by Seere, Diana
* * *
Sam looked into Asher’s eyes and heard the steady rhythm of her heart moving in step with his. As different as they were in spirit and in body, they were united by this one, steady force.
She ached to touch him, knowing the contact would ignite the low flame that burned for him day and night. If this was the Beat, it was more beautiful than she’d dreamed.
But was it really anything more than basic attraction? Was it more than the common biological urge to procreate that struck even the most simple, mindless organisms on the planet? Sam had never been in love and so had been somewhat contemptuous of friends in school or at work who had made terrible decisions because they’d wanted a particular person in bed. She’d told them they only thought it was a unique, spiritual bond, when really it was biochemistry—although to a biochemist, that was a beautiful thing. In fact, chemistry was the love of her life.
Or it had been.
Now her chemistry was pushing her into the arms of this man who seemed to be asking for her help in denying him the thing, the person, her, he wanted. He desired her but didn’t enjoy the experience. In fact, his desire was torturing him. He was begging her to stop him from having her, begging her to push him away.
But her chemistry wanted the opposite.
He held her elbow, keeping her from falling—or was it to keep her at arm’s length?
“Zach is right on the other side of that door,” she said. “He might see us.”
She’d said it to help Asher regain control of himself without her having to directly reject him. To reject Asher when his shining blue eyes were rich with emotion, pleading with her to give him the denial he wanted and didn’t want, was beyond her strength.
“Good point,” Asher said, turning her toward the door. “We’ll go elsewhere.”
She put a hand on her lab coat. “But—I was talking—Zach—”
His grip on her elbow tightened. “Talk to me instead,” he growled in her ear as he pushed her through the door to the outside.
The spring day was warm, smelling of damp earth, green grass, wildflowers. She couldn’t remember ever smelling so many distinct scents, like suddenly tasting each individual ingredient in a cake: egg, sugar, flour. Her hearing was unusually acute as well, allowing her to notice the splashing of the ducks’ wings on the surface of the lake as well as the paddling of their feet beneath the waves.
That had to be her imagination, of course. The ear infections as a child had left her half-deaf in one ear, and nobody could’ve determined what was splashing on the lake from this far away, on the other side of the massive house and outbuildings. In fact, it wouldn’t be possible for her to hear anything on the lake at all. It had to be a sprinkler system, or somebody washing a car.
As if on cue, she felt the tingle of the old, familiar pain in her left ear. All the air travel she’d taken recently must’ve irritated it. But it was strange to have it throbbing again now, after so many years…
“This way, Samantha,” Asher said, pulling her out of her daze to join him on a newly laid walkway in front of a detached five-car garage. The doors were decorative yet state-of-the-art, suggesting outrageous wealth.
“You want me to see your etchings?” Sam asked, trying to laugh. Wasn’t that the excuse a man would use in the old days to get a woman into his apartment?
“Not quite,” he said, snaking his hand around her waist. Their hips bumped together, driving her imagination into wild heights.
What I would do with this man…
What I would do to this man…
He released her to enter a security code on a keypad. Another device scanned his palm, then his retina. Finally there was a click, and he pushed open a small door on the side of the garage, gesturing her ahead.
He came up behind her but didn’t take her hand, her elbow, or any part of her. Instead, he turned on a row of blinding industrial ceiling lights. “I want you to see my cars.”
A row of vehicles under canvas covers spread out before them on a sea of cold, pristine concrete.
Her blood cooled. “Of course,” she said.
Cars. What else would she want to see?
“When I had the lab constructed, I renovated the garage to provide superior security for my automotive collection,” he said.
She nodded politely. “Very nice.”
“There was a story going around about my brothers using the garage for purposes of their own,” he continued. “It drew attention to the lax security I’d allowed to exist, really inexcusable considering the value of some of these beauties.”
Was it possible to be jealous of a car? “Any of them you enjoy in particular?”
“Maybe that one over there,” he said, nodding his well-groomed head at a vehicle at the end under a white-and-silver cover, parked slightly apart from the others. He gave her a grin that was so boyishly sexy she curled her toes in her shoes. “Care to see it?”
Her heart, feeling terribly alone and clumsy and not at all fatefully matched with another, skipped a beat. “Yes,” she said, her tone professional, composed, untouchable. “If you like.”
He dipped his head and met her gaze. “Oh,” he said, his voice dropping. “I like.”
What was happening? Nothing was happening. If he’d grabbed and kissed her outside the garage, she could’ve turned him down, explained that he didn’t want this and so neither did she. But he was only being polite, so how could she leave? It would be so rude to leave.
She didn’t want to be rude.
“Thank you for the lab,” she said suddenly. “It’s incredible. As good as what we had in Boston.”
“Better,” he said. “I made sure of it.”
Her knees weren’t as strong as they could’ve been. Maybe he’d grab her elbow again to steady her.
Out of politeness, because he wouldn’t want to be rude either. If there was one thing Asher Stanton had, it was nice manners.
Well, he also had beautiful eyes. And that hard jaw. Not to mention the way his trousers clung to—
“Are you all right?”
She put a hand to her forehead, palm out, like a maiden in a castle. “Just a little light-headed.”
“Allow me.” He offered his elbow, his dark suit jacket folding perfectly in the crook, the dusting of his hair over the knuckles that would become paws.
She took his arm, and her heartbeat didn’t steady as it matched his; instead, it took off at a gallop. His fine wool jacket would be ruined if he shifted suddenly. Threads would break, fibers would tear. And he wouldn’t need to worry about replacing it because he was a creature of unlimited resources.
“Show me the car,” she said. Somebody had to take control of this situation, and it should be her. He’d said he couldn’t control himself, so it was on her to do the controlling. Project management. The staff at LupiNex had said she was a great boss. Friendly but decisive. Warm but unemotional. Firm but…
Firm butt…
Her thoughts kept drifting. God, he was so close. She could smell the same cologne that was on the message he’d written that morning. For the rest of her life, she’d associate that scent with sharp, throbbing, unrequited desire.
“Samantha,” he said.
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Pray release my arm, and I’ll remove the protective cover.”
She dropped his arm as if it were on fire. “Of course. I beg your pardon.”
Oh my God, now I’m talking like him.
He shot her another grin that made her reach out to the car next to her for support. Her body had begun to perspire, hot and tingly, from head to toe. Even her earlobes were sweating.
“I hope you like it.” He tore the cover off the Bugatti like a bullfighter with a red cape.
On any other occasion she would’ve gasped with awe because the black vintage Bugatti was an art deco masterpiece, one of a kind, priceless. The only one like it she’d ever seen had been in an article about an iconic clothing designer. Apparently some people t
hought forty million dollars for a car was too much, but others argued that the very rich could afford to appreciate a work of art for its own sake.
The museum-quality item stored among many other priceless treasures in a rich man’s garage made her suddenly aware of her place in the social sphere. He was an aristocratic billionaire who’d been born into this life and was probably accustomed to impressing the unwashed masses with his loot.
“Cute,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth, faking a yawn. “Do you have anything that’s not, you know, so old?” She gave his body a quick glance, as if to remind him of his own advanced years. Like all shifters, he lived a supernaturally long life. He looked only a little older than herself but was at least twice that. Gavin had hidden his own birth date from her, and she had no right to demand Asher share his with her.
“Old?” he asked. This haughty patriarch was the man she knew, the man she expected.
“Yeah, like, you know, from this century?”
He walked over to her until their toes were almost touching. “Is that what you want? Something created…” His jaw twitched. “More recently?”
She knew immediately he was alluding to Zach, who had only become a shifter just over a year ago because of an accident in the lab. His jealousy for Zach was ridiculous and unfounded, but…
Sexy as hell.
She felt his heart beating under her palms—
Oh my God, she’d put her hand on his chest. No, she’d put both her hands on his chest. And was sliding them under the jacket, rubbing his well-defined pecs.
The fine cloth of his Oxford shirt was an obstacle between her skin and his that she suddenly found intolerable.
“Take this off,” she said. “It’s you I want to see, you fool, not a damn car.”
Chapter 6
Unaccustomed to being told what to do, and most assuredly out of practice when it came to being touched by a woman he desired, Asher found himself in a strange state of pulse-racing need, frozen in place as her words washed over him.
Take this off. It’s you I want. You fool.
Her lips were full and red, lipstick slightly smeared from their earlier kiss. Running his tongue along the top edge of his teeth, he could taste the faint beeswax, the coffee and mint and natural sweetness of her. What else tasted so fine on that tall, lush body that was attached to a mouth asking him to remove his clothes?
“You wish for me to undress?” he asked, needing to take control, his breath coming out in bursts as his lungs forgot to breathe, pausing in near-holy suspended animation before the splendor of what she was offering.
Another kiss was Samantha’s answer, all of her pouring into him so freely, her tongue running along his teeth, pausing at the canines. The rich, sensitive touch of that warm, wet goodness made him reach under her skirt, riding his hands up between her legs as her temperature changed from cool fabric to a hot, pliant core at her pussy.
Dear God. He had deprived himself of every drop of sexuality for so long, walling off the parts of him that were driven to crave and conquer, to share and enjoy in bed. The madness of sensual need was its own nation, an island he had separated from the mainland of Asher Stanton, isolated and abandoned, shoved aside and unreachable by intent.
Samantha Baird was, quite suddenly, providing a fully constructed bridge to connect the two.
With her body.
“Yes,” she whispered, the answer unnecessary as she writhed against him, her nipples tight beneath her shirt, her fingers doing the work she asked him to do as she unbuttoned him, fingernails scraping his chest as her fingers ran through the thick hair that peppered his skin. His body had, for far too long, been a vessel for his responsibilities, his obligations, his role as patriarch of his family and his world.
Yet absolutely nothing else.
A bridge is a structure you use to get from point A to point B, when no other mode will suffice.
And by God, no other woman would ever, ever be sufficient.
He was, if nothing else, a man who would go to the ends of the earth to meet her needs.
And right now he was, indeed, nothing else.
Just hers.
Here for her and her alone.
“Samantha,” he said roughly, stopping her fingers on his shirt buttons. She made a small sound of disappointment, of worry, of hesitation. Threading his fingers in hers, he held them in place, their blood running in syncopation, their need as well.
Their eyes met.
He ripped his shirt open, needing her hands on his skin, her compulsion to touch him well understood as she placed bare skin against his with one hand, the other tossing his jacket and shreds of his shirt to the floor.
“You’re bigger than I remember,” Samantha murmured, their eyes meeting, any question of what was about to happen vanquished by what each saw in the other’s gaze.
“You remember me from observation, Dr. Baird.”
She stiffened at the honorific.
He smiled, the stretch of his mouth making him swallow, eyes piercing hers. “As any good scientist knows, observation is not enough. Hands-on experimentation is critical.”
“I am not a good scientist, Asher,” she said with a hot sigh.
“Of course you are.”
“No. I am a great scientist.” The words were accompanied by a sensual journey of her palms down his abs, over the thickening trail of hair leading to his cock, the heel of her hand stroking his thick, long length. A thousand years of words caught in his breastbone, wedged there by pleasure until he found himself biting her earlobe, inhaling her changing scent, needing to imprint himself on her. Licking the hollow space at her neck, he tasted fruit and spices, salt and loneliness, the latter absolutely unacceptable.
Never again.
Never.
“I will give you an opportunity to show me how great you are, Dr. Baird. But first things first.” Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the Bugatti, mouths connected, the heated rush of her so powerful he could not help himself. When, in his long life, had he been unable to help himself?
Again—never. But a radically different kind of never.
No woman had done this to him before.
“What is this? Between us?” she asked as he paused, searching the room for a better spot. Cursing himself, he wished he had chosen a different space, but in the surge of desire that made his cock alone seem strong enough to shred his trousers, he gave in and lay her down on the length of the car’s hood, her hands at his waist and belt buckle, freeing him.
Oh, how she was freeing him.
He had no answer for her question beyond kisses and touches. That would have to be enough for now. More than enough.
“Inside me,” she ordered, begged, demanded, the command intoxicating, but first things first.
“Soon. But Dr. Baird, while I may not be a scientist, I have some hands-on activities I would like to conduct before we move on to the next step in the scientific method.” His nose led him between her legs, her panties an easy snap to remove, and he discovered a noteworthy fact.
Dr. Samantha Baird was, indeed, a natural redhead.
The small thatch of ginger hair aroused a primal, insatiable craving.
His tongue found her clitoris, the tender blossom like nectar against his mouth, her fingers threading in his long hair, the snap of the tie at the nape of his neck as fulfilling as her taste. She moaned and pushed, arching her hips into his face, soon matching the rhythm he created. Lost in a space that their scents and pulses created, Asher let himself tip and fall into her, reveling in the certainty that this was exactly where he wanted to be.
Forever.
“Asher,” she gasped, her grip tightening, his hands sliding under her to fill themselves with her curves, her ass clenching as she sought gratification, his heart swelling with the divine feeling of being able to give. His need was strong, but he would wait. Patience was his strong suit. Deferred gratification was a long game, and what he planned to do next after Samantha was tho
roughly boneless and satisfied would exceed all measures of polite decency.
Fuck decency.
Reaching up, he dispensed with her shirt, the bra underneath an annoying contraption that was surely designed by the devil himself to deprive Asher of Samantha’s perfect breasts. Sliding one hand under the cup, he found her pearl-like nipple, his fingers pinching just so, guided by an intuitive sense of what would bring this woman as much pleasure as possible.
That was who he had become—hers. His heart beat with hers. His mind connected to hers. Her body was a bridge to him.
There was no uncertainty.
Fate had found them.
As he reveled in her juices, she came and came, like a finely tuned, hand-machined engine with a precision and power that exceeded any object he could observe, drive, or own. She was his now, giving in to him and letting him take, her willingness to let him give to her like this more erotic than any orgasm, her climax and abandonment of restraint so unbelievably, salaciously wicked.
Those strong fingers gripped his hair, pulling hard enough for him to stop and look up into the eyes of a deliciously seductive woman with an agenda.
“Get up here. Now.”
* * *
The waves of pleasure were still washing over her when she felt him thrust into her.
Oh my God oh my God…
They both cried out. His was a low shout, deeply textured with a wolf’s growl. Hers was a high-pitched, soft, sensual exhalation of welcome.
And that was just the beginning. Drawing back, he bent over her, cradling her torso in his arms, opened his mouth over her neck and, just as his teeth scraped her tender flesh, he thrust into her again. And again. And again.
Asher, she moaned silently.
Yours! he shouted. Forever.
He pushed into her again, shifting her hips to go deeper, to strike the most delicious parts of her, teaching her pleasures she hadn’t known were possible. In deep, hidden places she hadn’t even known existed. And she was a biologist.
She began to spasm with the wave of another orgasm.
