Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 6)

by Isadora Montrose

  “Thank you.” His voice was muffled by the bedding.

  No point pouting. He had warned her that she needed to unwrap her sarcasm. Zoë jumped when his hands began to chafe her feet. She jumped even higher when his hot wet tongue drew her toes into his even hotter mouth. He sucked hard and sparks flew along her veins. Suddenly she wasn’t cold anymore.

  She was writhing by the time he had made his methodical way up one leg to her pussy. He paused to nibble the sensitive skin of her inner thighs while she throbbed and pulsed impatiently.

  Presently she felt the all too brief lash of his tongue on her folds before he returned to her other leg. He worked his magic back down her thigh and calf, all the way to her toes, while his hands held her a willing prisoner.

  She was all but shrieking by the time he returned to her pussy. Her fingers skidded on his damp skin when she tried to get some grip to force him to do her properly.

  “You’re going to make me lose my place,” he warned gruffly. “Don’t be so impetuous, sweetheart.”

  He was bigger than her. He was holding her down. She might as well lie back and enjoy this sensual torture. Zoë relaxed and spread her legs wider.

  Mitchell’s breath huffed into her folds. He nibbled and lapped and suckled. And then he pounced on her clit and drew it deep into his mouth. Electric sparks shot into her buttocks. His hands found those pulsating globes and squeezed great handfuls in time to the pounding in her blood.

  He sucked her clit, pressed it with his tongue, and she flew apart. When she came back down from wherever Mitchell had sent her, he was on all fours above her. Her new nightgown had vanished. Her conquering male was caging her with arms of iron.

  She could scarcely make Mitchell’s features out by the dim starlight. He kissed her long and thoroughly, revving her senses up again. He tasted of her juices and of himself. Hot and hungry boar bear.

  Whatever else was wrong, they had this elemental attraction. She returned his kisses with enthusiasm, bumping and grinding into his erection.

  “Now?” he asked.

  “Now,” she agreed.

  His cock probed her folds, she took his hot length in one hand and rubbed it against her swollen and distended pussy. Mitchell moaned and bucked. But she made him wait while she used the head as a sex toy to stimulate herself.

  He was practically incandescent when she finally allowed him inside her. The exciting scent of aroused male bear hung heavy over them. It mingled with the fragrance that emanated from her every pore and orifice. A kind of sensual perfume that roused her even more.

  “You ready?” he grunted.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He surged forward and withdrew. And they were engaged in the greatest dance of all. All her senses, both bear and human, were engaged. This was Mitchell under her seeking hands. Mitchell’s scent in her nose. His taste in her mouth. His snufflings, groans and bellows making rich and throbbing music in her ears and veins.

  He stiffened above her and went still. She clasped his cock with her passage one last time, and let her release become a part of their dance. His arms held her close. Hers gripped him. Their tongues became languid. On the edges of her vision, fireworks made vivid patterns.

  It was all she could do not to shriek out loud that she loved him. That assuredly wasn’t part of their bargain.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Mitchell~

  He was neither surprised nor alarmed when the scuffling outside his window woke him. He threw on his clothes, drew the comforter tenderly over Zoë’s naked shoulders, and headed for the front porch. Stickney was sitting fully dressed in one of the rockers.

  “Hey,” Mitchell said. “How’s it going?”

  “Just came by to thank you for getting those olives.” Stickney chuckled. “A whole case seems excessive, but Emily is delighted. What do I owe you?”

  Mitchell waved a hand. “Nothing at all. Our pleasure. Consider it a token to express our remorse at having trespassed.”

  After some polite skirmishing, Howard let himself be persuaded to accept the olives and stayed to have a beer.

  “Well, when’s the wedding?”

  “We couldn’t get a license today. We filled out the forms but the clerk said he had to confirm our identities.”

  Howard blew a raspberry. “That Brad Lodge couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

  “He said the server was down and he needed to check with the DMV.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you for nothing, Reynolds, the council isn’t going to like you and Miss Zoë shacked up together. Sure as shooting, they’ll hold up that land transfer.”

  Mitchell said, “I hear you’re on the council. I hope you’ll explain what a nice couple we are.”

  “In your dreams, Reynolds. What did your fiancée think of Mystic Bay?” Howard asked.

  “I think she liked it better than up here.”

  “You need some of the comforts of home,” Howard said. “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

  This was true. “I ordered a flash heater for the bathroom,” Mitchell said. “Should be ready to pick up tomorrow.”

  “You should put one in the kitchen too. That old one in there uses way more gas than the new ones do.”

  Mitchell wasn’t even surprised that Howard was familiar with the inside of the cabin. “That heater looks like it was installed during the war,” he agreed.

  “It was. Bathroom too. And these windows.” Stickney jerked a thumb at the old-fashioned wooden casements behind them. “Mind you, they were state of the art back then. Had screens and everything. All in all, a big improvement on cold water, an outhouse, and teensy holes covered by wooden shutters.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Zoë what delights she missed.”

  Howard’s shoulders rocked. “You better make sure you have a power supply before you tell her how lucky she is.”

  “How long did it take you to build your windmill?” Mitchell asked.

  “Couple months.”

  He didn’t have a couple of months. “I’ve been thinking that the council is probably not going to love the idea of a wind turbine on this bluff.” He made it a question.

  Howard shook his head. “They won’t like it. We got a fair number of die-hards. Their knee-jerk response will be to declare that wind turbines are ugly – which they are. But it’s you and the missus who will have to look at yours, and listen to it too.”

  “How about a tidal generator?” Mitchell asked.

  Stickney thought. “The only ones I’ve ever heard about were prototypes.”

  “I know some people,” Mitchell said. “Only thing is, as powerful as the tides here are, we’d have to dump some of the excess into the grid.”

  Stickney laughed. “Now you’re talking. We could run underwater cables to Doyle Point, and tap into the grid there. Be a good spot for someone thinking of opening, say, a boatyard.”

  “You been Googling me, Stickney?”

  “Have a lot of time on my hands, these days,” Howard said piously. “And I’m professionally interested in boats myself.”

  “You’ll have to tell me your service provider,” Mitchell said. “I can’t get a decent internet connection myself.”

  “You need to hook up with the local guys.”

  Figured. “Uh huh. You gonna give me a hand to install that flash heater?”

  “Of course. You better make sure you buy two.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Zoë~

  For the fourth day in a row, she woke to the sound of a nail gun. Briefly she contemplated pulling the covers over her head and staying put. She was so tired of the noise and the dust and the disruption.

  Mitchell had been working like a man possessed. And nothing had improved. In fact, things had gotten worse. She seemed to spend her time cleaning and yet the cabin was never clean.

  Either they were having a run of bad luck, or they were cursed. She swung out of bed and made her way to the icy bathroom, looking out first to make sure th
at there was no one checking out the bathroom through the plastic covering the new window opening.

  Mitchell had bought a lovely window. Double hung. Double glazed. Frosted. Perfect for a bathroom. But when he had removed its layers of wrapping, one pane was cracked and it couldn’t be installed.

  The new one should arrive on today’s ferry. In the meantime, the hole he had cut for the window let in the draft that Styrofoam insulation excluded. The sink and tub which had sparkled when she went to sleep, were once again filmed with grimy dust.

  Plastic let in drafts. Construction made dirt. Not Mitchell’s fault. That had become her new mantra. None of this is Mitchell’s fault. They were just the playthings of fate. Things will get better. It wasn’t working. Her mood remained foul.

  Mitch and their neighbor Howard had labored over the bathroom hot water heater. It sat proudly on the new beadboard paneling that concealed even more insulation beneath its pristine surface.

  It looked like a modern sculpture, as they had proudly informed her. She didn’t want art. She wanted hot water. Naturally, it didn’t work. Something about a missing valve.

  Zoë cleaned up in icy water, her new normal. This morning, even the trek to the kitchen tap seemed like too much work. Besides who knew what horrors awaited her out there?

  She threw on some clothes. No one was in the kitchen, but the guys had eaten breakfast and left their dishes for her. Her gorge rose. This was the queasiest possible time of day for her. Egg-smeared plates and coffee dregs assailed her eyes and nose. She fought her nausea and began to wash up.

  “Good, you’re up.” Mitchell leaned against the woodshed door and spoke over the steady pops of a nail gun. “Could you make us some more coffee, please? And we need more food. We’re pretty low.”

  She summoned a smile. “Sure. Who’re we feeding?”

  “Me, Benoit, Wolfmann, and Howard. I’d kiss you, but I’m covered in grease.”

  He was. Perspiration beaded his brow. Black smudges showed where he had tried to wipe it away. Already his sweatshirt was filthy and shedding sawdust.

  “I have some bad news.” His normally upbeat voice was bleak.

  “What now?”

  “The generator has a leaky gasket.”

  “Can’t Zeigler’s Hardware sell you anything that works?” Despite her vow to stop carping, her exasperation slipped its leash.

  His lips tightened. “They can and do. I bought this one second-hand from Bear Claw Construction. I figured it would be faster than ordering one through Zeigler’s. It was working fine when I bought it.”

  She bit her tongue, dumped the old coffee in the sink and began to refill the pot in grim silence.

  “Do you think you could take the boat into Mystic Bay and get groceries? I have to have something to feed the guys.”

  She opened the fridge and gazed at the untidy interior. Three raspberries clung to the side of a squashed green box. There was one egg in the carton. And a single crust in the bread bag.

  “What am I supposed to eat for breakfast? And what do you plan to do about that gasket?”

  “I’m trying to locate a new one. The internet gave out on me mid-search.”

  “Of course it did.”

  Mitchell exploded. “I’m doing my best, Zoë, and your grousing isn’t helping. To tell you the truth, I’m fed to the back teeth with your griping. I’m busting my hump to please you, you could show a little appreciation.”

  She’d like to show him her appreciation. But there weren’t enough days left in the year. She bit her tongue.

  “I’ll go into town as soon as I’ve had some coffee,” she assured him tightly when she had her temper back under control.

  At this point, even a trip across choppy seas would be better than staying around while four guys made another big mess of her home. Maybe she would show her appreciation by not coming back.

  And then he disarmed her. As usual. “Make sure you eat something first, huh? And stop in at the Town Hall and see if we have a marriage license yet.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I called yesterday. Brad finally got through to the DMV. He’s satisfied we are who we claimed to be. We have a license.”

  “Excellent.” He vanished before she could tell him that they still had a three-day wait. Starting today. Brad claimed the clock started ticking on the next business day. He was wrong, but she couldn’t get him to budge.

  Three hours later she chugged into Mystic Bay. Harvey came bustling over before she had the Zephyr secured. He had swapped out his yellow slicker for a navy windbreaker.

  “Nice morning, ain’t it, Zoë?” He handed her a day pass. “As often as you folks come to town, you should buy a monthly pass.”

  She pulled out her wallet. “Let’s do that.”

  “I hear that Howard Stickney is helping Mitch with his renovations,” Harvey said.

  He was looking for information, but there was something like awe in his voice. A lifetime of living in Luck Harbor had taught Zoë that there was no such thing as a secret in a small town.

  “He is,” she said absently, before her tired brain registered that her lack of enthusiasm would be discussed over a beer later. She forced a big smile to her face. “Howard is a good neighbor.”

  “Is he?”

  “The best. He and Mitchell insulated the lean-to yesterday.”

  And had gotten sawdust evenly distributed throughout the cabin. Without a vacuum, it had taken her hours to clean up. The day before they had chopped down the overgrown saplings and brush and filled the house with leaf litter and twigs.

  “That’s good.” He returned her credit card. But she read disappointment in his face. Amity didn’t make for a good story. “What brings you to town by yourself?”

  “Groceries. Mitchell has two more helpers today, I have to get something to feed them.”

  “That would be Anton Benoit and Drew Wolfmann?”

  “It would.”

  “Hard workers.” Something seemed to amuse Harvey, but since he didn’t share, Zoë could only wonder what fresh disaster he was privy to.

  She made her way up to Main Street. The Artists Co-op had new pictures in the front window. They were lovely, but not as captivating as Quinn Drake’s. She peeped inside and was happy to see Moira, who waved to her. She went in.

  “Did you run away from home?” the fairy asked.

  “Sort of. Mitchell has three fellows giving him a hand to make a mess today. He sent me for food and hardware.”

  Moira laughed sympathetically. “Construction is the worst. While our house was being built, we lived in my little cottage for that very reason. I absolutely refused to move in until every last wall was painted, and every door handle installed.”

  “Not an option for me,” Zoë said wistfully.

  “This will pass,” Moira said consolingly. “Like a kidney stone, but it will pass.”

  Although she didn’t see the humor, Zoë laughed obligingly.

  A tall, slender woman draped in what had to be hand-loomed yellow emerged from the back room. Moira beckoned her. “Zoë, this is Sylvie Clark, one of our artists.”

  After the usual amenities, and curious glances, Moira suggested that they leave Sylvie to do her shift and go rescue her infant daughter and have some coffee. They didn’t go far. Moira’s store was nearby.

  “I didn’t realize that the art supply was your business,” Zoë said.

  “Yup. The Co-op is just a way of keeping my artists happy.”

  “I’m sure it is more than that.” It had the hallmarks of a well-run business. Every time Zoë had come to town, it had been full of paintings with sold stickers.

  “Well, I did run a gallery in Seattle before I moved home to Mystic Bay,” Moira admitted. “The art supply is a new venture for me, and the Co-op is kind of a sideline.”

  Fairchild’s Art Supply was thronged. Several green-aproned women were helping customers. Another stood behind the counter briskly ringing up goods. Before Zoë could look around properly, Moira w
as lifted into the burly arms of a black-bearded giant and soundly kissed.

  “Mama,” cried a small voice. A dark-haired baby staggered over and clasped Moira’s leg enthusiastically.

  “My daughter, Rowena, and my husband, Quinn,” Moira said. “We’re going to sit in the back room and chat,” Moira informed him.

  Quinn put his wife down and picked up his daughter. “I notice you show up when she’s ready to nap,” he said. “Where were you when she was unpacking that case of paint tubes?”

  Moira chuckled. “Has she eaten?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  Rowena’s bib-fronted overalls were liberally stained orange. But her face was shiny clean. “Come on, monkey, it’s time for your nap,” Moira said. Quinn handed the baby over and they went into the back room.

  Zoë found herself sitting at a little table while the baby lay down on a cushioned nest on the floor and closed her eyes obediently.

  “She’s adorable,” Zoë said. “But how did you train her to just go to sleep like that?”

  “She’s half-fairy,” Moira said shrugging. “This is normal.”

  “Not for cubs.” Zoë touched her belly lightly.

  The curve was not yet visible when she was dressed, but her baby was growing. Would Mitch be as happy with his decision when she was the size of a house? Would they even survive these renovations?

  Moira just smiled and put mugs on the table. “What are you doing for fun these days?”

  “I live in a construction zone. Mopping and dusting is about it.”

  “You need to do something for yourself,” Moira advised. “What did you do before Mitchell hauled you to Bear Lookout?”

  “I was a speechwriter.”

  “Hmm. Not a lot of call for speechwriting on West Haven. Not that Aunt Robin doesn’t get on her hind legs now and again and make a speech, but she doesn’t need a speechwriter to say, ‘It is my honor and pleasure to open the Archibald Drake Memorial Maritime Museum’, or whatever.”

  “See, if she had a speechwriter, she would say, ‘Great honor’,” Zoë joked. “Your Aunt Robin would be the mayor?”

  “That’s right.” Moira sipped. “Have you ever thought of creating an online newspaper?” she asked casually.