Bayou Wolves Boxed Set

by Anne Marsh

  “You wan’ to come for me right here?” Cruz slides his thumb over the crotch of my panties.

  “I’ll keep my options open.” The words fly out of my mouth on a gasp as he rotates his thumb, finding my clit. He holds me in place so effortlessly, and it’s strangely sexy. Sure, I could duck under his arm. Go left and then choose either up or down. I’ve got the entire stairwell at my disposal, and we both know he’d let me go if I asked him. So naturally, I arch into his touch, twisting the fabric of my skirt into a thousand tight, needy wrinkles.

  “Make a choice,” he growls, his mouth so close to mine. He lowers his head, one arm braced over my head and the other working my clit through my panties. Oh. God. I need him to kiss me too, because I’m greedy like that and I’m so, so close.

  “Kiss me.” I lean up to find his mouth.

  “Choose,” he counters, and a new pulse explodes to life between my legs.

  “Kiss me and I’ll choose,” I promise, although damned if I have any idea what I’m vowing.

  Cruz leans into me, his mouth on mine. “You don’ think of him here, not with me. Right here, this week, there’s just the two of us. At the end of the week, then we’ll talk about him.”

  “You’re the one bringing him up.” This isn’t my fault. Not this time. And honestly, thinking about Luc right now isn’t something I want to be doing anyhow because then being with Cruz stops feeling good and starts feeling all wrong. I broke things off with Luc, too. I’m not sneaking around behind his back, and I’ll tell him. I absolutely will.

  Just later.

  I don’t like myself. I intend to say something because I really have to—I need to be able to live with myself when I walk away from this stairwell and this magic moment—but Cruz whispers something rough and too soft to catch, and I’m lost all over again. Cruz.

  My panties disappear. When I move, I can feel the soft restraint of the satin around my knees. There’s no give to the fabric, no more than there is to Cruz, and I can’t shift my legs more than a handful of inches. What would it be like to really be tied up and at his mercy?

  I could find out. He sinks his fingers deep into me, twisting, finding some hidden, electric spot, and rubs. Heat explodes through me. This is why I’m here, this unexpected, unstoppable, wonderful chemistry with this man. He makes me want more, and I have zero ideas about what more really means, but I’m going to find out, going to ride this freaking chemistry train to the very last stop. Wherever we end up, it’s going to be memorable.

  He parts me, his fingers slick with my wet, and right now I’d kill for him to shut up, but he’s apparently decided now is the perfect time for a conversation. “Me, I’d be happy to forget Luc Breaux existed.”

  Part of me agrees with him. Right now there’s only room for the two of us in this crazy, mixed-up, way-too-new relationship. But the rest of me… the parts not riding Cruz’s fingers… that saner, wiser, more prudent part of me knows sex isn’t the only thing I share with Luc. I love my other wolf, even if we’re on hiatus.

  I loved him first.

  And yet here I am, riding Cruz Jones’s fingers and enjoying the hell out of myself. I’m not sure what I expected when he promised to protect me for the next week—if I thought I’d be doing crossword puzzles with him or possibly having nice-but-boring sex that would make me realize once and for all that Cruz Jones is just a passing fancy and not a man I could care for.

  Or possibly love.

  “Boo?” He twists his fingers and pleasure jolts through me. “I’m gettin’ my mouth on your pussy next,” he mutters, but apparently he’s not done making me feel good now either.

  Thank God.

  He takes my mouth with his, and he kisses me like I’d asked, his tongue driving past my closed lips, opening all of me up so he can taste and lick and conquer. And rather than protesting his hand fisting my hair or our awkward position in the stairwell, I kiss him back, desperate to get even closer. His tongue strokes and glides along mine, mirroring the slick working of his rough fingertips lower. Then he goes for my back door, dragging moisture from my pussy along my crack and working a finger deep inside me.

  “That’s not nice.” But oh how I like it.

  “Boo, we’ve had this conversation. I’m goin’ to do every dirty thing I’ve fantasized about.”

  His mouth sweeps over my cheek, my neck, finds my ear, and explores in a way that makes me shiver. And while he kisses me, he pushes his finger in, pulls back. Repeats the dark caress. He feels so good, and all I want is more of him. We can sort everything else out later.

  “You like that.” He doesn’t stop touching me, doesn’t stop pushing me closer and closer to the orgasm I need so badly.

  “I thought you were the nice one,” I say way too breathlessly, rocking into his touch.

  He curses and pulls back. Shoot. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Of course, if I had a dollar for every time I put my foot in it, I’d have myself an island in the South Pacific.

  “I’m not nice,” he declares roughly, tugging his fingers free of my body. “Don’ ever think that.”

  He sounds pissed off, as if I’ve accused him of roasting puppy dogs or beating old ladies. What’s wrong with being nice? He can be nice and still have a dirty side. I mean, clearly he can. My body throbs where he touched me, and I want him back.

  He shoves my skirt down. Wait. That’s not supposed to be the next thing that happens.

  “Why are you stopping now?”

  “Because apparently I’m nice,” he growls. “And nice wolves definitely do it in a bed and not up against a wall.”

  “Make an exception,” I snap and drag his head back down to mine.

  Cruz kisses differently than Luc does. Comparing my two guys has to be wrong—hell, having two guys isn’t exactly model behavior—but as long as the words stay in my head and don’t come out of my mouth, I can live with myself. Maybe.

  Plus they’re both really, really good kissers.

  Cruz devours my mouth with the same slow, heated intensity he does everything, and he’s thorough. God help me, but he’s thorough. I lose myself in him.

  A door slams somewhere above us, the sound sharp and bright like a gunshot, and I jump before I remember where we are. While no place is one hundred percent secure, this is the courthouse. I’m as okay here as I’ll be anywhere… but I’m not getting caught with panties around my knees. I yank my panties and my dress back into place.

  Cruz cups my face in his big hands. “Nothing’s going to hurt you,” he promises calmly, like somehow he can see me through it all. Random traffic accidents, acts of God, werewolf bikers out for revenge—he’s got me covered. The funny thing is, part of me believes him when he says it, and that irritates me. I know better than to rely on anyone else for what I need. I tug away from him and start back down the stairs.

  He falls in beside me, his body brushing against mine with each step. “Protective custody won’t be so bad,” he says, as if I’ve asked for a cheeseburger and been told my only option is a salad. If he tells me living under twenty-four-seven surveillance is good for me, I’m arguing I have grounds for justifiable homicide. “You promised me a week,” he continues calmly, “so you get a two for one.”

  Is he crazy? “I can’t just drop everything and date you for a week.”

  Luc will lose it. He’s been coming around my place every night, even if I’ve been refusing to let him in. He’s going to know when I move into Cruz’s place—and he’s going to have plenty to say about that.

  Cruz shrugs as we hit the next-to-last landing. “Opportunity, sweetheart.”

  I’ll opportunity his ass. Except… he has a point. Protective custody sucks, but if I take a deep breath and shove the past back into the, well, past, I can see the value in having a bodyguard. After all, I’ve seen what the Breed can do, and I have zero interest in a repeat visit to their motorcycle club—and that’s if they’re interested in talking. I suspect they’ll shoot first and discuss later over my de
ad body.

  “Fine,” I agree grudgingly. “You can spend the next week at my place protecting me.”

  At least then we’ll be on neutral ground.

  He’s already shaking his head. “I have my pack, sweetheart. And I’m sheriff. You’ll come out to my place.”

  Sleeping together could be perceived as a conflict of interest. It certainly won’t look good if the prosecuting attorney discovers our less-than-professional relationship, so Cruz is right about protective custody killing two birds with one stone.

  And because I want what he wants and I’m going to say yes, I also tell him the truth. “You know this thing between us is crazy.”

  Which is why I broke things off. I don’t need crazy in my life.

  He lifts one shoulder, reaching around me to place a hand against the door that will take us from the stairwell to the lobby. Apparently Cruz has something else to say to me. “Crazy don’ make it any less special or sweet.”

  “Crazy makes things complicated,” I emphasize. “How can I want two men?”

  Cruz gets a teasing glint in his eyes. “You could just pick me. All I wan’ is one woman. You.”

  I wish I could. One wolf is more than I can handle, but two is relationship-apocalypse material. Cruz and Luc barely tolerate each other, and the only reason they’ve avoided outright war before now is me.

  “Help me out here?” I ask and he exhales roughly, not shifting his hand from the door.

  “I don’ know,” he says finally. “This is a first for me too. Somehow, you got to trust me to give you pleasure and not make your life more complicated. I wan’ you happy, sweetheart, and that’s the truth of it.”

  He opens the door, waiting for me to step through it. The courthouse lobby is loud and cheerful, filled with attorneys and other visitors. It smells of coffee, masculine cologne, and leather shoes. There’s a thread of something else though, something darker and less happy. Many of the people milling around the lobby would rather be anywhere other than here, but they’ve used up their chances or made mistakes, and now their lawyers are their last hope to explain and make good.

  A week with Cruz is a second chance at figuring out our relationship. It’s a chance to get it more right, to see where we can take our feelings—and if I don’t spend it with him, I’ll likely spend it with some other uniformed member of the police force dogging my every footstep.

  He looks down at me. God, he’s big. I shiver but tell myself he doesn’t notice how he affects me.

  “I can drive you out to my place, or you can follow in your car,” he says. He knows he’s won this battle. We both know it.

  “My car,” I answer immediately, because it’s important to have an escape route I control. My keys, my car, my out. I’m not letting Cruz take over my life, no matter how much he wants to—or how sexy it could be.

  CRUZ

  The bayou calls me by name most days, the empty, wild stretches begging me to shift and run. To hunt. I was born here, and God willing, I’ll die here. I don’t know how the Breed do it, living in Baton Rouge, surrounded by concrete and buildings. In some ways, they’re trapped there, penned in by walls and boundaries, for all their rule breaking. Fuck. Maybe that’s why they live the way they do, because breaking the law is the only way for them to feel free for a moment.

  Part of me, a part I don’t like to admit exists and that I never, ever let free, admires their fuck-you attitude. They’re fierce, free, and predatory. They hunt. They take what they want. If I lived by a different set of rules, that could be me.

  Instead, I’m standing here in front of my pack’s home, feet planted on the ground as my gaze skims over the empty riverbank. And the empty gravel road. Fuck me, but the empty space in front of my family’s home matches the unexpected hole somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. Gianna Lynn is either running fashionably late—or she’s changed her mind and isn’t coming at all. A white ibis wades into the bayou, probing the muddy bottom for dinner. The long beak emerges from the water holding a crayfish captive. The bird is happy.

  Me? Not so much. I have more in common with the crayfish. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, Gianna snuck up on me and staked out my heart for her own.

  “You really think she’s comin’?”

  Shooting an elbow out to nail my brother in the stomach takes my attention off the empty road for approximately two seconds. Old habits die hard, and Jace has always been hell on my ego. I’m also worried about his place in the motorcycle club—he’s taken to his undercover work with the Breed a little too enthusiastically, and I can almost feel him pulling away from me, his wolf lured by the freedom of the other pack. Take what you want. It’s a simple philosophy and seductive as hell.

  Jace grunts, and I look up the road again like some kind of pansy-assed pup. Naturally, the road’s still empty. Jace might have a point.

  “She’s comin’,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  My brother moves closer to stand next to me, not to return the blow but to offer some comfort. Fuck. The whole family knows what this means to me. I don’t know how I feel about my private business being public knowledge. It also means that my mating has become pack business, and I’ll need to act decisively if I don’t intend to risk my position. Wolves can’t be weak. Wolves take.

  “You think a girl who Luc Breaux has decided is his blue moon bride is going to drive on out here and give you a week so she can compare and contrast and pick the best man for the job? Because I thought this was about protective custody and keeping her butt safe.”

  Put that way… I’ve heard saner stories from the meth heads I’ve busted tearing up county roads. And yet it is the truth. I’m not the wolf for the wild and crazy, especially not when it comes to sex. I know what I like—who I like—and I go after it with single-minded determination. Plus, as I’ve already proved, I’ve never been good at sharing. This week is my chance to prove I’m the better man, the better wolf, and the right one for her.

  “I asked her to give me a week. She said yes.” I mentally dare my brother to say anything derogatory about Gianna.

  Jace shakes his head. “Do your job. Keep her safe. Anything else, though, is crazy. The packs will be at each other’s throats if you and Luc fight.”

  All true.

  I’m standing in the driveway because I want to bring Gianna home. As opening salvos go in an erotic campaign to win her body and her heart, the gesture is fairly lame. Roses. Diamonds. Or a sky-writing blimp. Any or all of those would be better choices. More romantic. More… fun. Shit. I can’t remember the last time—my one night with Gianna excepted—that I had fun.

  “Do you think I’m fun?” I look my brother in the face. Always better to see the truth coming.

  Jace grins. “You sold me to a motorcycle gang run by werewolves. What’s not fun about that?”

  “I got you in as my undercover man. That’s not a game. It’s your job.”

  Convincing Jace to infiltrate the gang was surprisingly easy. For all his laid-back, playful demeanor, my brother has the killer instincts of an alpha and a need to protect what’s his. Temporarily, at least, the Baton Rouge pack’s territory is his, and he’s fighting for it with a tenacity I didn’t anticipate. Granted, Jace has also captured plenty of damning evidence on the wire he wears when he goes in. The recordings will put away the Breed’s human members—and then I’ll take over and take care of the wolves. Jace will be able to come back home where he belongs.

  “And I’m doing my job.” A darker note creeps into Jace’s voice, and I make a note of it. I need to pull him out and soon. “The Breed gets up to some unacceptable shit. Shutting them down will be my pleasure.”

  “Things getting rough?”

  We’re not a bunch of girls to talk about our feelings, but my brother has skirted important lines in order to gain acceptance from the Breed. I haven’t asked for details because Jace closes down when I push too hard.

  Jace stares at the empty road as if all the answers to our gang probl
ems are right around the bend. “They don’ treat their women right.”

  Understatement. I read the police reports, and I saw plenty when Luc and I went into the dive bar where the Breed took Gianna after kidnapping her. Gianna argued us into letting her be the bait in a trap, and her rough treatment at the Breed’s hands—even if it was only for a few minutes—was the nail in those bastards’ coffins.

  So while taking the Breed down is personal now for me, the heated note in Jace’s voice is both a surprise—and not. “You got a specific example in mind?”

  Jace hesitates a moment before shrugging. “Pick any woman hangin’ with a biker, and I’ll show you a problem. I’m cool, and it will all be over soon.”

  Is that the sound of tires? I wait a beat, listening more intently than I let on, but Jace is clearly done talking about the job.

  “You let me know when you need backup,” I say when the silence has stretched on too long, and Jace nods, his head a million miles away. If he’s hooked up with a female from the gang, we have a problem.

  A smile tugs at the corner of Jace’s mouth. It’s always been impossible to control him. So far, he’s chosen to give me his allegiance, but we both know that could change given a strong enough reason. “I’ve heard women like a man in uniform. You think that’s goin’ to weigh any with your Gianna?”

  Gianna is a top-notch litigator. She possesses a more-than-healthy respect for law enforcement. And that’s my first problem right there. I’m the pack’s disciplinarian and the one wolf who definitely doesn’t get to have fun. But I’m tired of subduing my beast. Of putting others’ desires and needs first. I wasn’t kidding when I decided to take Gianna, to make her mine. Nice guys don’t finish last in the world of the pack. They don’t finish at all—and Luc Breaux is already miles ahead of me in this mating race.

  “I wan’ my chance with her. I’ll take it however I can get.”

  “But she’s Luc Breaux’s blue moon bride. You wan’ to take a mate away from the Alpha of another wolf pack. If it’s casual sex, that’s crazy enough. But if you’re thinkin’ you wan’ Gianna for keeps, you’re potentially startin’ a war when his pack decides to fetch her back.”