Primal Heat

by Susan Sizemore

  “I’ve been trying to avoid you.”

  “Really?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you been able to stop thinking about me?”

  “That’s none of your bloody business.”

  “Let’s not talk about blood—and why’s a Yank girl swearing in British?”

  “I lived in London for a year. Not that that is any of your business, and I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

  “Because—”

  Matt shook his head. He could explain it to her. He could tell her that they needed to know about each other, to share with each other, to be with each other. He owed her the explanation, but to say it out loud meant he’d have to acknowledge the reality of their attachment as well. How could he walk away then? And if he didn’t walk away—

  “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “No.” She proved that her will was stronger than his when she gestured toward the door. “Go.”

  He slowly turned from her and took a step, then another. Her hand landed on his shoulder before he could take a third.

  “Stay.”

  He stiffened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. No. Yes. Damn it! I hate all this melodrama.”

  He turned his head, and couldn’t help but smile at her annoyed expression. “Why?”

  “For one thing, stress plays hell with my blood sugar.”

  “I see.”

  It was her turn to smile. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  Her features lit when she smiled, but there was sadness in her, and a bit of desperation in her eyes. He came closer to her, the need to be with her driven by concern this time. She tensed, and he knew that she wanted his touch, but need warred with prickly pride.

  “What are you hiding from me?”

  “I’m not hiding anything. It’s just none of your business.”

  She was completely correct, and also totally wrong. He coaxed her, “If I tell you one of my secrets, will you tell me yours?”

  A hint of humor replaced the dread in her eyes. “You have secrets?”

  “Deep and terrible ones.”

  She couldn’t fight her curiosity. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  Matt gave a careful look around the room, then leaned close to her and whispered, “I enjoy watching figure skating.”

  She laughed, and smacked him on the shoulder. “You fiend!”

  “There’s worse,” he promised her. “But now it’s your turn.”

  Philippa knew it would come to this. She also knew that this fear of showing weakness and imperfection to Bridger was stupid. Maybe it was best to tell him and get it over with. If it scared him off, that would be a good thing. He would give her an excuse to hate him once he was gone.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  “I have diabetes.”

  There. She’d said it.

  He looked puzzled.

  “Adult onset, but type one, insulin dependent,” she added, even though she was sure that meant nothing to him. You had to be part of the club to understand the private language. He stepped back, which was pretty much what she’d expected him to do. “It’s not a contagious disease,” she pointed out.

  “Someone in my unit was diagnosed with it when I was in the service,” he said slowly. “He received a medical discharge.”

  “That happens a lot with diabetes,” she answered between gritted teeth. “Though not as often as it used to.”

  “It happened to you,” he guessed.

  She shrugged. “I’m on medical leave, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be a street cop again.”

  “Diabetes causes you to have too much sugar in your blood, yes?” He smiled.

  “It makes you die if it isn’t treated properly,” she snapped.

  He ran a finger along his jawline, and she heard the faint scratch of stubble. “So that’s what Marc has been up to.”

  This was not what she’d expected him to say. “Huh?”

  “Of course that also explains why you’re so sweet. My cousin knows I have a terrible sweet tooth.” He smiled, and his teeth seemed awfully sharp. “All the better to—”

  “You’re making no sense, Bridger.” In fact, she wished she hadn’t changed her mind about wanting him to stay. He had no clue what talking about the disease to him cost her. “And you’re pissing me off.”

  He chuckled. “Such romantic language you use.”

  Then he took her face between his hands, and kissed her gently on the forehead, and on each cheek. The warmth of his touch soothed her, and set her tingling.

  When his lips brushed across hers, she distinctly heard him say, It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you damaged. It just makes you sweeter to me, even though he couldn’t possibly be speaking.

  It didn’t make any sense, but his reassurance was a balm to her frayed senses and self-confidence.

  Wait a minute.

  If anyone was going to restore her sense of self-worth, it was going to be her. Having some sexy male tell her she was all right wasn’t what was going to make it so.

  But it still felt good.

  She didn’t want him to ever stop touching her, or to stop holding her like this.

  But he was leaving tomorrow.

  She had a moment of being completely miserable, but fought it off. “I can live without you,” she said.

  “But you don’t want to.”

  “Which is a stupid thing to say.”

  “For both of us.”

  She’d been having these disjointed conversations for several days now, and was beginning to hate it. “I just don’t get it,” she said. “I mean, here I stand in my nightgown, half naked—”

  “I noticed.”

  “—talking like an idiot to a man I barely know who sounds just as idiotic as I do. Do you know what’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  “Then explain it to me!” she shouted.

  “We’re trying not to fall in love,” he said.

  Too late, she thought, but said, “We’re not in love. Lust, definitely, but—”

  “Do you want an explanation or an argument?”

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted, other than him in her bed for as long as he wanted to stay. And wasn’t that pathetic? Especially when she knew already how much it hurt when he went away.

  “And what do you mean, so that’s what Marc’s been up to?” she demanded, suddenly remembering his earlier comment.

  “Matchmaking.” He took a seat on the edge of the turned-down bed. “Marc thinks I should take care of you.”

  “I can take care of—”

  “Of course, your sister has demanded that I stay away from you.”

  It wasn’t like Jo to interfere with her life. “Why?” she questioned. Indignation knotted in her stomach. “Because I’m sick?”

  He shook his head. “Because I’m a hard man.”

  She gave a quick glance to his crotch. “Really? I mean—”

  He laughed. “Woman, you know exactly what I mean. Your sister is correct. Being with me wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  I need safe. I need normal.

  For all that this was true, the voice in her head was mocking. She wanted adventure. She wanted this man with his dangerous edge. Not that he’d done anything dangerous since they’d met; it was just this feeling she had when she was around him. Electrified. Excited.

  She wanted—

  “Melodrama,” she complained.

  “I know.” He sighed. “I come from a people who thrive on the stuff.” He shook a finger at her. “You could get addicted to it, you know.”

  “I don’t need an addiction. Not with all the drugs I’m already on.”

  He looked her over with a careful, critical eye. “Tell me, sweet, just how much medication are you taking?”

  Why did she get the feeling he meant it literally when he called her “sweet”?

  “Insulin four times a day,” she told him. “Pills for my blood pressure, for
my heart, for my kidneys, for depression.” She forced a grim smile. “Shall I go on?”

  “Bloody hell.” He shook his head. He looked more indignant than sorry for her, which she appreciated. “How did this happen to you?”

  “I got shot.”

  “With what? A voodoo curse?”

  That seemed as good an explanation as any the doctors gave her. “A few weeks ago, a suspect shot me in the arm. When they patched me up, a whole lot of tests were run and I was told my body was burning itself out because my autoimmune system was crashing, and that I was about a month away from dying from a disease I didn’t know I had.”

  “Leaving your life and career in shambles,” he concluded.

  “Precisely.”

  She noticed that the thin straps of her nightgown had fallen down over her shoulders. She supposed this made her look all wanton and ready, and wondered why she felt excited rather than embarrassed.

  “Is that the worst secret you’ve got? That you are ill? Do you think that’s enough to drive me away from your bed?”

  “Well—yeah.”

  “Were you diabetic last night?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “Did you have the disease the first time we were together?”

  She remembered how she’d been thirsty all the time back then, which was one of the symptoms. “Probably.”

  “If it didn’t kill us then, I doubt it will kill us now.” He held a hand out to her. “Come here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  W hile she stared at him as though she’d been struck by lightning, Matt carefully assessed Phillipa with all of his senses. He could tell that what was wrong with her was serious by the way she acted. He had no experience with illness, but it was easy enough to see how it could affect pride, sense of worth, even identity.

  He could detect a great many artificial substances coursing through her blood and muscles. Perhaps he had not detected drugs before because their purpose was to keep her body’s functions in balance. The same science that allowed him to walk in the sunlight helped control her serious human disease.

  “Modern medicine is amazing,” he murmured. “But not as amazing as you look in that nightie. Come here and let me take it off you.” When she still hesitated, he rose to his feet. “Or I could come fetch you.”

  “Yes, you could,” she said, but came toward him anyway, her walk and lilting smile equally seductive. She pressed her hands against his chest when he reached for her. “Ground rules.”

  He was close enough to be enveloped by her warmth and her scent. “Enough talking, woman.”

  “Almost.” She began to unfasten his shirt. Her fingertips trailed heat along his skin as she slowly bared his chest. “This time we’re going to have rules.”

  He’d been having trouble thinking through the growing sensation, but now he grew wary. “Why?”

  “You’re going home tomorrow.”

  Any vampire could tell you that home was where your bondmate was. “I am going back to England.”

  He couldn’t think now why it was so important for him not to bond, but he was sure it would come back to him once he was away from tempting, lovely, enticing Phillipa.

  He put his hands on her hips and drew her closer. “This is no time for conversation.” He caressed the sleek skin beneath the fine silk.

  She’d finished opening his shirt by now, and ran her hands down his chest and stomach. “We’re negotiating.”

  “I don’t believe in negotiating.” He stroked a thumb up the inside of her thigh.

  Her voice caught on a gasp, then she went on. “We’re going to have lots of hot sex, without the melodrama.”

  “How can one have hot—?”

  “Passion isn’t the same as melodrama.”

  “Really?”

  He twirled her around and onto the bed, and came down bedside her. The nightgown had fallen down to her waist, leaving her breasts bare. He kissed her throat, and ran a slightly extended fang across the tender skin. He could feel the blood racing beneath her flesh. She pulled his head up before he could go any further.

  “Talk to me, Bridger.”

  Desire was demanding his attention, but he managed to focus enough to look into her eyes. “Lovely eyes.” He covered her breast with his hand. The nipple was hard against his palm. “What do you want to discuss?” he asked when she arched against him.

  “Don’t stop,” she said as he caressed her.

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “And don’t walk out this time.”

  He sat up and turned away from her.

  “I thought you weren’t going to stop.”

  He stared across the room to where partially opened curtains showed the garish lights of the city below. Danger roamed somewhere outside this room, beyond this momentary safe haven.

  “I can’t stay,” he said, though desire demanded otherwise.

  Before he could turn back to her, she knelt behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Of course you can’t stay.” Her voice was tight with the effort to remain even, to keep her words practical. “You have a plane to catch. You have a life to go back to.”

  Maybe a wife and kids at home.

  He started to deny her thought, but let it go. Let her believe whatever she had to.

  “Stay with me tonight,” she said.

  And though she could have hidden it from a human, he was aware of her desperation. He shared it.

  “I’ll stay with you tonight,” Phillipa went on. “We’ll behave like adults this one last time. Nobody walks out on anyone. Deal?” She gave a low chuckle that cost her dearly though it didn’t sound forced. “I’ll even give you a ride to the airport. Deal?” she asked again.

  Her fingers kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders. He rolled his head, enjoying the moment, forcing dread of tomorrow from his mind. He shouldn’t have come to her at all, but the scent of her blood back in the bar had been too strong to resist. He had tried fighting the want for nearly an hour, an hour that had only made the need for her stronger.

  Sex, but no blood, he negotiated with himself. Not a drop. Not a taste.

  The thirst burned through his being, but he couldn’t risk tasting her again. They were already too close to bonding. He’d prayed he’d never feel this compulsion for the blending of souls that made a Prime complete.

  I need you, he thought. In more ways than you’ll ever know.

  There’s only one way you have to need me right now.

  She shared his thoughts!

  He wanted her to share his blood.

  His life.

  But that kind of selfishness could get her killed.

  Tonight they would share each other’s bodies, and that would have to be enough.

  “One last night,” he whispered.

  Phillipa ran her hands down Matt’s back, memorizing the feel of his body, seeing him by touch as she kept her eyes closed. She wanted her memories of him to be strong, and as sensory as possible.

  When he turned to her, she knew instinctively that he wanted to possess more than just her body, but was holding himself back, trying to keep emotionally distant, to just fuck. She told herself she could bear it, but she couldn’t.

  “No!” She buried her nails deep into his shoulders and dragged him down on top of her. “Make love to me. Me!”

  “You can’t und—”

  I can take it. I can take anything you have to give.

  His gaze met hers, green eyes full of intense hunger. There was a threat of violence in the hard line of his mouth. A long moment passed where Phillipa couldn’t breathe. Fear raced through her, intensifying the heat zinging between them. Then he smiled, and the sight of those deep dimples melted away every sensation but deep, insistent longing.

  “You’ll be sorry in the morning,” he told her.

  “Then I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” And prayed that morning would never come.

  He gave a short, sharp nod. “All right, then.”

  She caught
the glitter of sharp white teeth. Then his mouth came down on her throat, and the strongest orgasm she’d ever known took her. Yet, even as she soared with it, she knew this was only the beginning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  W hy am I howling?

  The thought flitted into his mind as his voice rang eerily out across the desert once more. He caught hold of the words and hung onto them for dear life.

  Words.

  He looked down at his paws, and licked an itching spot on his foreleg where the dark fur was matted and covered with sand. He stood up and shook a lot of dirt and grit off himself. He didn’t like being dirty.

  I understand words.

  He listened carefully, his ears swiveling to take in every nearby sound from this hilltop. He was utterly alone now, his cries having scared off every creature within a couple of miles.

  I know what a mile is.

  Why was I howling?

  Loneliness.

  Calling for the pack.

  Why am I alone?

  I.

  He blinked, trying to see the world through different eyes.

  Okay, I’ve got that now. I am. I am—who?

  He lifted his head and howled again.

  Stop that! Someone will hear.

  That’s the point of howling.

  Yeah, but I don’t want to get shot.

  Try again.

  I am—

  He panted with the effort, but made himself think. Like a man. It was so hard it made his head hurt, and the pain made him want to stop and go back to just being.

  It’s not bad being a wolf.

  That’s a man thought. Do another.

  He was thirsty. He’d been baying so much his throat ached. The sun would be up soon. He needed shelter. The day would be hot. He might be seen. What place is this? Why will the day be hot?

  I’m in the desert. That’s bad. I’m closer to an arctic wolf than to a desert—

  I’m not a wolf.

  Not a man, either.

  Man. Wolf. Shape. Shape…something…

  Shape-shifter.

  Werewolf.

  That’s me. He sat down on his haunches. That’s good to know.

  What did it mean?

  His jaws cracked wide in a yawn. Thinking was tiring. He knew he had been asleep, but not because he’d wanted it. Something—someone—had sent him down into a long, dark sleep. He growled at knowing someone had done something to him.