?” She arched an eyebrow with a seductive smile. “Even while in-lair during the day, I could’ve sent you a little some-thin’ somethin’ had I known you were in such a state.”
“I’m cool. I just wanna ask you a few questions.”
He backed up, assessing her deep cleavage and the way her pretty brown skin had a bluish tint under the moon. Her taut brown nipples were showing through the black lace panel down the front of her outfit, and it made him absently lick his lips. The black dress was to die for, and the platinum thing she’d done with her short spiked hair was sexily bizarre. She was a petite package of curves that was worth considering, given the way Laurel was acting, but he had things to do.
“Want me to siphon it out of your mind?” Her eyes went to half-mast, glowing slightly red as her lids lowered. “No,” he murmured, not sure that no meant no. His gaze was trapped by the little gold ball tongue piercing. Uh uh. A telepathic connection with her was too hot, same reason he’d called by conventional technology. Ecstasy could send images into his head that made good phone sex seem as exciting as doing laundry.
She came closer, trailed her hand down his chest, lightly raking it with her nails until her palm landed on his groin. “How long have you been carrying that loaded gun?”
He chuckled and briefly shut his eyes. “All damned day.” He swallowed thickly as she gently massaged his erection, making it throb harder. “But, listen… uh… I really need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she whispered in his ear, her chilly skin brushing against his neck as her cheek grazed it. She kept her hand working between their bodies as her tongue flicked his earlobe. “So talk to me, lover.”
He grabbed her wrist and stopped her hand, tilting his head from the delirium she was producing. “I can’t talk, let alone think, while you’re doing that under a full moon.”
