Secrets at Midnight

by Nalini Singh

  The uncharacteristic nature of the forceful, sensual compulsion snapped her back to her senses, and all at once, she was aware of Vera looking at her with a distinctly quizzical expression on her face. Not sure how long she'd been standing stock-still staring at the stranger, Kirby held up a small white box in her arms and said, "I baked yesterday." Her pulse thudded hard and fast, her words huskier than they should've been. "I thought I'd drop off half the cake for you, since I know you like black forest."

  "I like black forest, too." A deep male voice that brushed over her senses like the most luxuriant fur, the lips that had shaped the words curved in a teasing smile, until she could almost believe she'd imagined the feral intensity of him when he'd first looked at her.

  Tapping her cane on the ground, Vera looked up into that green-eyed face that had twisted Kirby's insides into a tangled snarl. "I suppose you want some?"

  "Yes, please." Hands behind his back, expression as innocent as a five-year-old's.

  Snorting, Vera jerked her head at Kirby. "This is Bastien. Don't let him charm you--next thing you know, you'll be naked."

  Kirby's face filled with heat, the rush of blood so loud in her ears that she almost missed Bastien's protests. Ignoring them both, Vera walked toward her door at a spry pace, a grace to her movements even at this age that made it clear she was changeling. Not able to look Bastien in the face when her own was no doubt the color of an overripe tomato, Kirby began to follow the other woman . . . and realized she'd acquired a six-foot-plus shadow.

  "I feel I have to defend myself," he murmured, the words a purr of sound against her ears.

  Cat, very definitely a cat. A big, gorgeous, stalking cat. "Really?" she managed to say, goose bumps rising over her skin at his proximity, the scent of clean, fresh soap and warm-blooded male in her every breath. "You don't like making women naked?" It was a response driven by some heretofore hidden part of her that told her to show him her claws, despite the fact she was human, didn't have claws. No matter if it felt as if the sharply curved tips were shoving against her skin.

  CHAPTER 2

  A pause.

  Kirby had the feeling she'd surprised the leopard at her side, but he recovered quickly. "Oh, I do." His voice had dropped, acquired a rougher edge that threw her stomach into a dangerous free fall. "However, and despite Vera's refusal to believe me, I'm very particular about who I make naked now that I'm no longer a hormone-driven teenager. Of course, when I was a teenager, a naked woman would've ended things rather abruptly, physically speaking."

  Skin burning again when it had just settled, Kirby nonetheless refused to back down. "I hope your ability to stand . . . firm"--Was she really saying this?--"against temptation has improved with time?" She'd never flirted in such a sinfully sexual way, hadn't known she could.

  A hand on her lower back, the touch searing her through her cardigan and the camisole she wore beneath, and his breath warm against her earlobe as he bent close to say, "You have no idea, little cat."

  Fighting the shiver that threatened, she walked into Vera's house and to the kitchen, where she placed the cake on the counter and said, "I'll make the coffee," before either Bastien or Vera could make the offer themselves.

  The routine task gave her something to do, though if she'd thought it'd help her ignore Bastien, that proved a futile effort. Sprawled in a chair opposite Vera at the kitchen table, he was saying something that had his packmate laughing.

  "Why are you dressed up so spiffy?" Vera asked once her laughter had faded, lifting her fashionable but unnecessary cane to tap Bastien's forearm. "Was it for the girl selection?"

  Bastien dropped his head in his hands, the stunning dark red of his hair catching the sunlight pouring through the kitchen windows, all of which overlooked woods filled with verdant green firs. His white shirt was pulled taut over his shoulders in this position, his strength apparent. "I thought Mom needed a few minutes' help moving furniture for a book club lunch," he growled when he raised his head. "If I'd known it was about matchmaking, I'd have worn my rattiest jeans and a stained T-shirt."

  Ears straining to catch every snarly word, Kirby found the cups as the coffee began to perk.

  "Your mother loves you." Vera glared at Bastien. "You're in fine form, prime of your life, you should find a girl before you get old and crinkly."

  "Gee, thanks, Vera." A masculine mutter as he leaned back again, one arm braced lazily against the back of his chair, his big body loose limbed, very much a cat at rest. "I was hoping I had a few more years yet."

  Vera's response was a grin bright and full of anticipation. "I'll enjoy watching you fall, Bastien Smith. I bet she wraps you around her finger."

  A shrug, those deliciously broad shoulders catching Kirby's attention again. "Of course she will." Impossible as it was, it felt as if his voice was pitched to stroke over her senses. "What would be the point otherwise?"

  Vera's smile turned affectionate. "I'm glad to see you understand that." Glancing up as Kirby brought across the tray holding the coffee, Vera's expression softened. "And you, Kirby?" She tugged Kirby into a seat. "Have you found someone yet?"

  "I've only been in the city two weeks," she said, conscious of Bastien going preternaturally still for a single, taut moment, the green of his eyes no longer human, before he rose to get the cake.

  "From the accent," he said, "I'm guessing . . . Georgia?"

  Kirby nodded, happy he'd changed the subject, but Vera wasn't done.

  "Two weeks, schmoo weeks. It's never too early to start looking." The older woman's eyes glinted, flicking from Kirby to Bastien. "You two would make pretty cubs together."

  Kirby wanted to die. Dig a hole, jump inside, bury herself for good measure.

  Bastien on the other hand--now standing between her and Vera--served up the cake without missing a beat, his body heat lapping against her like a tactile caress. "Undoubtedly," he said, "but not if you terrify Kirby away with warnings about the likelihood of ending up naked while with me."

  Kirby responded in pure self-defense, driven by that strangeness in her that said she couldn't permit him to overwhelm her. Not now, not ever. She might not be a dominant, but it was critical he didn't see her as weak. The tips of her fingers stung on that fierce thought, the pain sharp, biting. Putting down the coffee cup that was clearly hotter than she'd realized, she said, "That likelihood is getting less and less with every word you speak."

  Laughing, Vera slapped her thigh. Bastien retook his seat with a meek expression belied by the fact he'd shifted his chair so that his thigh pressed against Kirby's own. It incited an escalation in her clawing awareness of him, her skin prickling in a way that felt as if it came from inside and out both. Almost as if she had a leopard under her skin, too, one that was rubbing up against it in an effort to get closer to this gorgeous cat who made her nerve endings go haywire.

  Shaking off the curious sensation, she focused on his conversation with Vera. Intelligent, witty, a little bit wicked, Bastien was the kind of man who'd never have trouble attracting a woman. Kirby was far from immune. If she was brutally honest, she'd never reacted to anyone as strongly as she'd done to Bastien.

  That violent wave of need, of want at the start, followed by an increasing desire to know more about him, know everything . . . it was profoundly unsettling. As was the tearing disappointment that had her nails digging into her palms and her eyes threatening to burn when he glanced at his watch and said, "I better get into the office. With the instability caused by the Psy political situation, I have to keep an extra-sharp eye on things."

  "All work and no play." Vera shook her head as Kirby stared deliberately into her half-empty coffee cup in an effort to hide her disturbing reaction, her skin flushing alternately hot then cold. "Be careful you don't become a dull boy."

  "I thought I was making women naked on a regular basis?" Rising with that quip, Bastien went around to kiss Vera on the cheek. "Can I give you a ride somewhere, Kirby?" he asked, his hand on the back of her chair.
<
br />   Scared by how much she wanted to lean back, rub her cheek against his arm, tug him down to her mouth, she shook her head.

  "Don't be silly," Vera said. "You haven't got a car."

  Her fingers flexed, the tingling in her fingertips increasing in strength. "It's no trouble to catch the--"

  Bastien's breath whispered hot and silken over her ear, his face a caress away from her own. "I promise I don't bite." It was a dare.

  Kirby had stopped accepting stupid dares as a teenager, but a primal defiance rose up inside her at his words. It swamped the near-panic that had gripped her at the realization that he was about to leave, totally overwhelmed the sense of self-preservation that said she needed to put some distance between them so she could think.

  "I deal with five-year-olds every day," she said, his jaw brushing across her temple when she turned her head slightly. The contact made her want to shudder, ask for more. Swallowing down the wrenching need that was too powerful to make any kind of rational sense, she somehow managed to keep her tone even as she added, "You're a pussycat by comparison."

  "Careful, Bastien." Vera's smile was wide. "Kirby's got a brain."

  Pulling back Kirby's chair so she could get up, though he remained close enough to touch, Bastien said, "I like women with brains."

  A snort. "Oh? I thought certain other attributes had priority."

  "'Bye, Vera." Bastien began to walk backward out of the kitchen, waggling his fingers at the older woman--who, from her smile, was clearly charmed by the packmate she'd been teasing.

  When Kirby picked up her purse and joined him, he turned to face the correct way, then placed his hand on her lower back again. The contact renewed the odd sensation of fur rubbing against the inside of her skin, made her toes curl even as her breasts ached.

  Kirby knew she should pull away--and not only because of her increasingly out-of-control response to him. Thanks to a changeling friend in junior high, she understood the concept of skin privileges: the right to touch, in and out of the pack, different layers of contact acceptable for different situations. A male's hand on a female's lower back was an intimate act in human society, even more so in the changeling world.

  If she did nothing about Bastien claiming the right, he'd take it as silent acquiescence to his pursuit. If she said no, he'd back off immediately, DarkRiver a pack that adhered to strict and disciplined codes of behavior. Kirby knew that because Vera had told her after pointing out that Kirby was a young, single woman living in changeling-heavy territory and thus had a good chance of coming into contact with interested males.

  "If it's a predator, leopard or wolf, be blunt," the older woman had said. "Subtle doesn't work when they get set on a woman. But no male in either DarkRiver or SnowDancer will go where he's been specifically uninvited."

  So Kirby didn't have the excuse of ignorance. But she didn't pull away, didn't tell Bastien to stop touching her. Because regardless of her worry at the ungovernable nature of her reactions, his big body beside her, the pressure of his hand, it felt good . . . better than anything had felt in a long, long time.

  The sensation of warm rightness was potent enough to cut through the cold knot that had been part of her for as long as she could remember, a heavy lump centered in her chest that hurt deep in the night and made her cry inexplicable tears. These days, she cried in silence, woke to find her face wet. As a child, she'd screamed awake, her throat raw and terror in her blood.

  "Hey." Bastien's hand circling gently on her back. "Everything okay?"

  Nodding, she slid into the expensive black car that told her whatever Bastien did, he was very successful at it, and watched him walk around to get into the driver's seat. Bracing his arm along the back of her seat, he waited until she met his gaze.

  "If you don't want to be here," he said quietly, "or if you feel uncomfortable with me, tell me." The leopard looked at her out of his eyes. "Do you want to leave?"

  "No." Her answer was driven by instinct, the moment pregnant with a meaning she couldn't consciously grasp. "Memories," she found herself saying to the beautiful male who'd been a stranger an hour ago. "I remembered something that made me sad."

  Bastien reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the curve of it to shimmer sensation through every inch of her. "Do you often remember?"

  She shook her head as the prickling in her skin eased--to be replaced by a greedy desire for more. "No." The dream-crying had faded to nonexistence in the later part of her childhood, only to return with a vengeance when she relocated to San Francisco. "I think it must be from the stress of moving to a new place."

  Bastien went as if to play with another strand of her hair, then glanced at Vera's cottage. "She'll accuse us of necking in her drive if we don't get going."

  The dry words made her laugh, the sadness fading, and she knew he'd done it on purpose, this leopard she didn't know . . . and yet did in her very bones.

  Starting up the car, his grin devastating, he said, "Which way?"

  Kirby gave him her address, then realized she'd never asked his original destination. "Will it be out of your way?" She should've offered to get out at the transit stop, but she couldn't make herself say it.

  One hand confident on the wheel as they pulled out, Bastien reached across to run the knuckles of his free hand over her cheek. "You could never be out of my way, Kirby."

  Every inch of her melted at that rough caress of sound. "Vera is right. You're dangerous."

  "Who, me? I just deal with stocks and bonds all day."

  Fascinated by him, compelled to know everything, she angled herself in the seat so she could look at his profile, the hard line of his jaw cleanly shaven. "Really?" she asked.

  He nodded. "I'm in charge of DarkRiver's financial assets."

  Kirby thought of what she'd read in the papers about the pack and how it was effectively one of the biggest corporations in the city, a corporation in robust financial health, and knew she'd been right. Bastien was very good at his job. "Do you have other clients as well?"

  "A few small ones. Why, do you want to invest?" A raised eyebrow. "We could definitely come to an agreement about my fees," he added with a smile that invited her to play.

  Kirby wanted to trace that smile, kiss it into her own mouth. "Kindergarten teachers don't make enough to invest."

  An interested look before he returned his attention to the road. "Which kindergarten?"

  "The one near DarkRiver's city headquarters in Chinatown." As a result, she had as many changeling students as human, and had spent the past month learning how to handle children who didn't yet have full control over their shifting.

  "The other day," she told him, the memory a delight, "I couldn't find a student until my assistant teacher pointed out that he was in cub form on a tree branch above the swing." Kirby had eventually coaxed the boy, who'd apparently had a fight with a friend, to jump into her arms. "They didn't cover that in my training."

  Bastien turned onto the main road back to San Francisco. "You should talk to Annie," he said. "She teaches seven-year-olds I think, including a lot of changeling kids, could probably give you some pointers."

  "Would she mind?" Kirby loved her new position and wanted to do a good job; she wasn't too proud to ask for help from more experienced teachers.

  "No, she's a sweetheart. I'll get her number from the pack directory, tell her to give you a call." His lips curved again. "Of course, that means you have to give me your number."

  "Or I could ask Vera for Annie's contact details," she teased, the compulsion to touch him so aggressive that she had to fold her arms to keep from reaching out. Still, a wild, unknown part of her lunged at him, as if it would shove out of her very skin.

  "Oh, that's just mean." Scowl darkening his features, he reached across to tug at her hair. "Did you meet Vera at the kindergarten?"

  "Two of her grandchildren attend and she comes in as a volunteer a couple of times a week." The other woman had, for reasons of her own, taken
Kirby under her wing at their first meeting, becoming her first friend in this city. "Do you always work on Sundays?"

  "Only when necessary." Settling into his seat as they hit the highway, he said, "Tell me more stories about the kids you teach."

  Smiling, Kirby did, then Bastien told her about his pack, about the forests he loved, asked her what it had been like to live in Georgia. The time passed in a heartbeat, until she blinked in surprise at realizing they were almost to her apartment.

  "I--" She hissed out a breath.

  "Kirby?" Bastien's gaze snapped to her, returned to the road a second later. "I'll pull over."

  "No, it's nothing." Wincing, she rubbed her abdomen, the stabbing sensation already subsiding, as it had the other three times she'd felt it since moving to San Francisco. "I've been eating too much pier fast food," she admitted, scrunching up her nose.

  It was all so new and different: the water, the seagulls, the rich clam chowder served in a sourdough bowl that she'd had twice already this week, including for lunch today. "I just have to get back on the straight and narrow and I'll be fine."

  Bastien frowned. "We'll go to a clinic, just in case."

  Shaking her head, she indicated a parking space in front of the three-story building in Chinatown where she'd found an affordable apartment courtesy of the fact it was the size of a shoebox. She didn't mind. What mattered was that it was within walking distance of the kindergarten and in the heart of the city, meaning she never experienced the icy kiss of absolute aloneness. "I don't feel sick really." It was a sharp, vicious pain when it struck, but then it faded, which was why she kept talking herself into more pier food.

  Having parked the car, Bastien touched the back of his hand to her forehead. "No fever at least." He took a card from the wallet he'd thrown into a holder when he entered the car. "This is my number. Call me if you feel worse. I'll drop by on my way home to check in on you."