Rachel blinked at the understatement, frowning at the slight puffiness of his mouth, the bruised cheek and the vivid markings ringing his right eye. “Disagreement?”
“Means he was being an ass.” A sarcastic comment from a man who rose from his seat to the right of Andreas. His dark hair was caught back in a long tail, his face so like Porter’s Rachel figured him to be the eldest brother. He even sported similar bruises.
“Santos,” was Melinda’s sharp reprimand as she took a seat.
“Sorry.” Dark eyes so similar to Porter’s remained steady on Rachel as he approached, taking her measure. “He was being a jerk.”
Melinda’s exasperated sigh reached from the other end of the table. “Boys.”
“I’m Santos.” He stuck out a hand, enveloping hers as she automatically met his firm shake.
“Rachel. Pleased to meet you.”
Next to Santos, Porter bristled and bared his teeth. Santos did the same.
Rachel tugged her hand free and took a healthy step back, eyes flitting from one man to the other. She might be stronger than a human, but these two males were shifters, and obviously did not pull their punches. If she got caught in the crossfire, she’d wind up black and blue as well.
“And I’m Ria. The second jerk’s wife, I’m sorry to say.” The gorgeous short-haired woman who had helped clean up the spilled beer sidled up and bumped Santos to the side so she could squeeze in between the two posturing males. She was either very brave, or had a death wish.
Or a vampire. Belatedly, Rachel recalled Gwen saying Ria was part vamp.
“Nice to meet you.” As she met the other woman’s confident clasp, Rachel was opting for brave. Spine and spunk emanated from Ria like an icy tart treat.
“Don’t mind them.” Ria tipped her head, indicating the males on either side of her. “They’re acting like idiots, and you never argue with an idiot, else they’ll just bring you down to their level and beat you over the head with experience.”
“Hey.” The “idiots” in question wore identical scowls at the verbal assault.
“If the shoe fits...” Gwen said from across the table where she sat next to Rome.
Ria slipped her finger in Santos’s belt loop and tugged. “Quit crowding. Porter, leave Rachel alone and let her get a plate.”
Porter edged away with a wink, the jovial flirting back in place. “Better load up before it’s gone.”
Hesitant, Rachel went to the buffet laid out on the sideboard and filled a plate. To her relief, conversation started up immediately.
“I don’t believe you’ve met Bob, Annie’s husband.” Melinda said as Rachel took a seat between Katie and Gwen, which also happened to put her directly across from Porter. He was watching her with an intensity that made her nervous, and so after a slight frown in his direction, she kept her face averted from him and on Melinda. “He handles our maintenance and grounds.”
Rachel smiled with pleasure at the white-haired man sitting at the end of the table between Annie and Melinda. She’d seen him in the distance upon returning to the house from the barn earlier and had wondered then, due to the way he’d moved his stocky body with the fluidity of an athlete, if he’d wrestled or boxed in his younger years.
Unlike his wife, whose heavily-creamed coffee complexion didn’t bear enough lines to tout her as a great-grandmother, Bob’s face was rough and weathered, and was a striking contrast to his clear, light-blue eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Rachel beamed at the man. “You must hear this all the time, but I have to say your garden is simply lovely. So alive and magical. I almost expected fairies to appear and dance with laughter as they flitted from the sweet peas to the jasmine. And the wisteria over the lattice gazebo? It took my breath away.”
Twin spots of red appeared on Bob’s face. Shoulders that appeared to be able to take on the world lifted in a shrug. “Can’t take the credit. Melinda’s the one who designed it. I just keep it alive.”
Melinda laid her hand over his on the table. “Keeping my dream alive is no small feat. You know how much I appreciate your care of my flowers.”
Charmingly embarrassed, Bob dipped his head to his plate and let out a sound something like a grunt. “It’s no big deal,” he said gruffly.
Little Maddie, sitting in a highchair on the other side of Katie and across from Bob, clapped her hands in delight, eliciting a wink and grin from her great-grandfather.
Rachel felt herself relax as she silently watched the dynamics of this odd and extended family. She responded to any questions asked and, when prodded, spoke a little of her books and writing. Luckily no one brought up the subject of her stalker.
“I’m not a girly girl so it was a simple wedding. Laid back. Though we did write our own vows,” Gwen told Rachel as talk turned over a yummy dessert of banana cream pie to their recent ceremony.
“Except you laminated Rome’s vows onto a card so you can carry them wherever you go. That’s pretty girly, Gwen,” Porter teased.
It was a sentimental gesture Rachel would not have expected from the classically tomboyish woman sitting at her side. Then again, love made one do all manner of surprising and uncharacteristic things. Just look at her own father.
Rachel glanced at Gwen to see her shielding one hand from the right side of the table as she gave Porter a one-finger salute.
“I don’t think that’s girly at all,” Rachel said truthfully. It wasn’t as if Gwen was walking around wearing a tiara all day. “My dad carries a strip of fabric that used to be part of my mom’s scarf. It was from the first day they met. When my dad knew my mom was the one for him.” She cocked her head at Porter. “He doesn’t care who knows.”
“That’s so sweet.” Gwen shot Porter a smug smile. “See? Not girly. Romantic.”
Porter rolled his eyes. “No offense to your father, Rachel, but it’s not exactly manly.”
“You really want to go there?” Andreas muttered with a hard, sidewise look at his son.
“Do you carry something of Mom’s around?” Rome asked with avid curiosity.
The Felix patriarch simply lifted his left hand, a dark metal ring circling the third finger.
“Oh.” Porter eased back in his chair. “I get wearing your wedding ring, but that’s not the same thing.”
“So only romantic fools or pansies do something as silly as carry their spouse’s wedding vows or a strip of fabric that reminds them of the first time they met the love of their life?” Melinda asked, her tone dry.
As if sensing impending danger, Porter hesitated and darted his eyes from his mother to Gwen, who raised a brow as if daring him. He finally settled on Rachel. “That’s not what I meant.”
“But you said it wasn’t manly. So only men who are less than macho would do something that unmanly?” Ria put in just to be ornery.
“Kitten,” Santos said, “he was just stating that most men don’t do something like that. It’s...soft.”
Ria glared at her husband. “And you don’t have a soft side?”
Santos chuckled. “Not when it comes to you.”
Ria whacked him on his chest with the back of her hand. “Idiot.”
“But true,” Rome piped in, earning a narrow look from his wife. “You know I love you more than life itself, and I mean every word of my vows, so don’t go all irate female on me when I say I have to agree with Porter. Men just don’t do that type of thing. If they even thought of it in the first place, they wouldn’t because they’d probably lose the respect of those who’d consider it foolish or, well, girly.”
“Oh, so you’re more worried what other people think of you than what I think?” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest.
Rome ran his tongue over his teeth. “Uh, no.”
“Hold on now, before we get into a battle of the
sexes,” Melinda said calmly. “I think what my boys are trying to say is that a man wants respect, and in a man’s viewpoint—a strong, alpha type man’s viewpoint—such a sentimental action would be construed as weak or feminine in nature and thus something to be avoided.” She looked at each of her children. “Is that what you’re getting at?’
With several pairs of female eyes upon them, all the males except Andreas and Bob looked at each other and said, “Yes.”
Bob rolled his lips in as if struggling not to laugh and winked conspiratorially at Rachel, then he made a familiar hand gesture that caused her brows to rise. She’d been right. If the man hadn’t been a wrestler, he’d at least watched it. Her lips trembled with amusement.
Andreas, for his part, settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, his head slowly shaking side to side. “And here I thought my sons were smart.”
“Rachel?” Melinda queried. “You said your father didn’t care who knew about the sentimental side of him, correct?”
Because of Bob’s forewarning, Rachel knew what Melinda was up to. She also realized Rome’s investigation into her background only went so far. As she answered Melinda’s seemingly innocent question, she struggled to keep her face devoid of emotion.
“That’s correct. His family, friends, coworkers, and students know. I mean, he doesn’t pull it out and flash it around, but if it’s seen and asked about, he has no problem telling the story behind it.”
“Students?” Rome leaned forward and shared a very male, very arrogant look with his two siblings. “So your dad’s a teacher?”
“He is,” Rachel told him, her eyes wide and full of naivete. “High-school drama.”
This produced another round of all-knowing, smugly masculine smiles that Rachel wanted to smack off. “He also teaches wrestling,” she added.
Rome eased back into his seat with a grunt. “That’s an odd combination.”
Rachel scooped up the last of her desert. “Not when you wrestled professionally for more than a dozen years.”
Shocked silence as the younger generation of Felixes stared at her and the females laughed. Then Santos hunched over the table in her direction, his eyes narrowing into leery slits. “Where exactly did you say your father carried the scarf?”
Rachel reached for her glass of tea. “Well, when he wrestled, he actually wore two strips, one around each bicep. The rust color very nearly matched his hair, which he kept in a tail down his back. Much like you, Santos. Very warriorish, don’t you think?”
Rome leaned around his wife to gape at Rachel. “Your father is the Red Warrior?”
“Was.” Rachel eyed the brothers with a smug smile all her own. “Still think it’s girly?”
More feminine laughter as Melinda said, “None of you thought it girly when you ran around half naked, wearing torn pieces of my red sheets around your skinny arms, jumping and wrestling with each other.”
“Ah, Mom.” Porter slumped in his chair as if mortified, but the look he shot Rachel was full of sheepish amusement. “In my place once again.”
Rachel tipped her glass to him. “Just so.”
Porter’s smile widened. “You just keep surprising me. I think you need to re-evaluate an ‘interesting’ life.”
Rachel frowned. “That’s him, not me.”
“How the hell did I miss that?” Rome appeared disgruntled.
“Because he used his mother’s maiden name.” Rachel informed him, more than happy to focus on her father’s adventures than her own. Or lack thereof.
“Your dad was awesome. Why’d he retire when he was still a top name?” Santos wanted to know.
“Between the training and travel, and the occasional TV cameo, he got tired of leaving us. So he quit, took some classes, got a teaching degree and specialized in drama.” Rachel’s eyes sparkled. “After all, wrestling is a man’s soap opera.”
Gwen snickered. “So, want to see my card?”
“I would love to,” Rachel responded with a gentle smile. “But I don’t have my glasses with me.”
A sound almost like distant thunder came from across the table and Rachel turned her attention to Porter.
“You’re a shifter and you need glasses?” Gwen asked, obviously surprised.
“Uhm, yeah.” Rachel tore her eyes from the rising flames suddenly filling Porter’s to explain. “Genetics are strange. I got my mom’s hair, my dad’s eyesight, and my aunt’s, ah, special abilities.”
“What kind of glasses?” The thick question from Porter was barely understandable, the rough velvet quality rasping over her skin and making her nipples tighten against her bra.
So not the time or place to get turned on.
She coughed lightly. “Ah. Sort of squarish. Black frames. I only need them when I’m writing or reading close up, which is fine by me.” Rachel felt her lips curl at a memory. “I always think I look like the librarian I had in high school when I have them on.”
The bottle of beer in Porter’s hand shattered.
Chapter Nine
Rachel was nearly to the door of her suite when the seductive scent of amber enveloped her senses. Whirling around, she came face to face with Porter. A soft squeal of surprise eked out before she could stop it.
“You scared me,” she accused, putting a hand to her chest. Yes, she’d caught his scent, but she never heard him move. Had no idea he’d only been inches behind her. Either her hearing was going or the damn shifter was one uniquely quiet cat.
His eyes crinkled with merriment and she had to remind herself there was nothing sexy in the look. “Sorry.”
Her own eyes roamed over his bruised face. “You seem to say that quite a bit.”
“Only when it comes to you. For some reason you bring out the idiot in me.”
Refusing to be undone by his boyish smile and the flickering desire taking hold in her belly, she leaned against her door and folded her arms over her treacherous body. “How’s your hand?”
He lifted both up. “Which one?”
She shook her head at the sight of his scraped knuckles, the healing cuts on one palm, then frowned as his words took root. “I bring out the idiot in you? Are you saying I’m somehow responsible for your fight with Santos?”
Porter paused, his mouth pursing as if considering kissing her. Of course her gaze dropped to settle on his lips, her mind to fantasize how they would feel pressed to hers. Against her will, her nipples peaked under the soft cotton. She wanted those lips, his teeth, and his tongue on the pouting tips. She wanted to know if he remained a charming flirt when he had sex, or if he became as wildly passionate as his eyes promised.
His nostrils flared and sexual hunger ignited in his eyes. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts and concurring wholeheartedly, he crowded in, so that his body heat wrapped around her like a sensual blanket of temptation. He placed his hands on the door at her back, just above her shoulders. She could duck under his arm easily enough if she wanted to escape, but she found she couldn’t move.
“Not in a bad way.”
Her mouth dried up as he inched nearer. The dark blue Orchards T-shirt stretched taut over rock-hard muscles, as if daring her to touch and test that unyielding strength with her fingers. Her tongue. She hissed in a breath and fisted her hands. “How is there a good way to be the one who instigates a physical brawl?”
“I take it you haven’t been around that many male shifters.” His face was so close she could see his eyes weren’t monochromatic. Tiny flecks of gold glittered in those chocolate depths.
“Not really. Other than my grandpa, of course.” Her tongue came out to wet her lips and he zeroed in on the movement.
“Sometimes our other half gets the best of us.” Another subtle slid that brought him closer still, his forearms now resting on the door at her back.
“Sometimes our disagreements become physical. Part of that is simply being male. The other is the result of carrying a predatory creature that is hungry, wild, and territorial. But I’ve never touched a woman in anger and I would never, ever hurt you.” Something stirred deep inside, a type of visceral knowing that this man would never lash out at her, intent on physical harm.
Even her cat agreed, purring in rapture as his lips hovered at her ear, his words a moist caress that made her flesh tingle. “Shifters need an outlet for the power we hold. Physical release in any form helps maintain the mental hold on our beast.”
“Ph-physical release?” She was totally turned on. The wet, crazy, blind-drunk kind of turned on, and he hadn’t even touched her!
“Sex is, of course, the favored outlet.” Her body quaked when he ran the tip of his nose along the shell of her ear, his tone low, thick and rough, reminding her he was no tame tabby. Even as he continued to speak, her lids drifted shut from the bombarding sensations. “Lots and lots of wild. Sweaty. Debauching sex.”
The sound she made in her throat might have been a whimper. Her fists tightened until she was digging her nails in her palms so she wouldn’t explore the hard ab muscles pressing against her crossed arms. “I’m sure you get all the sex you want. Woman probably fall under your charming spell left and right.”
“Not you.” His lips closed over her lobe and she felt the slick slide of his tongue, the sharp edge of teeth.
“S-so I’m a challenge, then?” The shiver and shock at how sexually sensitive her ears were caused her to stutter.
“What you are is sexy, smart, and exquisitely feminine.” He breathed in deep. “You want me, and God knows I want you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to hop into bed with you.” Why not? her girl parts screamed, which wasn’t helped by the way her feline was rubbing all over as if in heat. A dual attack that was getting harder and harder to fight, which she felt she needed to in order to maintain some measure of self-dignity and not become another notch on his belt. Or bed post.
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