Driving Force

by Andrews, Jo

  His head turned on the pillow. He sucked in a shuddering breath.

  “Thirsty,” he whispered.

  She hurried to fetch water. He drank greedily, then his eyelids flickered open and he squinted at her.

  “Mouse.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Doc…”

  “He had to go. But he’ll be back.”

  “Shouldn’t have…left you with…me,” he said between gasps for breath.

  “You won’t hurt me,” she said with confidence.

  “Cat…might.”

  “I back off when the cat comes.”

  “Too much…of a risk.”

  She laid a hand gently against his cheek. “I don’t think so.”

  He made a sound of pleasure and turned his face into her hand, his cheekbone pressing against her palm. “Cool. ’S nice.”

  He drifted off again. A sudden surge of tenderness welled up in her. Automatic protectiveness, she told herself. Just because he was helpless now and she was caring for him. Nothing more than that.

  The changes were starting to slow down. He didn’t change into cat again for over half an hour. She had time to wash him down and put the salve on his cuts and bruises. The moment she saw the ripple go through him, she backed away, but not as far as the door, just to an armchair some distance from the bed. It took him almost twenty minutes to shift back. She didn’t know whether the increased time between shifts was good or bad. His skin was still burning hot when she got back to him, so she sponged him down again.

  She was learning to recognize the movement of his lips that meant he was thirsty, and had a hand under his head and the glass ready before he roused himself enough to turn his head toward it. He drank without opening his eyes, then snuggled his cheek on her hand, sinking back into sleep.

  As she turned away to set the glass on the night table, she must have missed the ripple that usually warned her of the impending change. The next minute it wasn’t a human head resting on her hand. It was the leopard’s.

  She gasped. The leopard’s eyelids flickered partly open at the sound. Sierra froze. To jerk her hand away and run might provoke it into violent action. She didn’t know what to do.

  The leopard’s muzzle was against the inside of her forearm. Its fangs could rip out the vein in her elbow in an instant. She was shaking, absolutely terrified.

  It drew a deep breath, scenting her. Then its eyes closed and its face turned in her hand, cheekbone pressing into her palm.

  It was the same movement Ian had made as a human. Sierra finally understood that the leopard was Ian. So far she had been separating the two. It was either just Ian or it was that terrifying leopard. She saw now that they were one and the same, understood it on an emotional level.

  Ian would never hurt her. Neither would the leopard. She was sure of that.

  She ran a hand tentatively over the massive head lying along her forearm. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to touch a big cat. The fur under her palm was soft. She ran her hand down its…his shoulder. The muscles beneath the fur were like steel cables, the bone dense, its structure so different. What a wondrous thing it must be to change from one to the other! She could envy Ian being a Shifter. It seemed to have a lot of advantages.

  He moved restlessly under her hand. She stroked his fur unthinkingly to calm him, the way she would have stroked her pet cat years ago. He relaxed, just as it had, and she smiled down at him.

  This was so weird and yet so nice, like some sort of fairy tale. She kept stroking him since it seemed to soothe him. It established a pattern—she’d give him water to drink and swab him down when he was human, stroke him and talk quietly to him when he was cat. It wasn’t long before she was completely comfortable with him in either shape.

  Leaving the cat part out, it was still strange to feel at ease with Ian Raeder. It must be because right now he was wounded and helpless, his hurtful mockery silenced. They were complete opposites—he an extrovert, she an introvert. Back in high school, she had been the ultimate nerd—quiet, shy, studious, the one who wore dime-store instead of designer clothing. With teenage intolerance, her schoolmates had been scornful of her and she had been equally scornful of them. But unlike them, she had kept her opinions to herself and tried instead to remain unnoticed by everyone.

  But he would notice her trying to fade into the background and he would say something to focus unwanted attention on her. “Mouse”, he would call her as she tried to hide, jeering at her shyness. What he’d enjoyed most was provoking her into betraying her real opinion. Annie had said that he had just been trying to bring her out. Sierra couldn’t buy that. He’d been sending her up. Then, when at last she was driven into some sarcastic retort which would get her into trouble with the others, he’d laugh in triumph and change that to “Mouse with fangs!” She had found both the name and the laughter infuriating.

  She roused somewhere in the middle of the night to find that she had fallen asleep for a little while, her head on the mattress beside him. His massive paws with their three-inch-long claws were right beside her cheek. Despite the manacles, he could have taken her face right off.

  But he was just watching her with those green-gold inscrutable eyes, his lids half closed. In cat shape, she could only guess at his expression, but she thought he looked puzzled. She wondered whether he was really seeing her. She drew back, careful not to jar the bed, and his eyes closed. His jaws were open and she could see the deadly fangs. He seemed to be breathing better, deeper and more slowly, not with those rapid, shallow pants that betrayed his pain. She hoped he was healing.

  By morning, she was pretty sure he was. The gashes down his side were knitting and his breathing was deep and steady now, so she suspected even his ribs were mending. He didn’t seem to be quite as fevered as he’d been the night before and he hadn’t shifted from human for several hours.

  She looked down at the quiet face on the pillow. She had never seen him in repose before yesterday. When he was awake, his face was always vivid with mockery and laughter. And even when he was not teasing her, it was tough and intransigent. She had thought him uncaring. But in sleep there was vulnerability there, with the shadows cast by those thick lashes down the flat plane of his cheek and the corn-silk strands of his hair falling boyishly over his forehead. It was a sensitive face, she thought in surprise.

  She didn’t want to think that, didn’t want to soften toward him. Before, she had always been able to block out how handsome he was and drown her attraction to him in anger. His mockery and constant provocation had helped, kept them both at daggers drawn. Helpless and vulnerable now, he was getting under her guard.

  The darkness of those lashes in contrast to his hair was explained at last. The leopard’s eyes were black-rimmed, as if it were wearing kohl. Pale hair, dark lashes, right. Plus the high, curving scimitars of his cheekbones. It all made sense now. She wondered if she would be able to make out others of his kind by small signs like that.

  She touched his shoulder lightly. His skin was not as hot as before, but he still had a fever. She bent to reach for the sponge in the basin at her feet and her long hair fell to one side, brushing lightly across his chest.

  “Silk,” he murmured. “Your hair feels like silk.”

  She looked back at him in surprise. His hand came up and wound into her hair, twining it about his wrist.

  “Beautiful. Like dark water in the moonlight.”

  “Uh, Ian…”

  He let her hair slide loose again. Then his fingers stroked down her upper arm, bared by the thin halter top she was wearing with her jeans. She shivered involuntarily at the sensual, arousing touch of those calloused fingertips upon her flesh.

  “Skin feels like silk too. Always knew it would.”

  “Ian, stop!”

  He frowned in puzzlement. “Why?”

  His shackled hands had clasped on her arm. He drew her forward and down to lie across his chest. The eyes smiling up at her were sensuously half-lidded,
their pupils dilating over a burning darkness, turning his irises into thin rings of blazing green.

  “You’re one hell of a sexy woman.”

  Aw jeez! He had gone into seduction mode, probably thought she was one of the girls he messed with.

  “I am not one of your women!”

  “Wish you were.”

  For a crazy moment, so did she, hypnotized by the heat in those compelling eyes.

  She tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. As she reared back, his head came off the pillow and his parted lips found the underside of her chin. She gasped at the feel of his open mouth sucking down her throat and the sudden slide of his tongue against her skin. A tongue like very fine sandpaper, as raspy as a cat’s.

  He paused at the hollow of her throat and licked at it. That felt incredible.

  “You feel so good,” he purred.

  Oh God, so did he. That wickedly knowing mouth, his face pressing against her flesh, the softness of his hair against her jaw.

  His lips slipped down lower, into the V-neck of her top, sliding over the curve of her breast above her bra. She was on fire, she was burning, more feverish now than he was. And he had done it all so simply. No wonder no one seemed to be able to hold out against the man!

  Sierra wrenched herself desperately backward. Safely on her feet, she glared at him.

  “Probably don’t even know who I am,” she muttered resentfully.

  “Sierra.” His eyes were very green and bright with teasing laughter. “Beautiful Sierra. Watched you a long time.”

  He what? He couldn’t mean… No, it wasn’t possible.

  He still held one of her wrists and now he drew her hand to his chest, pressing it to his breastbone. She could feel the accelerated beat of his heart under her palm.

  “Always wanted you to touch me.”

  He was moving her hand back and forth over his chest. Her fingertips slid over the flat disc of his nipple and she felt its nub harden under her touch. Without her volition, her hand slipped down his chest, over the supple solidity of those washboard abs. Then she suddenly realized the thin sheet over his loins had developed a distinct rise.

  “Whoa!”

  She tore her hand free and jumped back. He was laughing helplessly.

  “Only gonna tent the covers. Never can help having a hard-on around you.”

  “Doc’s here,” she gasped, hearing with relief Doc’s ancient pickup groan to a halt outside.

  Then she ran like a rabbit.

  Chapter Four

  She hadn’t even remembered that he was a werewolf…er, cat. That should have squicked her right out, but she hadn’t even thought of it. It didn’t seem to matter. He was simply Ian, who had driven her crazy for years and just now had horrifyingly turned her whole body molten with desire. Besides that, the whole turning into a cat thing seemed really unimportant.

  She was certifiable. Absolutely.

  “How is he?” asked Doc, coming in with his bag and a suitcase. “Fever better?”

  “Think so. Though he might be delirious,” muttered Sierra, her face burning.

  Doc glanced at her and laughed. “Made a pass at you, did he?”

  “Uh…”

  “It’s the fever. Takes a lot of them that way. They get really horny.”

  Okay, now that made sense. Ten years of fighting and hassling each other, then suddenly he was coming on this strong? With her? Even his changing into a cat hadn’t shocked her as badly. The fever turning him on was something she could understand. Any female body would have done. That was fine. That was safe. Anything else was way too scary to think about.

  “Okay if Ian stays with you a little longer?” Doc was saying. “Things are going crazy right now.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Sierra, though at that moment she wanted Ian anywhere but here. “Is there anything you can tell me about what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know whether I should. I’ll tell him if he’s in any kind of shape to hear me and he can tell you if he wants to.” Doc held up the suitcase. “I picked up a few of his things from the ranch, told Taylor Weekes he was hurt but would be coming home in a few days. You’re looking tired, Sierra. Were you up all night?”

  “Slept a little on and off. Not that tired.”

  “Well, why don’t you have a wash and freshen up while I take a look at the boy?”

  She took a quick shower and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark long-sleeved tee. Carefully covered up. Doc was just helping Ian back into bed when she got to the guest room.

  “You had him up?” Sierra said in surprise. “I didn’t think he could walk.”

  “Can shuffle,” muttered Ian. “Needed the bathroom. Damned if I was gonna let you help me with that.”

  She flushed. “Right.”

  Doc had clearly given him some more shots. He seemed a lot more coherent but his eyes were still faintly glazed and there was a dull stain of feverish color over his cheekbones.

  “Don’t see why I can’t go home,” he muttered resentfully to Doc. “Arrhan…”

  “Kurt’s taking care of that. You need to lie still. That fever’s got to run its course. You start fussing over things, it’s just going to take longer.” Doc looked toward Sierra. “When was the last time he shifted?”

  “About three in the morning. He’s been human ever since.”

  “That’s a good sign. Maybe we don’t need these chains anymore.”

  “No!” said Ian sharply. “They stay on until I’m recovered.”

  “The cat won’t hurt me,” Sierra said. “It didn’t last night and I don’t see it ever doing that. I’m not afraid of it.”

  He smiled at her. “No, you’re not, are you?”

  He caught her hand and drew it to his mouth. Startled, she felt his lips move sensual and soft against her palm.

  “My Mouse with fangs. Always so brave,” he said and she realized with a shock that what she had always thought was an insult was not an insult at all, maybe never had been. It was a compliment. Even an endearment. “Well, I’m afraid of the cat. Of what it might do when I’m out of my head. Not gonna take any chances with you.”

  Okay, when had the world turned upside down? Sierra retreated hastily to the kitchen and occupied herself with making coffee. It gave her something to do to steady herself.

  She’d been too long without a man. It was as simple as that. She wasn’t the type for one-night stands and she hadn’t slept with anyone since Peter, who had made her wary of relationships anyway. It wasn’t really surprising that Ian Raeder should turn her on. All the years of attraction and temptation, of wondering what he would be like in bed.

  Sexual curiosity, that’s all it was. That’s all it had to be.

  Doc had helped Ian into pajama bottoms before getting him back into bed. Sierra wished he had put on the pajama top too, just so that disturbing torso of his would be covered as well. But apparently Ian disliked wearing even the bottoms and only had them on because she was around. It seemed he preferred to sleep naked.

  Sierra sighed deeply. He would.

  The claw marks had knitted into rusty-brown lines, the inflammation that had reddened the flesh around them now gone. Doc removed the stitches at Ian’s request.

  “Skin might heal over them and then they’re a bitch to get out,” Ian explained drowsily to Sierra. “Really hurts. Know that from experience when Simon caught me a good one when we were cubs and then we left the stitches in too long.”

  “Where?” asked Sierra, puzzled. There didn’t seem to be any marks on that flawless gold-tanned skin aside from the faint shadows remaining of the cuts and bruises he had picked up in the rapids.

  “Right across my chest from one side to the other.”

  “Just shows you how well they heal,” said Doc a little resentfully and Ian laughed at him. “Not even the slightest scar. Those claw marks will fade to white in a couple of days and be completely gone in a week.” He was probing Ian delicately. “His ribs are almost knitted
and those internal injuries are healing fast.” He checked Ian’s pupils. “Concussion’s gone. Still some fever. That’ll last until he’s completely healed. He’ll be weak until then.”

  “Wanna get up,” Ian complained. “Sick of lying around.”

  “Want a relapse?” Doc scowled at him. “You stay in bed for the rest of today. Tomorrow you can shuffle into a chair. But you don’t do anything more strenuous than reading a book or watching TV until I tell you.”

  “The ranch…”

  “No,” said Doc flatly. “Taylor’s taking care of the ranch. I know you, boy. You go home, you’ll be out digging post holes or doing something equally stupid in no time. Take this, Sierra.” He handed her what looked like a miniature ping-pong paddle with prongs. “He does anything out of line, you whack him in the shoulder with that. It’s a tranq. He’ll go down like a stone.”

  “Ooh! That should be fun!” Sierra grinned nastily at Ian. He groaned.

  “You gonna give her power over me like that? No fair, Doc!”

  “Someone’s gotta make sure you do what you’re told. Oh, regarding food. Only liquids ’til the fever’s over. Broth, eggs beaten into milk, that kind of thing.”

  “Ick!” muttered Ian.

  “You know you can’t handle anything else right now. Shifters!” sighed Doc. “Always have to be difficult. He’ll be ravenous once the fever’s run its course, Sierra, so prepare yourself for being eaten out of house and home then.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No,” said Ian sharply. “My wallet in that suitcase, Doc?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take whatever you need from there, Sierra.”

  “It’s not necessary…”

  “I’m causing you enough trouble as it is. Not gonna have you pay for my food as well.”

  “But…”

  “Owe you, Mouse.” He looked back at Doc. “Arrhan. What’s happening? I’ve got to know,” he said urgently when Doc hesitated.

  “I’ll leave,” Sierra offered.