Blazing Bedtime Stories

by Kimberly Raye, Leslie Kelly

  Or so he’d thought.

  But then he’d opened the local paper the next morning to discover that someone with a camera had been burning the midnight oil. Matt had made the front page, along with the caption Wolfman? Pervert? Or is Halloween Starting Early This Year?

  He was sure most people would vote for the pervert or Halloween possibilities. Nobody in their right mind would suspect the real truth—that he was a normal, sane, self-respecting werewolf who’d had his world rocked by a vampire bite. They would think the new guy in town was playing some sort of practical joke. At least for a little while. Long enough for him to come up with a plausible explanation, something like “he was president of the National Society of Transvestite Streakers” or “he’d ordered a super-charged hair growth shampoo off the QVC.”

  Until then, it was a matter of getting his damned body back under control.

  Anxiety rushed through him and he was just about to go for another ice dunk when he heard a car engine and caught the faint scent of exhaust. He moved at the speed of light, pulling on a pair of jeans and hauling open the front door.

  But there was nothing there. No car coming up his drive. No townspeople coming to lynch him. Nothing but the quarter moon suspended in a star-studded sky. A cluster of surrounding trees. And the sounds.

  The buzz of crickets. The flutter of an owl’s wings. The faint scrape of deer antlers on a distant tree. The rustle of a raccoon as it dug through the trash.

  In the nearest trash can, which was a full mile up the road.

  His senses, already unusually heightened because of his DNA, were jacked up even more. He sniffed and the sweet smell of warm peach pie spiraled through his head. His stomach grumbled and he drank in another deep breath. And another.

  Tires squealed and gravel crunched and he knew someone was coming. He moved toward the trees and faded into the surrounding forest as lights flashed and a car pulled into view.

  His view, that is. He saw the sprinkle of lights through the trees and heard the sounds even though the car was still a good distance away. A full minute ticked by and the sounds magnified, along with the glimmer of lights, the scent of peach pie and the smell of something else.

  Something much more rich and potent.

  Something infinitely female.

  He sniffed, drinking in the scent as a faded BMW came to a rolling stop in front of the cabin. The lights dimmed. The door creaked and pushed open and out stepped his fantasy woman.

  It was her, all right. Same long, thick hair and voluptuous breasts barely contained beneath a white T-shirt that read Booty Call.

  He blinked. Wait a second. Make that Beauty Call.

  He shifted his stance. His erection strained against the denim and his gut ached. The warm scent of peach pie grew stronger. His nostrils flared and his mouth watered. It was all he could do to keep his distance. He’d spent a lot of time fantasizing about her, since he’d first spotted her, in fact.

  Not because he felt drawn to her on an emotional level, as his father had predicted. She was human and, therefore, out of the running for mate-of-the-year.

  It was purely physical.

  He’d been celibate for the past year since vowing to find his mate and she was sexier than hell. And so it had simply been lust at first sight.

  He held his ground as the crunch of grass echoed in his head. She was heading for his front porch, her curvaceous ass outlined by a snug pair of jeans. Her bottom swayed slightly as she walked, an enticing motion that made him swallow. Hard.

  A faint clink and a softly muttered “darn it” pushed past the frantic pounding of his heart as she dropped her keys. A strong, sharp aroma joined the warm, sweet smell of peaches.

  She was nervous. Scared, even.

  Desperate.

  That truth became evident as she retrieved her keys, pulled back her shoulders and mounted the porch steps even though it was obvious she didn’t want to be there. Still, she balled her fist and knocked on the door. Once. Twice. A third time.

  Finally, she turned, her gaze scanning the trees that surrounded the clearing. She stopped when she reached him, as if she could see through the darkness to the place where he stood watching her.

  She couldn’t. He knew that. Yet, as he stared at her, into her aqua colored eyes, he felt as if she saw him as clearly, as distinctly as he saw her.

  What the hell?

  The question echoed in his head along with her stats. Her name was Shay Briggs and she needed his help. He wasn’t sure how he knew, he just did. She ran the local spa specializing in facials and innovative beauty treatments. She was a once-upon-a-time pageant winner who’d recently been humiliated by her asshole of a boyfriend. She was still hurt, but she’d channeled the pain into something productive. Anger. Determination. Which was why she’d made the drive from town.

  She’d seen the front page news like everyone else. But instead of writing him off as a practical joker or, worse, a lunatic, she’d taken the picture seriously. She’d bought into the sudden hair growth and now she wanted his help.

  She turned back to the door, killing the endless string of information he’d picked up from her gaze.

  He closed his eyes and tried to digest this newest revelation. He’d read her thoughts. He’d read her friggin’ thoughts.

  Sure, he’d always been able to sense things. He was a werewolf, for Christ’s sake. He could smell fear. Taste despair. Pick up on the tiniest rush of excitement.

  When he’d spotted her in town, he’d sensed her longing right away. He’d seen the glimmer of excitement in her gaze when she’d looked at him. Felt the push-pull when she’d forced herself to turn away because she obviously hadn’t wanted to be attracted to him anymore than he’d wanted to be attracted to her. He’d even smelled her disappointment, as potent as his own, as she’d climbed into her car and driven away.

  But those were emotions, not thoughts. He’d never been able to read anyone’s mind.

  Before he could dwell on the notion, Shay knocked on his door again. Her ass swayed ever so slightly, drawing his full and undivided attention.

  An image popped into his head. The two of them on the front porch. His hands on her bottom and her legs up around his waist. His cock plunging fast and sure and deep into her hot, voluptuous body.

  His groin throbbed mercilessly and he knew then that no amount of cold showers or hand-jobs would get him out of this stiff fix. He needed a real woman for that.

  The woman standing on his front porch.

  The thought struck and another visual rushed at him—the two of them on the king-sized bed inside. Her legs spread and his hips pumping between them. Her arms around his neck and his mouth on her breast. Her nipple straining against his tongue and her body arching into him. His fangs sinking deep and her blood rushing into his mouth—

  Wait a second.

  Wait just a friggin’ second.

  Blood?

  He was a werewolf. He howled at the full moon, ordered his steaks rare and, once upon a time, he’d had wild, primitive sex with whichever hottie had vied for his attention. But he’d never sank his teeth into any of them. Sure, the smell of blood turned him on and stirred his baser instincts, but he’d never drank the stuff.

  The world seemed to fall away in those next few seconds. The normal night sounds faded and his super-charged vision narrowed until the only thing he became aware of was the female standing on his porch.

  An awareness that went deeper than her lush body.

  The beat of her heart thundered through his head. His gaze fixated on the thrum of her pulse at the base of her neck. The scent of her blood—so warm and ripe and musky—teased his nostrils. A shudder ripped through him.

  What the hell was happening to him?

  Even as the question struck, he knew.

  The vampire bite.

  That’s why he was so hard, so lusty, so hungry—for sex and more.

  Luckily, they were cravings he could easily satisfy. She was right there, filling up his
vision, consuming his senses. And she needed him. Just as much as he needed her.

  3

  “MATT?” SHAY CALLED OUT as she rapped on the door again. “Matt Keller? Are you in there?”

  “Actually—” the deep seductive voice slid into her ears and brought her whirling around “—I’m out here.”

  “Geez, you scared the pants off me.” She drew in a deep, calming breath and tried to steady the sudden pounding of her heart.

  A useless effort, she quickly realized, as her gaze drank in the man standing behind her.

  He had bright green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, strong cheekbones and a scar that zig-zagged its way across his left temple. Stubble shadowed his prominent jaw and surrounded his sensuous mouth. A corded, muscular neck led to a pair of broad shoulders. An intricate slave band tattoo encircled one massive biceps, making him seem even more primitive. Dark, silky hair sprinkled his muscular chest from one flat brown nipple to the next before funneling to a narrow line that bisected his six-pack abs. The top button of his jeans hung undone, the faded denim cupping his crotch and hugging his sinewy thighs. A frayed hem brushed the tops of his long, bare feet.

  “Liar, liar,” he murmured, his deep voice drawing her attention back to his face. His green eyes glittered hot and bright and her hormones snapped to immediate attention.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your pants, sugar. They’re still present and accounted for.” His mouth crooked into a grin. “A real shame.”

  Her nipples tingled and awareness zipped up and down her spine. “What are you doing out here?” she blurted, eager to ignore the sexual energy that radiated from his hot, hunky body.

  “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?”

  “My name is Shay Briggs. I own Skin Deep. It’s a full-service salon specializing in facials and full body beauty treatments. I, um—” she licked her bottom lip and tried to ignore the way his mouth seemed to follow the motion “—saw the paper and I was hoping that you might help me out.” Her gaze touched on his short, dark hair and her small balloon of hope went popppp! “I should have known it was a bogus picture. You were wearing a wig, weren’t you?”

  Indecision flashed in his gaze a split-second before it faded into pure, sparkling green. “No wig.”

  “It had to be.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because your hair is short now.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I cut it.”

  “It was short on the day of the picture. There’s no way you could have grown ten inches in less than ten hours.”

  “Trust me, sugar. I can grow ten inches in less than ten seconds.” The sexy crook of his mouth sent tiny butterflies dancing in her stomach.

  “I’m talking about hair.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?” His grin widened and her thighs trembled. She’d wanted men before, but her reaction had never been this fast or this fierce.

  Because he’s different.

  The moment the thought landed in her head, she drop-kicked it back out. Matt Keller was every man she’d ever fallen for in the past—tall, dark, dangerously good-looking and with one thing on his mind.

  She stiffened and gathered her control. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” She went to move past him. “I’ll just get out of here—”

  “It was real.”

  She whirled. “What?”

  Yeah what? The thought echoed through Matt’s head as the words tumbled from his lips. “My hair. It was the real deal. One minute it was short and the next thing I knew, it was long.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  Because I’m a werewolf. The truth was there, so close to the surface that it surprised him. He’d never before had the urge to tell his secret. And he’d certainly never had the urge to confess to a stranger.

  “And just like that, you’ll know.”

  His father’s voice echoed in his head, but he ignored it. His old man had been talking about a female werewolf, not a human.

  The trembling in his hands, the tightening in his chest, the excitement zipping up and down his spine…It was nothing but pure lust.

  All the more reason for him to give her a load of BS and get rid of her.

  That’s what he meant to do. But with her eyes so wide, so desperate and imploring, he couldn’t quite bring himself to lie. “It happens every once in a while,” he heard himself say. “Usually without warning.”

  “Really?” Excitement fueled her expression as he nodded and a strange warmth shot through him. “Maybe it’s something you’re eating. Or drinking.” She seemed to think. “Maybe it’s the shampoo or conditioner that you’re using. Or maybe a combination of everything. I’m sure we can figure it out—”

  “And this matters to you because?” he cut in.

  “Are you kidding me? Figuring this out would be my dream come true. I could feature it in my column first, then offer exclusives at my salon.”

  “The newspaper?” When she nodded, he added, “I knew I’d seen your name somewhere before.” He stared deep into her eyes and an image flashed. Shay, her hands full of spaghetti and meatballs, and a lowly sonofabitch trying to dodge a pretty impressive right arm. “Wait a second. Are you—”

  “—the one featured on kissmyasscupid.com? Unfortunately. Trust me, he had it coming.” A strange glimmer lit her eyes for a split-second. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that Shay Briggs wanted to cry.

  She wouldn’t. He saw that as clearly as he saw her determination fire to life. She wasn’t going to let some low-life player ruin her life. She was taking back her power and doing something.

  A rush of admiration went through him and his damned dick throbbed even harder. “I don’t know about the Internet, but I’ve seen you before. Outside of the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “That was you?” She tried to play it cool, but he knew she remembered. He could see it in the sudden darkening of her eyes, realizing then that she’d been fantasizing about him, too. “No wonder you look familiar. So what about it?” She pulled back her shoulders and tried to shift the conversation back to the matter at hand. “You up for a little business arrangement?”

  Boy, was he ever. His groin gave an answering throb and he stiffened. “That depends.”

  She’d been fantasizing about him.

  The realization made him want to touch her that much more.

  “I’m willing to give you full credit and compensation,” she added. Her gaze met his and determination sparked in the translucent aqua depths. “Five percent of every treatment I do.”

  But Matt Keller had something different in mind.

  Something much more intimate.

  Not that he was going to suggest such a thing. Hell, no. He didn’t proposition women for sex. He’d never had to. Even more, he didn’t want to. He’d given up gratuitous sex when he’d vowed to find his mate. No. “I really like my privacy,” he heard himself say instead. “That’s why I moved out here.”

  “Ten percent.”

  “You write the beauty column in the local paper, right?” he asked, desperate to distract himself from the idea taking shape in his head.

  “That’s just a hobby. My business is my bread and butter. Fifteen percent,” she added. When he shook his head, she added, “Look, I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want.”

  He didn’t usually proposition women for sex. At the same time, this wasn’t the usual situation. He was in a bad way. And it wasn’t as if he was taking advantage of her. He fully intended to share a few secrets with her in return for a little relief. Not the secret—that he was a bonafide, howl-at-the-moon werewolf—but he had several others he’d picked up over the years, particularly in high school.

  Puberty for a male werewolf had been tough and uncontrollable. From the random sprouting of hair to the sudden appearance of his fangs, he’d endured it all before he’d come of age and managed to get his inner beast under control. Thanks to the Internet, he’d come up with several explanations to
keep his true identity a secret.

  Like the time he’d explained a sudden patch of hair on his right forearm by telling the school nurse he’d spilled a bottle of castor oil—the stuff had long been a home remedy for baldness. Or the time he’d convinced his gym teacher that a square of hair in the middle of his back was the result of his mom using lavender oil in the laundry to get the smell out of his gym shirt.

  If she wanted hair-growth secrets, he knew at least a dozen different home remedies that he could share with her.

  And what about your promise? No sex until you find The One?

  At the rate he was going, he would die from sexual deprivation long before he found his mate. No, he needed to blow off some steam, to ease the hard-on wreaking havoc on his judgment.

  That was the only reason he’d felt the instantaneous attraction to Shay Briggs when he’d first spotted her in town. The only reason he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since. It was lust, pure and simple. Once he burned off a little of that, he would stop thinking about her. Fantasizing. Wanting.

  He focused on her sparkling eyes and her full, kissable mouth, and the heat spiking in his groin. “I want you,” he murmured, and then he kissed her.

  HE HAD STRONG LIPS.

  That was the first thought that rushed through Shay’s head when Matt Keller pressed his mouth against hers. The second? No way in heaven, hell or the in-between, was she going to kiss him back.

  Even if he did sweep his tongue across her bottom lip, back and forth, in a mesmerizing stroke that turned her knees to jelly. She fought the urge to slide her arms around his neck and tried not to think about how good he tasted. Like mint toothpaste and pure, raw sensuality.

  His fingers dove beneath her hair and his hand cupped the base of her skull. He tilted her head just so and deepened the kiss. He held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world and she had the insane thought that despite his bad boy persona, Matt Keller was interested in more than sex. That, maybe, he wanted to hold her as much as he wanted to plunge deep inside her.