by Marie Jermy
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Scott, but I can manage. Just because I can’t see, it doesn’t mean I’m incapable. And I haven’t burned anything yet. However, if you want to help, you can make me a cup of tea. I like it strong and black. No sugar.”
“Cute,” he murmured, recognizing the recycled words for his own preference for coffee. “Since you don’t drink it, I take it you haven’t got coffee?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“OJ?”
“Refrigerator. Oh, and can you open a tin of dog food for Archie? Archie, show Scott what you want.”
Though Archie woofed three or four times, Leia didn’t translate, and Scott got the impression that whatever he wanted, it didn’t relate to food. At that precise moment, Scott wasn’t interested in food, either. The idea of Leia smacking him with that spoon elsewhere on his body, like his ass, made his cock throb. He turned the stove off and began to back her into the refrigerator, a wolfish grin stretching his features.
“Scott, the soup…”
“Can wait,” he finished. Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip as if it had suddenly gone dry. He removed the rest of her lip gloss by mashing his mouth to hers. Her tongue came out to play, and this time he sucked it into his mouth.
His left hand placed on the refrigerator by her head, his right slipped down her body over her clothing in a rough caress, from her soft neck, over one gorgeous breast, the nipple erect and distended, down her flat belly and into the waistband of her slacks. His cold fingers found lace panties already damp with hot arousal.
The wooden spoon fell from Leia’s grasp, but Scott was too far gone to give a damn. He inhaled her sweet scent, and something primal broke loose. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d literally ripped her clothes from her body, freed himself, lifted and wrapped her legs—her calf-length boots still in place—around his waist, and surged inside her. Incredibly, her tight pussy became slicker and widened to accommodate every rigid inch of his throbbing cock.
“Leia,” he rasped as he lowered his head to tease one rosy peak and then the other with his tongue.
She squirmed against him, her hands on his shoulders, fisting and gripping his shirt. “Gotta have you,” Leia gasped.
He stared into her lovely brown eyes, so blank and unresponsive, yet her expression so alive with desire it awed him. Tightness banded his chest, and his heart raced out of control. “You’ve got me.” He began to thrust, her gorgeous breasts bouncing in time with the rocking of the refrigerator behind her. Leia did that to him, turned him into an uncontrollable caveman.
But surely he was thrusting too hard? The second Scott realized he must be hurting Leia, he pulled out. However, Leia, and on what sounded like a frustrated groan, slammed her hips forward and impaled herself onto his cock once more. Her slender thighs hugged his waist in a vice-like grip.
Then, her fingers moving to fist his hair, she dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him, sucking his tongue inside and mimicking the blow job she wanted to give but he’d yet had the pleasure of receiving.
She writhed against him as he drove forward, grinding and thrusting his pelvis, his whole body tight from the intense emotional feelings surging through him like wildfire. They swallowed and savored each other’s harsh moans as powerful tremors raced down his cock. She was coming. Hard. Her violent orgasm triggered his own and, thrusting up for maximum benefit, Scott tore his mouth away, threw his head back, and bellowed out her name.
His return to earth was just as violent. Leia’s delicate and beautiful features expressed shock. Shit, he had hurt her, and what he’d done probably constituted as assault. A burning shame filled him as he caught sight of her blouse, slacks, and underwear, all torn by his hands. He brushed his knuckles across her flushed cheek. Yeah, as if that would lessen what he’d done! “Leia, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Inexplicably, Leia smiled then, and her fingers traced his brow. “I do. Your caveman habit resurfaced.”
Her understanding and soothing tone only made him feel worse. “I ruined your clothes. I’ll definitely be paying for the damage I’ve caused.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It wasn’t as if they’re new. And besides the slacks were tight on the waist anyway.”
“I’m serious!” he ground through gritted teeth.
“I know.” With another soothing finger across his scowl, she unwound her legs and dropped her feet to the floor. “Give me a few minutes to clean myself, and then we’ll have our lunch.”
Scott watched her firm, high, sexy-as-hell, and very naked ass swing out the door. Another bolt of desire surged through him. He quashed it dead and, none too gently, returned his damned cock into his pants and fastened them. Then, throwing her ripped clothes in the trash, he gripped one of the work surfaces so hard he was surprised his knuckles didn’t shatter.
Another feeling joined the shame—indecision. Spilling his guts to Leia about everything—his scars, the Federation, not to mention even agreeing to having her helping him with the Rogers’ case—was…well, ripping his guts in two.
Had it only been three days since he showered Leia with his coffee? The Federation and his scars aside, the thought he might endanger Leia’s life twisted his gut further. And that was the real sucker punch. If anything happened to her, and it was his fault, he needn’t worry about Anderson skinning him alive; his own guilt would have already shredded and buried him six feet under.
Archie then entered the kitchen. Scott noticed the dog always gave them privacy. Smart. Why couldn’t his brain be in the same league? Probably because lately, he’d been thinking with his cock. “Archie, do you think I’m a schmuck for even agreeing for Leia to help me with this case?”
One woof.
Yes.
Scott couldn’t agree more.
It was nearing midnight when Scott returned home from Leia’s. After nailing her hallway carpet down to prevent further falling-flat-on-one’s-face incidents, he’d spent the rest of the day curled comfortably with her on the sofa talking, eating take-out pizza, and then listening to an audio book about werewolves of all things. Now, dressed only in his boxer briefs, Scott sat on the edge of his bed studying his scars.
Only two people knew a werewolf had inflicted those five ten-inch-long jagged scores, and they were both dead…well, technically Carrick was “living” as a vampire, but that was a moot point. Indeed, it was Carrick who’d told him that vampire blood would heal his scars, yet drinking from his friend, or any other vampire for that matter, didn’t exactly fill him with relish.
The majority of vampires not in long-term relationships with humans either turned vegetarian or used the designated blood banks located in every major city and town across the globe to control their thirst. Well, apart from Svalbard in Norway because not even a New Generation vampire would consider living in a place where between late April and mid-August no sunset occurred.
Of course, there were those who refused to abide by Federation laws and fed from humans. However, the issue of a severe warning pointing out that failure to comply was punishable by the stake was usually more than enough to have them changing their ways.
Assisting werewolves to contain their basic urges, however, was slightly trickier to accommodate because not even the Federation’s technology, advanced as it was, could influence or control the power of a full moon.
Scott traced a finger down the center scar that for some reason hurt the most, probably because the middle claw of a werewolf was the sharpest, and thought back to when it had happened.
He’d been with the Federation for six months when, in his regular role as detective, he was assigned to investigate a spate of incidents involving the slaughter of cats and dogs in Brooklyn. Both police and animal-welfare groups thought the perpetrator was some twisted individual with a hatred of animals. But Scott, having viewed the remains and establishing each attack coincided with a full moon, knew it was the work of a werewolf. Though animals had been targeted, he also knew judging
by the increasing ferocity of the attacks, that it wouldn’t be long before the werewolf progressed to a human victim.
And that, according to Federation laws, was punishable by death.
For some reason, nobody knew why, werewolves always returned to the scene of their last kill. Therefore, after advising Carrick of his plans, Scott did the same and waited. But after asking a wino to move on, and watching a couple of residents putting the trash out, nobody showed. Then at just after one in the morning, a man appeared and went straight to the spot where the last victim, a dog, had met its fate.
He approached the man and, after ascertaining a few details like name and address, he went to detain him for further questioning. It was at that point the man became angry, turned into a snarling beast, and attacked him. Vaporization was the only reason why Scott survived, though he had lost a lot of blood.
He would have died then. Fortunately Carrick, who’d had the insight to know something was amiss when Scott failed to turn up at Federation HQ on Staten Island, the then residence of Senator Williamson, arrived and carried out an on-scene transfusion using his own blood as they were the same type.
Slipping beneath the covers, Scott smiled at the thought that he and Carrick no longer shared the same blood type. Then turning somber, he touched that center scar again. Should he tell Leia the truth? Could he tell her? Yes, he realized he should, and yes, he realized he could. He’d already told her a lot about himself, and it had felt really good to share. Like Laura, Leia was a good listener, and as a bonus she believed.
But how much more was he willing to divulge about himself and his life? If it was about the Federation, then not a damn thing, he firmly decided. Yes, he hated deceiving Leia, but his allegiance to the Federation would always come first. Laura had understood that. Jessica, too. And despite their grievances, he was willing to believe that Ross did as well.
As Scott went to turn the bedside lamp off, his cell jingled. He picked it up from off the nightstand and flipped it open. A sneer curled his lip at the caller displayed. “Ross, it’s late and—”
“Where the fuck have you been today, Rafferty?”
The use of his surname immediately got his back up further. “None of your business.”
“I called in at the office. Leia wasn’t there. Was she with you?”
“That’s none of your business either.”
“I’m warning you, Rafferty—”
The flare of white-hot anger had Scott kicking the sheets from the bed before they started billowing black smoke. “No, I’m warning you,” he snarled, interrupting. “Back. The. Fuck. Off!” He tossed the cell onto the nightstand and turned the light off. As his head hit the pillow, the sense he was not alone had him bolting upright and snapping the light on again.
Levitating at the end of the bed, his fangs gleaming and a package clasped in his hand, was Henry Pakefield. Wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, boots, and a Stetson, Scott briefly wondered when the normally formally dressed complete with cravat vampire had turned cowboy. “Dammit, Henry, how the hell did you get in here?” he demanded.
Pakefield gestured over his left shoulder. “Flew in through your open window.”
“Not heard of the front door?”
“Yeah, I have, but the keyhole’s a bit small.”
“Funny.”
Pakefield threw the package, hitting Scott square in the chest. “I brought you your fake ID. And hello, what’s that smell?” he drawled, wrinkling his aquiline nose.
“My foul mood?” Scott offered tartly.
“No.”
Scott sniffed his armpits. “BO?”
Pakefield levitated closer. “Woman. You smell of woman. Have you been tumbling that sweet-sounding Leia Howard?”
“Fuck you!”
“Didn’t know you were into threesomes, Scott.”
Scott laughed then. “It’s good to see you, Henry. You’re looking well.”
“Having been dead for the last five hundred, I guess I am.” He gestured to Scott’s almost naked state. “And you’re…well, if I weren’t a vegetarian, I’d say you look good enough to eat.”
“Thankfully I’m not your type.”
“But you sure do smell like it.”
Scott rolled his eyes while Pakefield crashed out on the floor doing some weird exercises. He opened the package and examined the fake ID that Pakefield had produced. “Impressive,” he murmured, then catching sight of what he could only describe as a bent-over-licking-one’s-balls position, asked, “What are you doing?”
“Stretching. For four hours, my no-woman-can-resist fit and virile body has been scrunched into a little bitty bat. I need to work all the kinks out.”
“Right.” Scott shook his head and then frowned when something Pakefield said registered. “Four hours? I know vampires are fast, but there’s no way you can fly from Bucharest in four hours. And surely you encountered daylight?”
“Who said I flew from Bucharest?”
“But when I called earlier…”
“I was visiting an exceptionally sexy and wealthy lady friend of mine in Kentucky,” Pakefield explained. “Her ranch has a nice dark wine cellar. I would have preferred her bed, but being located in a sunny room, I’d fry instead of tan.”
“Kentucky, hmm? Explains the Stetson.”
“When in Rome…” Pakefield agilely jumped to his booted feet. “Right, it’s time for me to party in the city that never sleeps.”
Scott cocked a brow but chose not to comment. No doubt his warnings not to reveal himself or just to be careful would fall on deaf ears. He idly wondered if stubbornness was a vampire trait but then dismissed the thought. Carrick was stubborn even before he’d been turned.
He again examined his fake ID. The photographs on the driving license and passport, which also contained some authentic-looking stamps of various countries visited, were so crystal clear with no blurriness that he had a hard time believing they were actually taken with his cell camera. After a couple of minutes, he looked up when he felt Pakefield hadn’t moved one millimeter and was staring at him. “What?”
“It’s rather embarrassing really, but I haven’t got a place to stay and…”
“You have now. I don’t have a wine cellar, but…” Scott got out of bed, went to the end, and lifted the mattress to reveal a wood-paneled sleeping area, complete with pillows and duvet, and two mini blood banks, one with animal blood, the other human, taken from his own arm no less. “…I do have a vault. You’re very welcome to stay the weekend. I won’t be here, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Just no wild orgies, okay?”
The grin on Pakefield’s face was wide and fanged. “Scott, I don’t care what anybody else says about you, but you are the main man!”
Chapter 6
The next morning, just before noon, dressed in a black leather jacket, faded blue jeans, a casual stone-colored shirt, and the cowboy boots he’d borrowed from Pakefield, Scott arrived at Leia’s brownstone with a spring in his step and a niggling foreboding in his gut that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he suppressed it.
He had no idea when that sense of foreboding had developed. Not the night before. Not that morning at breakfast. And certainly not in the shower when he’d whacked himself off after imagining that it was actually Leia’s hands washing him. But it had been enough to transfer the laser from his pen for healing wounds into his Beretta, despite knowing he couldn’t wear it. Removing a holster in front of the cameras was a definite no-no.
The spring in his step bounced up to his cock, and the foreboding intensified when Leia answered his rap on her door. Yes, the red cashmere wraparound cardigan was cute and hot, but it was the jeans she wore that held his undivided attention. Jet-black denim stretched over her slender hips and high, firm, sexy-as-hell ass and made her legs go on for miles, the black killer-heeled boots adding another mile.
On automatic pilot, Scott curled an arm around her slender waist and hauled her up against him. The urge to protect this woman wa
s as strong as she was fiercely independent. He kissed her slowly and languidly as her sweet vanilla scent wrapped around his heart and eased the foreboding somewhat.
“Why, Ross, I had no idea you felt this way about me. Whatever will Jessica say?”
“Cute, Leia, very cute.” She grinned, and her hands wandered under his jacket to map his shirt.
She frowned. “No gun?”
“No. And I feel oddly naked without it. It wouldn’t have been smart to carry it. I’ve concealed it within the lining of my case.”
Her fingers returned to trace the collar and down the front of his open jacket. “Mmm, leather. Color?”
“Black.”
“And what color’s your shirt?”
“Stone.”
“In other words, light gray.” Leia uttered a tsk tsk, then dropped to her knees and ran her hands down and up his legs and then behind to clasp his denim-clad ass.
Scott had never been subjected to a “search” before, and he wasn’t about to say no to this one, not when Leia’a face was level with his cock. One extremely careful tug of the zipper, and she could blow him on the doorstep. Archie then appeared in the hallway, and, after giving him a little wave, the dog rolled its eyes and trotted back into the living room.
“You’re wearing jeans,” Leia said, rising to her feet.
Scott swallowed the disappointment—there’d be plenty of time for blowing later. “They’re faded blue. And I said I would.”
She traced a finger across his frown. “You’re worried. What about?”
He shook his head, just amazed at how perceptive Leia was. “I’m not sure. It’s just a niggling feeling I have.”
“About?”
“The case. Allowing you to help me. I really should call the whole—” He didn’t get any further because Leia stamped one of those killer-heels on his foot. Swearing a blue streak, he watched her fiercely and fiery independent ass sway down the hallway. Obviously “discussion closed,” and he couldn’t stop the grin. “So what’s in your case?” he asked once they were on their way to the Manhattan Heights. “We’re only staying the weekend, but it feels like you’ve packed for a month.”