Shifters and Spice: A Shifter Romance Box Set

by Desiree Holt

She wound her arms round his neck then ran her fingers through his hair, still holding his gaze, daring him to break character. Like bristles of a fine brush, it tickled her palm. He never flinched, never blinked, only the bulge throbbing through his fly an indication she affected him at all.

  I guess if you’re undercover as lovers it’s good to have some natural chemistry.

  His eyes darted to the right, never moving his head, as if he’d heard something. A slight nod meant they were being surveilled. How far was she willing to go to sell her part?

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. She was biting her lip, a tell she’d tried and failed to erase. A sure sign she was nervous, a reminder to stay in character. She drew in a breath, summoned her sexiest siren and closed the small gap between them.

  A little nibble on his thin bottom lip followed by a wide eyed open mouthed kiss teased him. A growl, a real one from the belly, resounded in the room. His hand raked into her hair, effectively trapping her.

  His lips pressed against hers, hard and demanding. She closed her eyes, submitting to the charade. His tongue invaded her willingly parted lips to dominate hers. A fiery need sprang deep in her pelvis, hotter than anything she’d experienced before. Her heart pounded in her chest, thumping like a bass drum. Did he feel it beating against his own? He changed the angle of the kiss, inciting a fresh adrenaline rush, tingling in her fingers, toes, nether regions.

  Hands cupped her butt and lifted her off the floor. Instinct made her wrap her legs around his waist. Shock cleared her foggy senses and she opened her eyes to find him glaring at her. Was he mad at her for playing her part so well? Or angry she turned him on?

  “Shower first. Play later.”

  It wasn’t hard to find a pout to paste on her face. Her body wanted his full invasion, needed his complete and total domination. Her mind wanted an equal and her heart needed love and respect. Rico was not the man for the job and it would be in her best interest to use that as a shield for the next day or two.

  She did not fight him when he carried her into the dingy bathroom. Dull lighting obscured most of the dusty, potential haz mat worthy filth. Who came for flings to such a place? It was not romantic in any way, shape, or form.

  Liar. Had Rico continued, she’d have lain naked on the surely stained and possibly previously used sheets with him. His allure was undeniable. Like a wild James Bond, full of secrets and sexual prowess, Rico had his pick of women. He probably screwed a different one every night, but like 007, his career would always come first.

  Did she want to be another notch on his bedpost? He efficiently stripped off his shirt and pants and stood tanned, lean, and ready for action.

  Oh hell yes. She’d be a notch if he wanted. She’d keep her head and her heart intact this time and run like hell when she felt them slipping.

  After cranking on the water, he watched her remove her clothes. His eyes followed every move as she shrugged off the overshirt and yanked off the camisole. Her clammy skin felt cool. Quickly, she divested herself of the sweaty leggings, constantly aware of his presence. If she believed in auras, his was huge, filling the tiny bathroom, encompassing her.

  “Let me.”

  With feline grace, he maneuvered behind her to unsnap the constraining pushup bra. Her breasts fell free, her nipples instantly puckering under his scrutiny. Uncomfortable, she moved to cover her breasts but he caught her hands.

  “They’re beautiful.” He bent to kiss the tops, then the peaks. Light, gentle kisses disabled her defenses. Rico wasn’t a gentle man. This must be his Hector persona. Keep your wits, Max. It’s just a job. He doesn’t mean it.

  Chapter 7

  Rico struggled to separate man from agent. Right now, Hector was should be fucking Veronica. He was seducing Max.

  Max. God help him, this was his woman. There was no denying the pull, the instinct to protect his own, to make her his and make damn sure she never wanted another.

  How the hell had this happened?

  The time to consider all this was after the assignment, not during. Of course, nearly naked Max shivered waiting for his next move. Had she not meant anything to him, fucking her for the sake of the mission would be easy. Problem was she’d earned his respect and his trust. Not to mention the lust coursing through his cock. Now he had to maintain his cover, bag the bad guys, keep her safe, and woo her when it was all said and done. Oh, and how to tell her he had two sides: one human, one puma?

  “You are beautiful.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it. “Ronnie, I mean it.”

  Her brow pinched at the name he’d said. He’d hurt her. A stabbing pain in the heart confirmed she was his mate. She’d understand he had to keep his head. Later, they’d talk.

  He thrust down her panties and he helped her step into the shower. What should have been hot and sexy had turned wooden and forced. Her muscles were stiff where before they flowed under his touch.

  Under the spray of the shower, they stood close enough he could whisper in her ear. “We’ll have sex in the shower then get dressed so we’re ready. Are we good?”

  It seemed like minutes before she lifted her eyes. Was she overtired or crying? That knife twisted a bit more. The sparks had flown between them from first sight. Fires ignited when she’d gotten the drop on him in the practice room. He should have acknowledged his mate before and refused to bring her with him. Smart men did what had to be done. He’d been stupid.

  “Yeah, we’re good.” The flat tone said he’d have some explaining to do later. Once they were safe, he’d show her how important she was.

  He turned her to face the shower wall, lining up behind her. Pretending killed him. He wanted her. His body, his mind, and his soul all wanted the same woman. A spectacular female with courage, brains, integrity, and a body made to please his wild nature. Fake sex with her under these circumstances make him feel unclean.

  For the first time ever, he just wanted to get “sex” over with. Enough to convince those listening (or watching) that it was authentic but little enough to be able to undo the damage later.

  “I’m sorry.” He stroked her sopping hair, hoping she’d understand his meaning. I’m sorry this is our first time, I’m sorry it’s here in this hell hole, I’m sorry it’s not real. He said a bit louder, “Next time, baby, we’ll be fucking in the Ritz.”

  Hokey but necessary for her to know where Rico ended and Hector began. He pumped his hips against her ample but firm ass. Her moan, though contrived, forced fresh blood to his dick. He angled his throbbing member down between her legs but the rubbing against her thighs only enflamed his sex.

  “Come on, Hector. Give it to me.”

  Her tone had a razor’s edge to it. Part playful, part sharp bitch, clearly she just wanted to get it done with too. Surely she had to feel the rock hard effect her body had on him. She wasn’t getting any pleasure. Her stiff limbs, so liquid before, now resembled steel. Like an Amazon, she was built like a brick house and she could break a man if necessary. Strangely enough, that added to the attraction.

  He thrust his hips, slamming his pelvis into her ass repeatedly. More rapid fire pumps, more sliding between her clamped thighs, more blood pounding through his veins. He couldn’t help it. There was no holding back the flood that ultimately burst through the dam. When he came, he jerked hard, gripping her shoulder with one hand, her hip with the other. Collapsing on her back, he gasped for breath for a moment and prayed she wouldn’t hold it against him for long. Or forever.

  He kissed her back and wrapped one arm about her waist, willing his true feelings through. Why, in the name of all that was holy, did he have to feel real love for the first time in this shithole?

  “I’m sorry, baby. You’ll get yours later.”

  A snort and a hollow laugh echoed in the narrow stall. “Yeah, right. That’s what you always say.”

  He resolved to make up for this sad excuse for sex. “No, I mean it, love, I will. And I always keep my promises.” He felt the tension in her body leave in a l
ong exhale.

  “Alright. I’ll hold you to that.”

  She had caught the subtle change in tone. At least he hoped she did. Rico was talking now, not Hector. He straightened, pulling her upright with him. She turned in his embrace and kissed his cheek.

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  His heart lurched. He’d had to scramble when this was all over to keep her at his side. Pumas were solitary by nature but puma shifters mated for life. He’d lose the other half of his soul if she left. Three days ago, he couldn’t stand the thought of spending more than a few hours with any human being. Now, fear of losing her clawed at his heart.

  They dried off and dressed in the same clothes in silence.

  “Think they’ll call soon? I just want to go home, Hector.” Max added a whine for authenticity. Whining wasn’t her style.

  “Baby. They’ll call soon.”

  “And everything will be alright, right? I mean, they’ll keep their part of the bargain and not kill us, right?”

  “No, baby, they’re businessmen. Just that their business isn’t legal, that’s all. They don’t want trouble any more than we do.”

  The truth was these men would try to kill them as soon as the deal went down. DEA would be at the location setting up now. He’d controlled the setting to so Montero couldn’t set a trap.

  “Just relax. It won’t be long now.”

  The door burst open with two men yelling to turn around. Black bags covered his head and his arms were ziptied behind his back. By the feminine grunts, the same was happening to Max. She yelled, “Get off me” then a resounding smack echoed followed by silence. In an instant he lost all the control he had.

  Bastards who beat women deserved to die. If he was lucky, he’d get a chance at retribution. Hitting Max aroused the cat in him but he’d have to wait for the right moment. Until then, using the rest of his senses would paint him a picture of what he couldn’t see.

  Dragging noises meant they were taking his unconscious partner from the room. One guy held his arm while two sets of shuffling steps exited the motel room. At least three assailants. Rank cigar smoke plus sweat differentiated this guy from the others. Probably Pock mark and Burly guy had Max. It wasn’t Montero. He smelled of Polo cologne and hair gel. This guy smelled like Jersey Shore, a mobster wannabe.

  “Think you’re so smart, do you? Calling the shots with Montero? Now you deal with me.”

  Jersey Shore released his arm and stepped away. Metal scraped on leather. He knew that sound. He’d made that sound a thousand times. Jersey was unholstering his gun.

  Scenarios ran through his head. Sweeping the guy off his feet, taking his down. The problem still remained that his hands were bound. He had a few minutes, Jersey was the kind to want to gloat, spell out how much smarter or more powerful he was before the kill.

  Squeaking steps brought him out of his thoughts.

  “The bitch is in the van. What about him?”

  “Put him in too.”

  A sudden crack and a sharp pain to the back of the head stunned him. His knees buckled and he forced himself to twist and fall on his shoulder. Everything echoed distantly until there was no sound and no feeling.

  Chapter 8

  Max jolted awake. Her shoulder and hip ached as they took the brunt of the jarring. She struggled to turn but her hands were bound behind her. Everything was dark though her eyes were open and faint pinpoints of light filtered through the black bag on her head.

  Memories streamed through the fog, restoring her reality. She been with Ibarra on an undercover mission when three guys busted down the door. She resisted, Pock mark hit her with his fist then with the butt of his gun.

  Her wits were her only weapons now. A hint of fresh forest let her know he was also here, probably in the same condition. The radio blared classic headbanger rock and two distinct voices mumbled, probably up front. They were probably in a van, an easy vehicle to transport dead DEA agents.

  They weren’t dead yet. Let them think she was still unconscious. She needed time to determine if the third man was with them in the back and where they were. A vulture’s cry overhead indicated they weren’t in the city anymore. Probably in the desert. If Montero wanted the drugs, they’d have to keep her and Ibarra alive long enough to get to them.

  Unless they’d been made.

  If that were the case, it might just be too late.

  “Ronnie.”

  Her whispered name made her jump.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s just those two in the front.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” His tense tone told her not to argue.

  “Whatever happens, stay calm.”

  “Right.” Stay calm? What the hell? These scum were about to kill them and dump their bodies for the scavengers.

  She sucked in a deep breath and forced it out slowly, counting to ten. One more inhale and sudden movement had her holding that breath. A shrill growling cry, like that of a cougar cut the air, so loud it echoed in the van. Rough rolling behind her made her lie still. The puma was in the vehicle with her. Feet maybe inches from her. Had he been captured too? Maybe for fur or someone’s personal menagerie? From his growls, he was pissed.

  She played dead, as she always heard big cats like live prey. If there was any justice in the world, he’d take out the drug runners in the front and she and Ibarra would walk away alive. Where was Ibarra? He’d said stay calm. Did he know about the cougar? Maybe he was playing dead, too.

  Still blind from the bag over her head, she listened intently. Brakes screeched and the van jerked to a stop. A door opened, followed by the lurch of the cat launching itself into the front. A man yelled, screamed, then begged for his life. His life ended in the matter of a few seconds. The cargo door in the back yanked open, a pistol shot reverberated, and the cat roared. Another jolt beneath her and she knew the cat had lunged at the man with the gun. His moaning meant he was injured. All the carnage happened with the metal rock as the soundtrack.

  The cougar returned, his weight jostling the springs as he jumped in. Was he back for her? For Ibarra? They hadn’t posed a threat to the animal. She froze as she felt its hot breath on her neck. Its fur brushed her shoulder when it rubbed its huge head against her. When it rubbed her again, it felt more like a domestic cat seeking affection than a predator looking for a meal and she relaxed. A loud motor-like purr emanated from the cat and he hopped out of the van.

  One moment of silence became two as she processed the suddenly improved odds of living due to a benevolent cougar. Like some wild Sci Fi movie, this was so outlandish, so unbelievable, how would she and Ibarra explain it?

  Ibarra. In the surreal situation, she forgotten about him. Careful that one of the men was not mortally injured, she used his alias.

  “Hector!”

  She whispered, cautious of what else could be lurking. Still blinded by the bag, anyone or anything could be outside the van.

  “Hector!”

  Panic rising, she called more loudly. If Pockmark or Burly could answer, they would have.

  “Hold on, just a minute.”

  Thank God! Rico was alive.

  Long minutes passed as the floor jostled with his movements.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She complied and the bag was removed. Bright light shone behind her eyelids and she was grateful he’d thought to save her the momentary blindness.

  Rico grasped her bound hands and slipped a cold metal blade between her hands and yanked. Her hands now free, she struggled to her knees. Spots still danced in her vision from the prolonged time in the bag. She rubbed her eyes and flinched at the ache from her cheekbone. Right, she’d struggled and they’d beat her. Nothing that a little time and whiskey couldn’t cure.

  Her focus fell on Rico. His clothes were ripped, buttons popped and blood stained the sleeve of his shirt. Red blossomed near his shoulder and blood drained freely down his shirt. He’d gotten shot.

  Stripping off her s
hirt, she balled it and held it to his wound. He tensed but didn’t move away. Stoic idiot.

  “What do we do now?”

  “I figure we’ve got a couple minutes before Montero and Cigar Smoker arrive.”

  “Cigar Smoker?”

  “His muscle. Must be new in town. Never seen him before but he’s Montero’s head of security. Picked that up before you came to. Montero will be here any minute.”

  She scrambled out of the van, shifting with the aching muscles from the bumpy ride. He followed her and sat on the bumper. Reflection caught her eye and she picked up a cell phone the guy dropped when he lost his fight with the cougar. She tucked it into her back pocket.

  “So continue undercover or cut and run?”

  Dust rising meant they were out of time. Time for a decision.

  “Behind those rocks.”

  Quickly but careful to pick their way so as not to leave tracks, they moved to higher ground.

  Rico moved well but his pale complexion concerned her. Why hadn’t she grabbed one of the guns instead of a cell phone. There was no reliable reception out here so it was useless.

  The Hummer H2 slammed to a stop below them, stirring the sand and dust to a heavy cloud. The occupants stayed inside, apparently waiting for the dust to settle.

  “You haven’t said anything about the cougar.”

  He shrugged, the movement causing him to grimace. “Mother nature’s vengeance, I guess. We didn’t have to worry as we weren’t the ones who messed with her.”

  His flawless logic left her wondering but Montero and his guard exited the H2. They strode around the van, assessing the situation. The man with Montero snatched the men’s wallets, guns, and cell phones. Destroying evidence that might link them to Montero would be the standard protocol for sanitizing a scene.

  The man then did a three hundred and sixty degree visual search, looking for the captives and maybe who or what had taken out their men. Rico wrapped his good arm around her and she held her breath. If the man saw them, no way they’d escape with Rico hurt. She held her breath to keep from moving and attracting any attention.