He ripped away from her with a growl. She blinked, confused as he stepped back. His chest heaved, as did hers.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Your portrait, it showed me,” Harrison said. “Why did you leave me? Why won’t you marry me?”
“My lord,” she began, not understanding what he meant. She tasted him on her lips.
“No, you feel for me,” he said, beginning to pace. He tossed his hands up in the air. “I don’t understand. What would you have of me? Tell me what to do to make you feel anything for me. Tell me what to say and I’ll say it. Do you want me to change? I’ll change… I…”
Syrian felt tears coming to her eyes. She didn’t want just pretty words. She wanted all of him.
“Tell me how to make you love me.” He came to stand before her, his troubled blue eyes pleading with her. “Tell me how to make you feel as I feel for you.”
A tear spilled over her cheek and she dashed it away. Her lips trembled. “I don’t wish to marry you, my lord. Please, let us not go through with it.”
“Am I so horrible that you can’t find it in your heart to be with me? Am I such an ill-suited match? Why won’t you have me?”
“Because you can’t love me,” Syrian screamed. Instantly, she gripped her fingers over her mouth. She shook violently, backing away from him, stumbling over the boards of the bridge in her haste. Her words were a whisper, as she finished, “It’s not possible. You only love yourself.”
“How can you not know?” he asked, softly. He let the full force of his torment into his eyes, his face, his voice. “I can only love you. I saw you in the garden, dancing in the rain and I fell madly in love with you. How can you not know it?”
“How could I?” she asked weakly. Her limbs shook, but this time it was with unsure pleasure. She looked at his expression and she wanted to believe him.
“There has been no one else in my bed for over a year and there has never been anyone else in my heart.” He went to her again and gathered her up into his arms. “I love you, Syrian. I meant it when I said I wanted you to be my wife. I know that you don’t care for me, but you want me. And, if you just give me a chance, I’ll make you happy. I’ll deny you nothing in this world. I’ll give you everything I have.”
Syrian glanced over his shoulder. She noticed Thomas on his horse, as well as Mr. Turner. Next to them was the local vicar.
Harrison swooped down on his knee. He pulled a ring from his waistcoat and held it up to her. “Please, Syrian, marry me. You never gave me the opportunity to ask you properly before, so I’m asking you now. Complete me. Be my wife.”
She looked at him and then to the approaching horses. Her mouth trembling, she bid him, “Stand up.”
He did, frowning. His face hardened and closed. His eyes turned mournful as if his heart broke inside him.
“Kiss me,” she said softly. “Just keep kissing me.”
Syrian burst forward, grabbing his face in her hands. She plied him with soft kisses, sprinkling them over his face. She pulled back, smiling up at him through her tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me you loved me before?” she asked. “That’s all I’ve been waiting to hear. I don’t care about the title, the money, the adventures. You’re all the adventure I want. I love you, Harrison. How could you not know that? I’ve loved you since you first stepped out of your carriage and smiled at me.”
Syrian touched his dimple.
“But—”
“Foolish man,” she said quietly. “Why do you think I tried so hard to put you off?”
“Is everything settled?”
The couple looked at Thomas. He stood at the end of the bridge, looking them over, taking in Syrian’s tearstained face—so full of emotions he’d never seen in her, never dreamt of seeing—to Harrison’s wide grin.
“Yes,” Syrian said.
Harrison looked at her and she lifted her finger for him to give her the ring. He grinned, staring into her eyes as he slipped it onto her finger, and he didn’t stop staring at her until the vicar married them right there on the bridge. Mr. Turner and Thomas stood by as witnesses.
After the short ceremony, Harrison kissed his wife and swooped her up into his arms. Grinning, he turned to their small group of guests. “Thank you, but kindly leave now. I go to take my wife on our honeymoon.”
Syrian wrapped her arms around his neck. Her skirts blew gently against them. “Honeymoon?”
Harrison nodded toward the cottage. “I believe we have some unfinished business here.”
Thomas paled. He quickly turned to shoo the vicar and Mr. Turner away. Then, watching as Harrison carried his sister off toward the abandoned cottage, he called, “Until later tonight then?”
“Yes, Thomas,” Syrian called, waving him away. Then, leaning to kiss her husband, she said, “I can’t believe this.”
“What?” Harrison teased. “I told you I would take care of you. This is the best accommodation the field has to offer. Only the best honeymoon for my wife.”
“Oh,” she said in feigned anger, slapping his strong shoulder. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”
“Why?” he murmured, carrying her over the threshold. He kissed her again, pouring his heart into hers. “When the world will take things seriously enough for the both of us?”
Epilogue
Syrian looked up from where she lay against her husband’s naked chest. Her eyes found the blanket thrown over the chair. They stayed in the Caldwell guestroom, preparing to leave for their home in the morning. Their trunks were already loaded and waiting for them below stairs.
She yawned, purring contentedly. Harrison had made love to her until her body could barely move from exhaustion and then he’d made love to her again. It took Harrison and Thomas a long while to convince her that her portrait was mystical, but after such ardent pleas, she finally conceded to believe them.
“I want to see it,” she said.
Harrison followed her eyes to the portrait. She’d yet to look at it. He grinned, kissing her deeply. She moaned, feeling her body growing moist for him—always moist for him.
“You may have whatever you wish, darling,” he said softly. He spanked her lightly on her naked backside and crawled from her arms. Crossing naked over to the covered portrait, Harrison hesitated.
Syrian eyed his handsome form, moving to follow him. Wrapping her arms round his waist, she leaned into him, and peeked from beneath his arm. “I still think I’m a fool for believing you.”
“I swear it’s all true,” he answered. “Look for yourself.”
Harrison whipped the blanket off the portrait, revealing it to soft blue moonlight. But it wasn’t Syrian who gasped to see it. He leaned forward, amazed to see the portrait as it once was, with Syrian standing by the broken stone wall, surrounded by roses.
“I swear,” he began.
“Look,” she said pointing. She knelt down and touched the surface. Her fingers glanced over her face. “I look happy.”
He joined her on the floor. Indeed, the portrait smiled secretively out at them, the expression not reserved as it once was but content.
“Look at your hand,” he said, pointing to where they should have been clasped together. His eyes rounded and he looked at her flat stomach. Instantly, he brought his hand to feel her.
“Do you think…?” she asked.
Harrison growled, playfully tackling her to the floor. “I think… No, I know that I have everything I could ever wish for, right here with you, my wife.”
“Oh,” she gasped. It was the only sound she managed as Harrison began kissing her.
About the Author
Michelle M Pillow, Author of All Things Romance™, is a multi-published, award winning author writing in many romance fiction genres including futuristic, paranormal, historical, contemporary, fantasy and dark paranormal. She was the winner of the 2006 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, nominated for the 2007 RT Award, a Brava Novella Contest Finalist and a PAN member of RWA.
She has a monthly interview column with Paranormal Underground Magazine and co-hosts a live radio talk show, Raven Radio, which was recently mentioned in Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine. She has a Photography degree and is currently working towards a degree in History.
Readers and Listeners can contact her through her website www.MichellePillow.com or join her newsletter: http://www.michellepillow.com/newsletter/?p=subscribe
Look for these titles by Michelle M. Pillow
Now Available:
Talons
Seize the Hunter
Ghost Cats
Animal Instinct
Realm Immortal
King of the Unblessed
Faery Queen
Stone Queen
The wild thing she saved is the man she’ll desire most.
Animal Instinct
© 2010 Michelle M. Pillow
A Ghost Cats Story
Eve Matthews, head veterinarian at Jameson Wildlife Rescue and Preserve, measures success by no one’s rules but her own—much to her rich parents’ distress. A life filled with animals means she’s rarely alone. Still, a little human contact of the male variety would be nice.
The only one in her life right now is Midnight, a black panther she brought back from the brink of death. She doesn’t think twice about bringing him home to keep an eye on him. Changing clothes in front of his golden eyes. Confessing her deepest fantasies to his alert ears. It’s not as if he’ll ever tell anyone her secrets.
Forced to watch her every move, listen to her every word, Viktor is in torment, trapped in panther form while he heals. He aches to fill her nights with the pleasure she craves, but to shift too soon risks death. Until the night she pleasures herself, and he can take no more.
They come together in a cataclysm too fierce to be a dream. But the shifter who left Viktor for dead is drawing near, determined to finish the job he started.
Warning: Contains a voyeuristic cat shifter, a heroine who’s an exhibitionist unaware, and explicit sex that may just give you cat scratch fever. Iced catnip tea recommended.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Animal Instinct:
Viktor looked over the gorgeous, unmoving woman who rested next to him on the bed. He could see her perfectly in the dim light of the bedroom. Only a soft blue glow came in from the window. She was ravishing, so much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Just his luck, he’d find the first woman he truly desired and cared for in his eternity of living only to be stuck in his shifted form, unable to do anything about it.
Viktor’s injuries kept him from shifting, yet, ironically it was his injuries that brought him to Eve Maitland. A fellow cat shifter named Bartel had stabbed him in the back while he was in human form. Eve’s intervention saved him from being put down like a feral animal. It was only the power of the cat form and the sweet, administering hands of a sexy angel that helped him to heal. Every day he wanted to thank her, but if he tried to become human too soon, he’d die. If he stayed shifted too long, stayed in this place too long, he risked bringing his troubles to his caretaker’s door. Bartel would want to finish what he started. He wasn’t the kind of man to leave loose ends. Viktor was a loose end. Luckily, Eve kept him in her trailer, hidden away. But once she moved him onto the preserve, he’d be easier to track.
Eve’s legs stirred against the bed as she slept. Viktor studied the long line of her body. She unintentionally tortured him day and night with her presence. She talked to him about herself, telling him secrets, whispering her fantasies, asking him questions that couldn’t be answered with his animal throat. It was pure torment. She undressed before him, letting his cat eyes see her body without hesitation or thought. During his time spent under her care, he’d been afforded numerous views of her form—in the shower, the bed, dressing and undressing. A few times when she didn’t know he looked, he’d watched her pleasure herself—wiggling her hips against her exploring fingers, stirring up her feminine scent until it clouded his mind, jerking and panting as she brought herself to climax with a silent cry of release. If he were shifted to human, he’d groan in anguish at the memories of watching her climax by her own hand. Since he was panther, he merely growled low in discontent.
He knew she was drunk, could smell the liquor in her veins mingling with her woman’s scent—a scent that was finally driving him to the point of risking exposure, a scent so sweet it could make a man risk shifting before his body was ready. Feeling a tingling in his limbs, Viktor stiffened in surprise. Was he healed enough to finally try it?
The smell of her again filled him and a mindless urgency overcame him. Viktor urged his body to transform. She’d petted him, stroked him. It was his turn. He needed to touch her with his flesh, had to know if her skin was as soft and supple and sweet as he imagined. It had been a long time and the transformation hurt like hell. He endured the pain exploding in his limbs, popping his joints, extending his bones and retracting his canines. An imaginary fire burned across his flesh, pulling his skin to the point it felt as if he might rip in half. Sore muscles twinged and hardened, cramping violently. He’d come too far. He couldn’t stop it now, not as he shifted to human once more. Black fur was slowly replaced by tanned flesh. His muscles lengthened and stretched, arching and curling until they molded into a hard, masculine frame. The bed shook and Eve moaned. Her hand reached out, absently petting his shifting shoulder as she slept. The touch brought him little comfort. His lips parted in a silent, agonizing scream. And then, finally, it was finished.
Viktor took a deep breath, trembling weakly as he readjusted to the energy it took to be in the larger form. His skin pulled tightly against his frame and his joints ached. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay a man for too long—not yet anyway. But once he was completely healed, the human form would again be his dominant shape.
Lying naked on the bed, he looked at Eve with his dark human eyes. His cock stood erect and ready and he couldn’t discern whether it was from the rush of blood through his shifting body or the knowledge that he’d finally be able to satisfy that deep curiosity. Though his vision was sharper as a cat, he could see her soft lines perfectly. Delicate material cupped her breasts, revealing shape but not texture. His fingers twitched. One touch. That was all he’d take. One small touch. He had to know.
Running a masculine hand down his ribcage, he suppressed a groan. He was lying to himself. If he touched her now, in this state, he’d never stop. His eyes flickered down Eve’s body only to come up again, landing once more on the soft rise and fall of her round breasts. His long, tapered fingers wrapped around his thick cock. Shifters weren’t known for suppressing their sexual appetites and it had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his. The heavy length of his shaft lurched and throbbed beneath his hand as he stroked it.
His mind whispered wicked thoughts to his body. She said she wanted a wild man to take her. She asked for it. She wants it. You want it. Think of how her skin will taste. Think of how fragile her flesh is. Think of how wet she smells between the thighs.
Moving with liquid grace, he turned onto all fours and crawled to be closer to the woman on the bed. His breath came in hard gulps as he looked at her. He was a fool to think he could ever resist. He’d been forced to gaze at her creamy breasts and athletically smooth thighs for too long. He wanted a closer look. He wanted to touch her, taste her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to make her scream his true name.
Viktor licked his lips and sat back on his heels. Sexy lace panties hugged her narrow hips, the straps falling over where her hipbones protruded slightly from her skin. He knew when he pulled them down that he’d find a narrow patch of dark blonde hair guarding her opening.
Her thighs parted slightly as she stirred next to him on the bed. He couldn’t resist lowering his face between them to breathe in her exotic feminine smell. Without thought, his lips parted and his long tongue reached forward to taste her through the silken barrier.
Eve lurched against him at the contact
, wiggling and moaning in her sleep. A soft pant came from her lips and her legs fell open to him as she inadvertently begged him for more. Viktor grinned and could not deny her plea.
“Mmm,” he moaned in the back of his throat, bathing her panties with his tongue until they were soaked and clinging to her hot, moist pussy. His breath hit against her. He could taste the sweet cream of her body trying to saturate the silk.
He pulled back and she whimpered lightly. She reached for her own breast and began massaging. Her legs stirred as she mumbled, “No, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Hearing her soft, sleepy voice, he couldn’t help but obey it. His fingers ran up her warm thighs to grab her panties from her hips. He worked them down, off her body. Seeing the soft glistening of her drenched pussy, he adjusted her on the bed and spread her legs wide to him.
As his mouth latched onto her clit, drinking furiously, his fingers rode up her flat stomach to help her massage her breasts. Their fingers intertwined on the soft globes. With a rip, he tore open the bra, freeing the mounds to his searching fingers. He rubbed the nipples, pinching and squeezing them into hard buds. His teeth nipped lightly, making her squirm against him. He moaned and dipped his long tongue into her slick channel for a deeper taste.
Though his cock protested, his mouth would not give up its newfound pleasure. Muscles tried to grip his tongue as it swept inside her. Her thighs squeezed his head. She sighed softly, moaning for more.
And, oh, Viktor wanted to give her more.
She can save him…or bring him to ultimate ruin.
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