by Chant, Zoe
“Here’s the basics,” Jameson said. “A few years ago my father suffered a stroke. He went into a private rehab. The nurse in charge was Beth Cannon. We couldn’t prove anything, but we were pretty sure she lied, hiding his real status from us—with his connivance only in the sense that he badly wanted to be better. The short version is, she gaslighted him into divorcing mom and marrying her.”
“Wait, aren’t there laws against that?” Kesley asked as she drove down Pacific Coast Highway toward Upson Downs.
“Doesn’t matter. Mom wouldn’t contest. She didn’t want to put my dad through it. So Beth took everything—the houses, the yacht—basically Mom, Charlie, and I lost our home.”
“That’s awful.”
“It gets worse. Of course she’d soaked him for every penny she could get, but she had her eye on the really big ticket, the building in New York City, which includes the law firm. She tried to get him to sign a new will. But Charlie was able to do an end run—he made partner last year.”
“Are you a lawyer, too?”
“No, I stayed in the service until Dad’s stroke. Then I took over his charities, the biggest being international rescue after natural or political disasters.”
“So what happened to cause the accident?”
“I was overseas, helping with Syrian evacuation—this was right before everything started going to hell.” He saw her eyes widen, and shook his head. “I guess I’m telling it backwards. It’s long family tradition to serve in the U.S. Army Rangers. Our father was one. Charlie served two years before going into law school.”
“And that’s where you were in a plane crash?”
“No,” he said. “It was when I came back, right after hearing about Dad’s passing. Our private jet came to pick me up. I remember it going down . . .” He shook his head, wincing as the old, familiar pain throbbed. Only this time, with it crowded the memories of the pilot’s voice escalating from disbelief to rage to fear, and the sight of the cabin with all the red blinking lights.
Sabotage? Oh yes. And Charlie was right on top of it.
“Oh, here we are,” she said. “Uh oh, it looks like there’s a welcome committee. I’m sorry.” Her voice was contrite. “We, um, tend to know each other’s business.”
The impulse to take her in his arms nearly overwhelmed him, followed by a dizzying kind of hilarity that he hadn’t felt since childhood when he looked around at his family, loving them all. In less than a week he had come to love Kesley Enkel with a deeper ferocity, because it was his choice. Childhood love is unquestioned, but this love was one he’d chosen, made by mind, body, and spirit.
And because he loved her, he could sense that he might come to love this quirky little town and its quirky people, healing the roots that had been ripped away when Beth Cannon broke his family and stole his home. Even if they got the Boston house back, he knew he could never live there again. It was too filled with memories. Charlie might feel differently—which was okay. He could have it.
What Jameson wanted was right here.
It looked like half the town had gathered at the Hotel Primrose, spilling out along the sidewalk.
“It’s okay, Kesley. Those people came out to help me, without knowing who I was, or any reason why they should. And without any training whatsoever. If they want to line up and grill me, I think they’ve more than earned the right.”
His reward was the brightening of her expression as she pulled up and parked.
Glaziers were busy putting new windows in the hotel front as he eased himself out of the car. Pain shot through him from cuts and aches he hadn’t noticed; splotches of dark red added to the general stains on the ratty jeans.
“A bear? You’re a bear!” Chick was the first one to greet him, his voice breaking like a kid’s. “That’s so awesome!”
“And you?” Jameson asked.
Chick’s gaze sidled away. “What do you think?”
Jameson remembered ‘Thunder-Chicken,’ and said, “Hey. A rooster would make a damn good spy if there are any more bad guys hanging around.” And he watched Chick’s whole demeanor brighten.
‘Yeah,” Chick said. “Hear that, Dad? I could be a spy . . .”
“What happened at Dottie’s?” Leather Apron was there.
“I can fill you in,” Chick turned to him. “I was the guy giving the signals . . .”
“Quiet, Chick,” four different people said.
His dad added dryly, “Let the man speak.”
“Was that your first shift? Did you know you were a bear?” Julia Bashir asked.
Jameson shook his head. “I lost my memory in a plane crash. Also lost my shifter self.”
Then he was surprised by his quiet, dreamy, but sensible Kesley speaking up. “How about first letting him get patched up, and into his own clothes?”
McKenzi popped up from the perimeter. “Bandit’s right. Not to mention, if everyone in town is standing around here, won’t it look suspicious if the state police come roaring up Main Street and see this gigantic crowd?”
“Very true,” Julia Bashir said, making shooing motions with her hands. “All of you had better go home. When there’s any word, we’ll pass it the usual ways.”
David grinned, hefting his cell phone as he slipped outside.
People began milling toward the door, murmuring, then stopped as little Grandma Zhao walked up to Jameson. “You have our gratitude for what you did today,” she said. “But I think many of us are wondering what you will tell the police when it is your turn to be questioned?”
He looked down into her patient gaze, and knew what she was really asking. “Nothing about shifters,” he said. “In fact, I don’t plan to mention any of you people, though you and I know who saved my ass. I’m going to claim I was there alone, and got lucky when some local wildlife ran through, drawn by the noise.”
Grandma Zhao nodded with dignity, and as she turned away, everyone else began to fade.
Except for Chick, who halted, his glasses flashing. “But they saw you shift into your bear.” He looked anxious.
“Listen, Chick, if those boozed-up ass clowns talk about bears, I’m going to point out the crap I saw lying on the kitchen counter, which from the stink in that place, they’d been smoking for days.”
Chick let out a crack of laughter and walked away, his thumbs working as he texted.
Julia Bashir saw the rest of the crowd out of the lobby, glanced at Jameson and Kesley, then smiled and withdrew to the inner office, leaving the two alone. One minute later they reached his room.
He began kicking his way out of the disgusting biker jeans, which, from the smell and feel, had avoided the laundry for at least a decade. They were going into a hazmat container, he promised himself. “Hot water, as hot as I can stand it,” he said, grinning at Kesley. “Join me?”
“Yes. But first we wash out those cuts,” she said.
At the thought of her magical touch, he nearly lost it and grabbed her right then and there.
Five minutes later they were both in the shower, hot water pouring on them as Kesley gently soaped and searched each wound to make sure there was nothing nasty in them. The water ran red, then pink, as she worked. His reward for standing still under her ministrations then began: her fingers gently kneaded every knotted, aching muscle, and euphoria began to replace the tension and bone-deep ache muscle by muscle, limb by limb.
Blissful and weary, he half-lifted his hand in order to shut the water off—but his fingers collided with her shoulder, and though he hadn’t meant to, he could not resist sliding them down to cup her generous breast. She turned into his hand, tipped her face up, and their lips met. And while warm water rained down all around them he kissed her and kissed her again.
Fevered, hungry kisses, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. He groaned, every battered nerve now alive with urgency and fire.
When she broke away to gasp for air, he kissed along her jaw and down her throat, pausing to lick the sweet hollow between her collarbones.
“Bed,” she muttered. “When you do that my knees turn to jelly.”
He slammed his fist against the water to shut it off, and they stumbled out of the shower together. “I’ll lick you dry,” he growled.
She laughed softly. “Towel is faster,” she said provocatively. “And we won’t have a soggy bed.”
They both made a few swipes to get rid of the worst of the water. Then, admiring the droplets still glistening on her curves, he laced his fingers into hers and guided her back toward the bed. He leaned over her as she stretched out, and he began licking the drops from behind her ear. Her shoulder. The curve of her rib under her breast. The hollow inside her hip. The soft fold of her belly. The top of her thigh. The delicate outline of her ear—but when she turned her head and her eyelashes brushed his cheek, the vital pulse of heat ignited in him, and all his resolve vanished in smoke.
He locked her fingers in his and pressed them into the pillow as he took possession of her soft, open mouth. She made those little moaning noises as he kissed his way demandingly down her throat before he went on to ravish her breasts. Her moans became hisses as he took her tightened nipple between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue as she arched her back, and then he closed his mouth around it and sucked hard.
Her breath hissed in and her fingers curled up, as he laved and teased and sucked until her fingers dug into the backs of his hands and her head twisted from side to side. He kissed his way down to her belly, pausing to plunge his tongue into her navel.
“More,” she moaned. And then, enchantingly contradictory, “Now.”
His plan for her had gone up in smoke, but there was later: in her bedroom, bent over her table, against the wall, on her couch, and on that cliff overlooking the sea. Experiments of every kind, laughter and heat, a lifetime’s worth of loving lying in a shining road ahead.
But this moment, she wanted Now.
He freed her hands so he could stroke her hips and thighs as he moved them apart. He loved the way her fingers fisted the sheets into rumples as he kissed the top of her mound, and then, widening her thighs to their fullest extent, paused to admire how beautiful she was before using lips, tongue, and teeth to bring her to writhing, helpless heights—and when he tasted the sweet, salty juices around her clit and sucked hard, sent her spiraling over the edge.
He kissed her opening softly as she throbbed downward again, and then she sighed and reached out to him. He slid into her, reveling in the way she tipped her hips to bring him all the way home.
She slid her hands down his back—even now, she was careful of his wounds, her sensitive touch barely brushing where it hurt, but skimming over unwounded his flesh with her fingers wide, as if she gained pleasure simply by touch—then her palms clenched on his buns as she pulled him against her.
He began to jackhammer into her with a strength he hadn’t though he had left in him. She moaned with each stroke, closing her legs around him until he thrust one last time, and she clenched one last time, and they joined together in an endless freefall of bliss.
* * *
“We should rejoin the world,” he said presently—for the second time.
And Kesley said—for the second time—“Okay.”
She didn’t move, except to tighten her grip, their arms and legs still tangled.
Outside a bird sang, and somewhere else in the hotel, the parrot squawked.
Kesley sighed. “This time we really need to get going.”
He smothered a laugh. “You first.”
She lifted her head, and fixed him with a stare. “Then we’ll be here for a week.”
“Okay by me.” And he promptly collapsed back on the pillow.
But duty was strong, and she slowly untangled her legs from his.
“I hope they aren’t waiting for us,” he said, for the first time thinking beyond the locked door.
“Oh, my sister will be the first in line,” Kesley predicted.
Jameson listened to the lilt of laughter deepening her voice, and a thought occurred to him. “They probably know what we’re doing.”
“Are you kidding? If Kenz is still lurking around there, she’ll be running a betting pool on how many times we came.”
“I have to admit I can’t quite figure out your sister.”
“Kenz is a cat.”
“Say no more! One of my cousins is a cat. Was she one of the cats at the fight?”
“Yep, the one stuck to a guy’s face. Dad was there, too. I think you’ll like him—if you like cats. He clawed up one of the creeps trying to sneak up on you from behind to shoot you in the back. And my uncle was also there—he was the bloodhound attached to that shaved-head guy’s leg.”
Jameson sat up, extended a hand, and they helped each other get off the bed. As they took a quick shower together and then helped each other dress, he marveled at the generosity of these people who had no idea who he was. To them, he was just Kesley’s mate. No one knew he was a billionaire. Even overseas, as head of the Danbridge Rescue Charity, he’d had to navigate around the smooth-talking, smiling sharks who pretended to give a damn about those genuinely in need in order to talk their way into “helping” if they were rewarded suitably with “administrative costs.”
Beth had sent most of those sharks. We’ve got your number now, Charlie and I, he thought, and a flair of grim pleasure went through him at the thought of her trading her Versace for prison orange. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t be soon enough.
When he and Kesley got out to the lobby, sure enough, McKenzi and a small group of either cousins or friends had all found urgent reasons to come sneaking back in. They looked up as one, and gave Jameson and Kesley knowing grins.
But he ignored them when he glanced through the new window and recognized Abe Rosen coming up the sidewalk, looking tired and stressed. The group then saw him, and faded back as Abe walked in.
His expression eased slightly when he saw Jameson. “There you are. The state police are all over the scene. Some of those guys are yapping about the man who turned into a bear. And the state guys want me to bring you over to press charges, but what they really want is to hammer you with questions.”
Jameson said to the exhausted-looking deputy, “Bear? What bear?”
Relief smoothed Abe’s forehead. “And the fight? The animals?”
“All I saw was a bunch of boozed-up, doped-out bikers going after each other while they hallucinated. Though maybe some pets ran through, scared by the gunfire.”
Abe grinned tiredly. “Then we’d better get it over with. They’re collecting over at the barn that we use as a headquarters. Sheriff Odom is commanding from a chaise longue because of his broken knees. Oh, and I’m to tell you that the Crockery is sending over hot sandwiches and coffee,” he added.
Kesley reached for Jameson’s hand, but Abe waved her back. “Remember, none of you were there. It’ll look suspicious if you turn up, especially if any of those assholes catch sight of you and point you out as the naked woman. Right now you’re a delusion.”
Kesley’s lips thinned, but she nodded. “Take my phone,” she said, pressing it into Jameson’s hand. “When you’re ready to be picked up, call me on McKenzi’s cell. She’s number one in my Favorites.”
Jameson accepted the phone, which was warm from her body. He hated leaving her—hated having to move. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with Kesley and sleep for a week, but he and Abe crossed the short distance to the Upson Downs sheriff’s office, which really was a barn located behind a row of shops whose buildings had to date back a hundred years.
As he walked, all the questions he had shut out came streaming back.
A slew of black police vehicles were parked all over, and uniformed people had crowded into the barn, where the bikers were being tended by a brusque but efficient doctor. The rest sat on the ground in rows under the guns of uniforms who looked ready to fire if the bastards so much as twitched wrong. Jameson, in passing by, recognized two of the bikers who’d attac
ked him at the hotel the previous morning.
Dull eyes watched him pass into a smaller back room, with a scattering of battered but comfortable furniture. Here, Sheriff Odom held court, watching the state police with narrow attention. The welcome smell of Reuben sandwiches met Jameson’s nose, as well as coffee: he decided that much as he hated the bitterness, he would forego dumping honey into it. He wasn’t going to do anything that might make people think of bears.
At the far end of the barn, Marlo sat on a couch next to a skinny kid who had to be the other hostage. They both held steaming cups in their hands. Marlo looked considerably disheveled, her eyes wide with shock.
A grizzled guy who was obviously the state guys’ chief interrogator waved Jameson over.
It was time to shift the focus away from the motel fight to the bigger question, and Jameson knew exactly how to do that. He raised his voice and stated, “I’m Jameson Worth Dandridge III, and these guys were hired to murder me.”
And suppressed a smile as all hell broke loose.
* * *
It was way past midnight, and felt like a thousand years later, when he and Marlo and the kid were released at last.
The kid was promptly swept away by his parents. Marlo and Jameson were driven back to the Primrose by Abe, who left them with, “Call if you need anything.”
The Primrose had been restored more or less to normalcy. On the surface everything seemed everyday, but Jameson could feel discreet attention from Julia Bashir, and the few people gathered in the lobby. Even the parrot was quiet, its head jerking from side to side as it watched them cross to the balcony walkway. With his restored sense of his bear self, Jameson strongly suspected that the parrot was a fellow-shifter, and as such, the perfect alert system for the hotel.
Marlo unlocked her door, and Jameson said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
She sighed, and waved Jameson in to follow her. As she sank into the armchair, he said, “Were you in the plot with Beth Cannon?”
He’d begun to suspect the answer, and saw it in her shocked expression. “Plot?”