by Abby Niles
“After Samantha’s mate died, she had no source of income and no moral support. She needed help on every level. She went to the one person she believed she could trust. Her sister. Samantha went to work, and Riley kept the boy.”
“And he got away from her, right?”
“Yep, his uncontrolled beast had a human couple cornered against a tree when she found him. As a result though, Riley understood how dangerous the mutation is and called the High Council.” Val shook her head sadly. “She assumed the baby would be taken—that was the whole point—but she didn’t realize her sister would get into so much trouble.”
Sounded like a prime candidate to him.
Thankful for something to occupy his thoughts, he grabbed his phone, dialed a number, and waited for the familiar gruff greeting. “Elder Harwood, we need to know the whereabouts of Riley Specter over the last week.”
“I see we are on the same wavelength,” the elder said with satisfaction. “We’ve been working to locate some of Samantha Mills’s closest family members. Riley was the first one we thought about, too. She’s back at home in Idaho. We’re having the local SPAC watch her. She’s doing her everyday routine.”
“Nothing suspicious then?”
“We can’t rule out that she’s involved, but we can say with certainty that she is not currently in the mountains of North Carolina.”
Okay, there went that lead.
“Good to know,” he said. “Meanwhile, we’ve pinpointed a few scents. Is it possible for you to get samples from the rest of her family? A process of elimination will help us go through our suspect list quicker.” He pulled the list in question forward. “Samantha’s mate had a sister and a brother, Meagan and Ben. Have you tracked them down?”
“We’re working on it. They’ve been harder to locate. The brother travels a lot. And since we’re trying to keep the kidnapping quiet, we can’t go around asking about them or it will make their shifter friends suspicious.”
“Can you get scent samples for me, from their homes, maybe?”
“Yes. I’ll have them delivered as soon as we get them.”
“Great.” He scanned the list and frowned. “Wait. I don’t see anyone else on here from her family.”
“That’s because there isn’t anyone else. Her father died when she was young. Mom died about a year and half ago. Her mate’s parents are both deceased. All that is left is Riley, Ben, and Meagan.”
“No aunts…uncles?”
“The lineage isn’t dying out, if that is what you’re asking. We have no interest in anyone but the three on that list.”
Frowning, he scratched the side of his cheek. “Ah. The others support the laws.”
“I wouldn’t call it support. They consider mutated children an abomination. They do not acknowledge Charlie or Samantha as part of their family.”
Sad. “Okay. We’ll keep a lookout for the samples you’ll be sending.”
Britton hung up and relayed the info to Val, careful not to look directly at her.
“I don’t know, Britton. This doesn’t seem to fit, either. Meagan has a two-year-old child. Would she risk losing her child just to help her sister-in-law? She’d have to be aware that the High Council would never let violence and extortion like this go unpunished. Being caught would come with a hefty prison sentence, and she’d miss out on her child growing up.”
Britton scrubbed his face with his hands. “Everything is speculation right now, and we won’t have any answers until we get the scent samples and can match them, or actually find the perps. Even if the council can collect the samples tonight, the soonest we’d get our hands on them is tomorrow evening. All we’re doing now is talking in circles. It’s frustrating.”
The sound of a pot boiling over had Val jumping to her feet and rushing to the stove. “Water’s ready.”
Once she was at a safe distance, Britton finally lifted his head and openly watched her tear open the box of macaroni and pour it into the pot. She’d changed into a pair of cotton pajamas with sock monkeys on them. He’d never found oversize sleepwear sexy before, but on Val…well, she pulled it off. It softened her normally hard exterior, showed a side of her that was playful and innocent, which, considering what they saw on a day-to-day basis as detectives, was a feat.
He pushed back his chair and joined her, telling himself he couldn’t very well sit around and let her do all the work. It had nothing to do with his sudden, odd need to be near her.
He opened the three cans of veggies, drained the water out of the olives and mushrooms, and set them next to the stove. “Sorry there wasn’t any chicken at the store.” He didn’t know why he wanted Val’s approval over the meal, but for some reason it meant a lot.
“No skin off my nose. I love carbs. I would’ve been fine with just the macaroni and a drizzle of olive oil. You’re fancying it up with the veggies.” She sent him a smile while she stirred the water, and his gut clenched.
Unable to stop himself, he reached over and tugged on the lapel of her pajamas. “I like these.”
She shot him a glance, then looked down incredulously. “You like sock monkeys?”
“I like them on you.”
She studied them, then him, her brows pulled together. “Uh. Thank you?”
Man, she sounded as confused as he felt. It wasn’t often a woman made him feel as if he’d grown two heads after giving her a compliment. Not that he could blame her. He felt as if he’d grown two heads. One that ogled Val at every turn, and the other that knew this was Val-fucking-Calhoun, his arch nemesis.
He suddenly found the can of tomatoes fascinating. “Uh. How much longer on the macaroni? I’m starving.”
“Few minutes. Can you grab the strainer and put it in the sink?”
“Sure.”
He reached for it and froze. Holy shit. They were playing house right now.
And the really baffling part? It felt right. He and Val in a kitchen together, sharing duties. He’d never felt that way before, and he’d been with a lot of woman, co-cooking breakfast before he sent them on their way.
As he retrieved the strainer, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was stirring the pasta, her attention completely on the task, the sock monkeys gently caressing her ass as she moved. His gut clenched again. Why did he find that so damn arousing?
Dea, he needed to get the fuck out of this room. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner,” he managed to rasp, ready to bolt.
Again she looked at him, that small smile that so captivated him playing on her lips. “Sure. By the time you’re done, dinner will be ready.”
He all but ran out of the room. After he closed himself inside the bathroom and firmly locked the door, he leaned back against the cool wood. He wasn’t sex-deprived. That couldn’t be the reason. He had a long line of willing women just waiting to jump into his bed. Panting to.
Was it because Val wasn’t one those women, didn’t respond to him with the same eagerness that every other woman did?
A plausible explanation. He liked a challenge as much as the next guy. That must be it.
He pushed away from the door, quickly stripped, and jumped under the hot spray. The jets thumped his torso, washing away the grit and sweat of the day and the aches from the hike. Too bad they didn’t even make a dent in his unruly hormones.
But now that he was aware of the source of the unwanted attraction, he could do a better job of reining it in. One thing he loved about women was making them feel beautiful, seductive. They were receptive to that kind of flattery, and it turned him on to see a woman embrace her feminine powers when he complimented her. Val had never reacted that way with him. She just stared at him as though he was nuts. Of course, he’d never actually flattered her. Not until a few hours ago…
Just as well. She was one notch on his bedpost he was not looking to make. No way. He wanted his women willing, wanton, and wet for him. And that was not Val.
After he quickly washed, he dried off, then c
ursed when he realized he hadn’t brought in anything clean to wear. He scowled down at his sweaty, filthy clothes piled in front of the door. Nope. No chance he was putting those back on. She’d just have to deal. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and headed for his duffel bag in the living room.
…
“Dinner’s—” The words died on Val’s lips as she turned around and received the shock of a lifetime. Damp, half-naked male. The dark hairs on Britton’s chest were still wet from his shower, plastering them to well-defined pecs and a truly swoon-worthy six-pack.
Holy—
The wood spoon slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. The noise knocked her out of her stupor and she quickly bent to pick it up, praying he hadn’t seen her drool.
A towel? Really?
Peeking over the counter, she watched him rummage through his bag. The muscles of his back moved with each shift of his arms. As he stood up, the towel loosened just a fraction, slipping to settle at the swell of his ass. The peep of cheek sent red-hot desire shooting through her veins and pooling low in her belly.
Britton froze, then tilted his nose up in the air and sniffed.
Shit! Hell! No. No. No.
Over his shoulder, he shot a glance toward the kitchen, and she ducked down, feeling like an idiot after she did so. But she just couldn’t look him in the eyes. He’d smelled her arousal. She was certain of it. How insanely mortifying!
At least he hadn’t said anything, but just strode back to the bedroom. After the door closed, she stood on shaking legs and braced her hands on the counter as she let out a harsh exhale. How the hell was she ever supposed to face him again?
Her body had just betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible. She’d never wanted Britton to know she found him attractive. Yeah, so they’d made the decision to be friends. That did not mean she wanted to jump on the Britton bandwagon and be one in a crowd of women, gushing, “Pick me!” while he debated over the flavor of the day. Nuh-uh. Not happening.
She didn’t care how damn hot he was.
Hell, no. He didn’t have to know. So he’d caught a scent. Big deal. He didn’t know her very well; maybe she could pull it off so that he wouldn’t question it.
Pretend it never happened.
Yeah, she would pretend.
She turned away, fumbling in the cabinet, clattering china together as she drew out two bowls.
Breathe, woman. If you’re shaking like a leaf he’ll know something’s up.
Taking a moment to gulp down a few steadying breaths, she’d just felt herself calm down when the door opened and all her tension came rushing back.
Don’t act weird.
Whirling around, she plastered a huge, fake smile on her face. “Hey! Hungry?”
Dea. Too bright. Chill out!
He cocked his head and said, “Starving.”
Had that come out…husky? A tightening sensation tweaked her nipples.
Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit.
Spinning back to the stove, she drew in another breath, then exhaled slowly before she lifted the ladle. The damn thing shook. Focus. He frickin’ has on clothes now.
Not that the tight black thermal henley in any way helped her forget what lay beneath it. It hugged. Every. Delicious muscle. The checkered blue-and-green flannel pajama bottoms were even worse, riding way too low on his hips for comfort. Her comfort.
Nope. Not going there. Think bloody crime scene. Bloody crime scene. Bloody crime scene.
As she scooped macaroni into bowls, Britton came to stand beside her. Her awareness of his body made her spine go rigid. And she was so aware of his body—the strength, the breadth, the…muscle. Swallowing, she forced herself to relax and handed him a bowl. After he took it she bolted with hers in the opposite direction, finding relative safety on the couch.
Until he came into the room a few minutes later and sat down on an adjacent chair.
Had he noticed her acting strange?
She shot a glance at him, relieved to see him concentrating on eating and not on her. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he hadn’t picked up on anything. She made herself lean back against the cushions in a decent imitation of nonchalance.
“How’s your head?” he finally asked, breaking the thundering silence.
Wow. She’d forgotten all about it. Tentatively touching the two butterfly bandages Miles had placed over the wound, she grimaced. “Still tender, but the painkillers knocked the headache back.”
When she glanced at him, she was shocked to see a very slight violet hue creeping into his eyes. It was barely there, but it was such a contrast from the electrifying blue, she could see the purple color veining across the irises.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said. “Finding you like that…scared the shit out of me.”
She was stunned. Both that he’d been worried about her, and that he’d openly admitted it. “Seriously?”
He quirked a brow. “Yeah. Seriously. When I saw you, and you weren’t moving—” He shook his head. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”
“Yeah. Like I deliberately rolled down that hill, Britton,” she said drily.
His lips quirked.
Hmm. What would it feel like to kiss him…?
She blinked. What the hell was the matter with her tonight? It hadn’t been that long.
Nodding toward her bowl, he asked, “Finished?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Definitely.
He stood and held out his hand. After she gave him the dish, he took it to the kitchen.
He is Britton Townsend. The ass. The jerk. The enemy.
Except he wasn’t anymore. It was as though agreeing to be his friend had obliterated every damn defense she’d built against the man over the years. But she’d never really had a real defense, had she? The cure to her attraction had always been his nasty mouth and douche bag attitude, but now that mouth was saying sweet things, apologizing, cocking up into lazy grins…enticing her like no mouth had ever enticed her before. And his attitude bordered on…dare she say seductive?
Oh, she was so doomed.
“Wanna play?”
Oh, yeah.
Wait. What? She shot a nervous glance toward him. He stood by the pool table. “Um. Pool?”
“No, darts.” His eyes rolled. “Yes, pool.”
Calmed by his smart-ass retort, she pushed to her feet. She could do this. “Sounds fun.”
He grabbed two cue sticks off the wall. “I seem to remember some chatter around the PD that you had a way with a stick.”
Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out a hip, going for an I-kick-ass-and-I-know-it stance. “More like a way with cracking balls.”
He laughed. Hard. When he laughed like that, he appeared so relaxed and free. So full of life. It was such a stark contrast from the Britton she knew—or had known.
When he caught her staring, he sobered. “What?”
She shrugged. “Just realizing that I like this Britton.”
“That must be pretty traumatizing for you.”
“Totally. I think I’m scarred for life. I may need therapy.” She grinned.
Again he laughed. Was this what being friends with him—really friends—would be like? Good-natured banter. This was a back-and-forth she could do all day and not tire of.
“You break. I’ll rack,” she said.
After she pulled the triangle out and placed the balls inside, she tightened them, then carefully lifted the triangle and stepped back. He leaned over, sawed the cue stick back and forth between his fingers as he aimed, drawing her attention to his hand propped on top of the green felt.
A strong, masculine hand with long, sensitive fingers…that had a reputation of giving intense pleasure and had women lining up to be next on his list.
She jerked her gaze away. She had to remember that. The women at the PD had no bones about swapping Britton stories. She’d heard them all. How his hands worked magic. How none of them had lef
t his bed unsatisfied. Instead, he brought forth a sexual vixen, which many had been unaware they had. It was like Britton Townsend was some kind of sex god who took a woman and helped her find her inner sensual being, then released her out into the world more confident than she’d ever been before.
And Val couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have those talented hands on her, exploring, probing, and bringing her to ecstasy. Warmth erupted inside her. When his head suddenly snapped in her direction and he froze, she beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, blaming a sudden need for water.
Closing her eyes, she refrained from bashing her head against the refrigerator door. The crash of balls smacked behind her and she yanked open the fridge to grab a water bottle. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned around. Britton was aiming the white ball to hit a striped one in a corner pocket. As if nothing had happened.
Twice now her body had betrayed her. The first time, she’d been able to pretend he hadn’t sensed her arousal, but she couldn’t fool herself any longer. She knew he was aware of her reaction to him. No way he could have missed it this time. Her pheromones were so thick in the air you practically needed fog lights.
His response?
To ignore it.
It seriously pissed her off that he could make her perfume the whole room by doing nothing more than leaning over and lining up a shot, and then go about his business as though it had no effect on him whatsoever.
To hell with that.
After he missed a shot to the side pocket, she snatched up her cue stick and wedged in front of him, bent, making her butt graze the front of his pajama bottoms as she aimed a shot for the corner pocket.
Ignore that, asshole.
A low growl rent the air. She straightened like a shot to face him. Violet glowed in his eyes. Her heartbeat sped. His gaze lowered, latched onto her mouth, and locked there. He eased forward and an unmistakable hardness pushed against her front, while her backside pressed into the edge of the pool table. At the subtle hint of domination, lust seared through her—and into the air—and he responded with another delicious growl. She was sure he was going to—