“Hey yourself,” he replied gruffly. “Now come here.”
She smirked and sashayed over to him. Athana pretty much sashayed everywhere. He’d always liked that about her.
Gold eyes looked up at him from beneath pitch-black lashes. “Yes?”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a strange feeling of guilt washed over him simply because he stood alone with a female in a back alley. He’d never felt it before and to say he wasn’t happy about it would be a drastic understatement.
Snarling, he grabbed Athana’s arms and yanked her close. Startled, her lips parted and he swooped in, kissing her hard.
After almost a minute, he finally pulled back and Athana stared up at him.
“Wow,” she finally said. “Kind of like kissing my Aunt Gertrude when she comes over for Thanksgiving.”
Van held her at arm’s length. “What?”
She actually pouted but didn’t seem really upset. “Damn. And you are so good too. The hyenas were running around saying you’d mated with a full-human but I kept hoping the rumors weren’t true.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
Athana giggled. “Come on, Van. You’re a wolf. You might as well accept your fate.”
He shoved her away and paced over to a Dumpster. “No. I refuse to be trapped by this.”
“Sweetie, it’s too—”
Before the word “late” could come out of her mouth, Van spun around and said, “Let’s get a hotel room and fuck.”
Rolling her eyes, Athana headed back to her store. “Forget it, Van. I’ve never fucked around with another female’s mate, and I’m not about to start now. Even if she is full-human.”
“But I’m not interested in her.” Oh, God! Did he just whine that?
She pulled the door open. “If you’re that convinced it’s a mistake, go to her and find out.”
Go to her? His healed but scarred thigh automatically tensed at the thought…then other parts of him tensed for an entirely different reason.
“Trust me,” Athana sighed. “If you kiss her the way you just kissed me, you are definitely not interested.”
“How do I look?”
Irene looked up and nodded at her friend. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” A car horn blew and Jackie grabbed her wrap. “Sure I can’t talk you into coming? These university events are so much more tolerable when you’re there to mock with me.”
“I can’t face it. Not tonight.”
“Agent Harris freak you out?”
“Well, he didn’t make me feel at ease.”
“Should we stay?”
“No. You and Paul go. Have a good time.” Irene tossed her lopsided ponytail off her face for the eighteenth time. “I’m going to work on these papers and watch some television.”
“Okay.” Jackie started to walk out but stopped. “Do not, Irene, take apart my Macintosh.”
Irene looked over at the newest “thing” in computing. A three-thousand-dollar Steve Jobs joke, if you asked her. An overpriced toy. Still, Irene wanted to take it apart to see what Jobs had done. Damn Jackie for knowing her so well.
“I mean it.”
“Yes. Yes. Isn’t Paul waiting?”
Jackie narrowed her eyes in warning one more time before swooping out.
Irene glanced at the off-white box sitting on her friend’s desk and forced herself to focus on the student papers before her.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang and Irene didn’t move. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she wouldn’t answer the door. She dealt with enough people during the day, she’d be damned if her nights were filled with the idiots as well.
The doorbell went off again, followed by knocking. Irene didn’t even flinch. In a few more minutes she would shut out everything but the work in front of her, a skill she’d developed over the years. Sometimes Jackie would literally have to shake her or punch her in the head to get her attention.
But Irene hadn’t slipped into that “zone” yet and she could easily hear someone sniffing at her door. She looked up from her paperwork as Van Holtz snarled from the other side, “I know you’re in there, Conridge. I can smell you.”
Eeew.
“Go away,” she called back. “I’m busy.”
The knocking turned to outright banging. “Open this goddamn door!”
Annoyed but resigned the man wouldn’t leave, Irene put her paperwork on the couch and walked across the room. She pulled open the door and ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach at seeing the man standing there in a dark gray sweater, jeans, and sneakers. She knew few men who made casualwear look anything but.
“What?”
She watched as his eyes moved over her, from the droopy sweatsocks on her feet, past the worn cotton shorts and the paint-splattered T-shirt that spoke of a horrid experience trying to paint the hallway the previous year, straight up to her hastily created ponytail. He swallowed and muttered, “Goddamnit,” before pushing his way into her house.
“We need to talk,” he said by way of greeting.
“Why?”
He frowned. “What?”
“I said why do we need to talk? As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing that needs to be said.”
“I need to kiss you.”
Now Irene frowned. “Why?”
“Must you always ask why?”
“When people come to me with things that don’t make sense…yes.”
“Just let me kiss you and then I’ll leave.”
“Do you know how many germs are in the human mouth? I’d be better off kissing an open sewer grate.”
Why did she have to make this so difficult? He hated being here. Hated having to come here at all. Yet he had something to prove and goddamnit, he’d prove it or die trying.
But how dare she look so goddamn cute! He’d never known this Irene Conridge existed. He’d only seen her in those boxy business suits or a gown that he’d bet money she never picked out for herself. On occasion he’d even seen her in jeans but, even then, she’d always looked pulled together and professional.
Now she looked goddamn adorable and he almost hated her for it.
“Twenty seconds of your time and I’m out of here for good. Twenty seconds and I won’t bother you ever again.”
“Why?”
Christ, again with the why.
“I need to prove to the universe that my marking you means absolutely nothing.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that nice,” she said with obvious sarcasm. “It’s nice to know you’re checking to make sure kissing me is as revolting as necessary.”
“I’m not…I didn’t…” He growled. “Can we just do this, please?”
“Twenty seconds and you’ll go away?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine. Just get it over with quickly. I have a lot of work to do. And the fact that you’re breathing my air annoys me beyond reason.”
Wanting this over as badly as she did, Van marched up to her, slipped his arm around her waist, and yanked her close against him. They stared at each other for a long moment and then he kissed her. Just like he had Athana earlier. Only Athana had been warm and willing in his arms. Not brittle and cold like a block of ice. Irene didn’t even open her mouth.
Nope. Nothing, he thought with overwhelming relief. This had all been a horrible mistake. He could—and would—walk away from the honorable and brilliant Irene Conridge, PhD, and never look back. Van almost smiled.
Until she moved slightly in his arms and her head tilted barely a centimeter to the left. Like a raging wind, lust swept through him. Overwhelming, all-consuming. He’d never felt anything like it. Suddenly he needed to taste her more than he needed to take his next breath. He dragged his tongue against her lips, coaxing her to open to him. To his eternal surprise she did, and he plunged deep inside. Her body jerked, her hand reaching up and clutching his shoulder. Probably moments from pushing him away.
But he wouldn’t let her. Not if she felt even a modicum of what he was feeling. So he held her tighter, kissed her deeper, let her feel his steel-hard erection held back by his jeans against her stomach.
The hand clutching his shoulder loosened a bit and then slid into his hair. Her other hand grabbed the back of his neck. And suddenly the cold, brittle block of ice in his arms turned into a raging inferno of lust. Her tongue tangled with his and she groaned into his mouth.
Before Van realized it, he was walking her back toward her stairs. He didn’t stop kissing her, he wouldn’t. The last thing he wanted was for her to change her mind. He managed to get her to the upstairs hallway before she pulled her mouth away.
“What are you doing?” she panted out.
“Taking you to your bed.”
“Forget it.” And Van, if he were a crying man, would be sobbing. Until uptight Irene Conridge added, “The wall. Use the wall.”
Five
Van slammed her against the wall. He’d been trying to be gentle and patient, but fuck, he was losing control fast. Losing it to this woman who didn’t, according to her, like sex. Of course, this same woman reached down and took firm hold of his cock through his jeans. She squeezed and more of his control slipped. He wanted to reach for her bedroom door, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. The wolf in him wanted to claim this woman before she did something stupid like change her mind. She’d be his because she was meant to be. As annoying as the whole thing was—and Christ, was it annoying—he wouldn’t let her go now. Couldn’t. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to release her body so he could get her to a bed.
With surprising skill, she unzipped his jeans and wrapped her hand around his cock. Van shuddered. Who was this woman trying to fool? Detest sex? There was no way this woman could detest sex. More like she simply hadn’t met her match…until now.
Her long fingers ran along his cock, causing a pretty devastating effect on a man who rarely had those anymore, while she kissed him with as much passion as he’d ever felt with anyone.
Forget it. He’d never make it to the bed. Not until they got this first one out of the way.
“Back pocket,” he gasped against her mouth.
“What?”
“Back pocket.”
Her arm slipped around his waist and her hand dug into the back pocket of his jeans. She pulled out the strip of condoms he’d put there before leaving his apartment. Of course, that had been for Athana, but no reason to ruin the moment with ugly little truths that didn’t mean anything anymore.
“Little sure of yourself, huh?” she asked, holding the condoms in her hand.
“Damn right.” And he knew she’d have him no other way. “You’re not on anything, right?”
“On anything?”
“Birth control. The Van Holtz men could impregnate a tree stump. So unless you’re ready to get knocked up—”
Apparently she wasn’t, because she had that condom on him in seconds. Which was good because Van wasn’t certain how much longer he could hold on. The wolf in him wouldn’t be satisfied until his mate had been taken, their claiming final. At least by wolf standards. He knew Irene would take more convincing than that. Not only because she was human but because she was a pain in the ass and didn’t do anything easily or simply. But no problem. He could concentrate on that once the beast in him had been satisfied.
Van hitched her up higher, pushing her hard against the wall to hold her steady.
“This one’s gonna be fast, doc,” he warned her. “But I’ll make it up to you.”
“Do me a favor, Van Holtz. Stop talking. You keep reminding me you’re in the room.”
His head snapped up from the heady sight of his cock about to enter her to glare into those strange blue eyes. But he quickly realized she was teasing…well…for Irene it was teasing.
“You gonna keep testing me, doc? You gonna keep trying to push me over the edge?”
“I thought I’d already done that. If you were any more out of control, your hair would be on fire.”
“Speak for yourself, baby.” He pushed his cock against her but still didn’t enter her. “You and I both know that, at the moment, I own this beautiful ass.”
Damn him! He was right. She’d give anything—absolutely anything—to have this man inside her.
Irene had never felt this way before. She’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted one of the most obnoxious men in the world. Hell, she’d even consider begging if it meant he would fuck her. And she knew that’s what they were about to do. He would fuck her. Not sexual intercourse—except in the most technical terms. Not making love. There’d be no soft sighs or moans. No entreaties of love or promises of tomorrow. He’d fuck her and that’s exactly what she wanted.
Clearly she’d taken too many intellectuals to bed. Men who thought they knew what a woman like Irene would want sexually. Everyone had missed the mark.
But it wasn’t until Niles Van Holtz shoved himself deep inside her, brutally slamming her back into the wall, that she realized he would give her exactly what she’d always wanted. Needed.
He pressed his still-dressed body against hers. He’d torn her shorts and panties off on their way up the stairs. But she still had on her T-shirt and bra. He didn’t even try any basic foreplay. He didn’t touch her breasts or caress her body. And he didn’t need to.
Leaning in, he whispered hoarsely into her ear, “I do own this ass, don’t I, Irene? Just admit it.”
Irene had no doubt other women would scream “yes” and keep screaming. Unfortunately, Irene had never been like other women. If she’d been like other women, she wouldn’t have suddenly dug her teeth into his neck and bit down hard. She tasted blood and Van Holtz yelped in pain seconds before he began to viciously pound into her.
For the first time ever, Irene couldn’t think. She couldn’t reason. Logic and theorems flew out of her head like water from a fallen drinking glass. All she could focus on, think about, was the way Van Holtz fucked her. He wasn’t a tender lover and she didn’t want him to be. Even though there was definite pain—her last sexual experience being almost three years before and Van Holtz being unnaturally large, in her estimation—there was even more pleasure. She lost herself in that pleasure. Lost herself to the man who did—at the moment—own her ass.
He growled and she pulled handfuls of his hair trying to make him move faster, harder. They were beyond words now. Beyond playful or even vicious banter. For once, all Irene could do was feel…and she loved it.
The tingling came first. Low in her belly, deep inside her womb. Then it burst out, spreading through her limbs, exploding through her system. She’d never felt anything like it and the small part of her brain still functioning told her she was coming. Hard, based on the way her muscles became rigid and how she completely lost the ability to speak.
Irene held Van tight as he groaned against her neck, his body draining completely as he came like a freight train.
His knees almost buckled and he held them both up by sheer willpower. The woman had nearly killed him.
They clung to each other for several minutes, harsh breaths the only sound in the hallway.
“Which…” Van swallowed, his throat dry and raw. “Which room is yours?”
“That one.” One hand finally released the death grip she had on his hair to point out the door with the biohazard emblem painted on it. No kidding? Van thought, wanting to chuckle but unable to. The woman was a lethal toxin. Deadly. No wonder none of the men she’d been with had ever done it for her before. They were full-humans. Women like Irene needed more than a normal DNA strain.
Hands still gripping her ass, Van walked them both to her bedroom and laid her out on the full bed that didn’t look like she slept in it much.
Pulling out of her slowly, gritting his teeth when she moaned, Van ran his hand down her bare legs.
“Bathroom?”
“Next door over.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
For the first time in her life, Irene understood why people insisted on having sexual intercourse. And why women insisted on having sexual intercourse with Van Holtz.
Good thing she hadn’t discovered this much earlier in life. She’d never have become a Rhodes Scholar or gotten her third PhD. Instead she’d have spent more time “boning like a madwoman,” to quote Jackie.
Perhaps it was a shifter thing. Something built into their genetics. She’d always wondered exactly what antics went on over in Jackie’s room anytime Paul spent the night. She loved her friend because she didn’t try to make a lot of noise, she didn’t flaunt her relationship with Paul. But there were nights where things seemed to get seriously out of hand. On those nights, Irene went back to her office or labs to get work done. But in the back of her mind, she always wondered what exactly Paul did to her friend to make Jackie so…happy.
Well, now she knew.
Irene sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Finally. It was done. They were done. Van Holtz got what he wanted and so had she. Now she could focus on her work and forget about him.
Her bedroom door opened and Irene didn’t bother to open her eyes. She didn’t need him to give her excuses for why he needed to leave.
But he didn’t leave. Instead a warm cloth wiped across her vulva, carefully cleaning it. She forced herself not to frown, not to even acknowledge what he was doing.
“Sorry about that,” she heard him mutter. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Irene began to respond to that when Van Holtz suddenly buried his face between her thighs.
She gasped, her eyes flying open and her hands grabbing the back of his head.
“What…what are you doing?”
He looked up at her from between her legs. “I’m eating you out. No one’s ever done that for you?”
All she could do was shake her head while watching him, her eyes wide.
Van Holtz grinned. “Cool. I’m your first.” Then he dived back in.
When He Was Bad Page 6