by Jaycee Clark
How the hell had she forgotten he was so sensitive where she was concerned? She steeled her shields and narrowed her gaze, not knowing how to answer him.
He reached out and gently took her hand again, and his eyes still studied her. He opened his mouth as if to ask her something but thought better of it. He cleared his throat and squeezed her hand. “So tell me more about yourself.”
“I want to hear about you.”
“You know me and what I do. I’m a cop.”
Always short on words about himself. Some things would never change. This evening he had on another pair of jeans, starched like the first, a beige cotton button-down and a brown leather jacket. All the man needed were jeans and boots and somehow he could dress them up or down. It aggravated her that she’d probably taken a lot longer to get ready than he did. She took a deep breath and smelled his expensive cologne, woodsy with a hint of spice, and under that heady, tempting fragrance was Lorenzo. Reya shook her head.
“Why jewelry?”
She licked her lips, shook off darker worries and smiled, leaning up on her elbows. “Because I’ve always liked pretty sparkling things and I’m vain enough to admit that I love the thought of being surrounded by them.”
His gaze raked over her. “Yet you don’t wear more than the basics, and yours never sparkle. And you’re not vain.”
He would be one of the only ones who ever saw through her rehearsed front. She shrugged. “I wanted to come home and I wanted to do something. I had some experience in Italy with jewelry and I decided I wanted to do work with that craft. I helped run a shop out in San Francisco and knew that’s what I wanted to do here. But I didn’t want the average or lots of new age. I wanted something that blended them, but definitely had the feel of the American Southwest. I only take artists from New Mexico, Texas, Utah, Arizon a, Colorado and Nevada. Though there are two from California and one from Montana, but normally, it’s just the surrounding states.”
They talked until their food came, during dinner and through the dessert of fried plantains. She told him of artists, of dreams, how they were working on updating their online catalogue and acquiring new clients online.
She could ignore him, be pissy about his past actions, but honestly…she didn’t want to. Too much wasted energy and she was hungry. She’d pick her battles and right now wasn’t the time.
Lo watched her talk, the way her hands moved, the way the low light caught with a dull sheen on the wide silver bracelet she wore, the way it winked from the dark black stone of her pendant.
The pendant he’d given her still hung around her neck, between her breasts. Her eyes might glare at him, and he knew she might never fully trust him again, not like she had once upon a time, but she still felt something for him. She still wore the damn pendant. He remembered the little jeweler from the shop in Spain.
Shaking off the memories of the past, he focused on what she was saying. “I want another drink.”
He motioned to the waitress. Other tables had already seen their share of diners come and go, but they’d stayed, talking more than eating and she’d already had three margaritas. Not that he really cared. But she’d never been one to drink and when she did, it didn’t take much for her to get wasted. He wondered what she was trying to get away from. He wondered at that flicker of fear he’d caught in her eyes when she’d mentioned threatening. His jaw tightened at the thought.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with the tequila and whatever other poison, probably triple sec, they mixed in their margaritas. “So glum. Why so serious? You were always so serious, Lorenzo Craigen.”
“And you were always laughing.”
She waved a hand. “That was before.” Plopping her chin on her fist, she asked. “So why a cop?”
“Can you honestly see me as a banker?”
She chuckled and the sound pulled a smile from him. Definitely enough drinks.
“Nope. Though you’re driven enough you could have your own business again, just like before.” She leaned over as if to whisper something and he couldn’t help but glance to the vee of her dress and admire the view of her cleavage. He slowly ran his gaze up, noting the pound of her pulse in her neck, the way her collarbone dipped and curved, the way the candlelight made her appear even more beautiful.
Without thinking, he reached over, his hand curving around the back of her neck, to tangle in the silkiness of her upswept hair. He leaned towards her. Stopping just shy of laying his lips on hers, he looked in her eyes, saw the excitement and the want there. Smiling, he kissed her. Her lips were as soft beneath his as he remembered. She still tasted of cool desert evenings and warm sun-drenched mornings.
Her lips parted beneath his and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Reya swayed, her hand gripping his thigh to stay upright.
It was she who pulled back, and the fact they were in public was the only reason he let her. She licked her lips, her eyes staring at his mouth as she whispered, “I wish you would have stayed away.” Then she frowned. “Or I wish I had.”
Lorenzo tightened the hand at her nape. “We don’t always get what we wish for.”
He jerked her to him and kissed her like he wanted to, felt his inner soul claw to get out. The damn woman would make him forget his own head. Abruptly, he pulled back. He ran his hand from her neck, over her shoulder, down the bare inside of her arm and felt her shiver as she watched him. “We’re leaving.”
He tossed enough bills on the table to cover the meal and drinks, nodded to the waitress as they made their way off the little patio and to his Dodge pickup truck.
“Boys and toys,” she muttered.
“And how the hell practical is a damn Beemer when the roads are covered in ice and the ground in snow?”
She walked with him to the driver’s side and climbed in, sliding over to the middle seat and straddling the stick shift.
He started to tell her to move over and buckle up, but to hell with it. He climbed in after her, his truck rumbling to life. He shifted the truck into reverse and couldn’t help but notice how his hand grazed the inside of her thigh, and with that damn flirty little skirt, it didn’t do much to help him out.
Lo cursed as he turned the truck out of the parking lot and pulled onto the highway.
“I don’t want to go home yet.” Her voice was lower than normal. “I want to see where you live.”
Yeah, he’d make it through this night. He had no intention of sleeping with her tonight. None. She was drunk. She’d regret it. She’d blame him. Plus, they had things to talk about. Important things to plan. Not…not… Well, damn.
He hadn’t planned on getting her into his bed. Hoped, but didn’t actually plan on it. At least not tonight. He’d have to work at it. Without a doubt, she’d make him work hard to get her back into his bed, let alone his life. At least that was what he had assumed. But if she wanted him…
Drunk. She was drunk.
The beast in him said, Shut up and stop arguing. Take her.
Damn it, if Reya didn’t still twist him up into freaking knots.
The memory of what it was like to be inside her, to have her lithe limbs wrapped around him as she came apart in his arms shattered through his well-meant plans. He reached over and flipped the stereo on, punching the scan button on the radio. It landed on a cultural station.
“I should take you home,” he said through his teeth as he shifted again, his hand once again grazing a thigh. Again he shifted into a higher gear, leaving his hand all too close to the heat of her, tangling memories with reality. He knew what she tasted like just there on the inside of her knee and how hot she got the higher up those silky thighs he travelled.
He fisted his hand on the steering wheel.
Her hand on his thigh tightened as she leaned over and nipped his ear. “I said I don’t want to go home, Lo.”
When they were on open highway, he rested his hand on her thigh, the skirt bunched up so that bare skin met his.
He stared at the highway and
tried not to think about what lay a few inches from his fingers.
The ride to his home outside of town flew by in a blur. His sprawling one-story adobe house sat a few miles off the highway at the base of the Sangre de Cristos on a hundred-acre ranch. Not that he had time to ranch, though he did keep a couple horses in the barn for when he felt like riding.
Like now.
But it wasn’t his horses he wanted to ride all damn night long.
He had to lift his hand from her leg to downshift as he turned into his drive. His lights cut across the deep porch with the rockers and a swing.
“Nice place you have here. I’m impressed, if not surprised.”
Spanish guitar music played low and slow on the radio, a seduction of sound. Lorenzo could no more stop himself from kissing her again than he could the rise of the moon.
She shifted in the seat, facing him more. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her slow and deep before retreating to tease her lips with his tongue.
His hand ran down her neck, over her chest, to slip between the vee of her dress. His other hand found the hem of her little skirt. Warm, hot skin met his as he felt the curve of her breast with his other hand. Her soft inner thigh tightened at his touch and he grinned at the bunch of muscle beneath his hand.
Her mouth opened and she tilted her head, her hand grazing his thigh in long strokes.
He could feel the heat of her on his hand and he wasn’t even at her center yet. She moaned in her throat and he jerked back, his heart slamming, his skin prickling with desire. His other half wanting her other being.
They were connected in more ways than one.
She was his mate. He’d known it. All along he’d known it for centuries and there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do about it. Until now. Now was different. He felt it in his gut. He’d known the minute she made plans to move back and had come home himself.
Looking into her eyes, well aware of where her hand rested, the fact that he could take her here and now, he said, “Let’s go inside.”
She smiled, slow and catlike. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Lo helped her out of the truck and hurried into his house, unlocking the back door. They stood in the dark of the kitchen, the full, bright moon shining down through the window to bathe them in white light.
For so long he’d kept control of his inner self, his emotions, but now all threatened to rip him to shreds. He’d conquered shifting so that he only changed when he needed to, and not when the beast itself wanted to, or when the moon wanted him to or when another power tried to demand it of him.
He was a werecat. His pride of lions lived here in northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. Mountain lions when they could no longer be humans.
Reya’s eyes glowed.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
She smiled and pulled him to her, backing up to the counter even as she kissed him. He felt the need in her, heard it in her breaths, saw it in the furious beat of her pulse in her throat.
He leaned in and nipped her neck as she tilted her head to the side. At the counter, she stopped. Lo picked her up and set her on it, nudging her knees apart to step between them. He felt her wiggle her feet against his legs, her sandals clattering to the floor.
“I want you, Lo,” she gasped as he unbuttoned one button and then another.
He stopped. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He hooked his finger beneath the lace edge of her bra and flicked it over the center of her breast.
Her breath shuddered out.
Lo ravaged her mouth, his hand kneading her breasts even as she scooted closer to the edge of the counter. He pushed the cups of her bra down so that he bared her, her breasts pushed up high for his touch, for his mouth. He kissed her neck, down over her collar bone. Her hands fisted in his hair. He kissed one breast, laved it and pulled the center in his mouth. She moaned low and deep, then jerked his head up to kiss him.
Her kiss met his, hot and wet, demanding and taking.
His hand slowly traced patterns on her inner thigh. He grazed his fingers over her center, bands tightening around his chest. She was already as wet as he’d known she would be. She shuddered in his arms, her mouth ravaging his.
“Easy,” he whispered.
“It’s been too long.” Her hands fisted in his hair. “I don’t want easy.”
He slipped one finger under the edge of her panties and watched her eyes widen, watched the change begin as her pupils grew, the irises glowing a dark blue through black. God she was beautiful, and hot and still so damn responsive.
He ripped the flimsy lace away from her. She gasped, her eyes starting to change. Lo grinned as he traced her center in long, sure strokes with his thumbs, staying away from the one point he knew would shatter her.
“Please, Lo. Please.” She muttered in their forgotten language.
He smiled. It wasn’t simple need in her voice, or her face… It was more.
Still watching her, he slid his fingers deep inside, closing his eyes at the hot, wet feel of her. Even better than he remembered.
She moaned, and he opened his eyes to see her close her eyes and throw her head back, exposing the long length of her neck. There was something very arousing about the fact that she was half undressed and vulnerable while he was fully clothed. He leaned forwards and kissed the column even as he worked his fingers, deeper and faster, shallow and slow until she was begging. She smelled of dark promises and still tasted of heady pleasures.
“Please, please, Lo. Oh, yes… Right…”
He barely pressed the hidden buddle of nerves and watched, felt as she shattered in his arms, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers and he wished to hell he was buried as deeply inside her.
She purred as she fell against his shoulder, her tongue licking his neck. Lo picked her up, carried her to his bedroom. He didn’t know if he wanted to curse the margaritas or not. Without them, he knew damned good and well it would have taken him a hell of a lot longer to get her out to his place. Let alone in his bedroom. But…
Unless she was sober, he wasn’t about to give in to his own wants. He’d be damned if he gave her an excuse she could hurl at him tomorrow morning. When they came together again, it would be because they were both lucid and wanting it.
He laid her on his four-poster pine bed and watched as she cuddled into the pillows. “Join me,” she whispered. “Lo.”
Carefully, he unbuttoned her dress all the way down the center. Leaning over, he kissed her deeply as he tossed the dress aside and pulled her bra off her arms, laying it on the nightstand. Her hands came up and started on the buttons of his shirt. Lo gently circled her wrists, pulling back and ending his kiss.
“In a minute.” He kissed her again and stood. He covered her with his quilt, watched as she snuggled deeper into his bed, the soft sound of a purr rumbling in the room.
“Hurry,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep and desire.
She never could drink and not fall asleep. He grinned and walked back to the kitchen, checking all the doors and windows. At least she was here.
In his bed. He raked a hand through his hair and glanced back towards the hallway and his bedroom.
He stood in the living room looking out across the wide expanse of plain, watching the headlights of distant cars on the highway speed towards and away from Taos. The cluster of lights from the town slowly trickled out to his ranch and beyond. The dark shadow of Rio Grande Gorge snaked across the silvery landscape.
He watched as a shadow shifted, walking down his road, followed by another. He narrowed his gaze, listened carefully and knew.
Kade and Darrell. He wanted to know if they’d found out anything. Another shadow moved out by the barn. He stood there waiting until he knew… Dena. Well, she was probably pissed, but it was hardly his fault if she wanted him. He’d told her no. She’d just have to live with the fact that Reya was here.
And his.
While he waited
for his cats to come to him, he opened the sliding door, heard the rustle of the wind as it wove across the vast basin. He’d always liked the fact he could hear the wind before it ever reached him. There were few places it did that. New Mexico was one of them. He could still remember the smell of it as it had been in his childhood long, long ago in Chaco Canyon, the way he could smell rain on the air hours before the storm would come rumbling down the prairie.
Even then, there had been an enemy. And now?
Somewhere out there, the enemy waited again.
Chapter Four
The Chosen looked around at the gathered group. Some were still in their human form, others in the form of their animals. There were wolves and coyotes alike. Hunters and scavengers.
The Chosen wished the blood was still pure, still untainted, still pure wolf, but things and time changed one’s perspective. When the cause was large enough, alliances could be born in hell.
After all, needs want when the devil drives. Though, the devil was a very subjective thing. No doubt evil existed, but The Chosen had never met the Christian’s devil, though evil could easily be touched.
The amusing thing was that so many never realized they were in contact with that which they so abhorred. They liked their scary movies, their ghost stories, the idea that something might go bump in the night, but they never truly wanted to be faced with it.
The Chosen smiled while listening to the others talk, their whispers filling the air and twining with the pine smoke from the fire. The sound of the brook gurgled through the night. The Chosen rose, pulling the jacket tighter around its frame. A storm was rising, building to the west. The smell of rain and chill hung in the star-studded night. Pine and aspens speared up, black against the midnight sky, their shadows long on the silvery moonlit ground.
“Why are we here?” one of the members asked. Avis was the newest of the group and the most outspoken, but without a doubt the most eager to prove himself.
The Chosen waved him down, noted the tattoo on Avis’s wrist in the sign of the Wolf Moon. Perhaps that had been a mistake, asking everyone who signed, who joined to receive the mark of their order. The mark of the wolf.
