Haze of Heat

by Jennifer Dellerman

  As for getting pregnant, her body couldn’t tolerate hormonal birth control. Female shifters rarely could. But she knew her body. Her monthlies were like clockwork and she had another week before hitting the danger zone.

  His harsh laugh grazed her kiss-swollen lips. Not smug or amused, but agonized. “Wrong fucking timing, babe.”

  With a snarl that would have shocked her had she been aware of it, she hopped up and wrapped both legs around his waist. The move pushed his finger past the throbbing and swollen entrance to lodge knuckle deep. “Yes.”

  “Fuck.” Porter took her mouth again, his tongue thrusting in time with the thick plunge of his finger. A pause, and he added a second, filling her, stretching delicate tissue to accommodate the sensual invasion. His hips rocked into her, unyielding masculine hardness against feminine softness. His erection created an unrelenting friction over her clit that had her writhing in his arms, driving down over his body, meeting thrust for thrust.

  The hunger inside her was blazing out of control. His fingers plunged, stretching, stroking her intimately, filling her, rubbing all the right spots so that she clamped greedily around him as the tension inside her grew heavier, hotter.

  Her breath was coming faster now, a rough hitch of sound as his lips left hers and descended to her breast. Through the damp material of her tank-style swim top, the heat of his mouth enveloped her, his tongue flicking the pouting nipple with rough finesse, as if he too were a little crazed.

  “Yes. Ohhh.” She trembled, urging him on with a gasp of his name. She wanted everything he could give her. Every little thing so that she would have no wonders or regrets.

  Her body shaking now, she arched into him, pressing impossibly closer, harder, to all that delicious friction that was taking her ever closer to the abyss. Her legs tightened, her muscles tensed, and the sharp edge of his teeth grazed her nipple.

  From the slight pain, the pleasure ripped through her and she came, holding on for dear life as she rode the waves of her orgasm, her cry cut off and swallowed by his mouth. The rapid pumping of his hips stretched her climax until she couldn’t stand the requisite sensations any longer. It was too much.

  He stiffened against her, a rough growl caught in the back of his throat, his body now shuddering in her limp embrace. Then suddenly she was falling.

  Still riding high from the mind-blowing orgasm, she wasn’t prepared to be dropped like a hot potato, or to sink to her butt in the cool depths of the pool. She came up sputtering, wiping her eyes clear of water. Spinning, she looked for Porter, wandering what the hell happened, but he was gone.

  She barely had time to process the empty room when the lights went on. Flipping around as fast as the resistant water would allow, she blinked rapidly in the bright lights, staring in a stupor at the two older women who peered back. The widowed sisters, guests as of yesterday, were both dressed in long robes, carried towels, and wore identical looks of surprise.

  “Oh, my,” Connie Worten finally said. “Sorry. We didn’t realize anyone was in here.” She looked about the room with curiosity. Her long mane of pure gray hair swung in a low ponytail.

  “You’re not here alone?” This from Kay Miles, who narrowed her brown eyes in suspicion. In contrast to her sister, her hair was short, permed, and dyed an orange-red that defied anything natural. “The lights were off.”

  Rachel could have very cheerfully drowned herself. It was apparent the two older women thought Rachel had come down here for a midnight rendezvous. While that hadn’t been her intention, it had most definitely been the outcome.

  And the gentleman in question had bailed. Nice.

  Rachel cleared her throat, her body still tingling with aftershocks of pleasure, making her voice a touch uneven. “I was just enjoying the stars. They’re so bright here.”

  Connie was still looking around, as if she didn’t quite believe Rachel, and because of it, Rachel made sure she didn’t glance out toward the exterior end of the pool, where Porter was no doubt making his escape. In that instant, the whole situation took on a humorous bent and she went to her knees to hide the lower part of her face in the water, and her twitching lips.

  “True.” Kay shuffled over and set the fluffy white towel on a chaise lounge. “But my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I might trip over my own feet if I don’t have the lights on. Sorry.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Nope. That’s quite all right. I was, ah—” she strained to hear any sound from outside, but caught nothing, “just finished. Using the pool, I mean.” She swallowed a near spurt of laughter thinking about Porter snatching up his clothes and hot-footing it over the back yard in a pair of soaking-wet boxers, his clothes and boots bundled in his arms.

  Oh, God! The cameras!

  Gut-splitting laughter threatened and she bit her lip. Hard. “You two are down here late.” She hoped they mistook the merriment in her voice as friendly chatter.

  “Kay’s arthritis is acting up and we thought the Jacuzzi might help,” Connie said as she dropped her towel on a chair and disrobed, revealing a solid black one-piece bathing suit with the cutest skirt.

  “Just announce it to the world,” Kay muttered, disrobing. Her suit was a one-piece as well, swirling with mad splashes of red, orange, and yellow so vibrant that the woman probably glowed in the dark.

  “I hardly think Rachel constitutes the world, Kay,” Connie assured her sister, moving to a raised display by the smaller pool of water and switching on the Jacuzzi. “Besides, unlike some people, she can obviously keep a secret.”

  That out-of-the-blue announcement had Rachel’s brows rising high. “I can?”

  “Sure.” Connie’s head bobbed as Kay stepped carefully into the hot, bubbling waters. “You’re Ellen Patrick, author of the Reed and Evangeline Sterling series.” Missing Rachel’s gaping shock, Connie slipped in across from Kay. “We recognized you last night.”

  “How?” A choked question.

  “Romance Digest,” Kay told her. “It had a photo of you speaking with another author at the February Romance Writers’ convention in Richmond. I must say it was nice to put a face to an author we enjoy reading.”

  Rachel remembered that convention. Since her books were in electronic format, she didn’t have a table or do a meet-and-greet. The purpose behind the trip was to meet her publisher in person and possibly garner some advice from other authors. Her first ever convention had made her almost dizzy with the press of people and cheery atmosphere. It had been a blast and, for an introvert, terrifying at the same time.

  Of course she’d do it again.

  Kay’s distressing revelation had Rachel re-think her stalker problem. Then she dismissed it. The photo had tagged her as Ellen Patrick, not Rachel Laversse, and there was no way to link the two outside of word of mouth. Any correspondence addressed to Ellen that her publisher received were put into a manila envelope and sent to Rachel’s address in Rachel’s name. Again, no link outside her publisher or editor. Both females.

  “And you recognized me from a photo?”

  “We weren’t positive until we checked the Web. There were actually several photos of the convention,” Kay pointed out. “Reporters, authors, hotel staff, and, of course, the attendees. Several people even have YouTube videos they took on their phones. The Internet is so informative.”

  Rachel’s legs felt like rubber. Fabulous. Simply fabulous. So it wasn’t just one obscure photo? She could only hope the videos didn’t have that many hits. She’d have to call the Asheville police tomorrow and tell them about all this exposure she’d never known existed. It was a long shot that only broadened the base of suspects.

  Except, the logical part of her brain reminded her, the letters started before the convention.

  With a sigh, Rachel rose from the pool and collected her own towel to dry off. She flicked a glance at the glass wall, w
hich, of course, only reflected the interior of the room.

  “Thank you for not bringing it up in front of the others.” Rachel’s smile was shaky as she eyed the two women. “I’m just here for some R & R.”

  Connie lifted a hand out of the water and smacked her sister’s arm. “Told you not to put that on Facebook.”

  Rachel’s heart sank. “Put what on Facebook?”

  Kay squirmed. “Just how exciting it was to have a writer staying at the same place Connie and I are staying at. But it’s only a bunch of old ladies who see it,” Kay rushed to add. “And some family.”

  Rachel rubbed her temple where a headache was beginning to brew. “You didn’t say what my real name was?”

  “No! Of course not.” Kay straightened.

  “Because I wouldn’t let her.” Connie shot a fulminating glare at Kay. “Always have to be the first to know and the first to spread gossip. That’s a sin, you know. Pride cometh before the fall.”

  So would a swift, shifter-strength swat. But this was an old lady and Rachel couldn’t knock some sense into that dyed head of hers. No matter how much she wanted to.

  Either Rachel’s sigh this time was extremely audible or Kay lost the battle of the sibling-stare, because she told Rachel, “I’ll delete the post.”

  Rachel nodded. “I’d appreciate it. I’m having some...personal issues. And until it gets straightened out, the less people who know where I am the better.”

  Kay’s eyes widened. “Man troubles?’

  “Stop it,” Connie snapped. “It’s none of your never-mind, Kay Eugenie Wilson Miles.”

  “Sorry.” Kay’s shoulders sunk. “Habit. It’s just that your life must be so much more exciting than mine.”

  Rachel couldn’t help it. She laughed, because where had she heard that before? Me, that’s who. “I sit in front of a computer and type. Hardly exciting.” She slipped on her sandals, recounting tidbits of Kay’s life which she’d willingly disclosed over the three meals they’d shared so far. “You, on the other hand, have been married, raised kids, and lived in Germany, France, and England when your husband was in the Army. You waited and worried and took care of those kids when he was in Vietnam, and cheered and loved and laughed when he finally came home. Personally, you’ve led a much more interesting life than I have.” Outside of being a shifter, but she couldn’t tell them that.

  Kay looked thoughtful, her orange-red curls bobbing as she nodded. “True.” Her face brightened. “Maybe I should write a memoir!”

  Connie threw up her hands. “Great. If you’re published, there’ll be no putting up with you.”

  “Even if you’re not,” Rachel said, wrapping the towel around her body in preparation to leave, “it would be a wonderful gift to your children.” She’d been bugging her parents to do the same for years to no avail.

  “Even better,” Kay exclaimed, looking at Connie with wide eyes. “If you help me, I’ll help you. The kids would get a kick out of knowing what a hippie you were. Why, you’ve even been arrested for indecent exposure.”

  Rachel swung back around to goggle at the mostly sedate Connie. “Indecent exposure?”

  Connie shook her head, but the smile on her mouth was telling. “Woodstock. 1969.”

  Rachel laughed again. “You two have got to write your memoirs now. You’re a part of history.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Whatever feeling was buzzing through Rachel the following morning had to be more than simple sexual attraction. She wasn’t an obsessive person, though she fully admitted to being an imaginative one. But never could she have imagined last night’s hot and totally out-of-character encounter with Porter in the pool.

  She’d pushed his buttons until he’d practically mauled her, and she’d loved every scorching second. And making out in a public place where anyone could—and nearly did!—catch them? Another deviation. She wasn’t into exhibition! Even more mortifying was the memory of her practically begging Porter for sex. She’d even dismissed the need for protection just so he’d assuage the physical hunger turning her into a sex-starved lunatic!

  At the little table in her suite, she slid off her glasses, dropped her head in her hands, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “What is wrong with me?” Because she was already primed for another go-around with Porter. Hell, if she had a tail, she’d twitch it under his nose to get his attention.

  “Like a cat in heat,” she muttered, completely at sea as to why she was too restless, too needy to work.

  And like a switch, every muscle went taut. Slowly raising her head, she stared at the laptop screen, open to the last page of her most recent novel. Not that she’d done much in the hour since breakfast.

  As the word “heat” sank in, her lips formed the denial before any sound came out. When her voice finally emerged, it was a nullifying chant, paired with apprehension and the rapid tattooing of her fingers on the wood surface. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

  The mating heat. A very real possibility. Rachel’s spine hit the back of the chair. Digging fingers through her hair, she dislodged the large clip on her crown and it fell unheeded to the carpeted floor. Silky strands fell over her clenched fists.

  Yes.

  Shoving abruptly from the table, she began to pace the living area, from the main door to the bedroom door and back again, desperately trying to block out the feline affirmation in her head. Of course she knew about the mating heat, thanks to Bethany, but knowing wasn’t the same as living. Her aunt had married a human she’d fallen in love with, not a shifter. As far as Rachel knew, Bethany never experienced mating heat. None of the females in her family had.

  Bypassing the table once again, she scooped up a lone banana and peeled.

  So who could she ask for verification? The only person Rachel knew well-versed in the mating heat phenomena was Melinda, and that belief was backed up by her four shifting sons. Yet there was no way Rachel would speak with her hostess about it. She’d dumped enough personal angst on the woman already.

  Not to mention, the other individual in this potential catastrophe was Melinda’s son. Talk about ick.

  She took a huge bite of the pale fruit and chewed thoughtfully. Gwen and Ria were both married to shifters, but that didn’t mean they were mates. Just like her aunt, they could have gotten together out of love and not chemistry.

  Which meant Rachel only had one option. Porter.

  Porter.

  “That’s it. You’re getting muzzled,” Rachel threatened around a mouthful of banana. “And Porter is not our mate, so forget it.”

  At the living room window, Rachel took another bite, flicked open the blinds, and looked out. While she could only see a small section of the barn, the corral was completely visible, as were the horses milling around the open area. Contemplating the unappealing task of asking Porter about the mating heat—a rather ridiculous notion, because if she was more than willing to be physically intimate with him, she should be able to speak about intimate things with him—she watched two of the horses playing with a giant ball.

  For a moment, the sight brought a smile to her lips. Then they turned down. She began counting. “Six. There are six horses out there. I know about Plato, but who’s that red one? Another student?”

  It dawned then. She had a perfect excuse to seek him out. Surely she could come up with a way to fit the subject in. Right?

  She gulped down the last of the banana, tossed the peel, and rinsed her hands. Her hair she fastened into a modified French twist, securing it with the clip she picked up off the floor. Plucking the key card from the table, she slipped it in the pocket of her lightweight tan shorts, tugged at the hem of her airy lavender top, and stepped out into the hallway.

  Where she literally bumped into Katie, who was walking by. She grabbed the younger woman’s arms before she tumbled
back into the opposite wall, both of them exclaiming, “Sorry!”

  “I didn’t hear your door open.” Katie’s easy and almost always present smile graced her face. “Everything all right with your room?”

  “Yes. Thanks. I, ah, just thought I’d go out for some air.”

  Thankfully Katie didn’t bring up the fact that Rachel could get air by the simple and most expedient task of opening the sliding glass door in the bedroom and stepping out onto the balcony.

  Instead, the young mother nodded and resumed walking toward the stairs, Rachel at her side. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk. Between the cloud cover and breeze, it’s not hot at all. Just don’t stay out long. Forecast is calling for rain this afternoon.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Rachel paused, staring curiously at a small device in Katie’s right ear. It looked like a hearing aid, but Rachel didn’t recall seeing it in Katie’s ear before.

  Seeing the shift in Rachel’s visual attention, Katie pointed at it. “It’s a baby monitor.”

  “Really?” Fascinated, Rachel’s eyes went wide and drifted back to the tiny device. “It’s so small. I never dreamed they made one you could put in your ear.”

  “They don’t.” Katie’s eyes sparkled. “It’s basically some super-duper secret spyware gadget that Rome rigged up for me as a baby monitor. It’s so sensitive I can hearing Maddie breathing better than if I were standing over her crib.”

  “Nice.” They moved as one through the dining room. “So she’s taking a nap?”

  “Uh-huh. I was just leaving our room when I ran into you.”

  Though Rachel hadn’t really thought of it before, Katie’s words had her doing a double-take. “You live in one of the suites?”

  Katie nodded, pushing through the swinging doors that opened into the kitchen. A pristine and empty kitchen. “Yeah. Melinda made an offer I couldn’t refuse, though I did at first because I didn’t want to take a room intended for a paying guest. But she convinced me by pitting my weaknesses against me. Maddie would always be close by, I’m surrounded by potential babysitters, and best of all, we live right on top of my grandparents.”