by Holley Trent
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as they neared the top of the path. “Who all is at the house right now?”
“Just Patrick and some of the Cats he hired to work on the expansion construction.”
“That’s good,” Sarah said absently, even as the house came into her view. There were a few shirtless men atop the roof of the cabin’s addition, swinging hammers and rolling underlayment into place.
Tamara got out and headed straight for the new wing, where she snapped some orders at the dawdling men.
Sarah shook her head and sighed as she pulled the key from the ignition.
Felipe leaned into the gap between the front seats and wrapped his large hand around her forearm.
She stared down at it, not really annoyed, but still feeling a bit proprietary about her personal space.
He asked in Spanish, “You are sure this is the best place for me?”
“Of course it—”
She let the words fall off.
Was it? All of a sudden, she wasn’t so sure. Felipe was an outsider—a neutral party. His very proximity to the mess would force him to take sides or else. If there was fighting, he couldn’t not be seen as a Cat ally…unless he presented himself as a hostage.
Tell him the truth?
She stabbed her seatbelt release button and fixed her gaze on his worried gray one.
Yes. Truth.
He wasn’t the one who asked for help. Fabian had done that. And maybe Felipe didn’t want the kind of help the Shrews could offer.
“I’m not so sure,” she said. She let the seatbelt whir into its track and wrapped her fingers around the metal door handle. “I need to check in with my boss. Give me an hour and we’ll figure out something else. If you want to go, I’ll get you back on the road.”
“You’re not going to argue with me?”
She was too damned tired to argue. Six weeks undercover straight into another mess.
“No.” She opened the door and jumped down.
Felipe caught up to her quickly, and slung his backpack onto his shoulders as they climbed the porch.
She waved at the Cats she recognized on the roof, pausing briefly to assess the one who was unfamiliar. He looked down at her, spit out the nails he’d been holding between his lips and said, “Well, hello, there, gorgeous. Swear to God, there’re some fine women around here.”
“Ew.” She gave chuckling Felipe’s hand a yank and pulled him across the threshold into the cabin’s living room.
Women vastly outnumbered men in the Were-mountain lion group, so Sarah knew most of the men, at least by sight. She’d asked Patrick why the birth rate in the group was so disproportionate. He’d said it wasn’t. Males and females were born at about equal rates. The problem was when they got older.
Sarah had wanted to compel Patrick to elaborate, but he was her friend and she didn’t use psychic shit on her friends. He’d left her with a bit of information to chew on, though. He’d said, “I expect Dana to be it for me forever, but if that’s not the case, I’d never hook up with a Cat. I value my life too much.” And he’d walked away, leaving Sarah to ponder his meaning.
One of the Shrews had left her laptop open on the coffee table, so while Felipe studied the room’s charming decor, Sarah brought up the messaging screen and typed in a note for Dana.
Checking in. Thought you’d be here.
When Dana didn’t respond within a minute, Sarah loped into the kitchen. She did a silent cheer upon spying the fridge’s contents. There were definite perks to working for a woman whose sweetie was a pub owner. Patrick had stocked Sarah’s favorite beer. None of the other Shrews would touch it. It was too dark. Too bitter. It was a bit early to be hitting the sauce, though, so she grabbed a couple of bottled waters and carried them to the living room.
She handed one bottle to Felipe, who accepted it with a nod.
Dana had replied.
Sorry, S. We have a bit of a problem. Got a report about a mauled Cat at a nearby hospital. Billy said it’s one of the older girls. She’s not going to heal instantaneously like the young ones do, but we still need to examine her wounds before they close up. Maybe we can figure out what we’re dealing with. Anyway, we have to get her out of here before they insist on taking blood or running tests.
“Shit.” She closed the laptop lid and raked her hands through her hair. If she never saw the inside of a hospital again it’d be too soon. She’d seen enough of them when she came home from overseas burned, and then as she recovered from what that research study did to her. Good thing Doc’s clinic was in an office park and not a hospital. The flashbacks were a beast.
Felipe sank onto the cushion next to her and uncapped his bottle.
She allowed herself a moment of distraction, watching the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed sip after sip of water. Her eyes tracked upward to his chin, now shadowed with a bit of dark blond stubble, and then the pink of his moist lips.
She must have stared too long, because he leaned in close and grazed those enviable lips across hers once more. She sat stunned, inhaling the spiciness of his natural scent, feeling sleeping things in her body awaken and unfurl. His mouth tracked lower, finding the edge of her jaw and then his warm tongue lashed against the sensitive flesh on the underside of her neck.
She giggled and leaned back. “Quit it.”
His chuckle was throaty and mischievous as he leaned his left elbow against the sofa top and stared down at her. “You say stop, but the way your breath sounds is more like not now.”
His grin was downright predatory, but she found herself leaning toward him, eager to meet his lips.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She scooted away, mumbling about presumptuous jerks and opened the laptop lid to send Dana one last message.
Tell me where to poke and I’ll get you some information if you want. I left something on the backburner in Carrboro, so I’ll be heading out soon.
That was code. Whenever a Shrew mentioned Carrboro—where none of them actually lived—it meant, “Gotta move. I’ll check in later.” The case was getting more and more complicated with each passing minute, and with the Shrews scattered all over the county on Were-cat business, they didn’t have their usual safety in numbers. Time to go code orange. Dana would know Sarah had a plan…or at least an end goal.
Sarah closed out the computer programs and shut the lid of the laptop.
Felipe brought the water bottle back to his lips and eyed her with a lascivious glint.
“You’re thinking about sex,” she intuited, rolling her eyes. “At a time like this.”
“It’d be wonderful.”
“You sure about that?”
“I think you underestimate my creativity. Have you forgotten already I grew up in the circus? My imagination puts you in some very delicious situations.” His eyes never left hers as he set the bottle on the coffee table. His tongue smoothed over his bottom lip.
She was pretty sure it wasn’t an idle tic. He was trying to entice her, and given the way her heart pounded and belly burned at his seductive maneuvers, it was working.
He leaned in close, slowly, and put his lips against her ear. His right arm snaked around her front and drew her close—pressing her side against his hard chest. “You want to experience flying without a net below?”
“Shit.” She swallowed, and was fairly certain she was translating his Spanish adequately. He wanted to bone, and it kinda sounded fun.
“Perhaps I’ll bind your wrists and let you hang nude, waiting for me to act out my whims. Touch you everywhere. Leave you breathless.”
“Never,” she said in a low voice, though that was just automatic. It was what she was programmed to say to strange men, but really? She didn’t mind the idea of someone else taking control for once, assuming that person had the skills to pleasure her without instruction. He had to have the expertise to go along with that swagger. Sexy as they were, words meant nothing.
He dragged the tip
of his tongue up her lobe and nipped at the top.
A sharp exhalation of air left her lungs and her eyes widened even as she tried to pry her body away from him.
His grip on her waist tightened, and the calloused palm of his other hand eased inside the back of her shirt, abrading the skin there and sending delightful jolts down her spine. “Yes, I think so,” he whispered. “You’ll do what I want and like it.”
She ran her tongue over dry lips and blinked several times, vision hazing from incredulity or…what? She didn’t know.
“What if I don’t?”
“I think I’ll figure out what you like.” His hand eased slowly around her ribcage, up to the band of her bra. “And then I’ll make you like what I like.”
She drew in a breath, steadying herself, and thinking, He wouldn’t, though she’d dare not move.
And he did. His large hand closed over her left breast, and his thumb’s pad made a circuitous path over the fabric covering her areola.
Presumptuous bastard.
But she didn’t pull away. She wanted to see just how far he’d go—just how brazen he was. And how dare he be so forward and yet so calm while she was burning up inside? She could feel his heart beating against her right shoulder, and its drumming was steady and even. He could have been bored at the symphony, for how slow it was.
“Why hasn’t anyone claimed you?” He peeled back the edge of her bra and freed her breast, cupping it, fondling it. Now his breathing sped, too. It was just a bit, and if Sarah hadn’t been paying attention she would never have heard it.
“I’m not a thing,” she said, tipping her chin toward the ceiling to allow his lips access to the throbbing, hot pulse point of her neck. “No one can claim me.”
“Te llevaré.”
“I don’t think so. I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re missing certain…”
And up she went. His free hand burrowed under her rear and in a jerk, she was on his lap feeling the dull stab of his erection.
“…equipment,” he finished.
Damn.
Just her luck, right? She’d thought it was a goddamned riot when Dana hooked up with Patrick in the middle of a case. Sarah thought she’d never be susceptible to such a thing. She was too independent and too aggressive. If she wanted a man, she could have had one. That had never taken her much effort. Where the real effort came into play was what happened after that first roll in the hay. They always clung. No matter how tough they made themselves out to be, she seemed to have a knack for picking the needy ones—the ones who wanted constant coddling and reassurance. The ones who wouldn’t go away.
She didn’t understand Felipe. Didn’t know anything about him, really, but at that moment wouldn’t mind so much watching him strip those clothes off. Wouldn’t mind seeing if he had what it took to take control. And if he did, then what?
That was the scary part.
Somehow, she found her breath and pressed her hands against his chest. She gave him an ineffectual push backward. “Let go of me,” she whispered.
Maybe it was the tone of her voice, but he didn’t resist. The hand that massaged her breast retreated from her shirt and the other—the one gripping her waist—fell away.
She stood, blowing out a breath while assessing his too-calm expression. He understood limits. Good. After six weeks undercover at that strip club, she was especially guarded of her personal space. All the groping and unprovoked fondling angered her at first, but then she learned to compartmentalize—to push the sensations to the back of her mind. To make them nothing.
She didn’t like that this man she didn’t know had broken down that wall of hers so quickly. She felt. Oh boy, did she feel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
He reached for his water, his gaze still locked on hers as he unscrewed the cap. “Looking at you makes me want to have a home,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He raised one dark blond eyebrow as he drank, his expression asking Do I really need to spell it out?
Yes. He did.
“Well?” she pushed.
The bottle now empty, he set it down and eased those fabulous lips into a smirk. “I think you need someone to go home to every night who’ll take away all the reins you’re holding. Give you fewer choices to make.”
“Sounds a lot like chauvinist bullshit to me.”
He chuckled and stood, reaching his arms overhead and stretching his back. His shirt rode up to display his rock-hard belly, so smooth and hairless, and seemingly on its own volition, her hand reached out and pulled back his waistband.
She’d intended to just steal a quick peek to confirm how far down that hairlessness went, but one glimpse turned into a long stare.
“Oh my…”
It was like she was frozen. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop looking.
He didn’t respond other than to gently push her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.
That did it.
She let go of his waistband, and loped away, cringing at her behavior, and mumbling, “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
She paused at the closet to retrieve the aluminum case she’d deposited there the day before, and pretended to be very busy searching for something. She strived for coolness, but with her blood drumming loud in her ears and legs somewhat wobbly, she wasn’t sure if she was modeling the desired effect.
“Permiso, Sarah,” he said in that same low whisper as before. He stood mere inches from her back, but didn’t touch her, thank God.
With him being so close, her body’s hyperawareness of his raised the hairs on her neck. Her sex ached at thoughts of the sort of ravaging she imagined him capable of. The imagery flashed through her mind—him pressing her against the wall, yanking down her pants, having his fill of her and leaving her breathless. Eyes closed, she sucked in a bolstering breath, and told her body “No” until it believed it.
When she thought she was in control of her expression, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. “Permission for what?”
He closed the small distance between them, but didn’t touch. His nose was millimeters from hers, and her pressed hands on the doorframe at either side of her face. His expression was placid. Controlled.
Asshole.
“Permission to touch, Sarah.”
She furrowed her forehead, striving for a look of incredulity. “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you started this shit.”
He wasn’t buying it. His smirk said as much. “Yes. Respeto. You need guidelines. Good little soldier. You follow instructions.”
Her face numbed at his words. How did he know? He shouldn’t have known that. Was he reading her the way Patrick did Dana, or was she just that transparent?
He switched to pure English and narrowed those gray eyes at her. “I make it easy. I tell you where to touch. And when. And you will.”
She didn’t have much fight left in her, but Sarah Miller wasn’t a woman who was easy to get. She squared her jaw and put some heat in her stare. “Will I? I don’t think so.”
She didn’t need to answer that. They both knew she would. She’d go along with the playacting…at least for a little while. It would be just like working undercover, and she was used to that.
She dipped out from under his arms and carried the case to the table where she picked up the keys to Patrick’s truck. “Let’s hit the road. You need to give me some information about what’s going on inside that circus of yours so Dana and Patrick can get the Cats out.”
“Do I have to sit in the back seat again? Like a dog?”
“You are a dog,” she mumbled, grazing his left side on the way past the coffee table toward the door.
Before she could make it there, however, the sound of close-range gunshot, shattering glass, and Tamara shouting in Romanian gave Sarah pause. An animalistic scream cut through the air and it wasn’t cat, but not quite bear, either.
“Shit.” Sarah shucked off her jacket and raced to the d
oor, her hand already tightened around her gun’s grip. “Close and lock the door behind me,” she shouted to Felipe. She ran out onto the porch with her gun trained on the addition’s roof. She didn’t check behind her to see if Felipe had listened. What kind of idiot wouldn’t listen?
CHAPTER FIVE
“Mujer loca.”
The screen door rattled against its frame as Sarah hurtled toward the firefight. It was as if she were immune to the feral shrieks that would have given any sane person pause. The sounds were made by something—someone—who was obviously not quite human. No. Not sane, that woman. She’d heard and reacted, and there’d been very little time in between the two things. It was like some switch had been thrown in her head. She was off, then on—just like that.
Crazy woman, yes, but a fearless one. And maybe he knew a little something about crazy, because his impulse had been to follow her, unarmed. That was his way, just like so many times in the past when he’d had to intercede between Jacques and some troupe member at their absolute abuse limit. He’d just thrown himself into the fight, consequences be damned…just like Sarah had.
But, this wasn’t his battle. He didn’t know these people.
Footsteps thundered across the porch planks, and Felipe moved toward the door, preparing to phase in defense. He didn’t need to. The surly blonde named Tamara streaked past, shouting in what he now suspected was Romanian. He’d been around the fortunetellers enough to catch scraps of it. Sarah passed right behind her, covering her friend’s back and firing her gun into the nearby woods. Moments later, light footsteps skittered overhead. He guessed Tamara had climbed onto the roof.
A grunt, a snarl, one final gunshot, and then silence.
Uncomfortable silence—the kind that had always gnawed at his gut and filled him with a sense of overwhelming foreboding. The sense that the shit would hit the fan and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to escape the mess.
“Ugh! Lavincompáe.”