Making the Grade

by Marie Harte

  As a Florida panther—not cougar, mountain lion or puma, thank you very much—she had powerful legs. She used bursts of speed and her natural strength to take down much larger prey. Though she couldn’t roar like the bigger cats, she could hiss, screech and growl. Sounds she found threatening enough in combination with her lethal brawling skills.

  Of course, taunting males with her fine body and distracting them while she categorized weaknesses came in handy too. She snorted and ignored a gator that snapped at her before it slid back into the water. Men thought mostly with their dicks. Unfortunate, but true. While they stared at her breasts and her ass, she studied them, looking for vulnerabilities.

  Taking over for Quince wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, not from him at least. Like the South American and Asian cats she’d met, the Miami pride would balk at female leadership. But the African lions had proven that strong female rule could prevail. It helped that the male lions had been too lazy to do too much infighting. Typical.

  She trotted down a familiar path she hadn’t taken in years. The pride kept the trails out here cleared, then wove paths into the dirt by familiar panther feet.

  She yawned again, jet lag setting in, and decided to take a nap while the sun beat down on her and the wind kissed her fur. Trotting around the bend, she looked for the large fallen cypress that led to a larger mass of trees, only to find the dead tree gone. In its place, however, she noted a grassy plot overlooking part of the marsh.

  The sun illuminated the area, spotlighting perfection. She purred with pleasure and walked to the tiny clearing. After circling and testing the area with her paws and claws, she curled into a ball under the sun and basked in its warmth.

  She let herself go and felt more rested and at home than she’d been in a very long time. She dreamed about running with tigers, battling lions and making love to a jaguar who knew how to use his tongue for maximum pleasure. She sighed and rubbed her cheek against the grass, the blessed scent of earth calming her further.

  A cool breeze ruffled the warm September air, and she sniffed again, still more asleep than awake and trying to catch a tantalizing smell in the air. Warm, musky… Male?

  She blinked and raised her head, only to find herself staring at a huge golden panther. He was bigger than most, a good eight feet from the tip of his nose to his tail. And by the look of him, he had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. A mountain of a mountain lion, she thought with whimsy.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his question full of authority.

  “I might ask the same.” She rose slowly and stretched, conscious he had yet to blink. She sat and began grooming, not concerned in the slightest that he might make a move she couldn’t counter.

  “Not from around here. I’ve met everyone else. You’re new.” He walked right up to her, ignoring her subtle warnings—the swish of her tail and narrowing eyes. Then, to add insult to injury, he shoved his nose at her and sniffed.

  “Excuse me?” Rude, even for Miami cat standards.

  He rumbled from deep in his chest, and she was again taken by the beauty of his golden coat. Many panthers had shades of red or gray in their fur, but this cat looked impossibly blond. Very, very handsome, and he had the mien of a cat who knew it.

  “You smell good.” He licked her cheek…without asking. “Taste good too.”

  “Who the hell are you?” she growled, one heartbeat away from gouging some good manners into his forehead.

  The obnoxious male stepped back and sat on his haunches, resembling a sphinx with his knowing gaze and shit-eating grin. “Yeah, you smell sweet. Welcome home. Candace.”

  Only one cat had ever had the nerve to call her by her hated given name. She still had a bone to pick with her mother for giving her that moniker. “Miles Bermin. I should have known.”

  Trust Miles to walk right up to an unknown cat like he was king of the castle. But God. He sure had filled out in the last seventeen years. His animal spirit glowed in the gorgeous panther—the definition of strength and power wrapped up in a feline frame. His eyes could have been fragments of jade, so light and cool as they regarded her. So shiny and pretty.

  “Well, well. Little Candy’s come back. Welcome home.”

  “You call me Candy once more, and I’ll rip your tail off,” she said with a smile. To emphasize her point, she walked around him with her claws out, and grazed his flank with a sharp nail, hard enough to draw blood. It just figured the first cat to give her any crap would turn out to be Miles Bermin.

  He tensed but didn’t otherwise move. Nor did he turn his head to follow her. “Oh yeah. You still have bite. Well, Zoe, what the hell are you doing home? Back for a visit, I presume?”

  “Um, I live here?” She circled and sat facing him, nose to nose, assuming the same pose he did. It gave her a rush to see his intense focus on her, because she hadn’t mistaken his interest. He watched her the way a male studied a potential sexual partner. She recognized the scent of lust in the air.

  “You used to live here. Last we heard, you and Esmie were floating around the world, decimating clans and prides one continent at a time.”

  She grinned. “There is that. Mama is a real hell-raiser.”

  “And then there’s you.” He opened his mouth, taking her scent deeper as he tasted her on the air. She found the gesture incredibly arousing.

  “What about me?”

  “You liked to stir things even as a kid. And you’re no longer a juvenile.”

  “Nope.” She studied him, wondering how he’d take the truth. “I’m back for good.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. Me and Mama would have come back sooner, but we had work to do. Then Quince warned us to keep away until he dealt with Lex. Now we’re back, and I’m ready to take over.”

  “Take over?” He cocked his head. “You?”

  So cute, that big-ass panther looking confused and condescending. She’d never seen anyone able to put down another with such class. “Yes, sweet cheeks. I’m back to take over the pride. Quince doesn’t want to lead, and from what I gather, there’s no one else to take the job. I’ve spent years traveling the world, learning. And I’m here to help.”

  He stilled. “Oh?”

  “You said that already,” she teased. “Don’t worry. I promise not to kick you out of the pride for being an obnoxious jerk. You are Quince’s friend, after all.”

  Miles just stared at her.

  “Nothing to say?”

  “You can’t take over for Quince.”

  Bring it, GQ. “Why? Because I’m female? Let me tell you something. We women are more dangerous than you idiot men. We think with more than our dicks—and thank God we don’t have those. Besides, I’ve been planning this for some time.” Especially after hearing how you guys have been more concerned with wealth than appreciating life and embracing your felines.

  “That’s wonderful, honey.” So condescending. “But Quince isn’t pride leader.” His smirk warned her she wasn’t going to like hearing this.

  “Who is?”

  “I am.”

  She’s through playing it safe…

  Spread Your Wings

  © 2013 Jayne Rylon

  Men in Blue, Book 4

  Waiting. Watching.

  Jambrea was patient long enough. After nearly ten years pining over a man with whom she’d spent a single night, her job set her on a collision course with two sexy cops who turned her head…and ignited her passion.

  More agonizing. Debating.

  When it became clear that Matt and Clint would never admit to the bisexual attraction making an equilateral relationship possible, she couldn’t choose a favorite. So she had to turn away and move her life forward—without them. Jambrea approaches Mistress Lily and Master Jeremy to arrange a wild night at their sex club—never expecting her friends would pull a bait and switch.

  Time’s up.

  Just when happily ever after dangles within reach, it becomes clear someone has Jambrea in their crosshairs. Is it one o
f her lovers’ old cases coming back to haunt them, or a ghost from her military past? One thing’s for certain. Now that they’ve made the leap, they’d better learn to soar…or they’ll all crash together.

  Warning: The Men in Blue have handcuffs and they’re not afraid to use them. On their woman, or each other. Be naughty, if you must. Maybe they’ll come for you next!

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Spread Your Wings:

  “Hey, Jambs, come on,” Izzy shouted to her from the dance floor, waving to their group. The couples had split up a bit now that something other than endless love songs bleated from the speakers. All too eager to leave her dates, Jambrea shot to her feet.

  Clint braced her when she teetered. Damn heels. She smacked his overly familiar hand before it could work any of its hornifying magic. Enough with the pheromones already.

  Then she sauntered onto the floor in time to the beat and tried to burn off a little of the buzz she might have underestimated. Lost in the music and revelry, surrounded by friends, she forgot about some of her angst. Until Lacey leaned in and whisper-shouted, “Matt and Clint are about to choke on their tongues over there. Show me some hip shimmies!”

  Screw them. Why not?

  Jambrea obliged.

  It wasn’t long before Lacey’s face lit up. “Incoming.”

  “What?” Jambrea peeked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the two men she’d obsessed over for the past year or so stalked closer. She whipped her head back around toward her friends. “They don’t dance.”

  “Maybe they will for you.” Izzy grinned as she ground her backside against her fiancé, who wrapped his arms protectively around her and the child she carried.

  “I doubt it.” Jambrea refused to let them ruin her fun though. If anything, she redoubled the swivel of her ass and dug into the groove of the beat.

  And then there were hands on her waist, turning her. From the way her captor’s thumbs nearly touched in the base of her spine, they could only belong to Matt. He tucked her close to the furnace of his body and rocked in a basic side-to-side step, mostly in time to the music. She closed her eyes and settled against him.

  “Hey, mind if I cut in?” Clint asked.

  Jambrea blinked when he reached out, cupping her ribs in his palms. Four hands on her at once nearly short-circuited her brain.

  “Actually, I do,” Matt growled.

  “Too bad.” The other man wasn’t retreating. Instead he pressed closer, flanking her with their gyrating bodies. Her breasts brushed his chest as she undulated, caught between rubbing herself on one or the other. Or both, after Clint took another half-step in.

  Instinctively, she wrapped one arm around his neck while the other reached behind her to palm Matt’s ass. Her head fell back, resting on his chest. Clint leaned in and took a taste of her exposed neck. When someone whistled, they all jolted. What the hell was happening? Where were they again?

  Oh, right. The reception. Jambrea shook her head, clearing the blazing desire from her mind as best she could. Unfortunately that only made the dance floor rock like the deck of a ship. Uh oh.

  “I’ve got you,” Matt rumbled in her ear.

  “No, we’ve got you,” Clint corrected.

  For a few minutes, she stopped fighting and pretended that they meant it like it sounded. It was the best one-hundred-and-twenty seconds of the year so far. Then the song ended and the DJ announced the final dance. A ballad.

  “We’re getting the hell out of here,” Matt proclaimed.

  The guys corralled her toward the guests of honor. They exchanged congratulations one more time.

  “Have a good night.” Lily’s sly grin didn’t allow any room for misinterpretation.

  Before Jambrea could respond, her dates whisked her to Matt’s waiting black chariot. Clint didn’t bother to boost her into the truck. This time he encircled her waist and lifted her onto the seat as though she weighed nothing at all.

  “What were you trying to prove out there?” Matt rubbed his jaw. “Every single guy in the room was drooling over you. You’ve had too much to drink to be advertising like that.”

  So they hadn’t rushed her home to sample the wares she’d been hawking? No, they’d just planned to block any other interested man. The wave of disappointment that hit her made her feel sick. Fortunately, she only lived a few blocks away.

  They spent the entirety of the ride in silence.

  The teeter-totter they’d been balancing precariously on slipped from its fulcrum. She couldn’t take another minute of the erratic highs and lows, and especially not these weird, forced, blah middle points. No more.

  Despite her protests, they insisted on walking her to her apartment. Granted, she lived in a relatively crappy neighborhood that had deteriorated bit by bit since she’d moved in nearly a decade ago, but she’d never had issues before. Her pair of cops were more dangerous to her than random thugs.

  When they held the door, she couldn’t help making one last bid for what she felt slipping through her fingers. It was now or never.

  “You know, I didn’t even see any other guys at the reception tonight. What do I have to do to make you like me?” She rubbed against Matt, uncaring about how pathetic she looked or how much she’d hate herself in the morning.

  “Son of a bitch. I do like you. Too much.” He stared at her in horror as they squeezed together into her apartment, Clint close on their heels.

  He groaned in the background. She spun on him. “Come on, tell me. What’d I do wrong? How did I screw things up? Am I supposed to pick one of you? Is that what this is? Some stupid male contest? Was it because I kissed you both? Was that some kind of test? Did I fail?”

  “Jambi, no.” Matt spun her around again. The world tilted and she wondered when the last time was that she’d been so hammered. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

  “Then why? Tell me what I did!” She couldn’t believe that she raised her voice, but it felt good to finally let off some steam so she kept ranting. “One minute you were sucking my face off and the next time I saw you, you wouldn’t even look me in the damn eye.”

  “It wasn’t because of you. It’s…us,” Clint admitted as he and Matt exchanged a worried glance. Good, let them be afraid. They could share the sour stomach that had been rotting her from the inside since the fallout of that single reckless, yet addicting, moment became apparent.

  She waited, but they didn’t elaborate. “Really, that’s the best you can do? Some talk. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ never convinced anyone.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time…” Clint hedged.

  “It’s never going to be the right occasion. It’s been months already. You’re cowards, both of you. I never would have guessed it before. Go home, jerks!” She wrenched off her shoe, then threw it at Clint, catching him in the gut. His oomph held a note of surprise. “You’re not going to do this to me anymore. I’m tired of waiting, hoping, for something that’s never going to happen. If you won’t be honest with yourselves, at least be upfront with me. Tell me you don’t want me. Say it.”

  “Jambi, you’re dr—” Matt cut off when she swung her furious glare toward him instead.

  “No. Forget it. Shut up.” She flapped her arms, not caring that she’d lost her temper for the first time…maybe ever. Irrational fury barred them from conjuring some ridiculous explanation that would steal her thunder. “No more excuses.”

  “I don’t think it’s smart to leave you like this.” Clint looked to his partner for backup.

  “I’d rather be alone than babysat by you two. Unless you plan to come to bed with me, get out.” She yanked the hem of her dress over her head and launched the gossamer sheath against the wall. It slithered to the floor and lay crumpled.

  One of the guys, or maybe both, cursed as they took in her silk lingerie. It only made her feel stupider that she’d pretended even for an instant that she’d get to display it in far more favorable circumstances tonight. When would she learn that just because she hoped something wou
ld happen, that didn’t mean it would?

  She kicked off her remaining shoe, enjoying the clunk it made as it joined her dress, then stormed into her bedroom. Alone.

  Making the Grade

  Marie Harte

  Sometimes the best way to get over the past is to repeat it.

  Wicked Warrens, Book 4

  Brian Goode is in a tough spot. With all his friends getting married, and his sister in a relationship with not one, but two men, the love bug is hovering around his heart, ready to bite. Trouble is, he’s tired of playing a field full of gold-digging women.

  Then there’s Faith Sumner. She’s gorgeous, genuine, and turns him on without even trying. Time to suck it up, ask her out, and pray their blazing attraction won’t dissolve into another lukewarm disaster.

  Faith is finished dating wealthy men. No longer willing to let anyone make her feel inferior for her humble roots, she’s finally making good choices. Except this “Goode” choice turns out to be exactly the kind of man she’s sworn off.

  Though she’s content to keep their one-night stand to a single amazing, unforgettable mistake, Brian’s persistent wooing—and convincing groveling—begin to turn her head. Until Faith’s ugly past comes calling, redoubling Brian’s determination to show her she’s worthy of loving, and being loved…

  Warning: A Goode man who’s a bad boy, a woman named Faith who could use a little of her namesake, and meddling friends turn this relationship red hot.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.