by Eve Langlais
“I never was good at getting approval. One of my shrinks used to say I had mommy/daddy issues.”
“Had?”
“I find I go through psychiatrists a fair bit.”
“I doubt not getting a hug as a child is why you’re groping me.”
“The groping has a purpose. It’s getting you ready for later.”
“There will be no later.”
“Yes there will.”
“I didn’t take you for a rapist.”
“It won’t be by force. You’ll beg me for it.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you’re sadly mistaken if you believe that. I don’t want you.”
He stroked a finger between her clenched thighs, touching her intimately, the fabric of her jeans no barrier. She wondered if he could smell the arousal she couldn’t help.
“You can’t lie to me.”
“You don’t know me well enough to tell if I am or not.”
“I am a shape-shifter. A bear. I know you saw me. And it didn’t frighten you.”
“Fear is a waste of emotion.”
“You also showed no surprise.”
“I’ve been living beside Garoux and his henchmen all my life. I saw things. Things that couldn’t be denied.” From cameras no one knew they had. Her grandmother hid them well.
“And you have no questions?”
“Oh, I have questions, and I’ve read books. I’ve done my research.”
“Yet your research is a garbled mash of the truth. Did you know we are created, not born?”
No she didn’t know that and stored that nugget. “So you bite to transfer the virus. Does this mean I need to turn dentist and pull all your teeth?”
He laughed. “They’d grow back. And you needn’t fear. The virus that is passed on by our saliva doesn’t affect females.”
“A chauvinistic affliction?”
“Or a curse for men. Depends on how you look at it.”
“Were you bitten by accident?”
“No, it was done quite on purpose by someone well-meaning. And see, you are more curious than you thought.”
Dammit, she was. She wasn’t lying when she said she’d sought out everything she could on shape-shifters. Yet how to reconcile fact with fiction. Here she finally had a chance to ask a true beast man.
“Do you have superpowers?”
“I can’t fly. Nor run faster than a speeding bullet. Which, believe me, I’ve tried. But I do heal fast. I am strong, even in this shape, and virile. I can show you if you’d like.”
“No sex.”
“You say that, and yet with my super nose, I can smell your desire. Your need.” He purred the words. “Say the word and I will toss you in the grass and give you something hard and long to slather that honey on.”
“Not until you put a ring on it.” Which made her think of a certain song she liked to blast that drove Babushka nuts. “Turn off that noise!”
“I thought you said you weren’t virgin.”
“I’m not, but I’m also not a whore.”
“A ring for sex? You’re awfully demanding. Perhaps I should rethink killing you. It might be simpler.”
“Perhaps you should kill me if you’re too cheap to buy a ring. I won’t marry a pauper.”
Sharp laughter barked from him. “You are ballsy.”
“Practical. And that car isn’t,” she declared as he plopped her down beside a gorgeous car, the midnight blue of a barely lit sky. “But it sure is pretty.” She stroked the smooth paint of this luxury car, left abandoned and alone in a gas station that had closed for the night.
“It’s more than just good looks. Get in.” With a chirp, the doors unlocked, and she seated herself in the plush interior.
“My grandmother would claim you overpaid for this car.”
“She’s right. I probably did.”
“Expect her to use this against you when she negotiates the bride price. If”—Anja slid him a sly look—“you don’t kill me. Then again, perhaps I shall kill you first.”
“How about we go out in a blaze of glory together?”
“More clichés?”
He smiled. It was a devastatingly handsome smile. She preferred not to think of the wet spot she might be leaving on his leather. His own fault for flashing her a thousand-watt grin without any warning.
“You’re right. Who wants to die when we can live to cause chaos?” The dimple in his cheek deepened. “And let’s not forget to eat really good food. When we return from our mission in Russia, I shall show you some of my favorite spots.”
“If we make it to Russia. You can’t just expect us to board a plane and leave.”
Actually, he did. Apparently, he knew people, who knew people who knew how to get people out of the country. It wasn’t in the cargo bay, or even something so paltry as coach. They flew first-class. The entire first class, she might add, all to themselves. Even the steward disappeared after Cole slipped him a few hundred dollars.
“Most people pay for service, not to get rid of it.”
“I’m not most people.” Reclining the seat, he lay back and closed his eyes.
She waited. Tapped her nails. Looked around and sighed, the practical woman raised by a stingy grandmother unable to bear it. “So much wasted space.”
“It is. Personally, I prefer to use a private jet and really squander my ill-gotten gains, but when nothing else is available, I have to make do with more public transport. I do find it odd that your grandmother is not joining us. I would have thought for sure she’d want to embark on a murderous adventure.”
How well he already knew her grandmother. “She is planning to meet us there.” Because her babushka had “things to organize” before she went—uttered by her grandmother with an evil chuckle. But at least she had a plan, and that was more than Anja had. All she knew as she flew over the dark Atlantic Ocean was that she had no idea what she’d do once she got to Russia. Finding Sergei was only part of the problem. If Anja got rid of him, who would come after her next? Babushka had done her best to hide her these last twenty-some years, but the very blood in her veins would always betray her.
There would always be those who sought to take her as if she were some sort of prize. Those same greedy bastards wouldn’t let a thing like a man in her life stop them from committing murder. She didn’t want to spend her life trying to protect a husband from machinations he couldn’t begin to understand.
I wouldn’t have to coddle Cole.
The man knew how to protect himself. He wasn’t just a killer. He also harbored a wild side, a primal beast that left him completely unbothered by the violence that had erupted at her home. He seemed not the least bit concerned he now flew with her on a plane to Russia to confront a man with enough money to not only track down her whereabouts but also to keep sending mercenary after mercenary in a bid to capture her.
“I can hear you thinking. It’s a waste of time.”
“Says the man with the small brain because of his boulderlike skull.”
“Says the man who will take care of this. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Such a chauvinist thing to say. Everything he did and said was meant to put her in her place. He treated her like a fragile woman. He wanted to protect her. It annoyed mostly because it was so arousing.
She wanted this man. Wanted him with a need she’d never known. It frightened her because she kept having to restrain herself from touching him the way she wanted to.
And why am I restraining myself?
But since when did Anja fear taking what she wanted?
Disposing of the armrest between their wide seats, she straddled Cole and grabbed hold of his button-up shirt, which he’d pulled from the trunk of his car, along with a suitcase of his clothes. As for her, he’d refused to return to her house and, instead, cobbled together a valise for her at the airport from the various duty-free shops. That overpriced suitcase in the plane’s hold contained a wardrobe she could use once they landed—if
she were a whore.
“I am not a submissive slave you can order around.” She leaned close, her lips less than an inch from his.
He peered back at her with calm brown eyes. “I can and will order you when I choose. Especially once you are my wife.”
The firm statement brought a shiver that she tried to hide. “You keep claiming you will marry me.”
“It will happen.”
“If you try to force me, then be warned. I won’t be a wife for long. Black looks good on me.” She smiled. “And, as your spouse, don’t I inherit everything?”
Laughter rumbled from him. “I love how your mind works. We make a fine pair.”
Indeed they did. A shame it would never work. But that didn’t stop her from kissing him.
CHAPTER 7
The press of Anja’s lips against his ignited the fire that simmered in his blood. Something so simple as an embrace shouldn’t consume Cole with need. Then again, nothing he’d experienced since meeting Anja was going as it should.
He shouldn’t want to rip the clothes from her body and ravish her lush frame.
He shouldn’t want to tear the eyes out of every man who set his gaze on her.
He shouldn’t be on a plane to fucking Russia about to kill—for free, he might add—the bastard who thought to wed his lady.
Cole shouldn’t do a lot of things. It didn’t stop him. A sinner took what he could greedily have. And he would have her.
Here. Now. In this fucking first-class seat.
His hands spanned her waist as he opened his mouth to allow her tongue to plunder. Let her think she controlled him for the moment. Her aggression intrigued.
He ground his hips upward, pressing himself against her, the scent of her a sweet halo around him, drugging his senses, driving his need.
She’s mine. All mine. I must have her.
Mark her.
Claim her.
He would show the world to whom she belonged.
Sliding his hands past the waistband of her jeans allowed him to cup the full globes of her ass, the worn denim only a thin barrier. She sighed into his mouth as he palpated the flesh. The fact that she straddled him, while a nice thought, did not prove ideal since she did it clothed.
“Sit,” he ordered, setting her into the seat beside him. He tried to wedge himself in front of her. The wide legroom of first class wasn’t quite enough for him to position himself as he wanted. He growled and pulled at the bolted seats.
The brat laughed. “Oh, Cole. I think I have a solution.”
Indeed, Anja did. She reclined her seat back as far as it would go and then perched at the head of it, legs splayed but still wearing her pants.
The cowboy boot, perched on his shoulder, was a nice touch. She still thought to order him around.
And he was obeying but only because it served his purpose. He stripped those sexy boots off her, determined that when they did get a bed, he’d have her wear them … and nothing else.
Her jeans went next. It took but a moment for him to strip them from her, baring those long legs with the fine golden hairs at the juncture of her thighs. With her lips curled in a coy smile, she parted her legs.
Pink perfection, glistening with a hint of honey. He almost drooled like the basest of animals.
She shut the doors to heaven. “We shouldn’t.”
“Oh, we definitely should.”
“Aren’t you worried someone will interrupt?”
“Only if they want to die. And if that happens, then we’ll come up with a story for the corpse. Right now I need you to spread those legs for me.”
“Need?”
More than she could imagine. He couldn’t help himself. All that sweetness. All that temptation.
The fingers that gripped her knees parted them. He buried himself between her thighs. He licked, his prehensile tongue—a super bear trait—finally getting a chance to show off. It truly had a mind of its own, and that mind was bent on giving her pleasure.
To his surprise, she wasn’t a noisy partner. She didn’t moan much or cry out. But he knew she derived great pleasure. He had only to feel the sharp tug at the hair on his scalp as she pulled. He could taste the sweetness of her on his tongue, feel the quiver of her flesh at his caresses.
The scent of her surrounded him, a decadent ambrosia made to light all his senses. She brought him to life, made him feel alive, so alive, and focused, only on her. Only on this moment.
It was the ultimate decadence, a letting go of who he usually was. Usually relaxing too much could lead to his death. In this moment, he didn’t care. He was already in heaven.
His arms tucked under her thighs anchoring her. His tongue lapped at her honey core, licked and sucked, teased that nub until her breathing stopped.
When she came, she didn’t scream, but she did let go of his head with one hand, using it to claw the seat, even as the clench of her other hand tightened its grip on his hair. Her body arched, the taut lines of her skin absolute perfection. So gorgeous, even if her shirt still covered her upper half. The hidden parts of her body added a certain taboo nature to their hasty coupling.
Then again, anything in that moment would have seemed damned sexy, given his cock throbbed and strained, aching behind its prison of fabric.
He stood and unbuckled his slacks, only to be left standing holding his dick quite literally.
“Thanks,” Anja exclaimed as she bounded off the chair and snared her pants. In mere seconds she was shimmying into them. “That was just the kind of tension relief I needed to sleep.”
“What about me?” It might have emerged a little more plaintively than he liked.
“What about you?” She blinked those big blue eyes with their fine lashes set in a porcelain face, her Russian heritage clear in her facial features and fine blond hair. She pretended innocence, which served only to heighten her wickedness as she said, “Not until you put a ring on it.”
CHAPTER 8
There was a word for what Anja did to Cole.
Smart. Having a touch of selfishness, Anja didn’t mind letting him taste the honey, but as for the milking … let him work a little harder for it. It might give her time to figure out the strange turmoil he caused in her heart.
Like seriously, what was the matter with her? Why did she find herself so ridiculously attracted to Cole?
The man was a criminal with deadly tendencies, absolutely no remorse, a true badass killer.
Sigh.
Hot didn’t come close to describing it. Still, it wasn’t just lust for his fine body that drove her to distraction. Cole fascinated her every time he opened his mouth. The man never said the expected. Never behaved as he should.
He was no gentleman, and yet she felt wickedly feminine around him. Her grandmother would probably snort, right after she smacked some sense into Anja and told her to smarten the fuck up in a rapid stream of Russian.
I’ll take the slap. Because Anja wasn’t sure she wanted to stop feeling this way. There was something delicious about how Cole treated her like a woman. Not a potential brood mare or a workhorse, but an alluring woman.
But did she dare give in? Did she dare give him a chance? She regarded his profile, his chin a defined square in spite of his short beard. His nose proved jagged, every inch masculine and uncompromising, just like the rest of him.
Hard as a rock and yet I want him.
He, on the other hand, slept. No sudden epiphanies about how he couldn’t live without Anja plaguing him. He slept, head leaning back on the seat, lips slightly parted, hands folded on his chest. It made her want to lick a finger and jab it in his ear.
“You can tell a lot about a man by the pitch of his scream when startled,” her grandmother often said.
Would he let out a high shriek? A startled and rumbling bellow? Was he worthy of the test?
How unfair he slept while she pondered her future. She glared at him. He didn’t fidget in the least. It occurred to her she behaved like a girl, a weak and whiny pinin
g-over-a-man girl.
No more. She turned away from him and extended on her reclined seat—not the same one they’d played in; that one would need some help before it was usable again.
She curled on her side and wrapped the provided blanket around her shoulders. Let him wake and find her ignoring him. Because she didn’t need him.
Who cared what he claimed? Who cared if her babushka approved of him?
He’s not the man for me.
As she slumbered on that long flight—nine hours in a small space with a big man—she tried not to think of Cole, which led to dreams full of him.
Cole kissing her, their lips meshed and his arms wrapped around her tight.
Pressing against her, the hard length of his shaft a sensory delight.
Fucking her, his hips thrusting as he lay poised above her on those brawny arms, his strokes deep and hard.
She awoke with a gasp, her body trembling, her pulse rapid. And the heat … good grief, the heat. It coiled low in her body, her arousal a taut beast ready to spring.
A quick glance showed he still slept, his body completely still. Too still.
Did he feign sleep? She could only hope because, if he awakened, could she resist the temptation he posed, especially now, with her body still afire?
She couldn’t help but wonder why he had such a strong effect. Anja wasn’t usually overcome by emotion for pretty boys or even handsomer men. Needs were needs. She thought by letting him take care of those carnal needs she could set him out of her mind.
Instead, his touch—oh gods, his touch—served only to make it worse. Now she knew how good it could feel. Now her still throbbing body wanted more.
More.
More!
Yet, she couldn’t ask. To ask would show need. It would put him in a position of power. Over her.
No. It’s too soon. She wasn’t ready for that. She snuggled deep into the blanket, not daring to peek at him, lest she give in to the temptation. She tried to sleep some more. There was nothing else to do during that long flight over the Atlantic. Sleep. Eat. Then sleep some more. The few times she sat upright, they didn’t talk much. He seemed caught in his own world, one that didn’t involve her.