by Eve Langlais
She gaped at him. “Why did you do that?”
“I told you, no divorce.”
Out flung her hands. “But that’s what you wanted.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?” she yelled.
Before his father decided to get involved. Yet, even that wasn’t the entire reason. One touch. That was all it took to remind him.
She’s mine.
Which flew in the face of every bachelor boast and pledge he’d ever made. How his friends would mock him. How the ladies would cry.
Let them lament their loss because, in that moment, he knew one thing for sure. Danita was his mate.
Now he needed to convince her of that.
“So, I was thinking of placing an ad in the local paper.”
“An ad for what? A straitjacket?” Ah, there was that delightfully dry humor he enjoyed.
His lips curved. “Don’t you mean tuxedo? The ad will be more of an announcement. Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp recently married in an intimate setting after a whirlwind courtship—”
“Of like a few hours,” she grumbled.
“—would like to invite you to a belated wedding reception.”
“You want to tell people we’re married.” Her gaze narrowed. “Why?”
“You said Kelso was determined to wed you. He can’t exactly do that if you’re already hitched, now can he?”
“You seem to think you’re dealing with a normal person. And I’m telling you Kelso is anything but normal. He’ll murder you.”
“I’m not that easy to kill.”
She made a strangled noise. “Are you not listening? I said he’ll murder you. Put a bullet in your head or worse.”
“No, he won’t.”
“The right answer is, ‘Holy shit, what do you mean he’s willing to kill?’ Why aren’t you taking this seriously? Don’t you get it yet? Kelso doesn’t care about laws. He thinks he’s above them. He’s—he’s an animal!”
“So am I.” He grinned, but she’d whirled away, her body taut with anger, which was better than the tears. The tears had just about gutted him.
“Again, you’re acting like this is some kind of a joke. You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t seem to understand.” He closed the space between them and grabbed her by the arms, drawing her close. “I don’t care who he is or what he wants. Get it through your stubborn skull, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“But—”
He hushed her the only way he knew how, with his mouth. It seemed to work perfectly well given she stopped arguing and kissed him back. While she might argue, she couldn’t deny the passion between them.
The fire. Holy fuck, he’d never imagined sharing anything this intense with anyone.
He spanned her waist and lifted her, plopping her ass onto the kitchen island, just the right height for him to insert himself between her legs. She didn’t protest. Good thing given how hot he burned for her. His need more than just an ache in his cock and balls. Earlier, he’d seen the mark on her shoulder.
My mark.
He’d not even known he’d done it, but it explained a lot. He’d claimed her. As his mate.
Mine.
It was an old school, piss-on-a-tree kind of way of saying to the shifter world she was off-limits.
And it was a total turn-on. He deepened the kiss, probing her mouth with his tongue, catching all her excited pants and sounds of pleasure. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him, drawing him closer.
The bedroom interruption had left him simmering with arousal, and he wasn’t alone. He could smell her desire. A delicate, mouthwatering perfume that drew him down that he might bury his face between her thighs.
She exclaimed, “Rory!” But didn’t shove him away as he blew hotly against the seam of her pants. But that wasn’t enough to please him.
He tugged at them, pulling them down and hearing her hiss as her bare cheeks hit the cold granite surface. He made sure to drape her legs over his shoulders and indulged in some sweet honey.
The first lick had him humming, the soft grumbling vibration against her flesh drawing forth a loud moan.
She leaned back, propping herself on her elbows, exposing herself to him. A wanton pleasure for the taking.
He took. He took his time lapping at her sweet nectar. Spent a long moment tugging at her clit until he felt her shivering, on the brink. He shoved two fingers inside her as he knew she grew close, groaning against her sex when her flesh squeezed him tight. He flicked her clit over and over with his tongue as he finger-fucked her, feeling her tighten. Hearing her pants emerge jaggedly amidst mewls of need.
His own cock throbbed, fit to burst inside his pants when she came, her scream long and loud, the ripple of her channel flexing his digits so tight. It was glorious. And, this time, he wouldn’t forget.
He stood and reached to draw her close, cupping her head, pulling her to him for a kiss. She had to taste herself on his lips, and yet, she didn’t seem to care. She clung to him, her legs locked around his waist. She reached for him, hands pushing at his pants, whispering softly, “Your turn.”
The fact that she thought about his pleasure, even though she’d achieved her own, was the only reason why he didn’t turn and kill the person who thought they could just walk into his house and bellow, “Boy! Where are you? I know you’ve got the girl hidden here somewhere. Hand her over right now.”
No point in replying. His father would find them quickly enough. While a red-cheeked Danita quickly straightened her clothes, he turned and shielded her with his body, ready to confront his father, who stormed into the kitchen.
“There you are! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Trying to start a war?”
Arms crossed, Rory regarded his father, a big and swarthy man who looked nothing like him. Yet, in temperament, they were often alike.
“Most people knock and wait to be invited before just barging in and interrupting.”
“Interrupting?” Dark brows, only hinting at gray, rose high over piercing eyes. A gaze that quickly took note of Rory’s disheveled appearance, the woman behind him, and the lingering scent of pussy—the edible kind—in the air. “For fuck’s sake, boy. Is that why you took the girl? So you could fuck? You do know she’s engaged to someone else.”
“Not anymore she isn’t.”
“Are you insane? Are you doing this to get back at me?”
“What makes you think this is a revenge plot? And since when do you jump to obey anyone else?”
“I am not jumping,” his father declared. “Merely averting some unpleasantness. You took someone you shouldn’t have.”
“That douche bag stole her first against her will.”
“That’s not what he’s claiming.”
“He’s lying,” she exclaimed.
His father’s laser stare tried to burn her. “Stay out of it. You’ve caused quite enough trouble already.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Rory bristled. “You will speak to her with respect or get the fuck out of my house.”
“Excuse me?” The incredulity in his father’s voice might have been funnier, except it probably meant the temper was close behind. “You don’t get to speak to me like that. Ever. I’m—”
“Not my father.”
That darkened the look. “Perhaps not by blood, but I raised you. I promised your mother to treat you as my son.”
“And I’m telling you that you don’t have to anymore.”
“You’re a Beauchamp, like it or not, and you’re also a member of my pack. Mine. Which means, as your alpha, you obey me.”
“Watch what you say.” Rory inclined his head, indicating Danita.
For a moment, he thought his father would explode, especially since his father had almost spilled some secrets. Secrets he wasn’t yet sure Danita was privy to, despite the felines after her.
“You should know better than to get involved in the business of others.”<
br />
Rory patted Danita’s knee. “But she is my business.” And then, before his father could say another word, he announced it so there would be no misunderstanding. “I’d like you to meet my wife.”
Chapter 11
Dani could still hear the arguing from upstairs. When given the chance—in the form of one steely-eyed daddy glaring at her and saying, much too politely, “Would you mind if I spoke to my son alone?”—she fled. Not out the front door, even if it tempted, but upstairs.
She retraced her steps to the bedroom and paced.
What is going on?
An odd situation had gotten stranger. Mostly because Rory’s dad knew about Kelso. Knew he was looking for her and wanted to hand her over.
Just who were these people?
Mob? Most likely, even if Rory didn’t seem the type. How else to explain this talk of packs and alliances? Not to mention the kidnapping and violence, at least on Kelso’s part, but even Rory didn’t seem fazed one bit by it.
Is he a gangster, too? An upper-echelon one, obviously, given his standard of living. Dear God, am I married to the mob?
Wasn’t that a movie? She seemed to recall having watched something along those lines. It never ended well for the wives.
And here I am sticking around like a ninny.
Except where else could she go? Her attempt to escape had failed. Add to that she now found herself married, without money or resources. It was enough to bring back the tears, especially as the arguing stopped and a door slammed.
A moment later, Rory stood in the doorway, a forbidding man with a rigid jaw. Probably because he was about to toss her out on the street or hand her over like his father wanted.
She couldn’t blame him. Nobody wanted the trouble she brought.
“I guess I should pack my things.” Not that she’d really unpacked. Her bag still sat on the floor where it had gotten tossed.
“Probably a good idea.”
He folded his arms and watched as she stuffed the dirty clothes—dirty and smelling of sex—and then put the flap over the top.
As she approached him, he held out his hand for it.
“I can carry it.”
“If you insist. This way.” He held out his hands and swept her out, and only a few steps later did she realize he’d moved away from the stairs. “Where are we going?” Was there a rear entrance to this place?
“Your new bedroom,” he said, nudging her toward a bigger doorway, the dual doors open and leading into—
“This is your room,” she exclaimed, whirling on him.
“Our room,” he corrected.
“But I thought…”
“That I was going to obey my father and just hand you over?” He shook his head and smiled. “Like fuck.” Not exactly a romantic declaration, and yet it warmed something cold inside her. “We’re married, darling.”
“By accident.”
“I prefer to call it fate.”
“Fate?” She snorted. “I’ve never heard booze and drugs called that before.”
“Fate moves in mysterious ways.”
“You’re just doing this to piss off your father.” Rebellion was a thing she knew. She’d gone through a period of it in her teens when she got tired of her father’s sporadic visits.
“No, that’s just a bonus. Being married to you, I have a feeling,” he said, advancing on her, “will have its own bonus.”
“Better enjoy it while you can. You might not live long,” she muttered.
“There you go casting aspersions on my ability to survive. I am stronger than you think.”
Perhaps, if faced with other humans, but Kelso would eat him alive. Literally. But she couldn’t exactly tell him that. He’d think she was nuts. And maybe she was. Perhaps her mind had turned Kelso into some kind of werecat-like monster rather than deal with what she’d endured. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d imagined giant cats in her life. She still remembered as a child coming down to the kitchen for a glass of water, half asleep, and yet waking really quickly when she saw the lion curled up in front of the gas fireplace.
The sound of shattering glass was hidden by her screams as her little feet pounded up the stairs screaming for her nanny. Only it was her daddy who came racing to find her, shirtless and disheveled, grabbing her in his arms and soothing her. Telling her it was just a dream.
Arms circled around her again in the here and now. Big arms. Strong arms. While they offered a certain comforting security, they also aroused. Everything about Rory Beauchamp ignited her. It made her weak, too. Utterly damsel-like weak. She relaxed into his hug and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I wish my life was simple.”
“Probably not going to happen, darling, but you don’t have to be alone anymore.”
And perhaps that was the best thing she could hope for.
She clung to that, just like she clung to him later in the shower he insisted on sharing. A shower that involved his soapy hands on her body, skimming over her curves.
His fingers brushed the crescent moon of the bite mark he’d given her during their first encounter. He kissed it, and she forgave him the faint scar. Especially once she saw the nail marks she’d left on his back after he took her hard against the shower wall.
She loved it. Loved how his cock sank into her deep, filling her, stretching. The climax he’d given with his fingers and tongue was nothing compared to the rippling ecstasy of coming on his shaft.
It was only once her legs unwound from his waist and she rinsed herself—for the second time—that she realized they’d used no protection. Which was cause for concern, especially since Kelso had taken away her birth control pills. Preparing her, he said, for when she came crawling.
Surely the effects of the pills would linger for a bit? Right? She chose not to dwell on what would happen if they didn’t. Just like she chose to ignore her queasy stomach the following morning.
She blamed it on the way he nonchalantly told her what he’d planned for the evening. “The announcement of our wedding went out in the paper this morning.” He slid his phone across the table to show her the printed notice.
It didn’t help her nausea.
“You put the address for the reception in the ad,” she noted.
“Might as well. It’s not as if we were keeping it a secret.”
“Kelso might show up with his men.”
“I should hope so since this is for his benefit.”
She tossed him a sharp look. “You’re baiting him.”
“Yes.”
“After everything I told you?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him, his freshly washed and combed hair. His beard, neatly trimmed. His nonchalance as he pounded back more food than a man that trim should eat. “Who are you?”
“Your husband.”
“I mean, who are you? What do you do for work?”
“I’m a dealer of sweets.”
“You sell drugs!”
He looked startled. “While our candy might be considered addictive, in our defense, so are chips and other delicious foods.”
She stared at him blankly.
A smile stretched his lips. “I’m part owner of Lip Smackn’ Syrup and Candy. It’s a family-owned business that produces all kinds of sweet goods from candy to syrup.”
“You’re a candy maker.”
“Yes.”
“Which is a front for your mob activities?”
“My what?” He laughed. A boisterous and loud sound. “You think we’re mob?”
“Your dad said you betrayed the pack.”
“Which, in my world, is another word for family. You’re pack now.” He nuzzled her, inhaling her scent as he so often did. Strange, but comforting at the same time, even if his mannerisms reminded her of her friend Sarah and her dog.
Dani never owned a pet as a child. Father used to curl his lip at canines, and the one stray cat she’d adopted got one look at her dad on a visit and disappeared. She stu
ck to virtual pets after that devastating event.
“Do we have to throw this party?” she said with a sigh.
“Yes. And not just because I want to make it clear to my father and Kelso this marriage is real.” Which it wasn’t, no matter how many times he pretended. But, for the moment, she could pretend, too, and bask in the comfort. “I want everyone to know you’re my mate.”
“Your mate,” she repeated with a wrinkle of her nose. “You make it sound like you own me.”
“Would you feel better if I said I was your mate?”
It had a nice ring, but still. “How about we crawl back into bed and hide instead?”
He liked that idea. Although there was little crawling done. Lots of heavy breathing and sweating, yes. But that didn’t save her from the evening’s event being held at a fancy restaurant he’d reserved.
He’d even arranged a lovely dress, as well as various toiletries, including makeup and perfume. The crowning touch being the jewelry he insisted on bestowing upon her. She shivered as he placed the necklace around her neck, the fine chain light. The pendant hanging from it in the shape of a moon inset with opals glistened every time it caught the light.
All the preparation didn’t quell the butterflies in her stomach. She felt like an intruder, a fraud. These people, his friends, family—and possibly her enemies—had gathered to celebrate a drunken mistake. His change of heart, and so quickly, made no sense to her.
He’d gone from demanding divorce to refusing to trying to convince her they should make a go of it.
Which was crazy. What did they have in common other than chemistry?
Then again, wasn’t that how all relationships started? She’d asked her father once how he and her mother had met. Depending on his mood, they’d met through mutual friends at a party. And yet, more than once, when drunk, on the anniversary of her death, he’d alluded to something a little more exotic, saying he’d laid claim to her the moment he’d seen her.
Because, oddly enough, her big and burly father, with his golden hair and bushy beard, believed in love at first sight.
Danita, on the other hand, was more pragmatic. Surely there was more to love than liking someone’s look—or how they kissed in bed. Or did she delude herself?