Shrew & Company Books 1-3

by Holley Trent

  “I hate feeling out of the loop on these group things,” she confessed.

  “Sweetie, you’re worried about feeling replaceable at a time like this? What happened to you up in Baltimore during those six weeks?”

  Sarah lowered her gaze to the tabletop.

  What had happened that would make a woman like her turn red from the neck up at the mere mention of that time? Whatever it was, if there was even a small way he could make her forget it, he was willing to try. Seeing her anxious sparked emotions him he didn’t know how to tamp down.

  He squeezed her hand, and this time she didn’t pull it back.

  Dana’s voice softened. “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, we’ll debrief tomorrow. Have a good meal on us and sleep well. You too, Felipe.” With one final wan smile, she turned on her heel and walked out.

  A heavy quiet settled into the room now that they were alone again. Before Tamara had interrupted them, Felipe had been feeling amorous. Flirty. Now he felt something on the other end of the spectrum. Territorial. Protective. Not even twenty-four hours, and he knew without a doubt that, yes, they were pairing off just like Tamara said. Maybe Sarah didn’t know it yet, though.

  He twined the fingers of his left hand through those on Sarah’s right and pulled her to standing along with him. She didn’t struggle—just followed. On the way through the living room, he picked up her keys and her bag without breaking his grip, and drew her out the front door. “I’m sitting in the front seat this time,” he said.

  Her face was a blank as they descended the stairs, but her eyes were the red of exhausted defeat. “Fine.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They sat in silence as Sarah steered the pickup down the mountain toward a small nearby town. Occasionally, she felt Felipe’s scrutinizing gaze on her right cheek, but didn’t turn to him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Her body was aware enough of his presence without her having to look at him.

  She was thankful for the blessed silence, and not because she was so averse to conversation, but because her mind reeled from that last interaction with Dana and Patrick.

  Sarah had left the impromptu meeting feeling a bit dressed down. A bit worthless–like her opinions didn’t matter. But, that wasn’t rational. Of course they did. They always had to Dana. Hell, Dana would follow Sarah into a firefight with no questions asked because their trust was exquisite and mutual, but having Felipe there inserting his two cents and making Dana reshuffle Shrew priorities had chafed Sarah.

  If she had her druthers, she would deposit Felipe at the safe house as planned, lock him up like they had the Visas, return to the circus and burn it to the ground with Jacques in it, and then return to Paddy’s mountain to deal with the Were-bear bullshit.

  That was the way Sarah’s mind had always worked. She was constantly triaging things, making fast choices. Usually, they were good ones.

  Now, a stranger had gone and pulled the rug out from under her and made her second-guess her actions.

  Her usefulness.

  Certainly, Dana didn’t want it to seem that way, but Sarah couldn’t help how she felt. Whether she was sickeningly tired or not, she felt her place was with the Shrews and being sent away like this to “rest” after being away from her girls for six weeks had a special kind of sting.

  She parked the borrowed pickup on the backside of the lodge she and Shrews so often frequented.

  Astrid’s immigrant grandparents had built the Bavarian-style three-story structure during middle of the twentieth century, and it was now owned and operated by her brother. He liked to call his style of inn-keeping “German Nouveau,” much like Patrick called his pub “nouveau Irish.” Must have been a trend.

  All that really meant, in Eric’s case, was that sometimes there was bratwurst for supper, and other times there was barbecue.

  “I hope you like good Southern cooking.” She finally met Felipe’s gaze as she shut off the ignition. “Eric has a fondness for white gravy.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be a special treat. Better than the anemic buffets I’m used to.”

  “Maybe.”

  They sat there in the silence for a while.

  Sarah drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel sides.

  Felipe occasionally shifted in his seat. When Sarah turned to face him, he wore an inscrutable expression.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are we waiting for something? Valet service, perhaps?” His lips twitched up at the corners.

  He really had a knack for putting her at ease, even when she didn’t want to be. The tension she tended to hold inside herself like a security blanket uncoiled a bit, and she let the irrepressible laugh escape.

  “No. I…I’m just feeling a bit ill at ease. Makes it hard for me to concentrate. I hate being away from the Shrews when things are up in the air.”

  “But Dana told you to go. It was an order, not a suggestion, best I could tell.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier. Aren’t you feeling out of sorts being away from Fabian?”

  “Yes, but I try not to fret over things beyond my control.”

  “That’s a nice trick. I hope to master that one some day.”

  “When you come from a world like mine, you learn all sorts of tricks to stay sane.”

  His smile wilted a bit at the corners.

  She didn’t know anything about him, really, but from all she’d learned so far, it was possible that in his own way Fabian had seen more of his kind of war than she had. Smaller scale, but just as demoralizing.

  He’d seen senseless death and known hopelessness, too.

  She needed to stop thinking of him as some defenseless civilian. Just because he had never worn a uniform didn’t mean he didn’t have some fight in him.

  “Ven,” he whispered.

  The pad of his thumb stroking her jaw startled her back into reality.

  “Huh?”

  “Good hot meal will do us both good, I think?” His smile returned. It was warm instead of mocking. Comforting, even. It was obviously meant to disarm her, and as much as she hated to admit it, it worked. Why he cared enough to disarm her—well, that was something she didn’t have energy enough to speculate on.

  Since she wasn’t going to argue with him, she went ahead and toggled the lock switch and pushed open her door. She hopped down from the vehicle, but before she could slam her door, Eric appeared in the tavern’s rear entrance.

  The handsome, auburn charmer grinned and waved a kitchen towel at her.

  “Hey, hot stuff. Astrid called about five minutes ago. Said you were on the way on the boss lady’s orders. I’ve got chicken in the fryer.”

  Felipe met Sarah at the front of the truck and looped an arm around her back, pulling her close.

  She let her forehead furrow, and when she tilted her face up to give him that look, she found his expression was a friendly blank. She’d seen that same blank an hour earlier on Patrick’s face, right before Patrick had assessed Felipe as unthreatening. Right before Tamara had accused them of pairing off.

  Is that what he was doing? Making a pair?

  Is he crazy?

  He’d probably fallen off his trapeze onto his head a couple of times too many, but she didn’t bother shrugging off his arm. It really didn’t annoy her that much, and apparently he thought he had something to prove. Lord knew what, though.

  “Hope there is enough for two,” he said.

  Eric raised one auburn eyebrow and gave Felipe a studious stare. His gaze flitted from Felipe, to Sarah, back to Felipe again, and then ended on Sarah.

  She shrugged.

  Eric whistled low and scratched his head. “Surprised that didn’t shake out of the Shrew grapevine.”

  “It’s very new.” Felipe grazed his left hand down Sarah’s left arm and gave her a squeeze that in a small way reminded her of that much-needed massage back in the cabin’s kitchen. For the first time in a long while, she’d experienced complete distraction when his hands, then lips, roved over h
er. She didn’t ponder about the fate of those sex workers at the club. She didn’t think about those Visas locked in the bread truck. She didn’t contemplate the results of her last testing array with Doc and wonder what they’d meant for her long-term livelihood. Her only thoughts had been things like Lower, and Oh yeah, right there.

  She didn’t know if she was just that tired, or if he really did make her feel that safe. She suspected the former, but either way, she could just talk to Eric later and explain it all. Felipe could have his little ruse for the moment.

  “I’ve got the game turned on in the great room,” Eric said. “Go on in and make yourselves comfortable. We’re almost fully booked because we’re hosting a family reunion group, so that means everything is operating on a schedule tonight. No room service, but you’re welcome to help yourself in the kitchen as always.” He turned on the heel of his Converse to retreat into the tavern, but stopped and spun back around to point at them. “Uh, housekeeping is still working on clearing out the last couple of rooms. It’ll be a while before your rooms—”

  “Room,” Felipe interjected.

  Sarah rolled her eyes.

  Eric shifted his weight to his other leg. “Right, your room. It’s gonna be a bit longer. Just leave your bags in the truck and housekeeping will put them outside your room after they’re done.”

  He turned once more, and Felipe and Sarah followed him into the kitchen.

  “What happened?” Sarah asked. “You’re usually a bit more efficient than that.”

  Eric tossed his towel onto the counter and accepted a bowl of whole red apples from the line cook as he passed by. Sarah knew they’d end up in the famous strudel.

  “Thanks for noticing. If you don’t know, that means Astrid hasn’t heard about it either. Keep it that way, will ya?”

  Eric wasn’t particularly trouble-prone, although he wasn’t one to back down from a fight. Although Astrid was the far more belligerent of the two, Eric had his own reputation for brawling. He didn’t start the fights, but he sure finished them. When it came to his business, though, he kept all that stuff squeaky clean. Sarah couldn’t imagine what kind of kink would have him so far behind schedule.

  “What happened?”

  Eric flicked his paring knife over the first of the apples. “Did something dumb and signed up with one of those daily deal companies. Offered a fifty-percent coupon since we’re in a shoulder season. Had a bunch of folks visiting who would have never otherwise afforded it. Trashed the place.”

  Sarah cringed.

  Yeah, she wouldn’t tell Astrid. The teasing would be far too epic. It would be painful to even listen to.

  Eric pushed the bowl down the counter toward Felipe and bobbed his chin at him. “If y’all don’t want to go relax before dinner, feel free to grab a knife and start peeling.”

  Sarah did reach for a knife, but Felipe said, “Nope,” and pulled her in closer as he started his stride away from the sweltering kitchen.

  When they’d cleared the kitchen and dark dining area to enter the airy great room, she tried, finally, to duck out from under Felipe’s arm.

  Enough with the playacting.

  Felipe sank into one overstuffed sofa Sarah knew to be particularly sleep-inducing and pulled Sarah down on his lap.

  “Quit struggling. Do you have somewhere you need to be?” He leaned back so his neck was against the armrest, and his ankles were crossed at the other end of the sofa. Looping his arms around her waist, he pulled her down on top of him and rolled her over.

  Because she felt like he expected it, she struggled somewhat ineffectually to get up. He was wiry, but strong, and she was tired.

  She sighed. “I would like to have my own seat, is all.”

  Truth be told, he made a pretty nice pillow. Most pillows didn’t smell like troublesome, handsome, eligible Spaniards.

  She took a discreet whiff and stifled her moan.

  “Just be still.” He pulled her shoulders down so her torso was pressed against his and her face nuzzled against his neck.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You need to relax.”

  Yeah, she was getting there. Still…

  “I can do that over there.” She pointed to the flanking sofa—a plaid one Tamara regularly claimed as her favorite. It had good, firm cushions, and was situated for a perfect view of the television. Tam loved Mexican soap operas. She didn’t speak Spanish. She loved them for the overly dramatic fighting.

  “Maybe I’m cold and need a body to keep me warm.”

  “You’re full of shit,” she murmured against his neck.

  His warm, musky neck.

  Her lips were gliding over his Adam’s apple before she realized what she was doing. She pulled back and tried to push up on her arms.

  He held her still. “Do that again,” he said, and there was a note of command in his voice. “Feels nice.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have done it the first time. Let me up.”

  “Just stay where you are. Get used to it. Is it so terrible, being there?”

  “Terror wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe it. I just…”

  His fingertips danced down to her waist, and lingered at the small of her back. They tickled the stretch of exposed skin between her shirt bottom and her pants’ waistband, and Sarah drew in a sharp breath. Her gut and things much lower contracted.

  No, it wasn’t that she found him abhorrent at all. It was just that she didn’t know how they could possibly sustain such a coupling. Or if he’d even want to. She didn’t do casual, and although her attitude sometimes had a tinge of misandry about it, the truth was, she tolerated men just fine. At least the ones she considered her equals—Eric, Patrick, her father, her brother. It was a short list, really.

  Given what she was, though, she wasn’t sure she was capable of the give and take required to keep any sort of real relationship from exploding upon impact.

  It’d been a long fucking time since she’d even tried.

  And Felipe? Well, he was a circus performer with no home and a lot of baggage.

  “Bésame.”

  “I don’t want to kiss you,” she lied.

  “Why not?”

  Of course he would ask that. She didn’t have a good response, so did the next best thing and turned the tables on him. “Why do you want me to kiss you?”

  He didn’t hesitate at all. “Eventually, I think, you’ll give all of yourself to me. Your lips are just the start.”

  She pushed up onto her elbows and stared at his placid expression.

  Cocky bastard.

  She didn’t know if she wanted to smack him or…

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is this uncomfortable for you?”

  She had to think about it—really, truly think. It wasn’t her proximity to him that set off her sensors. Having her body pressed against his wasn’t really that bad a position to be in. What really set off her alarm bells was the little voice in her head whispering that if she gave him an inch, she’d want to give him a mile. She would give him everything she had, and she had no idea why.

  She didn’t like that.

  “Let me up. I need to check on Eric. Maybe help with those apples, if it’ll speed things along. I’m hungry.”

  He let go of her, but didn’t budge from his reclined state. There was an intensity in his eyes she didn’t like. It told her he wasn’t done with the subject.

  She had both feet on the floor when Eric strode in whistling, pushing a portable catering table in front of him with the help of the line cook. “I’ve got all your favorites, Sarah. Whipped sweet potatoes, succotash, devilled eggs…”

  His skill in the kitchen was one of the reasons Eric had made it onto her shortlist.

  She laughed and strode to the serving table Eric unloaded plates onto.

  “Enjoy it. Once the folks upstairs start smelling it, they’ll make their way down and disturb your romantic interlude.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Go away.”

  �
�I will.” He winked and sauntered backward toward the kitchen. “But not because you told me to.” He blew a raspberry.

  She mumbled, “Ass,” while uncovering the serving dishes.

  “Runs in the family,” he called back.

  Felipe walked over, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, and eyed the spread. “Known him long?” he asked.

  “About as long as I’ve known Astrid.”

  He wrapped his fingers over the back of one of the chairs and edged it away from the table slowly, his eyes trained on the seat. “You have…history?”

  She stopped scooping succotash and made a nasty face he didn’t see. “History?”

  Now he trained his eyes at her, but it wasn’t the clear gray of his irises she paid much attention to. It was the fine, twitching of the muscles in his jaw hinges. “Do you have…a past? With him?”

  “You mean, did we date?” Any other man she would have told none of your business, but for some reason, it felt a lot like Felipe’s business.

  “Yes. Date, I guess. He is your…ex novio?”

  Did all men think that if a woman was friendly with a guy it was because he’d been in her pants before?

  She shook her head and resumed filling her plate. “No. Just a dear friend.”

  Footsteps on the staircase beyond the north wall made her speed her pace. The other guests would arrive soon. She grabbed a second plate and heaped portions onto it as Felipe seemed frozen—fixated, even. “We’re a tight-knit group.” She bobbed her head toward the pile of utensils on the table.

  Finally, he moved and selected two of each utensil.

  She grabbed tongs and plucked the biggest, juiciest chicken portions out of the tray.

  In a near-whisper, she added, “When you’ve got to keep a lot of secrets”—she used two cloth napkins to cover the heaping mounds of food—“you trust few people. You know that.”

  He nodded. “I…I do.”

  “Well, Eric wins by default because he’s Astrid’s brother. He cares about all of our sorry asses. Too nice for his own good, probably.”

  Felipe at the far end of the great room’s table seemed poised to deposit their utensils onto the top.