Cat Scratch Fever

by Scarlett Grove

  "Nothing. I'm just...anxious to get home," she said with a nervous laugh.

  "Nothing else?"

  "No. No. Why would there be?"

  "No reason." He turned back to the pot and added another pinch of salt.

  Makayla cowered in the corner of the bed, watching his every move as he finished cooking the stew. When he was done, he handed her a bowl and a spoon. She sniffed the contents. It smelled pretty good. Lifting a spoonful of hot stew to her lips, she blew over the steaming contents.

  Ronan sat at the table, shoveling stew into his mouth as if he didn't feel the heat. Was that a shapeshifter thing, or just a Ronan thing? She slid the food into her mouth and chewed. The meat and vegetables were surprisingly tender and delicious.

  "I'll have to get your recipe," she said, trying to act casual. Instead she sounded ridiculous. She didn't even cook. The closest she came to cooking was when she reheated leftover Chinese takeout.

  "No recipe."

  If she was going to be trapped with a freak of nature, he could at least say more than two words at a time when she was trying to make conversation. She pursed her lips and then took another careful bite of food.

  When they were finished, he took the bowls and washed them in his basin. She didn't know how much longer she could deal with this situation before she totally lost it.

  Watching him wash the dishes again filled her with a sense of helplessness. She couldn't do anything, and this man was waiting on her and foot. Literally. When he was done washing, he rewrapped her ankle.

  Makayla was not a woman who was comfortable with being out of control or vulnerable. She was always in control, always on top, always knew which way the wind was blowing. If there was one thing she hated, it was weakness in herself. She detested dependence, impotence, and powerlessness. She did everything in her power to avoid ever feeling that way.

  Now, here she was, stuck in the most powerless situation of her life with someone who could probably eat her if he wanted. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Exasperated, she twisted in the bed and went back to reading the bodice ripper romance novel from the eighties.

  She could feel Ronan's eyes boring into the back of her head. A hot tingle went down her spine. Not wanting to look, she flipped a page which happened to move into a fairly steamy sex scene. The characters were on a boat. The heroine was the hero's captive, and he had her tied up in a chair in his cabin. He slid his hand under her long skirt, gripping her flesh.

  Makayla's body responded to the pictures flashing through her mind and to the hot stare of the hot man behind her. She squeezed her thighs together. This was not working for her. Not working at all. Either this lion was going to hurry up and eat her or he was going to hurry up and eat her. Either way, something was going to happen. She couldn't take the waiting. It bored and frustrated her.

  She turned to look at him. He still stood against the kitchen counter, his amber eyes dark under his blond eyebrows that knit together in a scowl.

  "What?" It was her turn to say.

  "Are you sure you didn't see anything disturbing earlier?"

  "Disturbing in what way?" She wasn't going to say it. If he wanted to out himself, that was his business, but she wouldn't be responsible for it.

  "Never mind," he said.

  She inadvertently smirked. He caught her expression and made a guttural growl in the back of his throat. She was glad she was getting to him. Boredom made Makayla punchy. Messing with him relieved the tedium.

  "No, no. You had something to say. Just say it," she said, cocking her head to the side.

  "I have nothing to say. Do you have something to say?"

  "I believe I was quietly reading a book. Unless you have some grand idea to get me the hell out of here, or perhaps fill my time with something more entertaining than this old novel, then I'll get back to reading."

  He growled again. She could feel his attraction, see it in his eyes. She languidly leaned over on her back, exposing her breasts from under the blankets. The thin blouse she wore skimmed over her plump breasts that were made more pronounced by a Victoria's Secret push-up bra.

  This time his grunt was loud. He pulled a bear skin rug out from the cabinet and threw it down on the floor beside her bed then covered it with a wool blanket and a down pillow. He laid down on the fur and pulled his shirt off over his head.

  Hard muscles danced in the firelight. He turned his back to her and pulled the wool blanket over his shoulders. He was obviously frustrated. Makayla let out a little giggle. He turned to her. A dark look shadowed his face. She only smiled and lifted her eyebrows at him. He turned back and laid down.

  "Why were you out here anyway?" he asked, almost whispering.

  "I was visiting my parents. They have a piece of land near the park that they bought when they retired, and I stupidly decided to take the park road home. I should have just gone north and taken the highway back to Portland, but I thought driving through the national forest would be relaxing. Anyway, my parents decided to tell me they are getting divorced after thirty years of marriage while I was at their house. After hijacking me all the way to the coast on the premise of a family weekend at the beach, they drop the divorce bomb and then proceeded to lobby for my support in their shit campaign against each other. I was replying to a stupid text from my mother when that mountain lion jumped in front of my car."

  "How do you feel about your parent's divorce?" he asked with his back still turned to her.

  "I think it's ridiculous. They've always had a strained marriage, but I thought that was just their thing. I mean. They're in their sixties now. Do they think they will find someone better? But I guess if it's what will make them happy. I hope if I ever get married, it lasts forever."

  He turned to her, his golden eyes glowing in the flickering firelight. "And do you want to, get married that is?"

  "I guess, some day. Marriage, children, all that. I've been focused on my career since college. But I'm thirty-three now, so I suppose it's time to start thinking about finding the one. If that exists. I don't know if it does."

  "Maybe just because you haven't found him yet."

  She was surprised at his statement. Her mouth hung as she stared at his wide open face. She hadn't seen him so exposed the entire time she'd been in his cabin. What exactly was he saying? She was into a little hanky-panky but forever and always hadn't been on her mind. She hardly knew him. And there was that whole shape shifting lion thing that definitely put a damper on the idea of a relationship.

  "I guess not," she said, not knowing what else to say. She obviously hadn't found the right guy yet. Mark certainly was a far cry from what right even looked like. Although, he was exactly the kind of man she always went for, handsome, successful, well educated, well groomed. Maybe she had been going about it all wrong. "What about you? Do you want to get married?"

  "I didn't."

  "What changed?" she said, with a teasing tone in her voice. She was going to pull it out of him. The blanket fell away from his muscled back, and she couldn't help but salivate at the idea of sinking her polished red nails into his skin.

  "I don't know," he said. His words sounded honest. It made her heart throb. There was something gentle underneath all his loner male posturing. She wanted to touch it, hold it in her hands and wrap her heart around it to keep it safe.

  Neither of them spoke for long moments. Tension hung in the air between them like a heavy perfume. Makayla could hear her heart beating in her ears. He was probably the sexiest men she'd ever seen. If she hadn't been banged up and bandaged, she probably would have slid into the bed with him.

  The tender interior of the hard man called to her like honey to a bee. Her mouth salivated at the thought of cracking his shell to expose the soft center underneath. Watching his back, she slid her hand over her thighs and ever so slightly grazed the sensitive spot between her legs. She was surprised at the burst of sensation she felt with the contact.

  Leaning back in bed, she looked at the ceiling. "Good nigh
t Ronan. Maybe tomorrow you can help me take a bath."

  "What?" he snapped his gaze over his shoulder. His eyes were wide but his brows were drawn together in worry.

  "I'm beginning to smell. I need a bath. I'll need help getting in the tub." She knew she was teasing. The big, gruff man had gotten under her skin. Even if he was some kind of animal, she was attracted to him at a primal level. The more roughly and reticently he behaved, the more attractive she found him.

  "Fine," he said. "I'll bathe you tomorrow."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ronan woke at dawn, galled by the growing desire he felt whenever he got a whiff of Makayla Phillips. The lion within roared to mate her. She smelled of honey and spring rain with a hint of deep forest soil. The burning sensation in his gut and the numbness in his brain made his heart weep. It wept for her. Damn it. Why?

  He'd never wanted a mate in his life, let alone a long-winded city woman with tastes for fancy clothes and expensive shoes. If he had to have a mate fall into his lap, why couldn't it be a tough forest girl? A shifter, someone with the keen eye and the quick wit of a mountain cat like himself. Makayla was a puffed-up, preening house cat who'd never even caught a mouse. They had absolutely nothing in common!

  Nevertheless, he couldn't resist her. Everything about her called to him. Even her most annoying traits got under his skin and started to grow on him like a parasitic lichen. It should make him want to scratch out his skin, but instead it made him want to sit beside her and lick her ears all day long.

  He'd put a big pot of water on the stove to boil and another on the fireplace. He intended to wash his little kitty until she was fresh and clean. How he would control himself in the process remained to be seen. The overarching desire to claim her for himself stuck in his throat like a raw chicken bone. He rubbed his throat, hoping he could massage it out. He couldn't.

  Makayla stirred in bed when he poured the first pot of water into the big wash basin he'd brought in from outside. It was an old-fashioned bronze bathtub that was light enough to move inside and out. He used it when he wanted to get a deep cleaning in warm water. For a cat shifter, cleanliness was of utmost importance, even for a recluse like himself.

  "Is that my bath?" she said, stretching in bed.

  "Yes. It's almost full."

  He poured the other pot of water in the tub and tested the temperature. It was too hot, so he added another large pot of cold water, making it perfect. She flipped the covers off of herself and began to unbutton her shirt. He stared at her, unable to peel his eyes away.

  She said nothing as she slipped out of her shirt. She sat at the edge of the bed in her bra and jeans. "These clothes probably need to be washed too," she said, leaning back to pull off her pants.

  Makayla sat in her bra and panties and stared at Ronan. He stared back. He could feel himself grow with desire as he looked at her plump, white flesh. His sharp canine teeth extended in his mouth, and his eyes began to dilate into those of a lion.

  Her eyes widened at him. He regained control of his shift and pushed the desire aside. Her face turned sly, and she raised her injured ankle in the air at him.

  "I want to take off the bandage while I'm in the water. Can you help me?"

  He pounced across the room and was at her feet in a split second, her foot on his lap. He peeled the bandage from her foot and examined the ankle.

  "Swelling’s down."

  "It feels much better."

  He unwrapped the poultice from her head and looked at her wound. It was mending well. His poultices had excellent healing qualities. She reached around her back and unsnapped her bra. Her full breasts fell out and jiggled in front of him.

  Ronan couldn't remember the last time he'd seen breasts that close. It took all his will-power not to reach out and knead them like two billowy mounds of dough. He licked his lips, aching to flick his tongue over her tight pink nipples.

  She balanced herself on her good leg and gingerly settled the injured foot to the floor. She pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. "Help me into the tub, Ronan. I need a hand."

  He was caught by the sight of her, the manicured black hair between her legs, the wide hips that tapered into her waist and her soft stomach. He sniffed the air and caught the intoxicating scent of her body. He purred.

  "Ronan. Please?"

  He stood and gave her his hand while she very carefully lowered herself into the tub. A satisfied moan passed her lips and it turned him on even more.

  Her black hair touched the water and she slowly leaned back against the head of the tub. "This is heavenly. Absolutely heavenly. I wish I'd thought of it before."

  Ronan reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bar of handmade soap. "Here," he said, handing it to her roughly. He had to get away from her before he lost his mind or something even more valuable, his solitude. He moved toward the door and grabbed his parka. He got one arm in before she called him back.

  "Ronan, could you please help me wash?"

  He growled deep in his throat and put his coat back on the rack by the door. He turned to her. Her breasts bobbed buoyantly in the water. Ronan rubbed his eyes with his rough hands. What had he gotten himself into?

  Maybe if she knew what he was, she'd stop tempting him. The thought crossed his mind to growl at her, half shifted, and scare her to death. He chuckled to himself, but then realized he didn't want to scare her. He didn't want her to be anything but happy. That realization made him grumble within.

  He crossed the room and pulled a chair behind the tub. She passed the soap over her shoulder, glancing at him from under thick black lashes. Her round white cheeks had turned pink from the hot water. He wandered if her other cheeks had turned the same color.

  Taking the soap more roughly than he needed to, he dipped it in the water and then rubbed it over her back. She pulled her hair over her shoulder so that the flesh of her posterior was exposed to him. He examined how her neck curved up into her jawline. He could sense the beating of her heart in the veins in her neck. He licked his lips, wondering what it would taste like to grip her there with his strong teeth.

  "Oh, that feels good," she moaned.

  He snapped out of his daze. There was no way he'd let this city woman tame him. Nope, not going to happen. No matter how much the animal inside him wanted to rut with her and claim her curvy white flesh, he wouldn't let his quiet life be disrupted. He'd worked too hard to isolate himself from the rest of the noisy, stinking world. He wasn't about to let it all go for a human woman.

  He abruptly dropped the soap between her legs and turned to the door, grabbing his coat on the way out. He heard her say, "wait," as it slammed shut behind him. He planned to sniff out a way to get rid of her.

  The snow pack was still knee deep. Even if her ankle were better, she probably couldn't hike twenty miles in this deep of snow. Damn. There had to be a way.

  No matter how much he detested the idea of having Forest Service on his land, he regretted chasing off Ashton. He should have asked his younger brother to send someone to take her away.

  Ronan trudged through the snow to the overhang and peeled off his clothes. The cold bit into his skin, and he began to shake violently before he got down to his boots. When the final garment lay over his wood pile, he turned. His body contorted and changed in the gasping span of a sharp breath.

  He stood in his feline form, grinning over sharp teeth. He stretched his back and clawed at the ground. How good it felt to be a beast again. His claws grated the frozen soil, giving him a keen sense of release.

  Swiftly, he pounced into the wood beyond his cabin, sniffing the frozen air with his big black nose. The world was muffled in a blanket of white. Sounds and smells were muted by the heavy layers of snow. Above, the sky was piercing blue. A hawk glided over the forest, shrieking for a kill.

  Ronan growled at the other predator. No matter if the bird flew high in the atmosphere, the land below belonged to only him. He would defend his domain against anyone man or beast. Or woman.
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br />   The mountain cat urged the human inside him to go back to the cabin, grip the female with his sharp claws, sink his teeth into the vulnerable flesh on the back of her neck, while he pumped into her with his dripping member. The human inside him refused. He'd never been so at odds with himself in his entire life.

  How could his cat disagree? Both man and beast had sought the solitude of the forest. Both man and beast had rejected the advances of would-be mates in the past. Now they disagreed over one woman, a woman who had stumbled into his life and turned it instantly upside down. No one but Ashton had been anywhere near his cabin for years. Now it had been taken over by her.

  In disgust, Ronan's human mind pushed the lion deeper into the wood. Enticed by the scent of a hare and the rapid beating of its heart, the lion forgot the woman and hunched into a prowl. He followed the scent until it smelled fresh and recent. Pulling the odor into his nose and mouth like liquid, he let it wash through him and down his throat.

  He could sense the rabbit had scurried under a downed log. He put his nose to the ground and prowled through the low undergrowth. Crouched behind a log, downwind of the rabbit, he waited for the twitching creature to emerge from its hiding spot. A loud crack cut through the still, frigid air. A second crack came with a bite. A bullet hit Ronan's foreleg, grazing the muscles of his upper leg.

  He stumbled backward. He hadn't sensed the humans. Stupid oversight. The smell of the hunter's gun powder stung his keen senses. Blood dripped from his wound and stained the white snow crimson. Turning away from the scene, he loped toward his cabin. In an instant, he shifted, not knowing what would be worse—to be shot by a hunter while in lion form, or to be seen naked running through the forest as a human.

  He made it back to the cabin with blood running down his bicep. It had been a grazing blow. The bullet only nicked him. If it had been a few inches to the right, it would have pierced his heart.

  When he reached the overhang, he pulled on his clothes and stormed inside. Makayla sat on the bed wrapped in blankets and towels. Her wet clothes hung, draped over the back of a chair in front of the fireplace.