Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

by Dannika Dark

  Then again, maybe we’re all a little broken and just trying to find the glue that’ll hold us together.

  “You could try searching for love online.” I grinned at her and suppressed a giggle.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth and laughed, her eyes turning into playful crescent moons. “Can you imagine having a human pick me up at the house for a date? I’m afraid I’d end up with six chaperones.”

  We both laughed at the idea, and I took a bite of my tart apple.

  Ivy raised her chin proudly and headed toward the door. “All I want is a good man who can provide for me. I should be so lucky,” she finally said, lifting her purse from the small table.

  “Well, don’t get mated unless he loves you.”

  “Likewise,” she said, waving as she went out the door. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  ***

  Jericho was sprawled out on the living room sofa, listening to the Weston pack moving about the house. A few days had gone by since the night he’d been drugged by that groupie. Izzy had taken her car and left for good, and he’d been unable to get his head together. Once the pain in his chest subsided, it was replaced with emptiness.

  Maizy darted around the spacious living room, engaged in a game with Denver. Maizy didn’t have any children to grow up with or close friends, so Denver provided her with all the entertainment she could hope for. The men enjoyed the vivacious energy she brought into their home. Denver was Maizy’s watchdog and would be her protector for as long as she needed. That little girl adored him, probably because he had the same maturity level as she did.

  “Denny! Now what animal am I?”

  He peeked through his lashes and saw her swinging her arm in front of her face.

  Denver pinched his chin and tapped his bare foot on the floor. “A duck.”

  “I’m not a duck!” she complained. “You’re not even trying.” Maizy flapped her little arm up and down like an elephant moving its trunk.

  “A moose.”

  She dropped her arms and scowled. “I’m an elephant.”

  Denver snorted and patted the top of her head. “Not until you eat your dinner. Now skedaddle!”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Lexi shouted out.

  Maizy walked slowly toward the dining room and glared over her shoulder at Denver.

  He pointed upward, and his face brightened. “Aha! Now you’re a turtle!”

  “Well, you’re a skunk,” she said, poking out her tongue and disappearing.

  “Kids,” he murmured, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “She looks up to you,” Jericho said.

  Denver sighed. “You gonna sleep on the couch all day, dickhead?”

  “No. We have a show later tonight.”

  Denver stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bite-size piece of candy. He wadded up the wrapper and tossed it in a blue vase.

  “I see,” he said with a mouthful of caramel. “Hot babe buffet. I’m not working tonight, so how about I come along?”

  “I thought you didn’t like leftovers,” Jericho grumbled, finally sitting up. All he had on was a pair of black jeans and a leather belt. Jericho rubbed the tattoo on his left arm and watched Denver tuck his hands beneath his armpits, looking irritated, but not enough to blow his chance of scoring a date.

  Not that Denver scored much.

  “You don’t have to ask permission to come to my show.” Jericho rubbed his eyes and decided he was going to need eyeliner to camouflage his exhaustion.

  “Look,” Denver began, pointing back and forth between them. “We both know panties may be flying in your direction, but that doesn’t mean the ladies won’t want to ride on the Denver carousel of love.”

  “Seriously?” Jericho laughed and covered his face. “Look, I’ll hook you up if all you’re looking for is a one-night stand.”

  “Maybe you could use one too, bro. Might do you some good to move on.” Denver quietly walked out of the room.

  If the only way for Jericho to get out of this funk was to have sex with another woman, then he was in trouble. Celibacy was looking like a viable option. He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from Isabelle. The way she had spread her body out before him, how perfectly her breasts molded against his chest, and the floral fragrance that lingered on her sugary-sweet skin. Isabelle’s lips tasted of passion fruit, and just thinking about their tongues twining gave him an erection.

  Everything about that girl wrecked him.

  Wheeler joked that Isabelle could give him writing material for his next song. They didn’t get it. Christ, he couldn’t imagine what must have gone through her head when she’d walked in on him. Jericho felt blessed he wouldn’t have to go through his life with the expression on her face burned in his memory.

  The last time he’d seen Isabelle in human form, she was lying in bed with the afterglow of their passion on her face. For a brief moment, he’d thought he might have a shot at something meaningful in his life.

  He got off the couch and went upstairs, unclasping the silver chain that hung around his neck. He closed his bedroom door and knelt in front of his dresser, opening the bottom drawer. On top of the Pink Floyd shirt was the black box. He pulled out the ring and looped it on the chain, putting the necklace around his neck. It settled against his chest, right over his heart.

  Where it would stay.

  ***

  After dinner, Denver gave Jericho a ride to work in his yellow truck. It wasn’t one of the newer models, but an old classic that some of the boys called a jalopy. Denver kept it in good condition, even if it looked a little beat up.

  “This isn’t the way,” Jericho said when Denver turned in the wrong direction.

  Denver rolled down his window and let the warm wind ruffle his hair. “I promised Ivy I’d do her a solid and drop off something.”

  “Where?”

  Denver’s silence answered his question. Ivy had been to see Isabelle earlier that day but had said nothing to Jericho about the visit. He didn’t ask.

  After grabbing a small plastic bag, Denver slammed the truck door and jogged up a flight of stairs at one of the most run-down motels Jericho had ever seen. It looked a hundred years old—painted yellow with bright blue doors. A couple of the letters had burned out on the sign, and most of the cars in the parking lot looked local based on their bumper stickers, which meant they were either using it for prostitution or a place to live.

  Jericho searched the truck for a lighter but could only find a box of matches in the glove compartment. He struck the match and lit the end of his cigarette, tossing the charred stick out the window.

  Two big guys were standing by the stairs, watching a woman rush to her car from one of the rooms. One guy nudged the other with his elbow, and they both laughed in gravelly voices.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Jericho asked himself, getting out of the truck with the smoke between his teeth. He stalked toward the building and chastised himself as he went up the stairs, ascending two steps at a time. It was as if an invisible string were pulling him forward, compelling him to go to Isabelle.

  Denver appeared with a startled look on his face. “No way, Jose. You need to turn around and get your ass in the truck.” Halfway down the steps, he snatched Jericho’s wrist and tried to coax him away.

  “Chill out,” Jericho said, swiping his arm in a circle.

  “It ain’t a good time for visits,” Denver ground out through his teeth. “Come on, man. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  Jericho took a drag of his cigarette, the orange tip crackling, and then flicked it over the railing. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Denver held up both hands. “You’re a bag of nuts. If you’re not back down in five minutes, I’m leaving without you. Clock starts now.”

  They headed their separate ways, and Jericho walked in the direction Denver had come from. There were only two motel rooms on the left, and the first one he passed had a couple of toy cars outside the door. He
walked to the end unit and knocked on the door.

  After a few beats, Isabelle’s voice rang out. “Go away.”

  He put his finger over the peephole. “Isabelle, it’s me. I want to talk.”

  “Please, just go.”

  He rested his forehead on the door, knowing she must have been doing the same on the other side. She sounded so close.

  “I can’t leave. Not without seeing you. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It wasn’t!”

  “I know. I didn’t mean it sarcastically. I believe you.”

  “Hard to tell from the expression on your door.”

  He thought he heard her laugh, but maybe it was wishful thinking.

  A light flipped on inside and the curtains opened. Jericho stepped to the left and admired Isabelle on the opposite side of the window. Thank God for cheap windows and an old air conditioner that allowed them to hear each other.

  “You cut your hair,” he said. It was several inches shorter, messy, and had never looked sexier. Just like the rest of her. Her white tank top was wrinkled, too long, and revealed cleavage. Her sweatpants fit snugly and showed off the gentle curve of her hips.

  “Ivy did it,” she said, touching the ends. “Long story.”

  Yeah, he knew. “You okay? Wheeler told me what happened.”

  She nodded, and her eyes slid down his body. “Do you have a show tonight?”

  He nodded back.

  Isabelle covered her smile. “Who did your eyeliner?”

  “Maizy. Why?”

  “It’s all…” She traced her finger beneath her eye and sloped down her cheek.

  Jericho wiped the heel of his hand across his face. He hadn’t had the heart to say no when Maizy walked in his room with a smile, holding his smoky eye pencil.

  “How long are you staying here?” he asked conversationally, noticing a stack of food on her dresser to the right. Pillows were scattered across the bed and the blanket was pulled back, as if she’d already settled in for the night. The television was off, which made him wonder if Denver had woken her up.

  “I’m not sure. It won’t be too much longer.” She gripped the curtain and lowered her eyes ruefully. “You should go.”

  Jericho put his palms on the glass and leaned in. “Isabelle, open the door and let’s talk. I’m not going to say anything to upset you; I just want to explain what happened so you don’t walk away from this hating the hell out of yourself for giving me a second chance. This wasn’t your fault. Please, baby, I can’t do this through the window.”

  She theatrically pulled the drapes closed. His heart stammered when the chain slid off the lock and the door cracked open.

  He peered into the dimly lit room. “Isabelle, I’ll just be a minute. I can’t leave without seeing you…”

  Then it hit him. She had barely appeared in the doorway when all the blood in his body rushed south and he became hard as granite. All he noticed was how lovely her breasts looked behind that thin fabric, which was sheer enough that he could see the color of her nipples.

  Jericho pushed his way in and kicked the door shut. He cupped the back of her neck, running his nose along her damp cheek as she tilted her head up to look at him. “Oh, fuck. You’re in heat, aren’t you?” he breathed.

  When she let out a delicate moan, he settled his weight on his right leg and broke out in a sweat. Damn, the sweet scent lingering on her skin filled his senses and clouded all rational thought. Before he knew it, his mouth was on hers and… Jesus—her lips were so pliant and soft, moving with his in sweet rhythm. She tasted like ambrosia, whetting his sexual appetite like he’d never known. They whispered words back and forth, but Jericho couldn’t focus.

  Her leg wrapped around his, and she moaned against his mouth. Before he knew it, Isabelle was grinding herself against him. “Please, make it stop.”

  Christ, his willpower was about as strong as a thread of hair. Her need for sex consumed him, but he pushed her back, out of breath.

  “Wait, Isabelle. Wait. I’m not doing this with you, so stop.”

  Chapter 25

  My heart leapt in my chest when Jericho appeared outside my motel room. What was I going to say to him? I definitely couldn’t open the door in my condition.

  But he looked so handsome on the other side of the window. Tall and terribly sexy. Wisps of brown hair danced on his shoulders from the southerly breeze. The outdoor light cast shadows on the left side of his body, making his Adam’s apple stand out. It also obscured his eyes, but I could feel them on me. Jericho had on my Pink Floyd shirt. Maybe that’s what did me in—seeing him in something he knew was mine. Something he wanted close to his body.

  He deserved a chance to speak his mind, and I didn’t want anything left unsaid. I’d already been down that road. I’d spent years wishing for a time machine so I could have told him my true feelings. I’d often wondered if he would have overdosed had I stayed and confronted him. I realized the importance of not leaving loose ends.

  His palms pressed on the glass. Another wave was coming, and I felt my resolve weakening, crumbling to ashes. I opened the door, and his words were abruptly cut off when his nostrils flared and his eyes hooded.

  I’d seen that hungry look on a man’s face, but never from Jericho while looking at me. He stepped inside and kicked the door shut with his heel. Then he roughly cupped the back of my neck and closed the distance between us.

  His bristly cheek pressed against mine. “Oh, fuck. You’re in heat, aren’t you?” he said in a warm breath that skated down my neck.

  I moaned as our lips found each other. Carnal need swelled in me like a hurricane, and I became the storm, crashing against Jericho.

  His tongue slid into my mouth and met with mine… God, he tasted heavenly and I couldn’t get enough of him. When he moaned into my mouth, it sent a feverish rush of tingles to my core. I wrapped my leg around his body, consuming more of him with my hands, my arms, my legs, my mouth, my breath.

  He pulled back. “I need you to stop doing that,” he said in a heavy breath.

  “What?”

  “Moaning against my tongue.”

  “I’ll stop.”

  His lips touched mine lightly. “And don’t answer me in a breathless voice. You don’t know what the fuck that does to me.”

  I couldn’t stand it. I needed him inside me.

  Now.

  No time to undress and refine my seduction skills. No time to even make it to the bed. “Please, make it stop,” I said in a trembling whisper, nipping on his lower lip and feeling another lick of pleasure shoot through me.

  His body responded, pressing against mine, and his strong arms wrapped around my waist.

  But then he pushed me away. “Wait, Isabelle. Wait. I’m not doing this with you, so stop.”

  Did he think I was a compliant female? I bent over and pulled down my sweats and panties, kicking them aside. Jericho backed up a pace, startled by my dominant behavior. He’d never been in the same room with me while I was in heat, and I had never been in the room with another man in this condition. All my body knew was that it wanted him. It felt like a pulse throbbing inside me, and I needed that empty space filled.

  Just when I thought he was going to turn and run, Jericho pulled away the end of his belt and unlatched it, curving his arm around my waist as he walked me into the side of the dresser. It bumped against my waist, and he reached out with his left arm and knocked all the contents off the surface.

  A clatter of cans and packaged foods spilled on the floor, and as I turned to look, he lifted me up and set me on the end. My legs hooked around his waist and he struggled with his zipper, finally shucking down his pants.

  I pulled on his neck, trying to kiss him as he worked diligently to free himself.

  “Inside me. Now,” I begged. “I need it, Jericho. I need you so bad it hurts.”

  “It’s just the heat talking,” he said in a ra
gged and almost remorseful tone.

  Jericho hesitated and leaned into me, his face so close. My knees were bent and I lifted my legs, rubbing them against his flanks and feeling the thick press against my core.

  “Isabelle, you could get pregnant,” he warned.

  I could see his mind was scrambling for a way out of this. Our bodies knew exactly what they wanted to do, and maybe it boiled down to animal instinct, but he was too busy rationalizing. In my mind, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I became pregnant with his baby. Maybe our relationship was all kinds of messed up, but kids weren’t a regret in the Shifter world. It was harder for a woman to pair up with a mate other than her child’s father—most Shifter men didn’t want to take on that burden. But good guys were out there, and I could provide for a baby.

  Jericho’s baby. Just thinking about having his child made me want him even more.

  So I kept stroking his sides with my legs, coaxing him to stop thinking and start feeling. I lay on my back, knocking an orange on the floor as I pulled off my tank top and tossed it over his shoulder so I was bare to him.

  He bent down and stroked his tongue along the crease of my thigh and up to my navel. Then he slowly outlined one of my nipples with his tongue, and I released an anguished moan.

  I opened my mouth, gasping for breath as he drove deep inside, stretching me wide and penetrating all the way to the hilt.

  “Ah fuck, Isabelle… it’s so damn hot.” It almost sounded like a complaint, but he kept rocking against me, sliding in and out, filling me with an eruption of tingles and waves of pleasure. “Is this what it’s like?” he asked in a ragged breath, looking up at me with awareness burning in his eyes.

  “I don’t know. You’re my first in heat.”

  “Oh my God,” he breathed more than said. “I’ve never felt anything this sweet before.”

  His eyelids fluttered as he stood up, holding my thighs and swiveling his hips in a maddening rhythm. Our skin slapped together and the surface of the dresser pulled at my back as I began to slide up.