by Nalini Singh
Now he saw her straighten her shoulders, tuck the edges of the sheets firmly under her arms—the burst of familiar modesty delighted and amused him in equal measures—and take a deep breath. “If you would, Mr. Alpha,” she requested.
“As you please, Mrs. Alpha.” Sliding out one lethally sharp claw, he tucked it under the flap and slit it open.
“You’re awfully convenient to have around,” she said in her best prissy Psy voice, and he knew his Sascha, with her quiet strength and warm heart, was back.
Wrapping an arm around her, he said, “I live to please,” and watched as she slid out a book that had been meticulously wrapped.
“So much packaging,” she said as she peeled off layer by layer. “Must be something important.”
Or Nikita could be playing with her mind. He didn’t want to say it, knew that Sascha was still vulnerable where her mother was concerned—and how could he not understand that? “Kitten,” he began.
“I know, darling.” A shaky smile. “I know. I lived with Nikita’s politics and ethics for most of my life.” Reaching out as she found herself at the last layer of fine tissue, she gripped his thigh and peeled the edges of the paper apart with one hand to uncover the title. “The Mysterious E Designation,” she read out loud. “Empathic Gifts & Shadows. By Alice Eldridge.”
Mercy kicked out a leg and spun, hitting her target—her favorite tree. She called it Riley, having been driven to kick it after their first real meeting. Now she “ran” up the tree and did a backflip, coming down on her feet, no wobbles. Though it was closing on eleven o’clock, she was too wired to sleep. Even talking to her gran hadn’t helped with the angry pain that continued to rip through her veins.
Another kick. “Stupid.” Slap. “Male.” Slap. “Wolf.”
Fury expressed—at least for now—she took a deep breath, centered herself, and began going through the martial arts routine her original trainer had helped her devise. She’d embellished and changed it over the years to take her increasing strength and flexibility into account, and Dorian had taught her several new moves, but as a training routine, it still worked perfectly. It kept her toned and supple, something that was often more of an advantage than brute strength.
As she moved, she felt joy. This was who she was. And it felt good. A dance of the soul. One no one had the right to steal from her. Not even the man who made every female instinct in her sit up and pay attention. Her anger threatened to derail her rhythm, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
Once, a long time ago, she’d worried about her tendencies—she’d been a young teen and, like her peers, had just wanted to fit in. The phase hadn’t lasted long. How could it? Her mentor, Juanita, had been a soldier, her grandmother an alpha, and even her nondominant mother had a spine of pure steel. They’d all taught her that being a strong female was a good thing, a thing to be cherished.
Too bad Mercy had had to go and find herself attracted to a throwback like Riley who wanted little wifey at home with an apron and a dress and a “Oh, honey, I missed you—I can’t do anything without you” smile on her face.
“Ha!” She speeded up the routine, hoping it would stop her brain cells from firing.
No such luck. Instead, she began to scent Riley on the air currents. At this rate, she’d be seeing him—“Fuck!” She continued with the workout, knowing he was watching her. She hid nothing of her speed or strength, doing her best to intimidate him.
To show him the truth of who she was.
He leaned against the tree and watched her with the intense focus of a soldier who’d trained more than a few young ones. He was watching for mistakes, errors, not because he’d get pleasure in pointing them out, but because it was habit—it was better to warn a fighter in training, than have them fail when it meant life or death. Mercy knew—she did the same thing herself.
Finally, a good twenty minutes later, she lowered her speed and began to go through a cool-down routine.
Riley didn’t speak until she’d finished and was wiping the sweat off her face using the towel she’d hung on a tree branch.
“You move like liquid lightning,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything that beautiful.”
Her mouth dried out. Damn it. She’d been good and mad at him. And now . . . “You’re a lieutenant. You’ll have seen lots of people train.”
“No one like you.” He shook his head. “It’s like you’re dancing. I almost wanted to put two swords in your hands.”
“I can do that, too,” she told him, grinning at the unhidden spike of interest in his eyes. “Someday, when I’m in a good mood, ask me and maybe I’ll play with knives for you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that if any blood was spilled, it would be mine?” Dark eyes, steadfast gaze.
She shrugged, very aware of the sweat molding her black sports bra to her body, the airy thinness of the loose white gistyle pants she preferred over tights. “No pain for Riley, no fun for Mercy.” She was still so mad at him, but now that he was here, the anger was dulled, covered by . . . hope. Because he’d come. The arrogant bastard had come to her.
“Merciless,” he said. “Is that why they call you Mercy? To be ironic?”
“No.”
“No?” Open interest in his expression.
“It’s because my mother would always say ‘Have mercy on my nerves, baby!’ after I pulled one stunt or another,” she said, not sure why she’d shared that childhood memory. “It stuck.”
“Your poor mother.” He stepped out of the shadows. “What stunts did you pull?”
“Why don’t you tell me what stunts you pulled.”
He gave her a pensive look. “Sorry. I was a pretty good kid.”
She knew he’d helped raise Brenna and Andrew, but his parents had been alive till he was ten. “What, you behaved even when you were seven or eight?”
“Yes.” He watched her, so intent it was almost a physical touch. “My mother used to say I’d been born old.”
“Do you agree?”
“I am who I am.”
It was such a Riley answer that she smiled. “What you are is a pain in the ass when you want to be.” Especially to her.
“Never said I didn’t pull stunts as an adult.”
Clever, clever. Her cat liked clever. “What’re you doing here, Kincaid?”
“Looking for a cat to play with.”
“Hmm.” She put a hand on her hip. “I think I saw a nice tame tabby over thataway.” She pointed over his shoulder, in the opposite direction from her home.
“Still mad, huh?”
“You could say that.”
He reached up to rub the back of his neck, and it was a nervous gesture . . . from a man who didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. “You confuse me, Mercy.” Not said as an excuse, but as a frank truth. “I don’t know what I’m doing around you half the time.”
“New experience?” she asked, leaning against a tree opposite him.
“A little.” Dropping the hand from his neck, he shoved both hands into his pockets. “Actually, a lot.”
“Big brother and lieutenant,” she said. “Both positions that require you to lead.”
“It comes naturally.”
But it had been honed by his position in his family, in the pack. “Ever tried letting go of the reins?”
“No.”
There it was again, that blunt honesty that hit her in the gut every time. “Never?”
“Not that I can remember.” A drawing in of breath that sounded painful. “Hawke’s sometimes been able to push me back—like when I wanted to rip Judd to pieces after he and Brenna first got involved, but I’ve never submitted in my life.” A pause. “Is that what you want?”
CHAPTER 37
“What?” She blinked. “Submission? From you?” The idea was so extraordinary her mouth fell open. “What do you think?”
“That’s just it—I don’t know.” It sounded like he was having teeth pulled.
“Knock it off,
Riley.” His discomfort was cute, but that’s not what she wanted from him. “You know the answer.”
That made the wolf bare its teeth. Mercy could feel the aggression in the air, though Riley was doing an impressive—and irritating—job of keeping it locked behind bars of steel.
“I think you’d chew up,” he said, “and spit out a submissive. And I think you’re smart enough to know that that wouldn’t make you happy.”
“That makes me smarter than you.” It was the cat clawing at him, still pissed at the way he’d attempted to turn her into something she wasn’t. She waited for him to come back with a justification that she had every intention of shredding into a million pieces.
“Yes,” he said, poking a big fat hole in her balloon of indignation. “But no one ever called me stupid—just thickheaded.”
She raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t punched the air right out of her.
“Maybe,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and moving closer, “I realized my mistake.”
“Did you, now?” She shook her head. “Stop right there, wolfie.”
He actually obeyed. Hmm, the leopard thought, perhaps they might forgive him after all. But it wasn’t yet a fait ac compli. “And what,” she asked, “did you realize?”
He folded his arms.
“Body language,” she pointed out with a—just slightly—gleeful smile.
“You’re not making this easier.” He kept the arms folded.
Stubborn wolf. “If I did, I wouldn’t be me.”
“Yeah.” A slight smile curved his lips as he dropped those arms.
And for now, for the cat in her, it was enough. She had no desire to humble him—this, what he’d said, what he’d done, it was a big step. “So, you leaving now that you’ve done a half-assed job of an apology?” It was very deliberate provocation.
“Invite me in and I’ll give you a massage.” It was a playful offer from a man who, she was learning, rarely played. “I’ll attempt to turn half-assed into full.”
“I got that last time.” She put the towel around her neck and swung around to walk to the cabin. “What else you got?”
He prowled behind her. “The ability to give you mind-blowing orgasms.”
“Let me think about it.” She was playing, too—he had to have scented her readiness by now. It was getting to the point that simply being around him aroused her, and wasn’t that a kicker since she’d first bitten into him to assuage her hunger? “Amuse yourself while I shower.”
“Okay.”
She was a little suspicious of his ready agreement—Riley was practical, focused, honest, but he was no pushover. It made complete sense to her that they called him the Wall—this man wouldn’t budge once he decided on something. He’d fight for it to the death. That’s why, despite everything, she liked him.
And right now, it was obvious he wanted her. He’d come down here with the intention of smoothing matters over between them—and she knew full well that if she’d made things easier, he’d have taken it. Hell, he was a man, a proud, dominant man. But he’d been ready and willing to have her carve out a pound of flesh, which was why she hadn’t clawed him as much as she’d thought she would.
But she wasn’t in any way mistaken about the fact that Riley was who he’d always been. Smart, rooted in earth, and very, very determined.
So when he got all meek and compliant, the hairs on her arms rose in suspicion. Still, he seemed to be genuinely relaxed as he grabbed a beer out of her eco-cooler and sprawled on the sofa. Deciding that maybe he was trying to charm his way into her good graces—not that it would work if she didn’t want it to work—she walked into her bathroom, stripped, and entered the shower.
The door opened a minute later to expose Riley standing there, beer in hand.
Scraping damp strands of red off her face, she glared at him. “I don’t remember giving you an invitation.”
“You said to amuse myself while you shower.” A slow, slow, deliciously slow smile.
It said gotcha.
And Mercy realized that when a man who rarely played, played with a woman, hell, it was better than any kind of sophisticated charm on earth. Sniffing as if she wasn’t completely delighted, she turned her back to him and lathered up her hair. She could all but feel his gaze sliding over her body.
Rinsing out her hair, she felt it slick down her back, pasting itself to her skin. Riley’s arousal wrapped around her, vivid, strong . . . familiar. Her body responded, echoing and strengthening the erotic fusion of scents. It was another level of pleasure, a soft, invisible sea that caressed and tempted.
“Turn around.” It was a husky request.
She glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Alright.”
He didn’t bother to hide either his surprise or his appreciation when she gave him the view he wanted. Those dark chocolate eyes had gone wolf on her—a stunning amber full of heat. “Pretty,” she whispered, fascinated all over again.
He didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes following the lazy movements of her hands as she used the fluffy loofah to lather herself up with peach-scented soap. Just because she was a sentinel didn’t mean she wasn’t also very much a woman. His eyes followed her every movement as she stroked the loofah down her neck, over her breasts, and across her nipples.
The beer bottle hung forgotten from his hand, his erection pushing so hard against his jeans it made her want to lick her lips. But she kept up the slow, seductive show. Because—and quite aside from the fact that he’d acted like an ass, but then turned up to take the heat—it was Riley’s turn. He was an incredibly generous lover. She knew if she walked out to him and whispered an erotic request in his ear, he’d give her exactly what she wanted. Of course, his generosity also allowed him to retain control.
Mercy wasn’t planning on letting that happen tonight. Because if they were doing this—and it appeared they were—then they were doing it together.
Stroking the loofah over her stomach, she spread her legs just a fraction . . . and dipped between.
He breathed out something that turned the air blue and placed the bottle on the ground before putting his hands on the bottom of his T-shirt.
Her eyes narrowed as he ripped it off to expose that mouth-watering chest. “You’ve got new bruises.”
“They’ll heal. And I wanted a fight.” His hands went to the top of his jeans.
“I didn’t say you could touch,” she murmured, watching him toe off his boots.
“Yeah, you did.” He unsnapped his jeans. “I scented it bright and clear.”
She stroked herself between her legs, aware his eyes hadn’t moved off her hand. “Ah, the good behavior’s over?”
“Something like that.” The jeans and underwear were kicked aside and he was walking over, stark male demand in every step.
He took the loofah from her hand. “Put your hands above your head.”
The command in his voice curled around her, making her center throb. She’d always known she’d need a strong man so that didn’t worry her. As long as what went on in bed, stayed in bed. Or in the shower. “Are you going to break my trust again, Riley?” There could be no mistakes, no blurred lines here.
He met her eyes full on. “Not on purpose. Never on purpose.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m likely to fuck up when the wolf’s riding me.”
It was her turn to be surprised. “I should kick you out of this shower right now.”
“Probably.” Then he kissed her. “But you don’t seem like the kind of woman who’d let fuckups ride.”
She smiled. “No.” Raising her hands, she crossed them above her head. “But, Riley, I’ll only bend so far. You can’t meet me halfway, this will end.” It wasn’t a threat. No, it was something far more important.
And he understood. “I’ll try, Mercy. I’ll give it everything I have.” It was a raw promise, from the heart of the wolf, from the soul of the man.
It would do, she thought, her own heart clenching. It would do. Becaus
e Riley would honor that promise with everything in him. And if it didn’t work, if they were both too strong-willed, too stubborn, to meet in the middle, it wouldn’t be because they hadn’t tried. And it would hurt like hell. She knew that. Accepted that. And decided to give it a shot. “Tell me, Riley,” she said, teasing, “what would you do to me if there were no boundaries?”
He dropped the loofah and replaced it with his fingers. “Tying you up sounds like a good idea.”
“So, staid Riley Kincaid has a kinky secret.” She moved on his fingers, relishing the building tightness in her body, the sheer pleasure on his face. “Do you have a whip?”
“With you, it might come in handy.” His fingers slid inside her.
And she came.
Just like that.
A wild burst of ecstasy that swept over her in short, jagged waves and left her breathless. Chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm, she looked up through lids gone half-mast. “You didn’t even kiss me properly. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
“The kind that means trouble.” But he bent his head and gave her a kiss straight out of her hottest dreams, all tongue and demand and sex. When they parted, he put his hands on her hips, as if to lift her up.
“Wait.” Pushing him back until his body blocked the water, she shook off his hands and sank down to her knees.
His hand fisted in her hair, and when she looked up, it was the wolf’s eyes that she met. She knew hers had gone cat at orgasm, and she let them remain that way. Gaze locked with his, she put her hands on his thighs . . . and used her mouth on him.
His grip on her hair tightened almost enough to hurt before he let go, slamming both hands palms-down on the tile in front of him. “Mercy!”
Smiling, she flicked her tongue along the underside of his erection, and purred. Debauching Riley was the most exquisite task she’d ever had. Now she let the cat out to play, stroking him with quick, feline flicks of her tongue before sucking deep and hard.
His hips jerked. Once. Twice. And then he froze. “Mercy.”
