“I would be.” I snort, again and flick the tickets. “Look. I got these for you. Go with me or I’ll just give them away, because I won’t go with anyone else.”
Slowly, a giant smile takes over her beautiful face. “Okay. Twist my arm.” She bends her arm behind her back in an awkward way.
“I’d rather spank you for driving me nuts.” I give that ass a swat — not too hard.
“You like doing that don’t you?” She laughs.
“Oh, yes, kitten. Your ass is a treasure.” I gently caress where I slapped.
She tilts her head. “You’re sure? You can bail on the arrangement you made with Nash. I’d understand.”
Fuck, she still doubts me.
“Nash wanted me to get you to move in here and nothing more. It’s your scent, kitten. It’s irresistible. You are irresistible. The last thing I want to do is bail on you.” This might be a good time to teach her a little about wolves and witches. “Do you know what attaching means?”
She squints. “When a wolf is attracted to a human?”
“Yeah. But attracted isn’t quite right. It’s more like obsessed, possessed, fixated.” I grin. “Bewitched, in your case. You drive me wild — almost literally.”
“Really?” She bats her eyelashes.
Great. Now she’s got the ammo to really torture me.
“Yep.” With slow movements I sit her back on the stool and part her legs. I squeeze between them, my hands at her waist. “Thought I’d give the mainstream girlfriend-boyfriend thing a try.” I watch her reaction. “With you.” She smiles. I smile back. “I like being around you. The bonus is watching Nash knot his boxers every time I touch you.”
“He deserves it.” She nods her head decisively. “Let’s not tell him that I know what he did.”
I laugh. “You got yourself a deal, my lady.”
We shake on it. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and cradle her head to my chest. She feels so fucking good. I kiss her hair. I’m not giving up on her. I can’t.
“What the hell did Nash do to you to deserve a homemade cake anyway?”
I swallow bitter jealousy.
“I didn’t make love with him, if that’s what you think.”
I tilt back, lift her chin to force her to look me in the eye. “You didn’t?”
“No.” She laughs like the idea is ridiculous.
Right on. I laugh at myself for freaking out over nothing. “Good. I have a shot with you, then?”
She smiles. “I’d say you’re right on target.”
“I’m aiming for the pink and juicy bullseye.”
Your pussy.
She laughs. “You and your euphemisms.”
“You thought I’d be jealous about a fucking cake?”
“You’re not?”
I stroke the crease in her forehead with a finger. “You need to stop doing that. You’ll get a horrible wrinkle right here. Maybe I am a little jealous. Tell me, what did Nash do to earn a cake?”
I want to know so I can get one.
“He was born. Today’s his birthday.”
“Ah.” I nod, caressing her back and nuzzling her hair. I can’t help myself. “Will you bake me a cake on my birthday?” I use my best aw-shucks tone of voice.
“Of course. When is your birthday?”
“November eleventh.”
“And what is your favorite flavor of cake?”
“Can you make it Shavone flavored?”
“Ew. No.”
“When I was a kid, my grandma used to make this dynamite coconut cake.”
“Do you have the recipe?” She looks up at me.
Holding her hair in a ponytail behind her, I shake my head. “It calls for a cup of sour cream. I do remember that.” My mother or sister might have the recipe, not that I’ll call them for it.
“I’ll find one. Looking for a southern coconut cake recipe is another reason I need to get online.” She swivels away from me and lifts the lid on her laptop. “What’s your wi-fi password?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Not having Internet is a deal breaker, Ben. Seriously, I’ll have to move — like, this afternoon.”
Turning the computer, I input the password.
“Thank you,” she smiles.
“Can I un-bunch your panties for you now?” I waggle my eyebrows. She flicks my arm with her middle finger. “Ow.”
I stare at her face and eyes as she logs on to her college email.
“Shavone,” I say her name softly, seriously. She looks up. “I know you and Nash” — I clear my throat, not sure how to say what I feel. I understand that they have a thing for each other. Maybe I’m an asshole for coming between them, but I want her so desperately. “I’m sorry I got mad. Will you forgive me?”
She cocks her head sideways, thinking about it. “How can I stay upset with a guy who comes home with sold-out concert tickets, watches chick flicks and kisses like a porn star?”
A proud grin spreads from ear to ear on my face. “Porn star, huh?”
She nods. I swirl her stool to face me and lower my lips to hers. The way I kiss her has more to do with her addictive flavor than it has to do with any sexual experience. Her mouth is like a soft, warm velvet drug. I stroke and lick, twirl her tongue, and, then, go deep.
When she moans that moan that puts my beast in my dick, I release her mouth with a pop.
“Exhibit A,” she pants.
I nuzzle my face into the nape of her throat and close my eyes. This is perfect. She’s perfect.
“You’re tired,” she says.
“Yeah. I’ve been up for twenty-four hours straight.”
Her fingers twirl in my hair. “You should go get some sleep.”
“Mmmm. You want to join me for a little nap?” I lightly bite her earlobe.
“How will you get any sleep?”
“Fuck sleep.”
She laughs and pushes at my chest. I lift my head to look into her eyes. Fast heartbeat, dilated pupils. She’s definitely turned on. Should I keep being a gentleman? Or should I go for it? Hell if I know. I know how to get a woman into the sack. I have no idea how to get one to fall in love with me.
“What time should I be ready tonight?” She turns back to her computer.
“Six. I want to take you to a nice dinner before the show.”
“Okay.” She smiles. “Go sleep.”
I walk backward to the stairs. “Wear something dressy tonight.”
“Oh, I’ll wear something so dressy your wolf’s balls will turn blue, again.”
“Fucking cock tease.” I smile.
chapter twenty-three
“HEY, BABE,” GARRETT greets me at Jelly U and seats me in the back of his area. He eyes my computer bag. “I’ll get my external and your lunch. I made your usual salad. That okay?”
“Absolutely. And thank you.”
While Garrett goes behind the counter, I sit and slide my ancient laptop from the bag. I open it and am about to push the power button when Garrett stays my hand.
“Not yet.” He places my salad in front of me. “It’s got to boot with the external.”
I hold my hands up and cede control to him. He unzips a little case that holds an external hard drive and plugs the cord from it into the laptop. We chat while we wait for the malware to install itself and I eat half the salad before it finally dings.
“Okay. It’s done.” Garrett unplugs his device.
“So, how will we know if it works?”
“It’ll ping my email.”
“You’ll let me know, then?”
“I’d rather let the cops know.”
Shit. Nash will find out.
“No. Me first. Promise, Garrett?”
He frowns. “I do not want you taking any chances here, okay? This is a stalker at best and a serial killer at worst.”
“I understand that. If you find out who it is, just tell me first.”
“It depends what the data says.” He stands.
/>
“Garrett.”
“Nope. Someone’s gotta protect your cute butt.” He winks and goes back to work.
Shit.
I stay put and chew slow, trying to get Garrett’s attention as he flits around serving the lunch crowd. At the same time, I use the old computer as I usually would. I want the person who is spying on me to believe it’s still my go-to computer. I update my calendar with a completely bogus class schedule, and totally make believe events.
“Garrett.” I call to him sweetly as he nears my table, hoping he’ll stop and chat. I need to convince him to share the malware info with me by default.
“Busy.” He whizzes by, his arms loaded with lunch plates. “You’re not going to change my mind anyway.”
Then I need to draw this person out now — right now. But how? I tap my lip with an index finger. What I want to know is whether the spy has any connection whatsoever with my sister running away. So, I have to mention her.
An idea comes to mind. I open the calendar app and on Thursday’s itinerary, enter a morning event. At nine o’clock I’ll be getting an ‘Update on Val’. And the location? Should it be at a public place? No. I wouldn’t be able to tell who the spy is in a crowd. In a light bulb moment, I enter ‘home’. I’ll draw them to my old place while I keep watch. Simple.
There. That’s vague enough. If this person is linked to Val in any way, they will most likely show up. I putz around on the prehistoric computer for a few minutes more — visiting news sites and scanning a few psychology journals on it. Finally, I pack up.
On my way out, I catch Garrett’s arm and pull him aside to beg one more time. “Please tell me first. You can tell the police, too, if that makes you more comfortable. Please. This is really important.”
“Why?” Garrett studies my face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
With a deep breath, I get close to the truth. “I’d just like to know who it is. A girl needs to protect herself.”
“Hence telling the police.”
“And how long before they do anything about it? You know how slow official channels are. I’d like a heads up so I’m not a sitting duck any longer.”
“Point made.” He sighs. “I’ll let you know, too.”
I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
Back at Ben’s, I have time to kill before training with Nash.
I unpack boxes of clothes and accessories, then look for my coffee pot. Shit. It’s broken; the carafe in two big shards. I set it aside and dig for my psychology texts and notes for school.
The rest can stay packed. There’s no need for linens and whatnot. This apartment has everything I could possibly need with a few extras thrown in, except coffee. I carefully take the pot to the trash in the kitchen.
Clearing off expensive yet useless knickknacks from the living room shelves, I make room for my books and a few personal photos. As I do, I glance out the window just in time to see the landscaping van approach Cruz’s place.
Quickly, I grab the camera. This time, I get shots of the back license plate as it waits for the gate to open. Can civilians run plates? I focus the dozens of shots on the van — the logo, the make and brand of the vehicle, every marking I can find.
Once it pulls through, I lay the camera on the sofa, keeping an eye out the window while I stack books.
Ten minutes later, the van reappears at the gate to exit. That’s definitely peculiar. Landscaping takes oodles and oodles of time, doesn’t it?
I point the lens on the occupants of the vehicle. There’s a driver — though wearing coveralls and a hat, it’s fairly apparent it’s a woman. She’s wearing full makeup and jewelry — earrings, necklace and rings, a lot rings, big rings. If she’s a landscaper, I’m a mechanic. She looks to be in her early forties, possibly older if she’s had cosmetic surgery. The tightness around her eyes says she might have.
The passenger is a thirty-something male. He wears coveralls, too, and Ray-Bans. He reaches up with his left hand to scratch his nose and reveals a diamond studded wedding ring on his finger. Oh sure. Yard people wear expensive jewelry and sunglasses while they dig in the dirt. An inexperienced spy like me could create better covers.
Snapping away, I get shots of the front plates and few shots between the seats into the rear of the van. There doesn’t appear to be any tools in it. Obvious, much?
The van speeds away. Through the lens, I watch the house for a few moments more. There’s no other activity. In fact, it looks like no one’s home. I pop out the media card and put the camera away.
Lounging on the sofa in my apartment with my new computer, I download all the photos and study them. Nope. These folks are not landscapers and I’d be surprised if the interior of the van has seen even a handful of soil.
I click through the photos, again, stopping on the one of the rear license to tap the plate number into my phone note app. Scrolling through to the people, I look for scars or tattoos. There are none that are visible. I study the faces. Do I recognize them? No. I don’t.
Can I run the plates? I search the web for the answer. In the state of Colorado, I need a VIN and a written statement detailing why I want the plate searched. Is suspicious curiosity and a weak link to Val good enough reasons? Bet not. Bet I can’t do it anonymously, either.
I put the MacBook away and pull out the thumb drive with Garrett’s spyware on it, turning the micro device around in my fingers. It really should be tested before I deploy it on Cruz’s computers.
There’s the laptop in Ben’s den. I grimace. That’s invading his privacy. But he doesn’t seem to use so, maybe it isn’t. I wrinkle my nose at the twisted logic. Val’s safety takes priority over my morals. “Forgive me, ancestors.” I swallow the rest of my objections and hurry downstairs.
Hitting the space bar, I wake up the computer. He never shuts it off — that’s perfect for a test. I plug the micro thumb drive in the USB slot and wait. Is it working? There’s no light on the device to let me know, and nothing on the computer screen to say something is downloading on it. Garrett said it’d take a few minutes. I check the time on the computer screen — and browse the book shelves while I wait. The library has everything from James Michener to Ray Bradbury, even Lexus Luke. Whoever stocked it either has eclectic tastes or was just filling the shelves. I bet the latter. Allowing a good ten minutes for the software to install, I click to eject the thumb drive. The computer gives no warning, so I assume it’s done.
“Testing one, two, three. Testing,” I say loudly and then do it again in a normal cadence.
On my way back up stairs, the alarm app dings on my phone. Time to get ready for training and my plot to torment Nash as much as possible.
His deception about Ben and this mansion really bothers me. Manipulate me like this and get away with it? I don’t think so.
That’s not the only reason. His uncharacteristic flirting is unusual and more than a bit disconcerting. I know Nash doesn’t want me looking for Val and in the back of my mind, I wonder if he’s simply trying to distract me from that quest. That could explain him pushing Ben at me and his own sudden interest. That explanation would also be mortifying and horrible.
The white-knight remark Cherie made was part joke and part truth. His supposed need to protect me is what makes me doubt his sincerity and also what I’ll exploit today.
I feel just a twinge of guilt, but decide to go forward with my plan.
Nash responds best to a clean face. I scrub off all my makeup. Sweat and makeup don’t mix well regardless. I reapply only the waterproof mascara Paige insisted I buy. Perfect. This stuff makes my eyes look huge and doll-like. I appear innocent and a good five years younger.
I tug on my most provocative yoga pants that hang super low on my hips. Nash seems attracted most to my breasts, but that could be fake. Whatever. I shrug and choose a suggestive cropped sport tank. It shows my belly ring, creates great cleavage and is thin enough so that the puffy outline of my areola is just visible. This outfit will definite
ly get me male attention. That alone will anger Nash.
I sashay into the gym a good ten minutes late. All part of my strategy.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” He growls.
Piss him off with my clothes, check.
“Yoga clothes.” I twirl and shake my hips. “You like it?”
“Does this look like a yoga place?” He says to my belly button ring.
I skim my hand over my belly, keeping his gaze there a few seconds more. Slowly, his eyes roam up to my breasts and his eyes widen. I know the second he realizes he can make out the areola when his pupils dilate and he licks his lips. Shit. My nipples tighten.
“Flashing your tits, again, baby?” He clenches his teeth.
The man is an expert at seduction. I steel myself. I don’t want to fall for this. Crossing my arms over myself breaks his ogle. His eyes flicker up to mine.
“Three o’clock means three o’clock,” he murmurs. His gaze wanders from my eyes to my mouth.
“Whatever. I’m here aren’t I?” I pout and roll my eyes.
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?” I tilt my head, inviting him to confess.
C’mon, Nash explain why you deceived me.
“You seem upset,” he says.
“Do I?”
Nash squints.
After a moment, I let him off the hook. “It’s nothing. I’ll get over it.” Vague statements like that, I know, raises his curiosity to an almost intolerable level. One of his hands rubs the back of his head.
“Tell me.” He insists.
Someone I trusted manipulated me.
“It’s none of your business, Nash.” I move to step away. “I’m going to warm up.”
Nash catches my hand. “Baby, everything about you is my business,” he says softly. “Everything.”
That’s different. Those types of phrases generally come out of his mouth much louder.
“I’ll be okay.” I slip my hand from his.
With a slight sway in my hips, I cross the gym to the treadmills — using the mirrors to note his reaction. Brow creased in bewilderment, Nash stares after me. I swallow a pang of guilt. Why do I feel guilty? His flirtations mess with my head. Turn-around is fair, isn’t it?
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 17