The Mane Attraction

by Shelly Laurenston

  “That better be what you meant.” Sissy rested her chin on her raised knees. “What happened to her?”

  “She dumped me for a tiger with a Mustang.”

  “I can say that I’ve never dumped a man over a car. I have, however, gotten shot at over a car.”

  “That somehow does not surprise me.” He looked around her room. “You do have a thing about muscle cars, Sissy.”

  “Yeah, I do. Me and Ronnie Lee used to rebuild them. We haven’t in ages.”

  “Were you good?”

  “Yeah.” She studied him for a moment, briefly debating with herself. Eh. What the hell? “I can take you to see one tomorrow. It’s over at my brother’s house. Sammy’s house.” She wouldn’t trust any of the others to hold on to something so important to her.

  “I’d love to. I never get tired of cars.”

  “Good. We’ll do that after we go hunting in the morning.”

  “You mean after you go hunting in the morning.”

  “You’re coming with me. We’ll hunt down a hog for breakfast. It’ll be fun.”

  “It doesn’t sound like fun. It sounds like I’m working for my meal. How is that fair?” He touched his wounded shoulder and gave her big cat eyes. He looked like one of those velvet paintings. “Painful.”

  “It’ll be more painful if you don’t start pulling your weight around here, hoss. Besides, you need the exercise to get your strength back.”

  “You’re not taking very good care of me.”

  “Have I put a pillow over your head while you’ve slept?”

  “Uh ... no.”

  “Have I thrown anything heavy and deadly at you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ve taken care of you.”

  “Nice.” He flipped through a few more pages, but she could see he was fighting to stay awake. Good. The more he slept, the better he’d get. “Can I ask you a strange question?”

  “No, I won’t have sex with you in my childhood bed.”

  Mitch chuckled. “That’s not a problem. I’m more a take-you-up-against-the-wall kind of guy anyway.” And she almost swallowed her tongue. “But that’s not my question.”

  “So ask.”

  “Why does this house have so many doors? You’ve got one in the family room, the kitchen, the living room, and the one behind the stairs.”

  “Revenuers,” she said simply.

  Mitch frowned. “Revenuers?”

  “Yeah. That’s what my granddaddy called them. He built this house, and he wanted to be able to run when he had to run. Bobby Ray never told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Darlin’, the Smith empire—”

  “Empire?”

  “—is built on moonshine money. Many doors mean many exits. And Granddaddy did like his exits. If he didn’t like somebody—and I mean, you could be the queen of England—the man would just get up and walk out.”

  Mitch examined the walls again. “That explains the car fetish.”

  “Yup. In this family, you’re born knowing two things. How to rebuild a carburetor and how to outrun the revenuers.”

  “Built into your DNA strain, is it?”

  “Yup. The ’Shiner strain, they call it.”

  Sissy took the photo album from his hands. “We’ll look at the rest tomorrow.”

  “Any nude pictures? Maybe you and Ronnie and some oil?”

  “Dream on.”

  “A man can hope, Sissy Mae. When that’s all he has left.”

  Sissy laughed at Mitch’s dramatics and wondered if he’d even realized he’d settled down in her bed, curled on his side, hands under his cheek?

  She looked down at her full-sized bed. It was perfect for her when she stayed in here alone, but to share it with a lion-sized male did not sound remotely comfortable.

  Resigned to sleeping in the guest room or Smitty’s room, she started to move off the bed. But Mitch grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbled, already falling asleep.

  “Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. If I stay, you’ll only fall madly in love with me like so many men before you.”

  “It’s you we have to worry about,” he sighed out. “You’ve already been trapped in my erotic web of lust. Might as well give it up to the daddy of all cats.”

  Grinning, Sissy stretched out next to Mitch, her arm thrown over his waist. “You keep on dreamin’ that dream, kitty.”

  “I will. I own ponies in that dream, too.”

  Sissy laughed, and Mitch started snoring. Not a scary, annoying snore, just a snore that told her he was out cold.

  In his sleep, he grabbed her arm and held it against him. Even if she’d wanted to go somewhere else, didn’t look like it would happen.

  She didn’t mind, though. Sissy knew for a fact there were worse ways to spend a night.

  Chapter 8

  Mitch woke up feeling better than he had in a very long time. His strength was building back up quickly, and the usual panic he woke up with simply wasn’t there this morning.

  Of course, that could have a lot to do with the fact his face was buried between two large and perfect breasts.

  Opening one eye, Mitch quickly realized he was completely entangled with Sissy Mae Smith. He’d had dreams about this sort of thing before, but usually, they were both naked and covered in scratch marks.

  This, however, would do for what he would consider an excellent morning wake-up.

  Mitch couldn’t believe how well he’d slept. In fact, he’d come to terms with his possible death simply by realizing that for once, he’d actually get to sleep again. A real sleep. Deep and unconcerned and without worrying about everything and anything.

  But he didn’t have to die to get that kind of sleep. Instead, he simply had to trust himself to Sissy. Not nearly as hard as it sounded because he knew she had his back. If she knew there was danger, she’d get him up and be ready to fight within seconds, and he’d do the same for her.

  That kind of partnership meant more to him than some piece of ass because that kind of partnership kept him breathing.

  Sissy suddenly moaned in her sleep, and her arms tightened around him, her hands digging into his hair.

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t good. No, that was wrong. This was good. It felt good. It felt amazing, having Sissy wrapped around him like this. But it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of her when she was out cold.

  Right ... right?

  “Oh, God,” she groaned, the leg she had around his waist tightening up. Immediately, Mitch’s body began to respond, his morning wood taking on gargantuan proportions. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m not a saint,” he muttered. “You’re asking too much of me here.”

  He had to push her off. He had to set her aside, and he had to get in the shower and take care of things himself. And he had to do that now.

  “Clyde.”

  Mitch froze. Clyde? Who the fuck was Clyde? And why the fuck was Sissy moaning about him in her sleep? Was that the ex-boyfriend she’d mentioned last night? Was she still hung up on that guy?

  And even more importantly, why the fuck did Mitch suddenly care?

  She giggled. “Clyde.”

  That was it.

  “Hey.” He shook her. “Hey!”

  Sissy’s eyes fluttered open, and Mitch forced himself to ignore how pretty those light brown eyes were this early in the morning.

  “Huh?”

  “Who the hell is Clyde?”

  “Clyde?” Sissy frowned. “What?”

  “Clyde. You moaned Clyde in your sleep. Who the fuck is Clyde?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She looked away. “Clyde.”

  Wait. What did that mean? What was that expression on her face? What wasn’t she telling him?

  “Yeah. Clyde. So who is he?”

  Sissy shook her head and still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Nobody.”

  “Sissy—”

  “Come on. You promised me we’d go hunting.” She wiggled out of his arms a
nd scrambled out of bed. “I’m going to brush my teeth first, then we’re going.”

  “Answer my question, woman!” But she’d already skipped out of the room.

  Really. She’d skipped.

  After ordering his cock to get some control, Mitch tossed off the covers and marched into the bathroom. Sissy stood at the sink brushing her teeth. She grinned around the toothbrush, showing a mouthful of toothpaste, before she handed him his toothbrush.

  “And this Clyde conversation isn’t over,” he told her before he started brushing his teeth. She only snorted, spit out the toothpaste, and rinsed her mouth. Then she skipped out of the bathroom.

  He was getting tired of the skipping.

  Five seconds later, she walked back on all fours, her tail wagging. When he kept brushing, she barked at him.

  “Two minutes!” he snapped around his mouthful of toothpaste and went back to brushing. Didn’t she know that dentists recommended at least two minutes of brushing twice a day?

  Sissy sat and scratched her ear with her back leg. She looked like all the Smith wolves when she shifted. Dark brown, almost black fur with very small patches of white and gold built in. Unlike his eyes or even Bobby Ray’s, Sissy’s eyes went from light brown to yellow only when wolf.

  And thankfully, she’d finished molting. Although it had been entertaining when he’d walk into her hotel room and find her rubbing herself up against a potted plant or furniture, trying to get the tufts of fur off.

  Mitch finished brushing, spit, and Sissy slammed into his side with her paws. Impatient female. Then she started barking at him—and wouldn’t stop.

  Annoyed—and amused—Mitch shifted and roared at her. Sissy stumbled back, wagged her tail, and took off running.

  Mitch was right behind her.

  It took a while, and to be quite blunt, Mitch wasn’t the best hunter she’d ever worked with—in fact, his older sister, Marissa, was ten times better—but they’d finally tracked the wild boar down and had him cornered. The boar was a mean ol’ buck, and big. When he realized he’d been cornered, he lowered his head and charged.

  Shit.

  Sissy dashed to the side as the boar came at her, and when he charged past, she grabbed hold of his leg, dragging him back.

  Mitch grabbed the boar on his side, trying to get him into position so he could snap his spine.

  But the boar kicked out, his hoof hitting Sissy in the jaw. Not wanting a broken jaw anytime soon, she let go, and the boar tore away from Mitch. He took off down the small hill and toward the lake.

  The pair went after him, and Mitch had caught hold of the boar again by the time Sissy got to them.

  Mitch dragged the boar back so Sissy could get hold of it. But before she could get a grip, water from the lake suddenly exploded on and around her, and she stumbled back.

  Ralph. She’d completely forgotten about Ralph!

  How the hell could she forget about Ralph? Who forgets about a ten-foot crocodile living in her parents’ lake? Maybe because he’d been part of this lake for so long.

  It had been her extremely stupid cousin who’d originally gotten it as a cute little croc, but when it finally outgrew the shoe box under the bed, the idiot had dumped the poor thing in this lake.

  When Ralph hit a healthy five feet, the family had discussed getting rid of Ralph, but he was such a little trooper none of them had the heart, and Daddy figured it would keep anyone who annoyed him away from his lake. It was a real sweet sentiment, too—until Ralph hit ten feet. Then this lake and a good portion of the surrounding property became Ralphie’s territory.

  Of course, this meant they all stayed away from Ralph. If Ralph got their prey, they found other prey.

  That’s what logical, sane predators did.

  Apparently Mitchell Shaw did not fall into that category.

  When Sissy had gotten the water out of her eyes, she watched as Mitch played tug with a goddamn crocodile. She barked at him, but he seemed determined not to give up the damn boar.

  Sissy barked more and slammed her paws against Mitch’s side. But he only dug his enormous paws into the soft earth surrounding the lake and settled into a tug that Ralph seemed more than happy to engage in.

  Was the man insane? Had being undercover pushed him over the edge? And why was she having another conversation with herself?

  “Sissy Mae.”

  Sissy looked over and saw Dee-Ann standing about ten feet away, clothes clutched in her hand.

  “You need to get ...” Dee’s gaze traveled over to Mitch and Ralph. “Holy shit.”

  Walking over to her cousin, Sissy barked the whole way. When she shifted and started putting the clothes on her cousin had with her, her barking moved to ranting.

  “Can you believe him? I think the boy has lost his goddamn mind. Who the fuck plays tug with a crocodile? No one sane. That’s who!” She tugged on the denim shorts before pulling on the T-shirt. “I risk everything to save his dumb ass, and now I’ll have to go back to his big brother and tell him the hitter didn’t get him—it was a crocodile. How am I supposed to explain that? And why the hell are you here anyway?”

  Dee didn’t answer, her gaze locked on Mitch and Ralph.

  “Dee-Ann!”

  “Don’t yell.” Her cousin turned to her. “I was sent here to get you.” She sighed. “They want to see you in town.”

  Sissy let out an angry breath. Now? Her brother wanted her now? Then she stopped a moment to think about it. Bastard. It was perfect. Kick her out while Mitch was unable to walk, and the town might turn on him for being a major prick. Wait until the cat could tussle with crocodiles, and the town would have a parade leading them out.

  Bastard!

  “And you’ve got some visitors at the house.”

  Sissy pulled her annoyed gaze away from Mitch and back to her cousin. “I do?”

  Mitch had a good grip on the boar—who’d died quite a while ago from blood loss and internal damage, no doubt—but that damn crocodile wouldn’t give it up.

  And were crocodiles indigenous to these parts? He’d watched documentaries on crocs, and he’d never heard about a huge population in the wilds of Tennessee.

  But investigating that further would have to wait because the damn thing wouldn’t let go!

  His jaw getting tired, Mitch readjusted, but the croc took advantage and scurried back. Mitch tried to grab hold, but the damn croc disappeared into the lake. Mitch roared ... and roared again.

  Now he was hungry, tired, and covered in boar’s blood. He hated hunting his own food!

  Snarling, he turned and walked back to Sissy’s house. He had no idea where she had gone, but she better have some food waiting for him or he’d be a little more than cranky.

  But Mitch felt his anger moving to a new level when he neared the house and saw them. There were about eight, and they all held flowers or boxes of chocolate.

  What the fuck?

  He didn’t bother to shift; instead, he kept on walking until he reached the line—a friggin’ line!—that led from the house down the porch steps.

  And was Sissy shooing these horny wolves away? No! She was looking way too cute and wet from the lake in those tiny shorts and way-too-small T-shirt—did she not have any other kinds of clothes?—while she took their flowers or chocolates and smiled.

  Didn’t she understand that until he left, her attention should only be on him? True, they only had a friendship, and it would probably stay that way, but until he headed back to Philly, he expected her to focus solely on him.

  And he knew he wasn’t being unreasonable ... dammit.

  Standing behind Sissy—and getting a delightful look at that great ass—he stared at the wolves who’d come to call. They stared back, none of them making any effort to leave.

  So ... he roared. A few jumped, the others continued to stare.

  Sissy looked at him. “Oh?” she asked. “Have we finished tussling with Ralph?”

  Now the wolves looked a little concerned. But Mitch had
no idea who Ralph was. To make that clear, he tilted his head to the side, and Sissy shook her head in obvious disgust.

  “Ralph. The crocodile you refused to give up that damn boar to.”

  He snorted at her, and Dee shook her head. “That was a sight all right,” she grumbled. Mitch was quickly learning not to expect more from Dee than the occasional sentence thrown at him to keep him off balance.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m busy. So”—Sissy shooed him—“scoot.”

  She was shooing him away? Not these dogs? How was this okay behavior?

  Not about to be put off for some German shepherds carrying flowers, Mitch grabbed hold of the back of Sissy’s shorts and tugged her toward the steps.

  “Hey! Have you lost your mind?”

  He ignored her and kept pulling.

  “Can I just say that this is rude? You’re being rude!”

  Mitch didn’t care.

  Sissy let him drag her into the house because she knew if she tried to pull away, her shorts would get torn off and she wasn’t in the mood for that.

  Besides, this was kind of fun.

  Although what had gotten into the man, she had no idea.

  Dee came in after them and closed the door while Sissy slapped at Mitch’s muzzle until he released her.

  Motioning to the men outside, Dee said, “Nice move mentioning Ralph.”

  That had been a tactical maneuver. She didn’t want to have to worry about anyone starting shit with Mitch when she was out of the house. At least not until he was back to full strength.

  “But you really need to get into town, Sissy.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. But I got boar’s blood all over me, so I better shower.” She had her foot on the first step, but one big hand slapped against the wall and the big arm attached blocked her from going up the stairs. She looked at a now human, bloody, and seriously naked Mitch. Yowza. “Yes?”

  “What about my breakfast?”

  “So you lost your breakfast to Ralph, huh?”

  “You named him Ralph?”

  “What did you want us to name him? Crocky McCrock-enson?”

  “I’m hungry,” he said again.

  “Dee, darlin’, could you fix the king of the jungle here something for breakfast since he seems to be incapable?”