by Beverly Rae
Suddenly, she twisted toward him and their gazes met and held. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Hey, sweetheart, you’d better watch out—”
Her big beautiful eyes grew large and she let out a yelp. In one awkward motion, her feet flew out from under her and she crashed on her side on the still-moving belt. She slid with the conveyor, headed quickly toward the end, and slammed into his legs.
“Argh!” Jason went down hard, landing on top of the woman, whose upper torso bumped up and down with the off-center glide of the belt. Yet, even though she pushed on his chest to get him off her, he couldn’t help but enjoy the soft pressure of her breasts against him.
“Ow! This thing’s got me!”
The panic on her face erased the lust-filled ideas spreading through his body and mind. Gripping her bra-like top, he pulled her off the treadmill. Or at least he attempted to. Trying to ignore the spectacular view of her ample cleavage, he peeked behind her. “Shit. The back of your top’s caught in the mechanism.” He looked around to see where the young manager was. “Steve, don’t just stand there. Turn this thing off.”
Steve scrambled past them to the control panel and pushed the red emergency button. Amazingly, the treadmill continued to run. “I can’t get it to stop. Hang on while I get in front and pull the plug.”
“Hurry! It hurts!”
Frightened eyes captured Jason and he could think of only one thing to do. Shifting enough to change his fingernails into claws, he punctured through the fabric of her workout top and pulled. The garment ripped, tearing away from her body, and the woman screamed louder. Freed from the monster machine, Jason and the woman scrambled apart. She clutched her arms in front of her generous breasts while he tried not to gawk in wonder. Stare, hell, yes—but not gawk.
“Are you crazy?”
She stood, arms crossed, protecting precious little of her chest—How lucky can a man get?—and glared at the crowd surrounding them. Several men whistled and hooted, bumping against each other for a better view of the half-naked woman.
“Why are you yelling at me? I helped you, remember?” He licked his lips and tried to keep his focus on her face. Her mouth worked, searching for the right words and giving him time to notice the fullness of her lips.
“Give me your shirt, you jerk.” She widened her eyes more, indicating the people around them. “Right now.”
Quickly, he whipped off his denim shirt and held it out to her, silently chastising himself for not thinking of it first. Holding it open, he held it in front of her, hoping to shield her from not only his wandering eyes, but the rest of the club’s patrons. She inched closer to grab the shirt. With a final scowl at him, she dashed for the locker rooms.
“I got it!”
Jason turned to Steve, who stood holding the power cord high like an Olympic gold medal. At last, the treadmill ground to a stop. “Great, man. Good work.” The memory of luscious breasts tickled his mind, yet he couldn’t let go of the sight of her angry eyes. Turning to stare after her, he knew he’d found his mate.
ƒ
Syd grumbled at the sharp pain slicing into her back. “I’m telling you, Charlie, I can never return to that gym. I’ll be the talk of the place for at least another six months.”
Holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she twisted off the lid of a pill bottle. She listened to her friend’s offer to play nurse to her, but knew Charlie would smother her to death. “Gee, Charlie, you’re very sweet, but I’m going to do what the doctor suggested. I’m taking a couple of the pain pills he gave me and heading to bed for a good night’s rest.”
Not stopping to get water, she tossed two pills to the back of her throat and swallowed. After a moment’s hesitation, she popped another pill and crossed into the living room. “Seriously, I’m bruised, but okay. Nothing for you to worry about. Unless you’d like to worry about my lost dignity.”
She eased her body onto the couch. “Okay, okay, I swear. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Bye.” After another promise to call, she traded the phone for the television remote. She paused, her attention drawn to the image of a man in a werewolf costume howling at the moon. She shook her head, wondering if anyone in Hollywood knew the truth. Obviously whoever had made this film hadn’t, but it was an old movie. Maybe that was why the newer movies appeared more realistic. Had someone finally told the Hollywood big shots that werewolves really did exist? She flipped to another channel where a talking dog spoke to his owner in perfect English.
Tell him, boy. Tell him Sally fell down the well. Then tell him bogey monsters are real and hiding in the well, ready to gobble him up. She pffed out her exasperation. Yeah, right. Talking dogs. Yet she couldn’t fault the filmmakers. She’d always been told werewolves could talk, so why not dogs? Maybe the people who’d made the show knew shifters could speak while in wolf form and had assumed dogs could do the same. Of course, shifters had the advantage of being human, too.
Flipping to an infomercial—I’ve gotta think of something beside canines and you-know-who—she wiggled into the cushions. She tried to concentrate on the benefits of the food processor, but found her mind drifting away. Instead, the image of her falling on the treadmill—and having her sweat-wet boobs exposed for the entire gym to leer at—was too difficult to shut out. And she couldn’t ease the image of him—big, tall, where-have-you-been-all-my-life him.
The moment she’d turned and seen his face she’d known the truth. Her dream man was real and standing at the foot of her treadmill.
“Holey moley. I do not believe this.” Had she found him? He was definitely the spitting image of the man in her dreams. Had her wish for a man who was part wolf come true? She groaned, glanced at the hunting magazine—a gift from her father—resting on the table in front of her and clamped her eyes closed. No, he can’t be. And even if he was, I could never get involved with a shifter. What the hell am I thinking?
“Sydney? You in there?”
Syd’s head jerked up at the sound of her father’s gruff voice. “Skeller?” She turned off the television, hurried to the door—ow, ow, ow—and missed the knob when Skeller swung the door open. She slammed to a stop—ow—and leaned in to peck a kiss on his cheek. “Hi. Um, why are you here?”
He accepted her kiss, but never lost the glower on his face. “Little girl, how many times have I told you to lock your front door? You’re just asking for some lowlife to waltz in and rob you. Or worse. You know how your mother worries.”
Do you worry, Skeller? “Most people don’t barge into an apartment without knocking.” Why did she and her father have such a difficult relationship? Was it just a yin and yang kind of thing? Or something more? Sometimes she couldn’t believe they were related at all.
Her father grumbled a few choice words about “Skellers not being most people” and stepped inside.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“What’d you say, little girl?”
Syd bit her lip and fought to keep her frustration in check. “Not a thing.”
He studied her, making her squirm. “Are you all right? You’re acting strange.”
“I’m fine.” Straighten up, Syd. No way am I telling him about the accident—or the man.
Although she sensed that he knew she was lying, he changed the subject to the only topic he truly loved. When other parents had talked about Little League or ballet classes, her father’s focus had stayed resolutely on ridding the world of evil creatures—a.k.a. lycanthropes. “You’re coming to the meeting tonight.”
His words were more a command than a question. Syd scowled, trying to match her father’s irritated expression. For once in her life, she’d like to talk about something else besides hunting down shifters. “I’ll pass, thanks. You know I don’t want to kill werewolves. Besides, I’d planned on grading papers tonight.” She’d rather do anything than go on a shifter hunt, including grading her students’ math papers. Urgh.
“Sydney, since you’re my only child, you have the family reputation to uphol
d. My father was a hunter, I’m a hunter, and you’re a hunter, whether or not you know it right now. It’s what we do and who we are. You can still teach, if you have to.”
She tossed her hair defiantly, placed her feet apart, and got ready to stand up to him. “No, I don’t have to. I want to.” Come on, Skeller, get a clue. “And I don’t want to hunt.” She turned away from him, wobbling a little—damn, those pills are good!—and concentrated on walking normally back to her sofa. Ow, ow, ow. Okay, maybe not that good. Slipping onto the cushions again, she groaned inwardly. “Get this through your thick head. I’m not going to hunt. Unlike you, I don’t have an inner need to kill shifters. In fact, I kind of—” She shut up before the betraying words could escape her mouth. If her father ever found out about her attraction to werewolves, he’d disown her.
“You kind of…what?”
Syd had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Nothing. Just let me live my own life. Let me be what I want to be.” And who I want to be with.
Her father moved in and sat beside her. “We make a difference in this world. People don’t have a clue what’s right outside their doors and in their places of work. We do the dirty work so they can live monster-free lives.”
She placed a hand on her father’s and tried for the umpteenth time to get him to understand. “I know, I know. But I don’t feel the same need you do to hunt shifters.” A giggle escaped, earning her a scowl. At least the pain meds had improved her mood.
He stood and stalked over to her fireplace. “I don’t understand you. In fact, sometimes I wonder if you’ve got Skeller blood in you at all. Don’t you care that those animals killed your aunt? We have an obligation to her memory to wipe them out.”
She winced, instantly feeling guilty. A werewolf had attacked Skeller’s sister the same night Sydney had come down with a horrible case of the flu. She knew her father blamed himself for staying home with her instead of going to his sister’s home for their regular Sunday dinner. And somehow, although he’d never said so, she’d always felt he’d blamed her, too. But did that mean she had to dedicate her life to killing?
“Dad, I’m sorry, but I can’t do what you’re asking me to do.” Simply because they rarely agreed or had much in common didn’t mean she didn’t love the man. After all, he was her father—killer attitude and all.
He seemed to shrink before her eyes. Slumping into the cushion, he tilted his head and gave her a sad smile.
Uh-oh. More guilt on the way. Sheesh, for a tough guy, he sure knows how to slap on the guilt trips. Syd adjusted her body, trying to find a comfortable position. But a large part of her backside felt like one big bruise. Use the pain, Syd. Stay strong and think. But why are the pills working on my brain and not my butt?
“At least start doing some activities with the group. I can’t make excuses for you much longer.”
“I won’t kill, Skeller, and that’s that.”
He was a persistent man if nothing else. “Okay, then just come to a meeting and get to know the folks.”
She rolled her eyes, knowing it annoyed him, and shook her head. “Why? I have nothing in common with you and your friends. Except for having dated Max.” Why had she ever dated a hunter? Answer? To make her dad happy. At first, she’d thought Max was an okay guy. But, boy, had she been wrong. “Aw, Dad, why do we have to keep having this same old argument?” Maybe if she called him “Dad” enough times he’d get off her back. Yet when she opened her mouth to go on, the glint in his eyes stopped her cold. What now?
“I’ll make you a deal.” He widened his grin, making her uneasy in more than one way.
She knew she shouldn’t ask, but after years of pointless arguing she was ready to try anything. She scrutinized him, suspicious, yet ready to hear his offer. “What kind of a deal?” He thought he had her now. She could see it in his eyes.
“You don’t have to kill—unless you want to. Just hold the gun and act like you’re one of us. That’s it. Just one little hunt. Afterward, if you say you didn’t enjoy hunting with the group or maybe even taking one wicked scumbag out of this world, I’ll leave you be.”
“So I don’t have to actually kill one? I can merely go along for the ride?” She had no desire to go on a hunt, but if it would finally get him off her case, then maybe it would be worth it. Besides she’d make Skeller happy in the process and get rid of some of the guilt he kept slinging her way.
He struggled to keep the hope from his face. “Nope. You don’t have to make a kill. But keep an open mind, okay? Trust me. You exterminate a shifter and you’ll never want to miss another hunt again. You’re a Skeller and family will win out. I’m positive of it.”
A sharp pain shot up her back. Please, let’s just get this conversation over. I’ll agree to anything to get him out of my home so I can relax with a couple more pain pills. “Oh, for God’s sake. You promise? If I go on just one hunt, you’ll get off my back for good?” She waited for his nod and he gave it—a little too quickly. “Okay, Skeller, you’ve got a deal.”
She had to give him credit. The man knew when to get going before she could change her mind. He was out the door before the first remorseful thought hit her. Oh, crap. What have I done? He’d caught her with her mental defenses down and her state of inebriation up. When would she learn never to drug and talk at the same time? She’d definitely let him take advantage of her.
Damn. He is so not the man I want to take advantage of me.
A stronger pain stabbed at her side where another purplish bruise already spread across her skin. Or maybe it’s black. Like the black of his hair. She gritted her teeth. Perfect. Just perfect. Even when I hurt I can’t stop thinking about him. She pulled a throw pillow to her mouth and yelled into the plumpness, screaming until her throat hurt. When she’d finished, she tossed the pillow away, her frustration level higher than before.
So much for scream therapy.
I am not, I repeat, am not going to spend the night in pain and wondering about him. I’ll sort this out tomorrow. Rising with a groan, she stalked to the kitchen.
Why weren’t the pills working better? She didn’t want just partial relief, she wanted knock-me-out-and-wake-up-all-better relief. She frowned at her blurry image in the refrigerator door. Maybe she needed another kind of pain medication. Not to mention something to serve as a memory inhibitor.
Wine. She needed wine. She paused, sending a little prayer out to the gods of the vines and opened the refrigerator door. Saying thank you for their quick answer to her prayer, she pulled out the bottle and popped the cork. Putting the bottle to her lips, she slugged down a big gulp. With a satisfied sigh, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, snagged a wine glass from the overhead rack, and poured while she returned to the couch.
“Yup, I spell relief a-l-c-o-h-o-l.” Syd downed another large drink. Since she wasn’t a heavy drinker, the warm calm of the alcohol started flowing through her within seconds.
When the doorbell rang, she giggled, pushed off the couch, and started for the door. Either Charlie had ignored her protests and arrived to take charge, or Skeller had called her mom to come and baby her. Mimicking her mother, she quipped, “Sydney Skeller, you know better than to mix booze and pills. Are you trying to overdose like some pitiful drug addict?” She giggled again and reached for the doorknob.
What if it is Mom? The sobering thought brought her to a standstill, hand outstretched, and she contemplated facing her mother in her current condition.
Oh, crap. You’re a grown woman, Syd. Why are you letting your mother’s opinion bother you?
Because I know I shouldn’t mix booze with pills and she’d be the first to say so. But I didn’t drink a whole bunch. Did I?
She shook her head and glared at the door, envisioning her mother’s face on the surface. The pills weren’t very strong. Besides, she’d taken only enough to help her relax. What harm was there in that? Holding the goblet in the air, she tried to remember how much had been in the glass and how many times
she’d refilled it. “Once?” But her memory had decided to go on vacation.
“Do you always talk to yourself before answering the door?”
Syd jumped at the male voice—a voice she recognized—and sloshed wine to the floor. It’s him. My shifter—you don’t know whether he’s a shifter or not—from the gym.
“Aren’t you going to say anything else? Or maybe you’re working your way up to opening the door? Can’t you do both at the same time?”
Irritation struck her at his taunting tone. Tugging the door wide, she prepared to give him a piece of her mind.
The handsome dark-haired hunk of her desire stood at her doorstep holding a colorful bouquet of flowers in one hand while waving a bottle of wine in the other. His eyes, deep and rich, sparkled at her—her dream come to life. Everything she’d planned to say flew out a hole in her head, leaving her gawking at him like a love-sick teenager.
“Is this a game you like to play?” He flashed a grin before adopting a serious expression he didn’t hold long either. “I’m only kidding. Seriously, though. Are you okay?” The eyebrow he slanted in question made her want to reach out and stroke its bushy softness. “Or maybe I’m supposed to know a secret password?” He braced the bottle under one arm and reached out his hand. “How about a secret handshake?”
“Huh?”
His grin grew bigger and he withdrew his hand. “Sorry. I really need to find a Kidders Anonymous meeting somewhere.” He paused and brought back the concerned look. “Okay, let’s get down to basics. Can I come inside?”
She started to nod and froze. Wait. Don’t invite him in. She frowned, trying to force her fuzzy thoughts to clear. No, wait. I’m wrong. It’s a vampire you’re not supposed to invite inside. Was there something she was supposed to do if a shifter knocked on her door? Run? Hide? Jump his bones?
Her gaze slipped from his eyes, down his tight stomach outlined by his form-fitting shirt and lower. She suddenly wanted to stroke something other than his eyebrow. “I want to—” Oh, crap. Shut up! Did I almost say I wanted to fuck him out loud? Ripping her gaze up to his face, she cringed at his look of comprehension. Heat swept from her toes to her face in record time and she knew she’d gained a new skin hue.