In the Mood Fur Love

by Eve Langlais

  The revelation caused her breath to hitch, and yet her heart raced, adrenalized by their interaction.

  “You barely know me.”

  “Is that supposed to change my intense attraction to you?” Nothing would change it. Ever. Becka is mine.

  Mine. His inner beast grumbled in agreement.

  “It’s flattering. Really it is, but it’s too soon for me to think of getting involved with anyone.”

  “Because you’re worried the guy who held you prisoner is going to come back. Let him. I’ll take care of him.”

  “You don’t understand what he is.”

  And she didn’t yet know what hid under Stavros’s skin. Showing her too soon would send her running for sure, though. Humans needed a certain amount of time to adjust to the idea of a man changing into a bear. The revelation usually proved less traumatic if the pair mated first. “Promise me you’ll stay until I come back.”

  Her lips clamped tight.

  He cupped the back of her neck and drew her to him, lowering his mouth to hover a hairsbreadth away. “Promise me, sweetheart. Have faith in me.”

  His turn for his breath to hitch as she touched her mouth to his, a soft embrace, so gentle he didn’t dare move.

  It lasted mere seconds, and yet the touch proved much too electrifying for him not to act. His hands gripped her more firmly, and he let his lips join the kiss, slanting them over hers, nibbling and tugging at her mouth. The sugar and fruit of the donut powdered her lips. Delicious.

  Hot panting breaths emerged amid increasingly heated kisses. More like one long embrace of sighs, and moans, and a bit of tongue. The skin-to-skin contact proved electric. His hunger for her roared inside.

  Want her. Want her now.

  A good reason to step back, his lips bereft and his eyes busy taking in every detail of Becka from her swollen lips to her glazed gaze. He couldn’t resist rubbing that lower lip with his thumb. So fucking sexy.

  “You are a temptation, sweetheart.”

  “Is that why you stopped?” Her query emerged a tad high-pitched.

  “I stopped because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have gone shopping. And you need clothes.” Actually, he needed a few answers too. But he doubted bringing her along was a good idea. Just like leaving her here alone wasn’t the best option, which was why, when she went to brush her teeth, he contacted his sidekick, also known as Cousin Damian, to come keep an eye on his place, out of sight, of course. He liked Damian well enough, but not enough to leave him alone with Becka. Killing a friend would suck.

  She emerged from the bathroom with her hair combed and tied back. She noted the shoes on his feet. “So you’re really going. Can you at least promise to be careful?”

  “Clothes shopping is not that dangerous.” He winked.

  She didn’t buy it. “Please come back.”

  “Tell you what, if I am not here by suppertime, feel free to bust out.” Because the only way that would happen was if he was dead.

  “Be good.”

  “Always,” said with a wicked smile, and just because he was a man he snared her and drew her close. He gave her one more kiss, a kiss that she didn’t hesitate to return.

  He stopped it—way too soon—and left before he took her right then and there. It was too early, despite the promise in her kiss. He had to take things slow with her so he didn’t frighten her.

  Let her have some time alone, a time for her to regroup and rest. Time for her to miss him maybe too?

  All the way down he couldn’t help but think leaving her felt wrong. Yet truly what was the danger to her? No one knew he had her. His apartment was probably one of the safest places in the city. His apartment door was burglarproof. His windows were stories aboveground, and the one with the outdoor fire escape had bars. Add in Damian outside keeping an eagle eye and nothing could get to her.

  I should stay and protect her in person. The thought persisted.

  However, sitting around his place wouldn’t get him any answers, and he dearly needed some. Despite all his gentle prods, Becka just wouldn’t reveal her abuser. She tried to protect Stavros, which truly was laughable. But cute.

  Everything about her was cute. He considered it a huge victory she’d stopped flinching when he touched her. Hell, they’d progressed enough that she had touched him, initiating their kiss. He considered it a huge victory.

  She’s beginning to trust me.

  The burgeoning trust needed help, though. In order to have her truly relax and feel free, he needed to prove to her that the guy who’d hurt her wouldn’t ever do so again. Which meant finding the guy. And when he did …

  Eat his face. A bloodthirsty sentiment he wholeheartedly agreed with.

  After exchanging a few words with Damian—“Call me if you suspect anything.” “Don’t be such a pussy-whipped nerd” was the reply—Stavros grabbed his car and went back to the scene of the crime, the hotel where it all started.

  As he drew close to it, he noted it still had more than a few police cars strung out front, including a forensics van. The fact that people had died and were assaulted would mean lots of yellow tape. If he didn’t feel such a sense of urgency, Stavros might have waited for the reports.

  Parking a few blocks over, he traveled the rest of the distance on foot, taking note of those gawking—because in some cases the guilty parties did enjoy returning to the scene of a crime.

  Who didn’t want to relive an epic fight? In his family sleuth, they were starting to use GoPros. Those body cams caught all the action—and misdemeanors. Uncle Leo grumbled a few times about the old trick of dropping it in the toilet, not working with new technology and its waterproof, shock-proof casings.

  Despite the police presence, Stavros managed to enter the hotel unmolested. A hotel couldn’t shut down for a police investigation. However, that didn’t mean he managed to pass with impunity. A few steps into the lobby—decorated in a lovely shade of blue, with hints of gold and white marble, and he only knew this because his sister had helped design the space, meaning he’d heard about it over and over and over—he saw his old nemesis, Landry.

  Don’t let him see me.

  Luck wasn’t on his side. Landry spotted him and, with his side comb leading the way, headed over.

  “What are you doing here?” Landry asked, his thin attempt at a mustache a distracting strip of fuzz over his lip.

  “I was in the neighborhood and saw the commotion. Being curious, I thought I’d wander in for a peek.”

  “Bullshit. I already know you’re involved. I heard you collared the prime suspect last night but then let him get away.”

  “Just doing my part as a good citizen. Not my fault you took too long to arrive.” Never accept blame. Another thing Uncle Leo had taught them.

  “We were still securing the crime scene when you notified Jenkins. You do know the proper chain of procedure involves you contacting Dispatch.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore. Procedure doesn’t apply.”

  A sneer pulled that upper-lip caterpillar in ways no furry thing should stretch. “That’s right, you’re not on the force anymore, which means you shouldn’t be here. This is a closed investigation. So turn around and leave before I have you booked on impeding an investigation.”

  “Do that and I might not want to share information that I have about the case. Vital information, I should add.”

  “Such as?”

  Stavros gave him a crumb, something that wasn’t really a secret. “There is a woman involved. Seems there’s some guys looking for her.”

  “We’re already aware of that.”

  “Did you know she was being kept prisoner? That she was abducted and being held hostage in the hotel room?”

  Landry’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “How do you know this? Have you talked to her? Do you know where she is?”

  “Me? Nope. Just repeating some conversation I had with the thug in the alley. You know, the one you guys lost.” Utter bullshit, of course, the thug hadn’t said much befor
e Stavros took him down, but Landry didn’t know that.

  “Who was the assailant? Did you get a name?”

  “Well, hold on a second, I just gave you a tidbit you didn’t know. Fair play says you should give me something in return.”

  The battle played itself out on Landry’s face before he bit out a reply. “The hotel confirmed there was a female staying in the room where the altercation began. That female escaped during the brawl on that level and apparently fled the hotel on foot. But that’s all we know. We didn’t find any identification in the room, just a few pieces of clothing.”

  “You managed to lose a terrified woman who escaped in her bare feet?” He couldn’t help taunt the prick. After all, he was pretty sure Landry was the one who had ratted him out about the weed. Uptight prick.

  “How did you know her feet were bare?” Landry’s eyes narrowed.

  “Because people noticed and I hear what they say.” Stavros covered his gaffe.

  “Sir, the boys might have found something.”

  The claim drew Landry’s attention, and he shot a glance over his shoulder. “Coming.” He turned back. “Do you have anything else?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Sure you don’t,” Landry muttered. “If you happen to find the girl, let me know immediately. As a witness to last night’s events, she could be in danger.”

  “Never fear; I will do the right thing.” For Becka and himself.

  As Landry joined his posse, Stavros wandered toward the front desk. He flashed his PI badge as he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Stavros Georgopoulos with Magnum Bear Investigative Services. I’m here on behalf of the gentleman who died last night. Mr. Smythe.” A name he’d gleaned from the news. “Actually, I’m here on behalf of his company. Apparently, they sent him on this trip with a company laptop. Given his demise, the company is concerned about its property, given there is some sensitive information on the drive and they’re worried about it getting into the wrong hands. Do you know where his belongings are?” More utter bullshit. When dealing with folks, always make it sound like you knew exactly what you were doing. Most tended to just reply with the answer.

  “The police have all his things, plus those from the other room where it all started. I still can’t believe it. It’s just awful what happened last night.” So awful the clerk appeared as if he’d burst with excitement. While trauma sucked for those dealing with it, many times those on the outside found a perverse pleasure in feeding off the adrenaline of it.

  “So fucking awful,” he agreed. “So they’ve got all my client’s things. That’s a fucking bummer. The company won’t like that. I’m surprised, though. I thought he was a victim.”

  “More like a hero from what I hear. He took on one of the ninja dudes,” said the young man behind the desk, his Adam’s apple bobbing in excitement.

  “Ninja dudes?”

  “Ken, one of the security fellows involved in the altercation, said it was like some crazy action movie. There were these dudes, all dressed in black, head to toe, and wearing helmets too, so Ken couldn’t see any faces.”

  “How many of them?”

  “Not sure. Ken thinks he saw about three, but in the chaos there could have been more.”

  “Any idea who they were? Or what they wanted?”

  “Nope.” A shrug of skinny shoulders. “Most of the staff think it’s a drug deal gone bad.”

  “And what do you think?” Because it never hurt to ask what people had seen. Sometimes the oddest clue could crack a case.

  “I think it was a war over the girl. One guy had her; another one wanted her. So they fought. Except she got away, and holy crap was her boyfriend pissed.”

  “Oh. He returned to the hotel?”

  “He did and lost his shit when he got back. I was just coming into work, and I saw him, screaming in the lobby. Demanding to know where she’d gone.”

  “Did the cops take him in for questioning?”

  The clerk shook his head. “Nope. They wanted to, though. He shoved through them like they weren’t even there and left. Now the cops are looking for him too.”

  “Can I ask what he looks like?” Put a face to the asshole who would suffer for what he did to Becka.

  “He’s a tall dude, but chubby.”

  “Skin color?”

  “Superpale. And his hair is dark, kind of greasy-looking and totally receding.” The clerk shoved his hair back on his forehead.

  “Anything about his features that stands out?”

  “He’s got one of those big hooked-nose deals going on and a full-on unibrow. Not an attractive fellow, that’s for sure.”

  “Does this fellow have a name?”

  At that request, the clerk wavered. A subtle slide of green paper across the counter bolstered his resolve.

  “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but dude’s name has got to be totally fake. I mean who the hell calls themselves Vladimir Dracuul?”

  “Seriously?”

  The clerk bobbed his head. “He even had I.D. to back it up.”

  “And where is Mr. Dracuul from? Transylvania?”

  The clerk snickered. “Seattle of all places. Can you imagine?”

  Not really, but a strange thought was beginning to form in Stavros’s mind. A thought that surely was wrong.

  He thanked the clerk and thought he’d try to make it to the floor of the attack, except when the elevator doors opened on the eighth floor the blue uniforms on duty wouldn’t let him past. “Sorry, man, but Landry will have my badge if I let you in.”

  Since Stavros had no desire to see his former mates get in trouble, he left but didn’t go to his apartment. Not yet. Even if he wanted to.

  Really wanted to. Like now. This very minute.

  Run.

  Go.

  He had to see her.

  And that desperate need was why he wouldn’t. The fact that Stavros had met his mate didn’t mean he wanted to run headlong into commitment. Commitment meant being responsible for someone else. No longer hanging out with his buddies at strip bars. And splitting the last donut.

  It meant spending time with one lady. Putting her needs above his own. Protecting her from life’s adversities. Making love to her all night long. Waking up beside her. Sharing smiles with her.

  Hold on; exactly what was wrong with this picture again?

  Exiting, he paid no mind to the people around him until he reached his car and whirled suddenly.

  The moderately tall man in the suit didn’t even flinch.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “You were showing an interest in a certain hotel patron.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t act stupid, Mr. Georgopoulos. We know who you are.”

  “How do you know me?” His brow furrowed in suspicion.

  “People say the most interesting things when they think themselves alone on their phones. In this case, someone in the hotel lobby recognized you. There was mention you were here last night.”

  “Their information is wrong.”

  “Is it? Then why were you questioning the desk clerk?”

  “How about instead we start with who are you and what the fuck business is it of yours who I talk to?”

  “I am Antoine Beauchamp.” A cultured name for a suave fellow. “I am here on behalf of my client.”

  “And who is your client?”

  “None of your concern. Suffice it to say he has an interest in the girl who went missing last night.”

  “Don’t know nothing about no girl.” And he wouldn’t tell this slick prick if he did. Something about the guy set off a warning growl.

  Doesn’t smell right.

  The whole thing stunk.

  “You don’t say. Well, if that changes”—a card appeared, a simple white card with a number on it and simply the name Antoine—“call me. There is a reward for information leading to her return.”

  Out of curiosity, he asked, “What kind of reward?”
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  The number dropped his jaw.

  Exactly who is my sweetheart?

  He planned to find out, and he’d start by asking her. No more evading his questions. He’d get some answers goddammit, except when he arrived home thoughts of questioning her disappeared. The doorknob and lock were a melted mess. Someone had used acid to chew through the metal and gain entry. Inside, the damage continued, the place appearing as if a tornado had gone through it. Cushions tossed. Couches overturned. Cupboards torn open and contents strewn everywhere.

  And not a sign of Becka anywhere.

  What happened?

  He slammed the door shut and wedged a chair in front of it to prevent it accidentally opening. Then as he stripped out of his clothes, he called his partner. The phone went straight to voice mail. “Hey, this is Damian. Leave a message, unless you’re my ex-girlfriend; then you can get back on that broomstick and fly out of here. I’m keeping the dog.” Beep.

  “You better be fucking dead because if you’re not—” Argh. The phone went flying and hit the wall. The heavy-duty case protected it.

  He finished stripping, just in time too, as his bear shoved through with a growl.

  That’s better. Now I can see. By “see” he meant what had happened. In his human form, he truly was restricted. When it came to deciphering events, he had only his eyes, but that didn’t tell anywhere close to the whole story.

  Scent, though, that was an entirely different beast. He sat his bear ass on the floor, closed his eyes, and took a few whiffs. He sifted the different flavors, sorting them for study. The usual ones—his cologne coming from the direction of the bathroom, most likely smashed given its potency. Sweaty socks coming from his gym bag equipment, usually kept in the closet, now strewn on the floor. Leftover pizza smell from the box still sitting beside the cupboard because it didn’t fit in the recycling bin.

  All familiar home smells. Now for those that were out of the ordinary. Some kind of cheap deodorant, two different scents, neither of them his and most definitely not Damian. Oregano, that was a leftover from his sister Athena. She loved to cook Italian—which drove his very Greek mother insane. Then there was honey, with a hint of delicious, that belonged to Becka.