Her Big Shifter Daddy: Big Easy Shifters: Book Five

by Knox, Abby

I don’t know what to say. Everything that I thought I understood about the world has turned upside down.

  I suppose I always felt that things were not as they seemed, that there have always been unexplained phenomena. But…when I saw you…change…through the window, with my own eyes. Forgive me, but I had to stifle a scream. I won’t lie. It was terrifying.

  Everything you’ve been saying makes sense now. About the stalking, the territorial behavior, about you being a predator. I don’t pretend to have a complete understanding of all of this, but know that I am praying for you that this terrible affliction leaves you. Is that what it is? A curse? There’s so much I don’t know that I still need to process.

  Please don’t be upset, but I will need some space to think about all of this.

  And please, I’m begging you, leave Jimmy Boudreaux alone. I was only taunting you before. He and I are just friends. I’m not saying I want to be with you and only you forever like you seem to think I should. But tell me something. When you referred to him as a “mutt,” what did you mean? Be specific. I’ll know if you’re lying.

  Please reply by post and not by sneaking into my room, my school locker, my car. The thought of a big cat prowling around in the shadows makes me very uncomfortable.

  Best,

  Betsy

  * * *

  Dear Lionel,

  Since you haven’t responded by post, I hope you don’t think it’s too forward of me to write to you again.

  I have some shocking news. I was talking to my sister, Catherine, the other day. When I confided in her that I met a panther shifter and that I wasn’t sure if I was losing my mind, she assured me that my sanity was safe. She knows all about this sort of thing! I am utterly gobsmacked that this information never came out before. But as she’s a nun, she’s been sworn to secrecy. You probably already know, her order gives refuge to your kind whenever they’re in danger.

  Are you in danger?

  For the first time, I had a thought of someone hunting and killing you. Or capturing you and torturing you, to study you for—I don't know, science?—and it made my heart break into a million pieces.

  Let’s be clear. I’m still not ready to be wooed, as you say. But it does make me happy to offer you comfort as a friend if you should ever need it. My sister does not know about your specific interest in me as a “mate,” and I’d like to keep it that way for now. I just want you to know that I understand your plight, and you have someone on your side if that helps.

  All the best,

  Betsy

  * * *

  My naïve, sweet Betsy,

  I did respond by post, but it never reached your hands. Ask around, and you might find your father confiscated that letter.

  If he did, and if he read it, don’t worry. I had a feeling this might happen. The letter itself contains nothing untoward. Simply an offer of an internship at my company.

  So, let’s not try that again.

  On the other matter—your offer of friendship and protection. Let’s be clear. I am in no need of shelter or refuge, or friendship.

  In less than a decade since I graduated, I have doubled the size of my family’s holdings and property. I have tripled our annual revenue of DuChamp Corp. and doubled the workforce.

  Every day I meet people who want to be my friend. I trust none of them. I wouldn’t know how to be a friend. I acquire companies, land, and allies, not friends.

  From the first day I saw you at your sister’s debutante ball—the ball that my company sponsored, in case you didn't know—I knew you were mine.

  You don’t understand the depth of my feelings.

  Well, fret not. I’ll simply show you.

  Yours always,

  Lionel

  * * *

  Dear Lionel,

  What in the world were you thinking, just appearing like that while visiting my sister at the convent?

  Did you plan the whole thing out? That dramatic collision, you touching my arm to steady me?

  Do you think my sister is so stupid to believe you and your, “Pardon me, miss…”

  You’re not that great of an actor.

  At least you managed to hide the grazing of your fingers against the sleeve of my sweater—the transfer of heat. Yes, I felt it. Are you proud of yourself, making an 18-year-old girl shudder with fright at this supernatural ability? How did you do that?

  My sister knew immediately you were the one I had told her about. And she could tell by the way my voice cracked when I answered you. “Miss Hyde.” She has always known when I was pretending.

  Can you imagine how I felt inside when I had to stand there and listen to the two of you make small talk? What was that?

  Her: “Do I know you?”

  You: “I’m Lionel. Lionel DuChamp.”

  Her: “You’re the one they named that park after.”

  You: “That was my granddad.”

  I had to listen to this all while my stomach was on the floor and my knees turned to jelly. Is this some sort of mind trick to make me fall at your feet?

  Because that’s not how it’s going to work with me.

  On the matter of friendship: fine! I don’t need any more friends anyway. So I guess the only path is you keep pursuing a romantic relationship, and I keep shooting you down. I expect you think that one day, I’ll just give up and fall into your arms.

  Good luck with that.

  Kindest regards,

  Betsy

  P.S. The house staff has found out your secret entrance into the house at night to deliver the letters. Although they know nothing of you, someone found a rodent's fresh skeleton in one of the old drainage tunnels connected to the cellar. Daddy has put an iron grate over it, so you won’t be able to get in that way anymore. Too bad for you.

  P.P.S. The weather sure is lovely for sleeping. I might sleep with the window open tonight. I hope I don’t regret this decision.

  Chapter Five

  “Baby, are you okay?” asked Ash, as he leaned over her, concern in his eyes.

  Rosemary had fallen backward onto the mattress. “She’s telling him that she’s going to sleep with the window open from now on, in case he wants to pop over whenever he wants in the middle of the night. Who are these people?”

  Ash looked down at his wife and smirked. “Obviously, you are not adopted. Sit up before you wrinkle your dress. Are you ready to go yet?”

  Rosemary’s eyes went wide. “Go? It’s just getting good.”

  “Is the plan to be extra fashionably late?” he asked.

  Rosemary shook her head and checked her phone. “Guests arrive in 20 minutes. We have time. And we’re more than halfway through. This is hardly even late for me at all. Keep your panties on, golden boy.”

  Ash licked his lips. “How’d you know I was wearing your panties tonight?”

  He leaned down and planted a sensual kiss against his wife’s gaping mouth. Rosemary accepted the kiss, meeting his tongue with hers, returning stroke for stroke until she felt the groan begin to emerge from deep within the wolf shifter’s chest.

  And then, she shoved him off.

  “Talk about wrinkling my dress. Come on, let’s keep reading. I’m dying here.”

  Ash snarled quietly but acquiesced, sitting up and picking up where he left off, muttering, “You ain’t the only one dying here, baby girl.”

  * * *

  Sweet, beautiful Betsy,

  Be very sure before you issue an invitation like that.

  It might seem strange, as I’ve been sneaking into your bedroom at will. I waited for you to fall asleep again before writing to you.

  You see, if I come to your bedroom and find you awake, waiting for me, there’s no going back. I will join you in your bed. I will have you. I will make you see and understand so thoroughly that you’ll be biting your lip bloody to keep from crying out in the night and waking up everyone else in the house.

  Make no mistake. It will happen. As long as you know what you’re asking for.

&nb
sp; But here are the answers to your previous questions.

  The truth is, I hadn’t intended to run into you that day when you visited your sister. It just so happens her convent is on the grounds of the Catholic church. And it just so happens, I had made a spontaneous decision to go there that day.

  Although I hadn't set out to run into you, laying eyes on you in broad daylight gave me life like nothing else.

  You see, when you told me your sister was a nun, I knew we could never be married and maintain your reputation. At worst, your family will cut you off after we marry. So I did the honorable thing and went to visit the parish priest to convert.

  Do I believe in any of that mumbo jumbo? No. But I did it for you.

  You might say I’m a hypocrite. So be it. I also hate golf, I hate cigars, and I hate social clubs. But I pretend to enjoy all of those things to grow my business.

  So I’ll toe the line with your family if it means I can have my Betsy and grow my family. That’s all I want.

  And before you go on and tell me I’m going to live a lie, let me ask you about that twin set and pearls you were wearing that day with your sister. Not to mention that good-girl expression.

  Does your sister know that her goody-two-shoes sister is a hellcat waiting to come out? Does she see the fire in your eyes when you look at me? Does she know that every curve of your yet-untouched body—down to the valleys underneath that mousy skirt—was calling out for me to violate them?

  Because I could tell. I could see it. No matter how much I frighten you, do not doubt that I could fucking smell you dripping when I was close.

  The panther sees everything. Your pupils dilating. The plumping of your lips. Your heart beginning to beat faster.

  You’ve already told me everything I need to know. I already have you, my dear.

  Sweet dreams,

  Lionel

  * * *

  Dear Lionel,

  How dare you make a fool of me? Let me be clear. When I tell you my window will be open, then my window will be open.

  Don’t make a lady beg for it.

  Let me be coy and maintain a little dignity, please?

  Chapter Six

  Looking up from the last letter she’d just read, Rosemary examined the next one from her father. Although she could determine the chronology based on her mother’s postmarks, the one after that came months later.

  “Wait a minute. That means…”

  Ash rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah. They didn’t need to exchange letters anymore because they were hooking up every night after that.”

  She huffed. “Well, that’s a letdown. I wanted the juicy details.”

  Ash groaned. “Babe. Did you want the details of your parents’ sex life? I feel ill.”

  Rosemary whapped him with her mother’s thick parchment. “No, silly. This is practically like reading about other people. They weren’t my parents yet. They were younger than we were when we got together. It’s like reading a super- romantic story about two strangers.”

  Ash shook his head. “Well, in a way, you’re right because everyone is going to be so super pissed at us for being late to this shindig that they will disown you. So…sure. You might as well be reading about the sex lives of strangers. Fine, then. Do you have everything you need?”

  Rosemary looked at him. “You think I’m leaving without reading through this entire stack? Come on; we’re almost finished.”

  * * *

  My dearest love,

  I don’t know where they are taking me or when I’ll be back, but just rest assured that I will return soon.

  Even if I did know where I’m headed today, I would not be allowed to tell you. But I will include an address on the back of this note where you can send a reply to me, care of the nearest U.S. military base that may know my future whereabouts. It may take a few days, or even weeks, to get to me.

  You know I don’t trust the government to do much of anything in a timely fashion except when it comes to collecting my taxes.

  I know, I know. I shouldn’t complain. As you rightly point out, I’ve got plenty to spare.

  I hope you know; all that bluster isn’t the real me. You and you alone see the real me, even when I don’t see it in myself.

  I never imagined a woman would ever bring out the good in me, but baby girl, you did it.

  Likewise, I never imagined I’d be privileged enough to serve my country. As you know, the Citadel made me a man, but the military just didn’t see me fit for a commission for one reason or another. They see things differently now.

  Even though your letter most likely won’t get to me until I’m already back in Louisiana—this may be a short assignment—I ask you to write to me anyway. I think it would be a nice thing to get a letter from my woman while I’m out of the country. Just as a keepsake. Maybe it’s silly, but hell. This is my chance. Just write the letter and let’s see what happens.

  I probably can’t tell you what I’m going to be doing when I get there, and I’m not even sure of it myself. Hell, you’re the one with the brains; you could probably take a stab at it better than I could.

  If I had to guess, it would be this: The Pentagon is flying me off to a place with very little danger, like Brussels or Zurich, where I will have a meeting with some soft diplomats. I will stare out the window of some foreign board room at the city, or the mountains, and wait for the talking to be done, and then I will watch somebody sign some documents. I’ll shake hands, maybe go to a boring social dinner. Hopefully, I’ll have time to go snow skiing and buy chocolates for you before heading home to your arms.

  And then in the morning, my private jet will be waiting for me because though the military plane is a fine craft, it’s not what I would call my taste.

  I will take a long, hot shower on that private plane and think of you, sweet thing, while the water washes over me. I’ll imagine you’re in there with me, your hands on me. All over me. Squeezing me here…and here…and especially there. You know what I mean.

  In that daydream, you’re looking up at me, your deep, soulful eyes seeing the real Lionel that nobody else sees. Your soft lips call to me. Your hair wet and clinging to your neck…the neck that I’m going to be kissing again soon. I imagine you soaping me up with that spicy stuff you like for me to use.

  I know you were raised with good society manners, but just like you see the real me, I know the real you. You are a good girl when the world needs you to be, but I’ve seen the real Betsy, and she is the wildest little thing who is still pure-blood human.

  I’ll probably get aroused in the shower at the thought of you touching me, the thought of your sweet breasts, your little pink nipples, soaked in the steaming shower, fully exposed to me and only me. I’ll be all worked up by the time I get home, so get yourself ready, Betsy.

  Don’t worry about what might be happening while I’m gone, but by god, be ready. In my mind, I’m already on my way back home, and I’m coming straight for you.

  With love,

  Lionel

  * * *

  Lionel,

  I just found your letter on my pillow this morning. That’s a fine goodbye for a gentleman.

  And here’s where we have the difficult one-sided conversation. Imagine I’m stammering because I’m a little afraid of your reaction. Here it is: I don’t want you sneaking into my room anymore after you return. Mama and Daddy had the priest come and talk to me at dinner last night. After talking to him, I feel awful, Lionel. You and I have been doing things that I know I shouldn’t do. I just can’t help myself around you.

  It’s hard enough being 19 and trying to get through college and still figuring out how to control myself.

  What I’m trying to say is, I love you, Lionel. But I need some time to think. To be alone.

  You might think I’m a coward for not saying these things to your face, but goddamn. See that? See what you do to me? Surely I’m headed straight to hell.

  Every time I’m around you, all you hav
e to do is put your lips close to mine, and I swoon. I forget my own name. Never mind the endless speeches I’ve prepared in hopes of reasoning with you.

  I know it’s pointless. There’s no stopping my Lionel.

  But now that there is physical space between us—and I have this odd sense of dread that this is not going to be a short trip—I can say what I need to say.

  Give me some space. Please. I don’t want to end this thing, but let me at least finish college before you get me pregnant.

  I know your family doesn’t feel shame when it comes to these things, but put yourself in my shoes. Think of my sweet mother. My sister! They would be scandalized.

  Don’t lose hope. Whatever happens, I will wait for you, and I will marry you.

  But I can’t do the things we do anymore without a ring on my finger.

  I know you think it’s all silly and a lot of bullshit, but this is the girl you chose. And do you not imagine there is some kind of a higher power? With all the voodoo that’s had a hold on your family for so many years? All the shifting between beast and human? That’s magic, is it not? And if magic is real, then where does it come from?

  These are questions I can’t wait to explore with you once we are married, Lionel.

  Just try to be patient.

  In the meantime, I don’t suppose I’ll go to hell straightaway for enjoying an impure thought about you from time to time.

  My favorite sinful daydream is the one where you shimmy up the drainpipe while I’m asleep in my four-poster bed. You silently unhinge the window. You creep inside with the silence of a panther and hover over my bed as I sleep. You crawl under the satin sheets and slide between my legs, and wake me with your mouth. I open my eyes, surprised, and yet, not so surprised. I have to bite down on the lace sashes of my bed to keep from crying out with the pleasure you give me. I am terrified we will be caught in the act, but at the same time, that terror just heightens all my senses. You build me up higher and higher. Your mouth, your tongue. It’s all so much. Your hands on my belly. And then I think, my god, I’ve got Lionel DuChamp, the world’s most fantastic half-man, half-panther between my legs—at my beck and call—and that’s more than enough to push me over the edge. When I crash, the waves of pleasure hit me, and it’s so good that I have tears in my eyes. I finish, and next thing I know, I am in your arms, shuddering, and you’re waiting…until you have your way with me again.