Drawing Deep

by Jennifer Dellerman

  Unprepared, Ria let out a gasped goodbye when they leapt forward with a jerk, her hands reaching for Santos’s waist so she wouldn’t fly off the back of the quad. Getting her bearings only took seconds, but she found it difficult to let go. Her grasping fingers had found solid flesh and wanted to explore. Because of it, she did let go, placed her hands on her thighs and kept her face away from the masculine neck that had suddenly becoming akin to an enticing treat. Trying to ignore the heat traveling along the inside of her legs, nestled as they were along his, Ria turned her attention up, down and around; anywhere but straight ahead and at the man who was quickly becoming all that she remembered, and dreamed.

  The sun filtered through the heavily-loaded trees they were passing under, creating a dappling affect over the ground. Under the trees themselves there was little to no grass, but the swath between each row was recently mowed, the scent tickling her nose. She quickly realized Santos was using it as a road.

  They cleared the grove and moved through and around a few more trees before reaching a section of the land about half a mile out that seemed almost barren. Then they hit the dirt road that led to the reserve. She saw the rented Lincoln and one of the company’s jeeps at the gate and had the strange urge to sigh in regret.

  The ride was over.

  Though they hadn’t driven at full throttle, the speed had been fast enough that the wind whipped her thick, short hair into a nest and turned her nose into an ice cube. Her body was still plenty warm, but her hands and face were freezing.

  Santos cut the engine, looking at her over his shoulder. “All right?”

  Ria nodded. “Yes.”

  His lips curved slightly. “I need you to get off so I can.”

  An uncomfortable flush of heat raced to her face and she leapt off the machine as if poked by a cattle prod, only to scuttle several feet away, leaving more than enough distance between them so he wouldn’t accidentally brush up against her when he stood.

  “This will only take a minute.” Santos sauntered past her to the gate and flipped open the cover of a metal box screwed into the fence next to the opening of the handle. “I suggest you leave no later than five, otherwise it will get to dark to see the trail safely.”

  “Okay.” The warning was considerate, though she didn’t plan on heeding it. She had a flashlight in her pack, needing to spend as much time as possible at the site given the stingy week allotted by her boss.

  Thinking on that, it took her a moment to realize Santos was simply standing there, looking at her, one brow quirked. “I need your thumb.”

  Ria shook her head with a mental duh and went to stand next to him. “Sorry.”

  Remaining silent, Santos pressed his thumb against a small screen and then punched in a series of buttons. A beep sounded. “Just put your right thumb here.”

  Ria complied, and then waited. Nothing happened.

  Santos frowned. “Are you pressing down?”

  “Yes.”

  He fiddled some more. “Try again.”

  Nothing. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

  He shot her a dark look. “Yes, I’m sure. Try again.”

  Still nothing. “Is it touch or heat sensitive?”

  “Both.” He looked from her hand to her face, his eyes narrowing at something he saw. “You’re cold.”

  She shrugged. “Not really. Just my face and,” she glanced down, paused. “And hands.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Taking her hands between his, he proceeded to warm them up, not by using friction, but by bringing them to his mouth, cupping his hands, and blowing on hers. Warm air immediately wrapped around them, making her tingle, for so very many reasons. Another warm rush of air followed by the gentle kneading of his fingers. “Hmm?”

  “Huh?” Was he asking her a question? Ria couldn’t think very well, subject as she was to his ministrations. She’d done the same thing to her own hands a million times, but the intimate feel of his lips and fingers, combined with the moist warmth of his breath, was not only warming her hands, her body was filling with the most delicious heat.

  “You’re cold.”

  No, she was actually pretty close to reaching an inferno state, especially when she began to wonder how those lips would feel against her own. “I’m really not.” She tried to tug her hands free. Failed. His grip might have been gentle, but at the moment, felt unbreakable. “My hands just get cold easier than the rest of me.”

  Another lift of his brow. “Cold hands, warm heart?”

  At the question, her eyes landed to their joined hands, going wide when it registered how much larger his were than her own.

  Wasn’t there a saying about the size of a man’s hands and his dick? Her eyes went wide. Or was it feet? Her gaze dropped down and her vision filled with what seemed like an extremely large pair of boots.

  She sucked in air so fast she nearly choked, eyes zooming back to his, her heart racing double time. “Yeah. That’s it.” She tugged again, desperate this time to give herself some much needed space. “I think it’s safe to try again.”

  Almost reluctantly, Santos released his hold. “All right.”

  This time the electronic device accepted her thumbprint with no problem. “Flip the lid, press this button, then set your thumb here.” He had her go through the steps to ensure she wouldn’t forget. “If the gate isn’t secure, it will begin to beep. Loudly. Don’t let that happen.”

  Ria nodded, arms crossed. “Got it. Hustle through and make sure it’s shut behind me.”

  His lips curved again into that almost smile. “No need to hustle. It takes about thirty seconds, but if continues, it sends out a text message to our phones. Then one of us has to come out here to investigate.”

  She glanced from the security device to the cell phone at his hip. “Impressive.”

  “No.” His response was clipped. “It’s annoying, because we also get a message each time someone uses it.”

  “Oh.” She eyed the six-foot fence, complete with sharp, coiled wiring at the top. She wouldn’t be able to climb it without doing some damage. So much for staying at the site overtime.

  “You remember how to get there?”

  Dragging her gaze back to his, she said, “Just follow the middle trail.”

  “Yes.” He nodded at the quad. “Go ahead. I’ll close up behind you before I head back.”

  Ria looked from the quad back to Santos. “How are you getting back?’

  “My feet.”

  Turning to look back at where they came, she exclaimed, “You’re going to walk?”

  “Faster than crawling.”

  She heard the dry amusement in his tone and stared at him. “But that’s got to be over a mile.”

  “I walk all day long. A mile is nothing.”

  “Why don’t I take you back and ....”

  He was already shaking his head. “No. Besides, you’re needed ASAP at the site. Correct?”

  She was torn, until she remembered what he was. Idiot. He’s a cat. He can probably cover that mile in the same amount of time it takes you to sneeze.

  “Uh, right.” She walked over and got on the quad, familiarizing herself briefly before turning on the engine. Santos had the gate open and was waiting. “Thanks again,” she raised her voice to be heard over the engine.

  A quick nod. “Just bring it back to the kitchen and we’ll take care of it.”

  She nodded in return, and with a strange feeling of forgetting something, she headed toward the middle trail. She refused to look behind her, keeping her gaze forward, and tried not to think about Santos.

  And failed.

  Chapter Six

  “Damn it’s cold in here,” Rome uttered as he shut the boathouse door behind him.

  Santos didn’t bother to look at his brother, keeping his eyes glued to the instrument dashboard of the boat he was supposed to be checking for tomorrow’s deep sea fishing excursion. “That’s because you’re a pussy.”

  Hollow footsteps sound
ed in the huge metal building as Rome approached the Sportsman. “Only in the best possible way.”

  The cheery response made Santos shake his head. Once upon a time, Rome would have sniped back and they would have embarked on an insult tournament that would usually end in a satisfying, physical brawl. Now that Rome was mated, he was too often too content to bite or snarl back at anything Santos threw at him.

  Damned if he didn’t envy his younger brother.

  Maybe if he was getting regular sex as well his cat wouldn’t be so cranky. Though, truth be told, Santos knew it wasn’t just the physical release that would put his feline half into a mellow stupor. Having a mate did. A special someone with whom he could create the most intimate of bonds. Share secrets, dreams and desires. Without her, and through each passing year, his jaguar seemed to become more aggressive, harder to control. If he couldn’t find his beauty to tame the beast soon, he figured he would end up like Uncle Benny, and no one wanted to be like that surly, alcoholic bastard. If there was ever a cat that needed to be put down, it was him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m flipping fucking pancakes. What does it look like I’m doing.” The retort held the jealous heat he couldn’t hide, not to mention the worry of what he might become. Alone. Angry, alone and hating those around him with such fervor he pushed them away until they looked at him with the same piteous eyes he looked at his paternal uncle. It was a terrifying future.

  Though tied to one of the three slips that were sheltered by the building, the boat barely rocked on the water as Rome leapt on board with the agility and sureness of feet that made him a feline shifter. Moving forward, he took the seat next to Santos. “Looks like you’re daydreaming.”

  “And you’re trespassing, Betty Crocker,” Santos shot back. A not so nice reference to Rome’s position assisting Annie in the kitchen. “I didn’t give you permission to come aboard.”

  Keeping his brother in his peripheral, Santos didn’t miss how Rome’s eyes, a mirror of his own deep brown, leveled on him without a speck of irritation, only curiosity. It was insulting. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

  Tense for reasons he had no desire to talk about, Santos slant his brother a fuming look, one that in no uncertain terms snarled, “Get lost.”

  Not that Rome heeded the warning. After a minute of silent analysis, he lounged back sideways on the cushion and stuck his legs in Santos’s space. “Dude. You seriously need to get laid. You bypassed touch-hunger a long time ago. It’s affecting your attitude.” Cat shifters were tactile, social creatures; needing the reassurance wrought by affectionate touches, loving strokes. Family provided a good portion of that crucial need, but it was the deep, physical intimacy that could only be shared by a true mate that soothed the beast.

  Santos didn’t answer, resuming his check of the boats electronic systems. A task that shouldn’t have taken five minutes, much less the hour or so he’d been sitting out here at the helm. Irritated, confused and so full of sexual hunger, he figured he wouldn’t be able to handle sharing the dinner table with a bunch of strangers, not that he or his brothers were ever expected. His mother and Gwen shared the evening meal with the guests and were usually joined by Porter or Rome. Santos, like his father, rarely made an appearance, joining the group only if he scented danger or his curiosity was somehow aroused. And then he remained watchfully silent the whole time, making the guests a little uneasy. All in all, it was best he stay absent during dinner unless it was family only, and in his current state, he might make the guests flee in terror. Not good PR for the business.

  “It looks as if we’ll have a large crop this year.” Rome tried another tactic. “The orange trees are ripe.”

  Resigned to his brother’s presence, Santos grunted in response. Trees heavy with sweet, juicy fruit was always a blessing. It was also a good deal of hard work to harvest that fruit. With his dark mood straining the bonds of civil interaction, he relished the coming physical labor. It would give him some measure of sanity while the touch-hunger nagging at his every nerve drove him to near violent need.

  “Now that I think of it, so’s Ria.”

  Santos whipped his head so fast to pin Rome with an evil look that the air around him actually whistled past his ears.

  “That female almost smells like she’s in heat.”

  In a blur of movement, Santos was out of his seat, his hands fisted into the front of his brother’s shirt. “What the fuck are you doing sniffing around Ria?’

  “Whoa, there.” Rome’s hands went up along with his brows. “Just making an observation, bro. Nothing more.”

  Eyes narrowed, speculating on the mischief that sparked in Rome’s gaze, Santos came to the speedy conclusion that the asshole was messing with him. Figured. With a low rumble that vibrated deep in his chest, Santos slowly released the hold he had on Rome. “You already have a woman, you greedy bastard. Stay the hell away from Ria.” Plopping back down in his seat, Santos flipped a few switches with impatient gestures. “Del needs to get his ass back home and start taking care of this shit. I don’t have time to be babysitting a bunch of idiots that think a damn boat ride is the thrill of the century.”

  Rome scratched his nose, not bothering to hid his smile. “Maybe not, but they’re paying idiots so we have to make the time until Del finishes out his contract.”

  Lines of dissatisfaction marred his face. Santos understood that and had always accepted the additional workload, and since it was shared with Porter, the burden wasn’t truly heavy. He knew it was more than touch-hunger that was making him lash out at those around him. He’d seen his fair share of interested beauties over the last several months, but the thought of actually touching any one of them was high near repulsive. And that gave rise to an anger that was beginning to seep into his soul.

  “It never bothered you this much before.” Rome paused, eyes ever watchful on his newly volatile older brother. “Now you’re practically itching for a fight.”

  At Santos’s continued silence, Rome straightened and snapped his fingers like a light bulb suddenly went off in his head. “Wait a minute. Now that I think about it, your behavior started to go to hell two months ago. When Ria first appeared.”

  Abruptly shoving to his feet, Santos snarled at his brother. “She’s not my mate, so shut your fucking trap before I do it for you.”

  Unconcerned of his safety, Rome came back with a mild, “Hmm. Your language too.”

  With an aggravated shake of his head, Santos stalked to the edge of the boat and, in one graceful move, jumped over the side to land neatly on the balls of his feet. “She doesn’t smell right.”

  “She doesn’t stink either.” Rome mirrored his brothers action and followed him across the concrete floor to where three metal cabinets lined the wall.

  “She smokes.” An abhorrent vice for a creature with a super sensitive sniffer.

  “Herbals.”

  That single word made Santos stop in his tracks. He turned from replacing the boat keyring on the pegboard in the open cabinet door. “What?”

  Rome nodded. “Our rooms are above hers.” He said, referring to where Gwen and he lived, on the third floor, opposite side of their parents. A temporary residence until they decided what they wanted to do. “The smell of lemon, coffee and curry was very strong when Gwen opened the balcony doors last night for some air.”

  Brows beetling, Santos muttered almost to himself, “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Because they’re either hiding something or they’re hiding from something. Something not human.”

  Santos’s face crunched into a perplexed expression. “What?”

  “She’s masking her natural scent, and from what else I found out about her, probably for years.”

  Ears practically twitching, Santos waited impatiently for Rome to continue. “What do you mean?”

  Bland as could be, Rome dropped a bomb. “Ria Montgomery didn’t exist until nine years ago. Oh there’s a birth record, but no school enro
llment, no medical records, no teen summer jobs, no taxes or even a social security number until nine years ago.”

  Indignation kicked in. “You ran a background check on her?”

  Rome jabbed Santos in the chest with a finger. “You think I don’t check out every individual that walks through that door? That stays in the same house as my parents? My mate?”

  Another jab that made Santos snag his brother’s hand and push him back a step with a rough growl. “Knock it off.”

  “Fine, but you need to find out what’s going on. What’s more, you need to find out what she is. Human or not, I don’t particularly care, but we sure as hell don’t need any more surprises. If she’s in trouble, you need to find out what that trouble is and handle it before it comes to our home.”

  Santos mulled that over, his mind recalling and then freezing, like a paused video, on that moment this morning when Ria had taken a cautionary step back at his sledgehammer comment. Inside, his cat crouched low in predatory stillness, a wordless snarl of anger showcasing razor sharp teeth. Santos couldn’t deny he’d wanted Ria within minutes of meeting her, just as any single, healthy virile male would want to indulge in some sheet music with a woman they considered sexy as hell, but his cat had been confused. Curious, but still confused. A rarity for his kind. Now his brother was telling him Ria had been masking her scent, hiding who she was on purpose?

  “Son of a bitch.” All the anger rushed out of him in a single moment of clarity, leaving him feel like he’d been sucker punched. The itchy restlessness, the erotic dreams of Ria that had filled his nights for months, the way his dick had sprung to life the second he’d scented her arousal this morning. He’d needed to touch her, taste her, in the most carnal of ways and with such sudden voracity that he’d nearly broken the handles off the quad when she’d settled so sweetly behind him. Those herbal cigarettes might be strong enough to mess with his cat’s senses, but they weren’t strong enough to impede one of nature’s most primal invention. The mating heat.