by Diana Seere
“Sex isn’t enough.” Ignoring her toes, she gave him a pointed stare. “Not for me. I’ll never settle, Lars. Not for you, not for any man.”
“I’m extremely glad to hear it,” he said, still grinning.
Why was he… happy? He was supposed to turn and run away. Didn’t he realize what she was telling him? She wasn’t going to have sex with him because she wanted more. She wanted everything. Everything she couldn’t have.
Her heart began pounding harder.
This was all wrong. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. A small voice whispered in her ear, he’s the man you’d hoped he was, but she told that voice to shut up.
“I’m so glad we’ve cleared that up,” Lars said, signaling to the waiter for the check.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hoping the powerful urges that made her wet were driving him mad as well. She quickly poked a piece of feta on her plate and popped it into her mouth to stave off starvation, then swallowed the rest of her wine hurriedly.
“I need to prove to you that this isn’t just about sex.” He threw a pile of money on the table and reached for her hand. Matching his step, she found herself practically dragged out of the restaurant. Turning to the left, he pulled her into a dark cove covered with a pergola, the latticework ceiling woven with grapevines and warm lights.
“How do you plan to do that?” she asked, breathing hard against his chest, unable to look up.
With whipcord strength, he seized her, the heat of his body, the pulse of his blood pounding into her as he nipped her earlobe, making her dizzy.
“With sex, of course.”
“Here?” she gasped, the thrill of her words making him tremor slightly, as if all his need pooled at the end of each cell, trying to break through his skin. Each time he kissed her, Lars tasted wine, then a sweet, tangy flavor that reminded him of pussy.
Speaking of which, Lars bent at the knees, his mouth brushing against her pert nipple, his hand finding the top of her thigh, moving up to the wetness he knew would greet his fingertips. She moaned, low and deep, as his fingertip found her clit, the ripe pearl begging for his featherlight strokes.
“I thought,” she choked out, “this wasn’t just about sex.” The final word came out like a murmur, a hoarse shout that told him she was close to climax. Reading her body, watching her respond to him in the dimly lit corner of the old brownstone where the restaurant resided, the sounds of traffic and the city behind them, made him want her more.
“It isn’t,” he said, hushed words in her ear as he slipped two fingers in her sweet warmth, his thumb grazing her clit as he moved his fingers inside her, Kara clutching his lapel in one shaking hand.
“Then what are you doing?” She closed her eyes, her legs beginning to quake, teeth trapping her bottom lip as she bit down, beginning to rock gently against his hand, seeking pleasure.
“Making sure that the part that is about sex is very much still there.”
And with that, he took her mouth, knowing the orgasm would rock her as his tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, her moans gaining with the rhythm he set for her, the sound muted by his mouth against hers. Lars needed to capture all her energy, every drop of lust, each wave of ecstasy he made for her like reaching back in time to pull memory into the present.
The palpable now.
Kara tensed, trapping his hand between thighs of steel as she reached for his shoulder and bit him hard, her teeth nearly breaking through the wool of his jacket, her hips arching up to meet his hand. His cock strained against his trousers, the swollen pulse in his pants driving him into a madness as Kara released herself, the scent all pervading.
A beat began to align, his cock, heart, gut and soul all pulsing in a low, resonant tone. As he kissed her, he felt her heartbeat match his, the powerful pull of her blood rushing to meet him.
Not a beat.
The Beat.
He had to be in her, public be damned.
“Oh my God, Lars.” She groaned as she shuddered against him, pressing harder, seeking more. Her eagerness sustained him.
What she did next emboldened him.
Kara unfastened his belt buckle, unzipping him, her hand sliding along the hard lines of his shaft.
He tipped into the frenzied wild, her leg up and around his hip, her thin panties torn off and flung into a small rosemary bush nearby as he plunged into her, the press of his forehead against hers, their mingled breath the only air he could breathe.
“Kara, you feel like home,” he whispered, driving hard into her, all pretense long gone, his body hammering into her as she kissed him, openmouthed and making sounds that urged him on.
“More,” she cried out in a hoarse voice. “Deeper. Come into me. Come in, come in, come in,” she implored him, her hands everywhere, the shawl slipping from her shoulders to the ground beneath them as the heel of her shoe scratched against his leg, his climax rushing to the very tip of his soul.
The desperation pushed him further at the same time it shocked him. She shared it, matching him move for move, sigh for sigh, groan for groan as he spilled himself in her, Kara’s core tightening from pelvis to neck, a remarkable show of strength and beauty that pulled his cock in like a lifeline. She rescued him in those seconds, buoyant and free, tethered and saved.
In return, she stifled screams against his shoulder, the bite finally breaking skin, the ferocity of her violent coming like an ancient ritual Lars didn’t know existed, but one that made so much sense once revealed.
A deep truth.
A divine revelation.
A vibration that resonated through every cell, marking them as mates.
“I couldn’t wait. Can’t wait,” he panted, the sound of his own breath a gritty noise, half groan and half sigh, the exertion of sex barely scratching the surface of how much of her body and soul he needed to possess. Lars’ blood beat fast and slow, hot and cold, his entire physical state in disarray as she scattered him to the four corners of the universe at the same time that her tantalizing juices encased him in the finest, sexiest honey he ever wanted to taste.
He smelled her emotions, the pinpointing of the exact second when she moved from animal mind, out of sensation and into thought as her confusion and worry tinged her scent.
“You’re more than I remembered, Kara,” he said, reluctantly pulling out of her, reaching into his breast pocket to hand her a monogrammed handkerchief. She took it, staring uncomprehendingly, her cheeks bright pink, a slight glow of exertion dampening her hair along the edge of her face.
Discreetly he tucked himself back in, need rising up already. Insatiable, he suddenly existed only to touch her. To be with her.
But not here. His apartment was a far more civilized location for carnal pleasure.
“Nightcap? My place?” he asked, pulling her skirt down, caressing her smooth legs as she righted herself, giving him a look of unfettered desire. The question wasn’t really about giving her a choice.
And she knew it.
“If this isn’t just about sex, Lars, you have a funny way of showing it.”
“Give me the night, and I’ll show you everything you want.”
She looked him up and down, clearly liking what she saw, her eyes going troubled at the pierced cloth of his shoulder where she’d bit him. Kara tapped her lips with her fingers as if chiding them.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured.
He put one arm around her waist, guiding her to his waiting limo.
“Afraid of what I’ll show you?”
Her tongue peeked out between bruised, raw lips.
“Afraid you really will show me everything I want.”
“What does that mean?”
The half smile she gave him made a spark of electricity fly from his tailbone to the tip of his head. “Never mind. That nightcap sounds fabulous.”
And with that, they were off to his apartment.
Where everything would be on the table.
Chapter 7
“Excuse me, darling.” He leaned away from her and reached into his pocket for his phone, which she belatedly realized had been chiming for some time. He stared at the screen for a moment, hesitating before he answered. “This is Lars.”
She looked down at their intertwined hands and smiled. She could hear his heartbeat. His blended with hers, two notes in harmony: Lars, Kara, Lars, Kara.
They could be One. She wouldn’t have believed they could have this together if she hadn’t begun hearing the Beat at the moment of climax—and yeah, she knew that sounded like wishful thinking, but she’d never, ever felt anything like that before, even with him on That Night.
Lars. He was her One. Joy spiked through her like a drug. They had a child together, and she had to tell him as soon as possible. Tonight. If the legend was true…
It was true. It was. The truth was pounding so loudly in her ears she was deaf to the rest of the world.
Her mother hadn’t been much of a parent, but she’d taught her a lot about the old ways. After her mother’s trip to Europe with her father, she’d become obsessed with learning as much as she could, and everything she knew, legend or fiction or truth, she’d shared later with Kara. Kara’s favorite of all the legends was that of the One. She’d always been a romantic and hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop herself from dreaming about a man born for her just as she was born for him, that the sound of their own hearts beating together—the Beat—would guide them to each other.
It was a dream she’d abandoned a long time ago when she’d given up on foolish dreams for herself to focus on realistic happiness for her child.
But now she was hearing the Beat. With Lars, Jamie’s father. Whatever obstacles stood between them were irrelevant if they were born for each other. She had to see if she was right, tell him everything and trust her heart.
Trust the Beat.
“She what?” Lars asked. His voice had turned sharp, cold, dangerous.
His voice terrified her almost as much as the look in his eyes. He stared at her with such hate, such wounded betrayal, it could only mean one thing.
Her hands began to tremble. No, it was too soon. She had to be the one to tell him. If he heard it from somebody else, he’d never believe that she would’ve told her himself, that she was falling, had fallen—
“Tell me everything,” he said, but not to her. Still listening to the voice on the phone. “Nevada, you say?”
No, he needed to hear it from her. Everything from her. Jamie had been born in Nevada, came a week early, the local emergency room at the hospital where she gave birth, terrified and alone. If Lars was talking about Nevada, then—
She reached out and splayed her fingers over his heart. “Lars, I need to tell you something.”
He pushed her hand aside and held up a finger between them, eyes blazing. A chill washed over her.
Nobody’s heart seemed to be beating anymore.
“Repeat the date of birth,” he spat out.
“Let me explain,” she said, but in growing despair, she realized it was too late. The bond that had formed between them over the past few hours had opened up his soul to her, making the hatred washing over him now as clear to her as if it were her own.
He would never forgive her for this. She’d never forgive herself.
Oh God. They knew about Jamie. Maybe whoever was on the phone was there right now with Jamie, with Nana, scaring them, taking them away.
All thoughts of the Beat and idiotic pink-princess dreams of her tiger prince rescuing her vanished in a heartbeat. A single heartbeat: her own. As it should be. As it had always been.
“Take me home,” she said, using the bitchy, tough voice she reserved for drunk men with wandering hands. “Now.” She couldn’t afford to wallow in self-loathing right now. All she could think of was how she had to get home to her baby.
“A child?” he choked out. As their eyes locked, she saw the kind of raw, ferocious pain she’d feared. The kind of pain she’d felt at the idea of losing Jamie.
And she had inflicted it on Lars.
As quickly as his wounded, aching look had taken over his face, he tamped it down, the change in expression extraordinary.
His gaze drifted over her with contempt as he shoved his phone into his pocket. “You certainly played me like a master.” One golden eyebrow arched. “Or should I say, ‘pro’? When were you going to start attempting to extract payment for the little brat?”
What did he call Jamie? His own son? What kind of monster… “I tried to avoid you,” she said. “You pursued me. You insisted.”
“You certainly wanted me to feel like it was all my idea,” he said. He winced. “A child. Congratulations. I fell for it. Every blush, every sigh, every giggle. Like a damn fool.”
“I don’t giggle.”
“Not when you’re yourself, I don’t imagine, only when you’re pretending to be a poor little waitress. Tell me, Kara, are you hoping tonight is as profitable for you as our first evening together?”
The man she’d thought he was—the man she’d fooled herself into believing was her One, God how embarrassing—was really an entitled, arrogant buttwipe. She hated him. Claws hardened under her fingertips, straining to break through her soft human skin and tear his face off.
“Take. Me. Home.” Her voice rumbled with her emerging tiger’s growl.
“Home,” he scoffed. “Right. You really had me there. As if a woman like you would be living in a slum like that. To think…” He made a disgusted sound and turned away from her.
“It’s not a slum. Rich assholes like you think everything except the Ritz is a slum.”
“Oh, come on. Where do you really live? Who are you really?” His voice went deep with emotion, the sound like a long, slow scratch on the surface of her heart. “What kind of woman does this?” Just as fast as he showed his real feelings, his face closed up, twisting with a sneer.
Giving up on the spoiled weretiger, she crawled over to the driver’s window and knocked on the opaque plexiglass. “Driver, take me home or let me out at the corner,” she shouted.
The driver’s voice came over the speaker. “Sir?”
Lars scoffed again. He pressed a button. “Drive to the lady’s humble abode, as she insists.”
“Asswipe,” she muttered.
“Angel,” he mocked sweetly. “I can’t believe I fell for it. You’re probably going to tell me now that the kid’s actually mine. You think I’m going to beg you to let me see him? Were you hoping I’d be so eager to be a dad that I’d write you a big check and take him off your hands?” Those eyes, though. His words were weapons, but she knew she’d hurt him deeply. How could she feel so much at the same time? Too many contradictory feelings fought for dominance inside her.
“No,” she spat out. Her teeth were getting too sharp to speak. She hadn’t been this upset in a long, long time. If the driver didn’t hurry, she was going to tear out of the limo as a full-formed tiger.
“Be quiet,” he said dismissively. “I don’t want to hear another word. If you’re playing me, you need to be shut down.” He frowned. “And if you really did bear my child, then you…” The sigh he let out filled her with a fierce shame and a defensive independence that turned into a low roar in her throat.
She dug her claws—they were out now, curling and sharp—into the leather seat, and focused all her energy on stopping the rest of the shift. The dress was straining at the zipper, but she was able to maintain her womanly shape except for the claws. And the teeth.
He didn’t want to hear another word? He didn’t want to be a father? He thought she was a whore?
Good. Then he’d never want to see her again.
She was free of him. She would raise Jamie to be a better man.
The struggle to contain her form and her rag
e made the ride to her apartment a slow agony, but eventually they pulled up outside her building and the driver got out, walked back, and opened her door.
Lars looked as if he was struggling for control himself. His blue eyes had turned golden—from sky to sun. And they burned just as hot.
If he didn’t want to be a father, they would never see each other again.
Good.
“He’s not yours,” she said, her voice not entirely human. With a sneer, she turned to the door. “He’s much too good to be yours.”
And then, discarding the fight against her own nature, she leapt out of the car, landing gracefully on the sidewalk on all four of her sleek, ginger paws.
Fuck her.
Lars felt the change creep over him, no surprise as emotions surged through him like a solar flare, too much to contain in any mere human body. As Kara had begun her own shift, the contagion struck him to the core, fueled by betrayal, fury, and pure disgust.
She had a child. A two-year-old. A little boy she had hidden from him. The birth date was so close. Too close. The child could be his.
His.
With her juices still coating his fingers, their mingled sex scent radiating from his cock, he felt the world shimmer, melting and surreal. A baby. A boy. She had a child.
What else had she lied about?
The flash of hurt as his associate had blurted out the news made him want to hurt her, pierce her heart, shatter her world into a million shards of gasping incredulity to match how he felt.
All that beauty, all that haunting memory converged in these hours together, a blend of past and present that guaranteed a blissful future. He’d set aside every hesitation for her, the wind knocked out of him by the powerful impact of certainty, her response to his presence, his touch, his frenzied sexual power so clear.
And yet…
She’d lied to him. All these years, the mystery woman he’d yearned for had avoided him because—
Because what? Why? If the child was the spawn of another man—or worse, another shifter—then Lars was one of a string of men she’d fucked in that same timeframe. What he had thought was special was cheap. Tawdry.