Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf

by Selena Blake

  And what sort of man stuck up for a guy he’d never met? Was outraged that she’d turn her back on her fiancé? She dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting the sheet. He really was larger than life, and for a brief moment she wanted to soak up the calm.

  She shouldn’t though. “I guess I should drink my coffee before it gets cold,” she murmured and reached for her mug.

  He returned to his chair. “You change the subject a lot,” he said and took another sip of coffee, his gaze meeting hers over the rim of his mug.

  Her cheeks heated. Switching lanes mid-conversation, as her mother had called it, was a bad habit she’d picked up a long time ago. But she couldn’t help that her thoughts bounced from one topic to another. It had driven her mother crazy.

  “I’ve been told that before.”

  “S’ok,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He kept his hands wrapped around the coffee cup. “I can keep up.”

  She smiled. How was it that he managed to make her feel like less of a freak? He seemed so…normal. So laid back. It was easy for her to feel the same. She smiled and then took a sip.

  Plenty of sugar. Was he psychic?

  “I have some bad news about your car.”

  So much for staying calm. The pounding behind her eyes came back with an extra beat on the bass drum.

  “Is it...” she could hardly form the words.

  That car was all she had. The only thing in this world that she owned free and clear.

  Four fairly worn tires, two dinged up doors, and one fuzzy steering wheel, it was her chance for escape. A new life. A life without Carl and all the crazy coyotes of North Bend. She gulped.

  “Is it totaled?”

  He gave a slow nod, his gaze never leaving hers.

  She knew by the compassion in his dark eyes that he heard the fear in her voice. And somehow, she knew he didn't think less of her for it. But she tilted her chin up just the same.

  She had to be brave. Weakness was not an option.

  “Actually, it's,” he glanced around the room as if he'd find the right words painted on the walls, “well, it’s halfway down the mountain by now. Probably hanging from a tree like a Christmas ornament.”

  “Ornament?” The word chirped from her lips and her eyes bulged out a bit. She put her coffee cup back on the nightstand, afraid she’d spill it because she was shaking so much.

  His lips narrowed into a thin line and his gaze returned to hers. “A tree hit it, knocking it over the edge of the mountain. Then it—ugh—exploded.” She saw his lips moving. Even heard sounds come out. But the words didn't register. All she could focus on was the sensuous line of those perfect lips, his strong jaw, wide solid chest.

  She could rest there, curled up next to him, safe from the world.

  And then, like a pin popping a bubble, a single word entered her lust filled brain.

  “Exploded?” She leapt from the bed and whirled to face him, but the action was too much and she sank to her knees on the thick creamy carpet.

  He was at her side in an instant, whispering soft words in her ear as his strong arms lifted her back to the bed. But instead of putting her down, he settled her in his lap. Her heart skipped a beat.

  So strong.

  But… Oh, gosh, her car.

  Maybe if she could just soak up his warmth, maybe it was all just a dream. But as she lifted her head and saw the concern replacing the compassion in his eyes, she knew that it wasn’t.And once again, panic clawed at her.

  “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Exploded? Really?”

  “Lady, I felt the blast myself. Big boom. Lots of heat. It wasn't an orgasm.” She blushed.

  “Sorry. That was crass.”

  “Yeah...” She smiled at him. “But it was actually rather funny.” Their eyes met and held for a long, tension filled moment. Oh god, let him kiss me and make the world disappear.

  A second ticked by. Two. Three. He didn’t close the distance, small as it was, between them. But the way he looked at her face, gaze lingering on her lips, maybe he wanted to.

  Kendall, you’re crazy. What’s the chance he’s a wealthy bachelor ? And even if he was single, you’re not a human. It can never be. Never last.

  Why are you still sitting in his lap?

  She sucked in a shuddering breath, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Fear and frustration joined the mix. How was she supposed to outrun Carl’s reach with no car? No way out? “I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it.

  The thought that she might actually have to go back to Florida, to her father. To Carl. If was enough to make her stomach roll.

  “When the storm clears up we can go look for it, but I’m afraid it’s extra crispy Car-B-Q.”

  She appreciated his attempt at humor but that confirmation reduced her dreams to ashes, just like her car. Her lust bubble was seriously popped. Never before had she felt so close to coming unraveled. Part of her wanted to just throw up her hands and admit defeat.

  But she had to be strong. “It wasn't much, but it was mine. Ya know?”

  “I know.”

  She stared at the center of his chest, afraid to think, to feel anything at all lest she break down completely in front of this man. This stranger.

  But he wasn't really a stranger anymore, was he? And after last night he’d, no doubt, come to know her rather intimately. For some reason, that didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would have a week ago. So much had changed in seven days.

  No, they weren’t exactly strangers anymore. She may not know where he came from or what his favorite color was… But she knew his face. His hands. His lips. His tenderness and deep voice.

  She knew he was kind. Strong. A protector. He admitted when he was wrong and he had a sense of humor.

  And he’d most likely saved her life.

  Chapter Four

  Louisiana, mid morning

  Amanda Deveraux pulled the covers toward her chin and watched Sebastian stalk back and forth at the foot of the bed. Thanks to her pregnancy she alternated between scorching hot and freezing cold. Though Thanksgiving was only a week away, the Louisiana heat lingered and yet somehow, she was chilled.

  “Why does he not answer his cell phone?” A frown marred her husband’s handsome face. She loved him for it. For the way he worried over and protected his family.

  “Come back to bed,” she said, holding out a hand to him. He was entirely too worried about Burke. Make that, Burke's frame of mind. He'd headed to the hills, as Sebastian told it, but Amanda knew his cousin just wanted some time to himself. Which Amanda could totally understand. She sympathized with the big wolf, even though she worried about him too. He was like the silent rock that held things up, the persistent calm that had helped smooth the waters with Deveraux Shipping and in general, his laid back nature and sense of humor kept things pleasant in a world filled with Alpha males and too much testosterone.

  Sebastian huffed out a sigh, tossed the phone onto the bed and then crawled in beside her. A heavy arm settled around her ever growing belly and his warm palm cupped her breast.

  “How's da bébé?”

  She snuggled back against him, basking in his attention. “Same as when you asked five minutes ago.” She couldn't blame him for being excited. Just as she'd expected, he was turning out to be a great father. Protective and nurturing. Time had changed him. Time had changed all the Deveraux men. She only hoped it would heal whatever was eating at Burke so he would be home in time for the mammoth Thanksgiving turkey she'd squeezed into the freezer yesterday.

  As if sensing Kendall needed something else to focus on besides her car, Burke changed the subject. “You hungry?”

  “Always.”

  The corner of his mouth hitched up in amusement as he stood, letting her slide down until she was standing. “Come on. I'm sure there’s some grub around here somewhere.” He led the way to the kitchen.

  “The power went o
ut last night,” he said as he pulled out a bar stool for her.

  Ahh. That explained the candles on the nightstand. She gingerly settled herself on the tall wooden chair and blew warm air over her hands.

  “What do you like to eat for breakfast?” he asked.

  Kendall hugged her arms around herself and watched Burke pillage the industrial sized KitchenAid. He quickly amassed a pile of Styrofoam containers and items from the deli counter. No doubt about it. The man was a serious meatosaurous.

  “Fruit. Oatmeal,” she said, thinking back to all the cookies and power bars she'd downed over the last week. Not a healthy diet. In a perfect world she'd enjoy a caramel latte with a bowl of oatmeal and a side of fresh fruit every single morning.

  But this wasn't a perfect world. They didn’t have any power, her toes were cold, she’d been shot, nearly drove off a mountain, and her beloved little car was no more. No, this certainly wasn’t a perfect world.

  “You struck me as a carnivore,” he murmured and circled the island to retrieve a thick blanket from the back of a nearby couch. He wrapped it around her shoulders and then headed to a small room at the end of the kitchen, flashlight in hand.

  Touched by the gesture, she thanked him and adjusted the blanket so it covered her feet.

  “I used to be,” she said when he came back into the kitchen holding a pouch of what looked like oatmeal. But the packaging was far fancier than her usual Quaker.

  He paused, eyeing her. “Please don't tell me you're a vegan.”

  “Vegetarian.”

  He muttered something about same difference and grabbed a pot from the rack overhead. “Sure you don't want any bacon? Sausage? There's a whole ham in there.” Her jaw dropped open. Then he smiled. And what smile it was. “Just checking.” She realized that until that moment she hadn’t seen him smile. She was sure of it, because seeing his lips tug upward, showing off perfectly straight, incredibly white teeth took her breath away. And it made her want to see his smile every day for the rest of her life.

  But as quickly as it came, his smile vanished behind the mask of indifference he wore so well. She mourned the loss.

  He flipped over the package of oatmeal and stared for a few long seconds. Kendall was tempted to lay her head down on the sleek granite counter and close her eyes but noticed Burke frowning at the direction label. He didn't strike her as the type who didn't like to get his hands dirty, so it must have been lack of direction. Working part time in her father’s store, she’d seen her share of labels in the past that made her wonder what the company was thinking. Unidentifiable ingredients. Illegible text. Little-to-no instructions on preparation.

  She pushed herself to her feet and stepped around the island to stand next to him. She also figured he wouldn't appreciate her taking over the job.

  “I usually just start with a cup of water and a cup of oats.” She pulled the blanket tighter, ignored the cold floor, and looked around for a measuring cup. “Oh, and you need brown sugar.”

  “Brown sugar?” He relinquished his grip on the pot handle.

  “Hmm huh. Water?” She aimed the flashlight at a drawer and found every measuring device imaginable, including a scale. “Wow. Fancy.” He found a bottle of water and handed it to her. She measured her ingredients, poured them in the pot and then frowned.

  “Umm...heat?”

  “Told you ham would have been easier,” he quipped and turned away from her and began opening drawers. A gas stove and no electricity to cause a spark... Except for that crackle in the air between them.

  “You don't even have to cut an apple to eat it,” she said, unable to help herself from getting the last word.

  She caught his grin as he searched the drawers one-by-one. At the last drawer he made a sound of success. She reached for the dial on the stove while he struck a match. Just as the tiny flame flared, illuminating his handsome face, a motor rumbled to life in the distance.

  They'd found her. Her hand dropped from the knob and she glanced around frantically for a weapon.

  Burke blew out the match. How could he be so calm? He had no idea who or what he was up against, that’s how. “It's just the generator.” With that, he turned the knob and the burner beneath the pot flickered to a steady blue life. “It’s on a timer.” His voice was so steady, free of amusement or condemnation. “Oh.” The single word was all she could manage. Her heart was beating so fast she braced her hands against the counter to keep from falling. He reached out, closing a large hand around the back of her neck and gave her a reassuring squeeze. His warmth soaked into her and she reveled in his touch.

  The adrenaline rush waned as she watched him stir the oats, so calm, so relaxed. She couldn’t bring herself to move away from him. If only she could feel a little of that calm herself.

  “You’re safe here, chéri,” he murmured.

  She glanced at his handsome profile illuminated by the large picture window. Past him, snow swirled outside. Cold. Beautiful. Barren. She’d never experienced snow like this. So thick and picturesque.

  He was so sure of himself. Of his world. What was it like to live like that? She’d never been that sure of herself. Of anything actually. Usually, she tried to project confidence while second-guessing herself every step of the way.

  “I’m not safe anywhere,” she replied quietly.

  “Well, no one’s coming up the road thanks to that tree. And da storm is too thick.

  They’d have to be crazy to try to come after ya.”

  Feeling weak, Kendall reclaimed her bar stool. “They’re definitely crazy.” She wondered what Carl would do when he found out that his goons had shot her. She almost smiled as she imagined him ripping them to bits.

  Burke stared at her for a long moment, obviously chewing his words. “You mentioned something about brown sugar...”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. I sprinkle it on top,” she said, making a sprinkling gesture with her hand. “I know I shouldn't, it'll go straight to my hips and like I need any more baggage there.

  My cousin Clarrissa sprinkles blue berries on top of hers. Sometimes strawberries, depending on what's in season.” She was babbling. Again.

  Burke smiled, intrigued by her rambling. “If you want brown sugar, petit, then you shall have it.” And in his opinion, she didn't need to worry about a few extra calories. She looked perfect to him. Lush. Curvy. The kind of woman a man could hold on to.

  She watched him for a minute, her head tilted to the side then she joined him at the stove and held her hands above the pot. A shiver wracked the body he'd just been oogling and he felt like an imbecile.

  Settling her onto his lap earlier had been a mistake. Feeling her luscious curves fit like a puzzle piece against him had dredged up thoughts and desires that were better left buried.

  And he’d almost kissed her.

  What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking.

  Stick to the rule Deveraux. No kissing. No humans.

  “There's nothin' petit about me, except for the diamond in my nose ring. And between you and me,” she glanced around the room as if to check for anyone eavesdropping. “It's not a real diamond.”

  “You have a nose ring?”

  “It’s in my purse.”

  “What about the hair?”

  “Oh, it's real.”

  “I mean, why did you color it?”

  “To piss Carl off.” She twirled a strand around her finger in the way he was coming to realize meant she was lost in thought. “It didn't matter though. He said it could be dyed back before--”

  He stopped stirring. “Before what?”

  Her hand dropped to her side and she glanced away. “Never mind.” Her voice was quiet and tortured. He was liking this Carl fella less by the second. What sort of man instilled fear in the woman who would be his wife?

  A little voice whispered in his ear, “monsters like you.” For several long, agonizing moments the kitchen was silent. They stared at each other and Kendall opened her mouth a few times to s
peak but couldn't find the right words.

  But there was something about the tall, superbly built Burke Deveraux that made her want to find the words, want to open up to him. Something in his eyes spoke to her, instilled trust and confidence. While Carl gave her the creeps, Burke made her want to curl up next to him and tell him all her secrets.

  Which was why it was probably a good reason to keep her mouth firmly closed.

  “You said something about a mating ritual,” he prompted and went back to stirring the oatmeal.

  Had she? Probably her run away tongue again. Dang she hoped it didn't burn. She was starving.

  “It's just a silly little thing. How's the oatmeal?” He seemed curious, like he wanted to ask more questions, but instead turned back to the stove. “I don't know. You tell me.”

  Which meant getting closer to him...

  “Looking good.” And she wasn't talking about the gooey mash in the pot.

  But he didn't need to know that.

  With a bowl of oatmeal and the wide island between them, Kendall relaxed enough to eat. Burke fried up all manner of meats and then wolfed down each greasy morsel. Though she didn't find it appetizing in the least, she could appreciate his ap petit. Truth be told, the oatmeal would only last her an hour. Even with plenty of brown sugar on top.

  As Burke went back to the fridge for another glass of milk she went in search of an apple. Or two. Okay, three.

  The refrigerator drawer full of apples was like heaven after all the junk food she had endured the last week. In the back of her mind she could hear her father ranting about what a picky eater she was and Kendall supposed that for a werecoyote, she was a picky eater. But she couldn't help it that she had discerning tastes.

  She settled herself on her stool and took a big bite of the shiny red fruit.

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.” He paused, mid-bite, obviously waiting for her to elaborate. “I'm twenty-one.” In three months. Not that she would tell him that. Everyone seemed to think that twenty-one was the golden age. Looking at an eternally long life, twenty-one felt microscopic.

  “Then you're old enough to run away. When I first ran away I was fifteen.”