He shook his head as if she’d said something amusing. In the next moment she was in his arms and headed toward the bed. “If you want to thank me, you’ll ignore the Tiffany lamps and come to bed with me. To sleep, that is. I think we’ve had enough sex to last us at least seven or eight hours.”
“Maybe.” Fiona clung to his shoulders and kissed his neck. “You don’t have to ask me to stay. It won’t hurt my feelings if you need me to leave,” she lied.
“And you don’t have to stay,” he countered. “But it might hurt my feelings a little if you wanted to go.”
“I don’t want to go.” She felt almost shy, which was ridiculous, considering the way they’d spent the evening. But she still had to fight the urge to hide her face again when he dropped to his bed with her on top of him. “This is going to sound crazy, but I feel… naked.” She trailed the tip of one finger over his jaw. “You don’t know my last name, but you’ve seen me. Who I am.”
He was silent for several seconds, his dark eyes fixed on hers. Then he smiled. “So look at me. See me. For who I am.”
She hesitated for a moment, then slid her hand to rest on his chest and closed her eyes. His skin warmed under her hand, and she felt his wariness, his weariness. He was strong, and his protectiveness wrapped around her, gentle and calming. Under it all was what he’d seen of her, what he felt. Curiosity, fascination, and fondness. Desire.
She leaned down and caught his mouth with hers, pouring her own emotions into the kiss. He responded with a low moan as he threaded his fingers into her hair and cradled the back of her head. He kissed her with breathtaking skill, a lazy exploration of her mouth that finally gave way to something hotter, more demanding.
He kissed her until she was lightheaded, then tugged gently at her hair and smiled up at her when she pulled back. “You need rest, sweetheart. Sleep here. Stay here.”
With the magical connection between them still fading, Fiona knew he was talking about more than a night. Still, her hesitation vanished, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a soft, sure smile. She wouldn’t leave, not now. Maybe not ever.
“Yes.”
Wondering what other drinks are on the menu? Check out this excerpt from
Last Call #3: Tequila Sunrise
Kieran scanned the floor at Last Call and wondered, not for the first time, which of the men in the crowd would be the one to fuck his girlfriend.
Next to him, Eve argued with the bartender, her voice husky and nervous. “I’m not discounting tradition. I just wonder about the symbolism.”
“You’d have to ask the owner, ma’am. But it’s a drink with layers. A top and a bottom.”
Eve’s cheeks heated, and Kieran heard the way her heart raced even over the loud music and the noise from the dance floor. “Oh.”
“Do you want to order one?”
The flashing lights hurt his eyes, and the music was loud enough to rattle even normal eardrums. His supersensitive ones were starting to question the wisdom of coming to the club.
Still, it had taken him the better part of six months to convince Eve to come with him, and he wasn’t going to leave without getting what he’d come for. So he turned and glanced at the menu in Eve’s trembling hand. “The Sunrise means you’re looking for a top, right?” At the bartender’s nod, Kieran pulled out his wallet. “What’s your name?”
It must have been an odd request, because the man fidgeted a little. “Bernie.”
“Well, Bernie.” He pulled out his gold card and held it out between two fingers, trying to ignore the way Eve held herself rigidly at his side. “We’ll need two.”
The bartender glanced at Eve, whose breathing had turned a little unsteady, before turning his attention back to Kieran. “You don’t need two unless you’re both participating. Just to avoid misunderstandings.”
As nervous as Eve was, she couldn’t hide the longing in her eyes. Kieran grasped her hand and smiled reassuringly. “We do everything together, Bernie. We’ll need two drinks.”
The bartender turned away, and Eve’s fingers tightened almost painfully around his. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “If this doesn’t go well… I don’t want to risk losing you over something silly.”
He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “It’s not silly. It’s something you need. And you can’t lose me, love. Not over this. So we’ll do it together.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze caught his, and she stared at him as if no one else existed as the bartender’s voice cut through the music, spilling out of the speakers to announce to the patrons of the club that the couple at the bar had ordered a pair of Tequila Sunrises.
Eve was a strong werewolf -- it was the reason they were at Last Call, after all -- and her sudden tense nervousness evidenced itself in a prickling wave of power that spilled out from her and raised the hair on the back of his neck.
The wolf inside him whined. He steeled himself against the urge to submit to her, to roll over and show his belly, even in a figurative sense. He was used to it, to fighting the instinct to cringe when Eve was wound up or displeased.
More than a few people had abandoned their dancing in favor of watching the events unfold at the bar, and Kieran felt the appraising weight of their stares as he handed Eve her drink and lifted his own. He knew what they were thinking; it was nothing less than what he heard from his own pack all the time.
You don’t belong together.
He raised his glass in a toast and arched an eyebrow at Eve. “Tonight is for both of us,” he whispered. “No regrets.”
“No regrets,” she agreed in a quiet, tense whisper before tipping her drink back.
The Last Call Series
http://www.moirarogers.com/last-call
KAMIKAZE
Werewolf in heat, looking for a temporary mate.
HURRICANE
Contents under magical pressure. Experience required.
TEQUILA SUNRISE
Werewolf looking for a dominant.
VIRGIN DAIQUIRI
Supernatural looking for a first lover.
TEQUILA SUNSET
Werewolf looking for a submissive.
FROSTBITE
Looking for a partner immune to supernatural seduction.
FIRECRACKER
Too hot to handle--looking for a fireproof lover.
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. Toss in a dash of whimsy and a lot of caffeine, and enjoy with a side of chocolate by the light of the full moon.
By day, Bree and Donna are mild-mannered ladies who reside in the Deep South. At night, when their husbands and children are asleep, they combine forces to unleash the product of their fevered imaginations upon the page. To learn more about this romance writing, crime fighting duo, visit their webpage at http://www.moirarogers.com. (Disclaimer: crime fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
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Hurricane
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