Saving Soren (Shrew & Company Book 7)

by Holley Trent

“I’d answer if you did.”

  “Anyway.” She put her phone to her ear. “Drea? Hi. We’re moving into an area with extremely spotty cellular coverage. Who has towers here?”

  “You have more than one phone?” Soren asked.

  Marcella lifted an eyebrow up in response.

  “Nice.”

  “I don’t have anything under that carrier,” she said into the phone, “but I think my secondary phone can pick them up better than this one. Do you have that number? Okay. Try both if I don’t answer on the first one. Tell Maria I must speak with her tonight, please? Thanks. Bye.”

  “What’s your secondary phone number?” Soren asked.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “We may get separated.”

  “I somehow doubt you’ll let such a small deterrent halt your mission.”

  “And what is my mission?”

  “Wheedling me into submission, apparently.”

  He chuckled and slowed as he approached a little shack with a big sign: BBQ. “Submissive wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe you, though I’ve been surprised before.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your past surprises.”

  “You sure? Most of the Shrews think they’re pretty good stories.”

  “Are you always so talkative about your sexual exploits?”

  He parked the SUV far enough away from a rust-covered pickup truck that he probably wouldn’t get the doors of his rental dinged. “I actually don’t volunteer the information. People make assumptions. I simply correct them.”

  “What sorts of assumptions?”

  “Would you really like to know?” He pressed the brake and pushed the button to kill the ignition.

  “I’m not sure that I do. Forget that I asked.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with curiosity. What’s the worst that could happen if you ask a burning question?”

  “Besides you actually answering, you mean?”

  He laughed. “Besides that?”

  “Well.” She leaned across the center console, pressing her hand atop the cup holder for balance and staring straight into his eyes. “Maybe I’ll actually like the answer.”

  “What’s so wrong with that?” he whispered.

  “When I like things, I tend to feel compelled to do something about it.”

  “Ask me a question, then, Marcella.”

  “Fine.” She canted her head slightly, and her gaze fell to his lips.

  He pursed them for her, unsubtly inviting her in for a kiss, but of course, she didn’t move.

  “What’s going through that head of yours when you look at me in that way you do?” she asked.

  “That’s a loaded question.”

  “Do you need time to make up a lie?”

  “No. Context matters. Which time that I looked at you?”

  “Any.”

  “Ah. You’re not giving me a lot to work with, but if you insist on drilling down to a particular occurrence, I’ll tell you about the first time.” Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and let the scent of her hit the back of his nose and tease his palate. She was a treat for the senses—eyes, nose, ears, and if he had to guess, he’d say, too, that she tasted like a dream and felt like heaven.

  “When I first saw you at the lodge, the Bear part of me took over my reflexes, and so my immediate drive was to have you on your back or your belly, or just bent over something—position didn’t matter.” He opened his eyes, fully expecting to see her scowl, but she didn’t. Her expression was neutral, and her gaze still on his lips.

  At the angle she was leaning, her shirt collar hung open, and he could see her breasts pushed up into a simple cotton bra that did nothing to douse her sex appeal. Her breasts were heavy and full, and so was his cock.

  Not that he needed much stimulus when he was around her.

  “When I look at you, the Bear in me sees someone who should give me those things,” he said. “The man part of me tries to be reasonable, though my siblings would probably argue that I rarely am.”

  “So, you look at me and you automatically see sex.”

  “Well, yes.”

  Brow furrowed, she leaned back. “That’s supposed to be flattering?”

  “Flattering or not, I can’t say. I can only say it’s honest. My brain, and…” Slowly, he rubbed his hand up his thigh to the bulge near his jeans pocket. “My body, they both say you’re the only person I can get sex from.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You say as you stare at my cock.” He gave the head a squeeze, showing her precisely where he ended. She was entitled to know. Entitled to know every inch of him and how he was made for her.

  Her lips parted, and she pulled in the tiniest of gasps.

  “You want it?” he whispered, smiling. “It’s yours.”

  “I…” She closed her eyes and turned her head toward her window.

  Silly prudish girl.

  He laughed. “You need to understand Bears. You’re with a Bear.”

  “I think I know more than I care to about them right now.”

  “Do you like what you know and how my body responds to you, or do you insist I would respond this way to anyone?”

  “You said there’d been others.”

  “Before you? Yes. Don’t behave as though mine’ll be the first cock you’ll ever climb on. You don’t want to ride? Fine.” He hit the catch of her seatbelt and grabbed her hand when she jerked upright. “You don’t have to ride. If you want to lie very still and tell me where you’d like me to put the hard parts of me, I will honor that. I’ll give you whatever you wish.”

  She swallowed, blinked a few times rapidly, and then whispered hoarsely, “You’re a pervert.”

  He grunted, not seeing the point of making a denial. He could be quite deviant when he really put his mind to it. “There’s a broad range of perversion. Everyone has kinks, even you, I’m certain.”

  “I doubt they’re anywhere near as interesting as yours.”

  “You wish to find out?”

  “Have you forgotten that we’re working?”

  “There you go, not answering my question again.” He set her hand on his thigh an inch beneath his pocket and let her make the decision to touch or not touch.

  She looked up at him, hand still pressed at that critical juncture, but didn’t move.

  He needed her to feel him. Needed her to understand that he wouldn’t ever refuse her.

  “Touch your Bear,” he whispered.

  “You’re…a very odd man, Soren.”

  “And yet I don’t see you running. There’s no challenge here. I’m not daring you. Touch my cock because you’re curious and because you want to see me come. You want that power, don’t you?”

  “Have you no filter at all?”

  He snorted. “None at all, draga mea.”

  “We’re in a parking lot.”

  That wasn’t a no, so he grinned. “Touch me,” he said. “Get the first time out of your system so you can see there’s no trap here and that there won’t be any told you so. I want to feel you.”

  “But what about me?” She inched her hand up and gave his shaft a confident squeeze, muttering, “Damn.”

  He hissed with pleasure. “Ah, my body is yours to command.”

  “That’s easy to say now when you’re behind a steering wheel.” She stroked up and down, swirling her palm over his tender head, and leaning in so close that her lips nearly grazed his ear. She grabbed his nuts in her fist and his earlobe between her teeth.

  Fuck.

  “One-way doesn’t work for me,” she said quietly. “I don’t come? You don’t come.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you live with that, Bear?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Her tongue made tantalizing swirls around his lobe, and his body tightened with anticipation. His skin was on fire for her touch. “I hope so, because it will be a long, long time before you get to make me come.”

&nbs
p; CHAPTER SIX

  Marcella waited for Soren to object, but the complaint never came.

  He simply nodded and, after expelling a long exhalation, dragged his tongue across his lips.

  She didn’t want to think about the potential of his proposition. If she understood him correctly, she could get what she wanted—or what she needed from him—and he wouldn’t tease her.

  She was used to things being difficult, or for men to cling long after she wanted them to go away. She didn’t think Soren would be going away, and she got a sneaking suspicion that he might do some things she asked.

  “I’ll be inside.” She slid down from her seat to the ground and shut the door.

  Their few minutes of teasing had earned her a reasonable head start. It was going to take Soren at least a couple of minutes to get his body in check. She wished she’d been imaginative enough to have come up with that tactic ahead of time. The strategy would have been an excellent one if she’d ever planned on repeating it. Soren wouldn’t likely fall for the same trick again, and she couldn’t imagine herself grabbing any other man’s cock like that.

  She stepped into the restaurant—“restaurant” being perhaps an overly generous description of the tiny place—and took a moment to get her bearings. The place was a converted front porch attached to what was probably a two-room house. Plastic tables covered with checkered oilcloth lined the front near the windows. The floor was a mishmash of exposed cement and laminate tiles. The ceiling fan was missing a blade.

  For a reason she had yet to discern, there was a butt in almost every seat. Apparently, she would be facing crowds everywhere she went.

  She sucked some air in through her teeth and made her way to the counter at the back.

  Soren joined her at the same time the one server working the front of the restaurant returned to the counter.

  “Order here, and I bring your food out to you,” the lady said.

  “First time,” Soren said, his gaze scanning rapidly side-to-side at the menu overhead.

  Curious, Marcella dropped her gaze to the area immediately below his waist. Apparently, he’d gotten his body under control quickly enough. She had to give him props for that.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked the server.

  The lady shrugged. “It’s all good. If you’re real hungry, get you one of them platters. Two meats, three sides.”

  Coronary on a plate.

  Marcella suppressed a shudder. A Bear like Soren could probably put away all that food without giving the pile a second thought, but Marcella likely wouldn’t make a dent in it.

  “Is there meat in your greens?” she asked.

  “Meat in everything, girl. How you think the good stuff get the flavor?”

  “Had to ask,” she muttered. She tossed her wallet from hand to hand and pulled some more air through her teeth. “I’ll have the chicken breast sandwich, then.”

  “Want me to cut it in half?”

  “How big is it?”

  The lady pursed her lips and put her two hands together. “’Bout like so.”

  Lord, have mercy.

  She imagined her digestive system making the quietest ever gurgling appeal to moderation, and she never ignored what her body parts told her, except the ones that paid too much attention to cocky alpha Bears.

  “Yes, cut the sandwich, please,” she said already regretting the order, “and go ahead and bring me a leftovers box. And I’ll have chips on the side.”

  “I want a platter,” Soren said.

  “Of course you do,” Marcella said in an undertone.

  “Trust me that you’d prefer me having eaten versus the alternative.”

  “Right. Scary beast and all.”

  “I can be.” To the narrowed-eyed waitress, he said, “Ribs and brisket. Rice, string beans, and corn.”

  “Same ticket?” the lady asked.

  “No,” Marcella said at the same time Soren said, “Yes.”

  Soren clucked his tongue and wagged his finger at her. “Remember? Andrea and the receipts?”

  “I bet you won’t even file them.”

  He shrugged and handed the lady some cash. “Can I get a pitcher of tea, as well?”

  “Sweet?”

  “No,” Marcella said at the same time Soren said, “Yes.”

  “Yes,” Soren repeated with extra emphasis. He leaned down and whispered, “You need the energy.”

  “I need that much sugar like I need an extra hole in the head.”

  He eyed her from head to toes in that arrogantly salacious way of his, and whispered, “At least you didn’t tell me you’re already sweet enough. Then I would have questioned my earlier belief that you’re incapable of lying.” He grinned sweetly.

  Rolling her eyes, Marcella grabbed the cups of ice the waitress handed over the counter, stopped at the spindly “beverage bar” to tip the remaining contents of the plastic pitcher of water into one of the cups, and then made her way to a table near the door. She flicked off a few specks of barbecued meat with a paper napkin and settled into a seat.

  Soren joined her a moment later and tipped his head toward the other two plastic chairs. “Could you take one of those, please?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to be nearest the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  Whenever people emphasized that particular word, there was something they couldn’t speak aloud. She was too tired to press him for details, so she rolled her hand in a get on with it gesture.

  He grunted and leaned down to her. Barely moving his lips, he said, “I can’t control situations if I can’t see them. I’d prefer to sit in a corner, but as none of those seats are available, I’d prefer to be nearest the door with fewer people at my back.”

  “Oh. Makes sense.”

  The man frustrated her so much personally that she kept forgetting that the man made a living assessing risks and solving particular kinds of problems. He wasn’t in Georgia to drive her bonkers.

  Or at least, he wasn’t there to only do that.

  Once settled into a seat across the table, she watched Soren pour tea into his glass. Even while doing an activity that required some level of precision, his attention seemed split. He wasn’t only looking down and pouring, but also seeming to capture every person in the room in memory for seconds at a time.

  She didn’t see anything interesting, but she usually had to get close to people to learn anything of use about them.

  “Well?” she whispered.

  He gave his head a minute shake and brought his cup to his lips.

  She didn’t know what that shake meant because she hadn’t worked with him before.

  His gaze flitted down to the phone in front of her and then up to her face again.

  Oh.

  She tapped out a message. Anything interesting?

  He kept sipping. Keep discreetly scanning the dining area.

  No one was paying attention to them. The customers were all too busy shoving food into their faces or licking their fingers.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped in: Two people to watch. Trying to figure out whom.

  How do you know that?

  Smell one. Sense the other psychically.

  Shifters?

  One shifter, one something else. Give me a moment, please.

  “Okay,” she said aloud.

  She might have never known they were there. Not being able to recognize shifter energy may have made the job exponentially more challenging. Soren was using shortcuts she couldn’t fathom.

  She wasn’t quite ready to admit that to him, though.

  He picked up a napkin and rolled the corners idly, his gaze in her direction, but seemingly not entirely on her.

  His nostrils flared, and he drew in several deep breaths.

  Oh.

  He stopped scenting and picked up his glass again.

  She whispered, “We should probably say some things to each other, so we don’t look like
we’re having a very awkward first date.” Or so they didn’t look like a pair of thugs casing the place.

  “Hmm. Okay, then. So, what do you usually eat when you’re on the road, if not barbecue?”

  She shrugged. “I try to be responsible. That’s obviously more onerous in some places than in others. Sometimes, finding good-quality protein is harder than you’d think, especially in food deserts.”

  “You feel guilty for splurging?”

  She turned her hands over. “I imagine my metabolism is a lot slower than yours. Maria says hers seems to be more sluggish than the rest of the Shrews, so I suspect we share some genetics in that realm.”

  “She’s comfortable with her weight. I think she’s even gained some lately.”

  “I envy her. She’s comfortable with herself in general.” The woman rarely even wore support garments. Eric seemed perpetually aggrieved by her derision toward bras, claiming she drew too much attention. In Marcella’s estimation, most of that attention was from him.

  They had such a cute relationship. Marcella and her sister weren’t close. Not yet, anyway, but Marcella was still glad that Maria had found someone who made her smile. Often, Marcella wondered if that was all that mattered in a lover—that they could chip through a cold woman’s layers of marble and make her lips curve into a smile.

  “Why envy?” Soren asked.

  Marcella tunneled a straw through the ice in her glass and took a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts. “I’ll admit I needed many years to get anything close to comfortable being in this skin.”

  “Why?”

  “I was an awkward-looking child. Skinny with bad skin. Thick glasses and everything.”

  “I don’t believe you were as pitiful as you make out.”

  “Fortunately, there’s very little photo evidence that I even existed during those years.”

  “Camera shy?”

  “Hell yes. I’m glad smartphones weren’t around back then and that people couldn’t take a picture of you and have it uploaded to social media in thirty seconds. I might have been traumatized.”

  “I think you’re probably exaggerating.”

  She wished.

  She’d anticipated some of her awkwardness. Like her mother, she’d grown tall before she’d developed any curves. At the same time that she’d been trying to come to terms with the normal puberty things her body was doing, the weirder things started. Most teenagers couldn’t dissolve in water or have their skin start rippling at the slightest touch from fingers that were too sweaty. Or at the hint of rain in an overcast sky.