“Knock it off.” Red glazed her vision. She punctuated the order by kicking his shin with the heel of her shoe.
He didn’t as much as flinch. “Never.”
Close to seething, she batted at the arms holding her prisoner. “This alpha crap doesn’t work with me.” She warned. “I’ve already told you. You’re not my alpha, my father, or my mate. You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Raw power lashed out, an implacable electric charge that had goose bumps rising on her flesh. An explicit reminder that what stood behind her was no mere man, but one of the most lethal predators to walk the earth. She knew Porter wouldn’t harm her physically, but that didn’t prevent every fiber of her being from going suddenly and absolutely still in heightened caution. Then his teeth closed around her earlobe, making her shiver with acute awareness. “So sure of that?”
The only thing she was sure of, now that she was no longer wiggling to get away, was that there was no malice radiating from him. Anger? Yes. Throwing his power in her face to intimidate her and keep her from defying him? Most definitely, the arrogant swine. But then again, he was a jaguar shifter. An alpha, and she was so much weaker. If they’d been in the wild, she would have flopped on her back, exposing her vulnerable belly in supplication.
Willful feminine humanity rebuked that thought and ached to pound him into dust. But she refrained, knowing that would only escalate matters. What he needed was calming down, not riling up. Not unless she wanted him to go all furry, and now was not the time. So she reined in her temper and stopped fighting his hold.
“Porter,” Melinda began in a sensible tone, easing onto one of the leather chairs with a wave of her hand. “Quit being a Neanderthal. Of course Rachel isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’m not?” Rachel frowned at Melinda.
“Of course not,” Rome said, replacing the card back in the envelope and stripping off the gloves. “This is the best place for you to be.”
“But…” Rachel scrambled to gather her thoughts. “You could all be in danger.”
Back to front as they were, she felt Porter’s harsh, short laugh vibrate from a chest rock-solid with muscles. “Like that’s anything new.”
Though his hold hadn’t loosened, she gave in to need and unclenched her fists, placing them palm down over the arms keeping her immobile. A shuddering breath passed through his frame at the light touch. His muscles relaxed and the raw edges of his possessiveness and power trickled away.
Sensing the danger had passed, Rachel raised her head and found Rome staring at her. “What?”
“Did you tell anyone where you are?” A flat question laced with the clear authority of one used to being obeyed.
Seriously? Did she have stupid written on her forehead or something? “No. I’ve only told my parents I’m safe and will be away for a few weeks in the hopes this will all blow over. The police don’t even know where I am.”
“They do now. Rome’s been in contact.” Still wrapped in Porter’s embrace, Rachel felt the muscles roping his arms tighten once again. “And it looks as if this guy has just blown himself straight to us.” Though she couldn’t see his face, the prowling darkness that lay just below his words caused the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to rise. While she certainly wanted her stalker caught and punished, she didn’t want it to turn bloody.
Across the room, hands on his hips, Rome continued to watch her with a stare as predatory and unflinching as the jaguar that lurked beneath his skin.
Perfect. Sandwiched between the hot fury of one alpha shifter and the cold calculation of another. Though Rachel truly appreciated their willingness to keep her secure and look out for her welfare, she could only submit so much before everything that made her intrinsically female threatened to snap and dismember the dominant males and their controlling attitudes.
“What now?” If some of that irritation slipped out via a snarling lip, who could blame her?
“No slips on any e-mails, blogs, social media?”
Figuring it would take either a blunt object or an act of God to make them listen to her, Rachel nipped her own tongue in warning to watch what she said before saying it. “Absolutely not. The only people who know I’m here are you, so unless...” She halted mid-sentence, her eyes flying wide open as her brain flushed out another possibility. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” The last she muttered at Melinda.
“I raised four unruly boys. I’ve heard that word quite often.” Melinda smiled with catlike precision, the sassy twinkle in her eyes the first sign of her innate humor, which for some reason, made Rachel think of Porter.
“And used it yourself more than a handful of times,” Porter commented dryly as he removed the arm from across her chest to stroke her hair in a measured rhythm. “What did you forget, amada?”
“I’m not sure if this qualifies as a possible leak,” she hedged, feeling her own muscles ease under his touch.
Petting her. He was petting her.
“Go on,” Porter gently prompted.
“Well. Last night I ran into Connie and Kay at the pool.” Her thigh muscles twitched, recalling in incredibly fast detail all that happened just before the unexpected and unwanted encounter. Porter’s scent grew stronger at her pause, the musk and amber twining through her senses. An indication he too was remembering their late night pleasures.
Rome coughed loudly, a not-so-subtle attempt to get her attention where it should be. “And?”
Cheeks red, Rachel’s eyes flitted between Rome’s dancing depths to Melinda’s knowing ones. Now she could feel the heat of mortification reach the tips of her ears.
Again Porter touches me and I lose all common sense. Had he lied about the mating heat?
Doggedly, she pushed on. “Long story short, they recognized me as Ellen Patrick from a picture taken at a writers’ convention in February. Kay posted on her Facebook account that I was vacationing here, but,” she stressed as everyone in the room began to fret, “she said she would take it off immediately.”
“When did she put it up?” Rome settled into the desk chair and began tapping on the keyboard.
Melinda rose from her seat to move behind Rome. Of course Porter and Rachel had to go see what was happening as well. Grasping her hand, Porter led Rachel over and they all crowded together to stare at the glowing computer screen.
“Um…” Rachel was having a hard time thinking with Porter’s large hands on her hips, his fingers just inches away from a very sensitive part of her body. She scrubbed the palms of her hands over her eyes, trying to shake free from the need that would not stay banked. “Their first night here, so Wednesday.”
“What’s Kay’s last name?” Already logged onto the company’s Facebook account, he lifted his fingers, waiting.
“Miles,” Melinda responded. “Not unusual so she might be difficult to find.”
“What state is she from?” Rome snapped with all the finesse of a drill sargent.
It was a measure of Melinda’s love for her son that she didn’t knock him upside the head. “Arkansas.”
“You won’t be able to see anything on her page unless you plan on hacking it,” Rachel pointed out.
“Depends on how tight her restrictions are.” Rome clicked on a likely candidate and that quickly, everything Kay Miles ever put on her account flashed on the screen.
“Hell. She’s open to everyone.” An angry observation from the jaguar at her back. “Anybody could have seen that post.”
Rome’s mouth flattened. “It’s not here now,” he said, scrolling through the myriad of information, “but yeah, Porter’s right. Anyone doing a search for Ellen Patrick could have seen it.”
“Do a search now for Ellen Patrick,” Porter ordered.
As Rome complied, Rachel was compelled to ask, “Why?”
Porter set h
is lips on her hair in an absentminded gesture of affection, his eyes transfixed to the words and sites that popped up on the monitor. “You said Kay recognized you from a picture at a writers’ convention. I want to see if that picture’s on the net.”
“Even if it is, it still doesn’t link me to my real name.”
“Check for Rachel—” Porter began.
“Already on it,” Rome muttered, opening another window and typing Rachel’s real name.
“See,” Rachel said with renewed calm as the various hits were opened and discarded. “No pictures of me under my real name and no correlation between the two.”
Rome’s fingers tapped on the desktop. “It has to be someone you know, then.”
“But who?” Rachel threw her hands in the air. “And what everyone keeps forgetting is that the letters were sent to me via my publisher, before the convention, and bore a New York postmark. I live in North Carolina.”
Silence, other than the beeping boxes lining the white countertop under the row of flat screens, filled the room for a time.
“We need to switch from offense to defense.” Porter’s low voice broke the quiet. “Based on the note that came with the flowers, it sounds as if this guy is coming here. So, who’s on the guest list?”
“Well,” Melinda tilted her head as she mentally reviewed the incoming guests. “We have a family of four requesting a suite, but I don’t believe they’re the source of the threat. Two single woman in separate singles. Ah.” She paused, rankling her nose at Porter.
Porter raised a brow. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
The other woman’s lips pursed and she slid her eyes to Rachel. “One is Beth.”
“Damn.” Porter shoved a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did. It’s in your e-mail. She also requested a spot in Saturday morning’s horseback riding session.”
An old flame, if the agitation marking Porter’s face was anything to go by. Jealousy, cloying and ugly, fisted in Rachel’s chest. Because it damn well better be an old lover. Very old. And covered in warts. “Girlfriend?”
“Past,” Porter was quick to assure. “Very much in the past.”
“Except she comes out every so often to try to change the status quo,” the ever-resourceful Rome said.
Porter leveled a glare on his older brother that rivaled the most cutting laser. He mouthed “asshole,” making Rome grin wider.
“She’s totally out of the picture.” Adjusting their stance so Rachel faced him, he trailed fingers over her hair, eyes full of something that Rachel couldn’t define. “You’re the only one important to me.”
For now. The evil whisper slithered through her mind to taunt her self-confidence and remind her that a future with Porter wasn’t in the cards.
But it is now, she shot back at that insidious voice with a snarl. And for now he’s all mine. Mating heat or not. I’m going with the flow for a change, so back the fuck off.
The nasty voice went blessedly silent.
“I’ll have Curtis do the walk,” Porter added, probably mistaking her inner arguing with skepticism. She didn’t correct him, or tell him it was fine that he go hang out with an old girlfriend. Because it so totally wasn’t.
“He’s not ready to do a solo trip.” Rome seemed to be having way too much fun tormenting his brother. “You’ll have to do it.”
Rachel could actually hear the abrasive sound of Porter’s teeth grinding. “Then Rachel will go as well.”
“The Johnston males have also requested rides.” Melinda smiled prettily, as if she too were enjoying herself at her youngest son’s expense.
Porter suddenly relaxed, a canary-eating grin lighting his expression. “I’ll just take Plato and Zabana out this afternoon so they’ll be familiar with the trail. Plenty of room for one more.”
“And what if I don’t want to go out for a ride?” Yeah, like Rachel was going to miss placing herself between Porter and the wart-ridden old flame.
“Of course you do.” His hands came up to caress her arms. Leaning close enough his lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping to below a whisper, he said, “You forget how sensitive my nose is. Jealousy has a very distinctive scent.”
Outraged, Rachel shoved at his chest. “Jerk.”
Pleased with himself, Porter chanced a quick kiss on her snarling mouth. “It’s idiot, darling. Your idiot.”
Rachel crossed her arms in defiance to the arm he slung over her shoulder. Yet she couldn’t help wonder what the hell he’d meant. Her idiot?
“That it?” Porter asked nobody in particular.
“Well, now that playtime is over, there is one more. A single man.” Melinda sounded worried.
“Ah. Yes. The hotel reviewer.” Rome said it as if the man was of no consequence. “Trevor Daniels checked out fine.”
Rachel almost choked. “Trevor Daniels?”
All eyes turned to her and she gulped, especially at the frown tightening Porter’s features. “You know him?”
“Uh, yeah. He’s my publisher’s brother. Writes travel blogs.”
“Oh. You told me about him,” Melinda said. “He had a reader send him a nasty letter about a review once. Correct?”
“Yes.” Rachel nodded.
Porter’s frown turned into a dark scowl. “And just how well do you know him?”
“Not that well. I’ve only met him once.”
Melinda’s phone pierced the tense silence and she answered it with cool professionalism. “Good afternoon. Olivia’s Orchards.”
“But it’s not him,” Rachel whispered, stepping away from the desk as Melinda took over the controls for the computer. The men followed until the three of them were standing in the middle of the office.
“How can you be sure?” Rome wanted to know.
“He’s...” Rachel paused, searching for the right word. “Mild. It can’t be him.”
“Does he live in New York?” Porter asked.
“I imagine so as he works at the publishing house.”
“He does,” Rome put in. “It came up in the background check, but him working at your publishing house doesn’t.”
Rachel waved that off. “They have like three different companies. Maybe he works for one of the others, yet still with his sister.”
“Then he had opportunity.” Bone-deep fury colored Porter’s tone, but it was the glowing greenish-yellow of his eyes that warned her his cat was perilously close to freedom. “And he knows who you are.”
“True.” She nodded, treading carefully lest she enrage the beast barely leashed. “But once you meet him you’ll understand he isn’t the stalker.”
Porter only bared his teeth.
“Well. You’ll never believe who that was.” Melinda’s strained voice caused all heads to turn in her direction as one. “Rand Hensen. Alpha of the Greenleaf Pack.” Her eyes landed on Rachel’s wide ones. “He’s coming here tomorrow night.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Probably the best chicken chimi I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
The growl reverberating in the back of Porter’s throat wasn’t audible to human ears. Then again, Rachel, sitting to his right at the dining room table, wasn’t completely human, and the pinch she delivered to his right thigh was wicked enough he might actually have a bruise.
Or not. Because Porter wasn’t human either, and his beast did not like one Trevor Daniels. When the bespectacled man had responded to Annie’s question on whether he’d enjoyed his dinner, the fur on Porter’s jaguar ruffled in animosity, and thus the sub-vocal growl.
Longing for a beer, which would have to wait until he went home since the B&B didn’t have a liquor license, Porter reached for his glass of tea to douse the taste of repugnance on his tongue. There was someth
ing about the blogger that simply bugged the hell out of him. So many possibilities. For one, the guy might be his mate’s stalker—because there was no doubt in Porter’s mind that Rachel was his—and there he was, sitting across the table from Rachel, interacting with the large group of diners as if he wasn’t a potential asshole.
Another reason to rip the other male’s throat out was that, to Porter’s disgust, the guy was good-looking, in a polished, scholarly fashion. Behind those wire-rimmed glasses his eyes were light brown and full of intelligence and patience. The dark blond hair was cut short and immaculately groomed. Not a single blemish marked a face that was straight out of some old-world Norse mythology. Thank God he wasn’t as tall or broad of shoulder as Porter—else Porter would have to kill him on principle—but it was evident in the way he moved and the fit of his clothes that Daniels wasn’t a couch potato.
“How many horses do you have?” The question from the youngest Johnston male, a boy of eight or so named Alex, wrenched Porter from expounding on those murderous thoughts.
“Six,” Porter said, concentrating on the kid and not on Daniels—or Beth, who’d been trying to get his attention all through dinner. Having a former lover and his mate in the same room was all kinds of uncomfortable. Though he’d had a lot of fun in Beth’s bed on several occasions, the chick was clingy, high maintenance, and a hair’s width on the wrong side of mean.
It sucked how right Gwen had been when she told him that one day he was going to sleep with the wrong woman. With Andreas, Santos, Ria, and Bob all opting to eat in the kitchen, Porter couldn’t avoid mixing with the dinner crowd; plus he’d walk through the fires of hell to be near his mate. Thankfully, his sister-in-law had his back, saving him a seat between herself and Rachel.
He’d sing her praises later. Now he just had to make it through dinner without his cat pouncing out and doing something truly irrevocable.
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