Shifters Gone Wild; Collection

by Skye MacKinnon

  “Is Clara free?” James asked, the upward tilt of his eyes to the stairs accompanying the flare of his nostrils. “I should like to book her.”

  “Clara is always free for you, Mr Holloway, sir.” Her entire body participated in her shimmy toward the stairs, where she called out the girl’s name in a shrill screech. She turned back to us, gesturing with her head. “And for your brother?”

  “Mary, I believe, would be quite suitable,” James said.

  “You’ll find Mary behind the third door on the left.” With an incomplete smile, made worse by a couple of missing teeth, she pointed out the way. “She’s unoccupied. You’ll not have to wait.”

  As we climbed the stairs, a petite redhead met us halfway. She had a ready smile, as her hands smoothed across James’s chest, her fingers sliding beneath his jacket and easing it from his shoulders.

  “Wait for me, Sean,” James said, lifting a giggling Clara over his shoulder. “I will be no later than this afternoon.” He carried the girl off across the landing to the right.

  For a moment, I stood on the top step and contemplated heading back down, but at the assumption that Miss Carson would inform James if I deviated from the proposed morning’s entertainment, I, instead, drew in a deep breath and turned left.

  The faded wallpaper of the corridor scarcely clung to the walls, and had, in fact, begun its first attempt to escape in one, or two, of the upper corners. Amidst the swirls of ribbon and what appeared to be peacock feathers of abstract design, doors lined both sides of the upper corridor, all the way down to its shadowed end. Sounds of pleasure—and pain—emanated from more than one of those rooms, yet not, thankfully, from the third on the left.

  Pausing there, I rapped my knuckles against the flimsy wood.

  “Come on in, me lovely,” a high-pitched voice called out, and I eased down the handle and pushed open the door.

  Hair the colour of a raven, eyes the palest of browns, and breasts that would give a man altitude sickness should he climb them, graced the female laid out in stark relief upon the bed.

  James’s reason for choosing Mary screamed at me in that single instant. She did not resemble Jem in the slightest.

  Mary smiled at my approach, pushing up onto her elbows until her breasts took on a new form with the movement. Curling just one hand upward, she crooked her finger, a beckoning to come closer.

  Obviously, I complied.

  The mattress squeaked and dipped as I sat beside her, and my nose wrinkled at the odour of men who’d come before me. I half expected to find a less than appealing scent upon the female, also, if only by association with the innate object, but inhaling, I detected only soap and a faint smattering of cheap perfume. “How would you like to double your earnings?” I asked her, adding my coyest smile.

  “Depends,” she said, revealing teeth in far better condition than the woman’s downstairs. “I ain’t into nothin’ funny, mind.”

  I shook my head in assurance. “All I ask is that you breathe not a word of my request to anyone—anyone at all.”

  “An’ there ain’t no funny stuff?” she asked.

  Leaning in, I touched her nose with my index. “I swear.”

  She nodded, her mouth spreading even wider. “Alrigh’.”

  From the bed, I stepped across the small space to the window in a couple of strides and nudged the curtain aside.

  Giles waited below at the far corner, exactly as arranged.

  Grasping the rotting frame, I lifted the window and stuck my head out to give a low whistle.

  Wearing a grin, he strode over. “See anyone?” he hissed.

  I checked left and right down the alley running along the rear of the establishment, but found nought to cause concern. “No, Giles, get up here.”

  Although I overlooked from the first floor, Giles leaped with ease to grasp at the frame and swing himself inside. He smiled as he straightened, his gaze landing immediately on the blossomed female on the bed.

  “Now ’ang on a minute,” the girl said, clambering off until standing before us, and I had to smother my smile at the way Giles’ eyes followed the sway of her breasts. “You never said nothin’ ’bout no doubling of men.”

  “Shh.” My chuckle broke free, and I stepped forward to quiet her, placing a finger to her lips. “I swore, remember? We ask not for a double, but for a switch of patron. All I ask is that you not breathe a word of it.” I gave pause, allowing my offer to sink in, before asking, “Do we have a deal?”

  She narrowed her eyes in Giles’s direction and seemed to appraise him. I knew what she saw—the same as all other ladies saw; gentlemen, too. Giles had a charm about him that seemed to put even the most sceptical at ease.

  After only a second, or two, her head nodded and her smile appeared. “Yessir, I reckon we do.”

  “How long?” asked Giles, as I hooked my leg over the window frame.

  Hovering there, I turned to him with a grin. “Three long hours, my friend.”

  Their laughter could be heard as my feet met with ground.

  * * *

  I arrived at the forest undetected, and to avoid further chance of being spotted, an old silver birch became my waiting place. Its broad branches, which canopied the adjacent path, sprouted abundant summer foliage and provided excellent cover, whilst allowing me a clear view of the far cottage.

  Within minutes, Jem and her sister appeared in the garden. Quiet mumbles, although too great a distance away to decipher, told me they conversed, punctuated only by small spurts of laughter, as sweet as music. Each round of amusement came with a glance toward the cottage, followed by a second to the forest.

  Moments passed before Jessica called something which sounded like a farewell, and the two females started out toward my hiding place.

  Smiling, I leaned forward to observe her approach, my lips widening at the warmth spreading through me as each step brought her nearer.

  When their mother shot out behind them and called for their attention, however, my smile vanished.

  Pausing, Jem and Jessica turned back.

  “Stay with your sister, Jem,” Mrs Stonehouse ordered.

  “There is no need to worry, Mother,” Jessica said. “She will be quite safe with me.”

  The woman shifted her attention from one daughter to the other before rubbing their shoulders. “Go, then. And be careful.”

  Breaths I didn’t realise I’d held escaped, when the two girls parted ways with their mother and resumed walking. Their feet greeted the worn path, and I balanced along my branch and onto another, which I used to cross to a neighbouring tree.

  Adept at climbing, I ducked, shimmied, and swung, passing birch after birch, oak after oak. Timber creaked beneath my weight. Leaves rustled with my passage. I barely heard either as I concentrated on the soft sound of Jem’s whispers below. Her words were not loud enough to bring me their conversation, but each time she ducked her head to hiss at her sister, Jessica answered with the gentle placement of her hand upon Jem’s arm.

  Eventually, Jessica brought Jem to a stop upon the path, and I halted in my pursuit, peering through the dense greenness. Her head twisted right and left, as though she scoured for observers, before she nodded toward the trees. “Go.”

  “What should I do if he does not come?” Jem asked, facing the forest.

  “He will.” Jessica’s hand at Jem’s back nudged her closer. “One hour, Jem. Be here.”

  My head tilted, as Jem left the path and stepped into the shade. Ears tuned in to the rhythm of her cautious breaths, I crawled along the limb until directly above her and, with senses strained for disturbances, slipped from my hiding place.

  Breath gasped from her, as I landed beside her, but my hand folded across her mouth before she could cry out. Swinging my face into view, I pressed a finger against my lips.

  She stared at me, her widened eyes narrowing, until a scowl coated her otherwise unblemished features. Before I could move, she slapped my chest and knocked my hand aside. “For goodn
ess sake, Mr Holloway, you frightened me half to death.”

  My laugh barked out of me. “Only half would suggest there is life in you yet.”

  Her mouth opened before closing. With a lift of her chin, and of her skirts, she stomped off in the direction of the river. “You only have me for one hour,” she called. “I suggest you use it wisely.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured, my steps falling in line behind hers. “I intend to.”

  * * *

  The path to the river no longer needed to be shown to her. Jem took her seat upon the musty trunk without request.

  With my knee coming to rest beside her thigh, she had no time for composure, before I took her face in my hands and brushed my lips across hers. “I missed you,” I murmured.

  She did not answer—had no need to. The tilt of her head, offering her warm mouth, gave all the response I needed.

  Straddling the trunk, I drew her close, my hand sliding to her nape to bring her mouth back to mine. She smelled of blossoms and spice, and tasted just as delicious. That, and her breaths snaking between my lips as our noses brushed, had tingles shooting downward in a direct trip to my groin, until the result of my excitement strained against my trousers.

  I had been aroused by women on many an occasion, yet none had done so with the ease Jem possessed. As I drew back and allowed myself to sink into her amazing stare, her lip caught between her teeth, and I instantly wished it was I who had her trapped so.

  Lifting her hand, she surprised me when her fingers folded around my shirt front and pulled me forward once more. Her lips parted when I met them, and tasting the dart of her tongue, I had to swallow my groan at the contact.

  I swept my mouth across her delicate jaw to her ear. “Tell me you missed me, also.” I needed to hear the words, to hear her voice, proof that the unsteadiness I felt within myself ran through her veins, also.

  “I did, Mr Holloway.” Her voice caught, as I’d hoped, and a tremor washed through me as her breath whispered across my throat.

  With a low growl, I closed my eyes.

  Why did self restraint have to be so hard?

  As much as I wanted her, needed her, my mind insisted I wait—that Jem would not thank me if demands were made.

  Taking a deep breath, and making a uniformed effort to un-tense muscles that already prepared for attack of a sensual nature, I lifted my lids. She stared right back at me, a slight lift to the corner of her mouth, and swallowing down the lure of her curved lips, I forced out, “Tell me about your week,” though hoarseness affected my words.

  Her brow furrowed a little. “You want to hear—”

  I nodded with my cut in, “Yes.”

  It took only a moment’s hesitation before she seemed to understand my need for distraction, and she averted her eyes, but not before a slight flush visited her cheeks. “Well, after Mother had calmed down somewhat, she did her utmost to keep me busy,” she said quietly. “If not cleaning floors, I was washing clothes.” She gave a roll of her eyes, as though at the unfairness of it all. “And when not doing those jobs, she had me polishing …”

  Sighing out my frustration, I leaned away, to a safer distance from her seductive pull, and settled in to listen to the sound of her voice. For then, at least, just being near her would suffice.

  * * *

  Between the back of the establishment and the rear of the barber shop, rotten fruit and faeces littered the alley, and even what appeared to be forgotten underwear lay soiled and stiff a small way along—all of them guilty of creating an unsavoury odour. However, as much as I might have been ready to depart, the noises through the window above told me Giles had yet to finish, so, settling in to wait, I leaned against the wall and thought of Jem as distraction.

  Still an enigma, she made me feel more than any woman ever had before, yet, despite my body screaming out for release at only the mere hint of her scent, I forced myself to withdraw each time I saw her. I just had no idea why.

  Also, my intrigue to hear every word her lips uttered, whatever the subject or tone, left me perplexed. When had I ever cared for female conversation?

  Or maybe I had become so advanced in just taking what I needed, I had never paused to hear any thoughts they might voice. That or none of them had ever made me want to pause.

  Not like Jem.

  Those eyes of hers, too—one glance into their depths could render me hypnotised. By a female. The art of entrancement had always been my own, but Jem?

  As I recalled how she had looked at me after I kissed her goodbye, stiffening occurred within my trousers below—until something soft landed on my head and flopped into my eyes.

  Shaking my head free, I tilted upward, to see Giles peering down at me, his face bearing a wide grin.

  “You are cutting it fine,” he said.

  “Actually, you are.” I pulled his crumpled shirt from where it clung to my shoulder and leaped up. With my hands braced on the window frame, I hooked a leg over and climbed inside. “I have been waiting for you to finish.”

  He chuckled as he pulled his trousers to his waist and secured them. Leaning across, he tugged my own shirt from my waistband. “You had better get this off.” When I stared at him, he moved closer and lowered his voice to a murmur only I would pick up. “You reek of her, Sean. At least try to mask the scent with this woman’s.” He nodded to Mary.

  “I have no wish to have sex with her.”

  “Then, don’t. But do something. You cannot go out to James smelling as you do.”

  * * *

  A roll upon the covers of Mary’s bed turned out to be a sufficient guise for Jem’s scent, leaving me almost grateful for her steady intake of clients. Giles left by the same route through which he arrived, long before I left with my brother. Mary even agreed to make it a weekly arrangement—one which Mrs Carson made a huge fuss over, ensuring the message received by James conveyed where I ‘should’ be each Tuesday.

  When I retired that night, I did so with hope and a smile.

  Chapter 6

  The following four weeks arrived and passed without incident or interruption to our time. Jem and I met without a hitch, and our moments of intimacy gradually increased, encouraged by her.

  On the fifth week, as I awaited Jem in the forest opposite her home, the closing of a door echoed across the open space. Instantly inhaling, I drew in her scent, generously sent as a gift by the gale, and caught sight of her as she rounded the second oak.

  As she moved, the swish of her skirt revealing the pace at which she walked, her head faced forward, eyes searching. She managed a few steps closer, before the slamming of a door resounded through the air.

  “Jem Stonehouse! Come back this instant, young lady!”

  Although beyond my view, the tone identified Jem’s mother as the one shouting, and Jem’s step faltered. For a moment, I thought she considered obeying, but she lifted her hems and darted forward into a run toward the forest.

  Despite the situation, I smiled.

  “Jem!”

  At the second call from her mother, Jem raced faster, and I stood poised for her to reach me.

  With breaths laboured, she burst through brush and bracken, her cheeks high in colour. Releasing one side of her skirt, she offered her hand, her lips spread wide with a smile.

  “Run,” she said, through panted breath.

  Drawing her in front of me, I tucked an arm beneath her knees and scooped her up. Dust kicked into the air with each foot pummel, as I raced away, holding my prize tight to my body.

  “I will be in awful trouble for this when I get home,” she said, her breathing soon a little steadier.

  I chuckled at the brightness of her eyes. “We had better make the most of every second, then.”

  Deeper into the forest, once certain we had lost our pursuer, I slowed to a stroll, and she smiled up from my arms. “My legs are in perfect working order.”

  My lips twitched, and I tightened my hold until I held her at chest level. “I am sure they are.”


  The exaggerated, upward roll of her stare would have been effective had her expression not held humour, and I chuckled in response. “You must be tiring.”

  “Not really.” I continued to walk. “However, if you wish me to put you down, you need only ask. Is that your wish?”

  Her eyes stole my attention before she lowered her lids. “No. I am quite comfortable.”

  With the slide of her hand, from my shoulder to the nape of my neck, she rested her head in its absence, and the freshly washed scent of her hair drifted upward to my nostrils.

  Had I not been so content with the situation, I might have given a low groan of frustration.

  Minutes of walking took us to our regular meeting place. Moss coated the bank-hugging mulch, giving off a pungent aroma not altogether unpleasant, as I set her back on her feet near our trunk.

  “So, what would possess you to behave this disobediently toward your mother?” I asked, ensuring her steadiness before releasing my hold.

  Although her breathing had long before eased, the smile sparkling her eyes had yet to vanish. “Because I believe she is wrong in her opinions of you.”

  “And what would those opinions be?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

  “Which version would you prefer?”

  Wary that Jem knew of my secret, I frowned, my pulse lurching, as I said with caution, “The worst.”

  “She says you are a cad and a philanderer … amongst others, of course.”

  When she sat and patted the bark beside her, I took my place and turned to lie back until my head rested upon her lap. “Yet, you disagreed?”

  “Not at first.” Working her fingers into my hair, she peered down at me, her expression growing serious. “But you have changed, somewhat, since our first meeting.”

  My breaths calmed with her therapeutic tousling. “In what way?”

  “I am no fool,” she said. “I do not doubt you have treated women with disrespect, merely to suit your own needs, or that you have taken as many as your reputation suggests, yet … I have received no behaviour from you to cause me alarm.”