"I put a few of the ornaments on the tree," he told her, "so it would be pretty when you first saw it." She continued to stay stiff and very still in his arms. "You don't like it, do you?"
"You had no right." She choked on a sob. "No right."
"I didn't think you'd mind."
"I hate Christmas!"
"That's not true. You wouldn't have been at the Holiday Fete if you did."
"Alice made me."
"Nobody makes you do anything," he scoffed. "You're too alpha to do as you're told."
"Christmas is okay for other people," she conceded. "I wish them well."
"You give your Taffy eggnog. You named the greyhound Noel."
"That was luck of the draw. I'm indifferent to the holiday for myself. Please take down the tree."
"I want to use it to lure the kids out of hiding."
That stopped her. "How?"
"They'll see it through the window when they come looking for work, and it'll be a reminder of what they're missing."
"That's cynical."
"No. It is a reminder of what they're missing. And it's a reminder for you, too. You need to come back from being so alone and aloof—or you wouldn't be reacting so strongly."
"Let me go."
He cradled her gently instead. Sometimes people needed contact, whether they thought they did or not, whether they were psychic or not.
The connection between him and Marj was stronger than he'd thought. Her grief, and her effort to bury it, rocked him. He turned her, so that they were facing each other, he cradled her head, and guided it to rest on his chest. "Cry if you need to."
"I don't want to." Her words were muffled in his shirt.
"Then tell me all about it. Do whatever helps."
"I hate Christmas." She lifted her head to look up at him, tears bright in he eyes. "I just do."
"Because your father died this time last year."
"He died at the end of November," she answered, a catch in her voice. "How do you know about it?"
"Research. I've read over a year's worth of the town's newspapers since I started on this case, including obituaries."
She accepted the explanation with a grudging nod, and a tear spilled down her cheek. "I don't want to go through—the memories. Christmas—it just reminds me—last year was—Christmas sucks."
"Christmas sucked last year," he said. "This year it's time to start over. Christmas is about birth, beginnings, hope, light in the darkness—all that good stuff. And presents. Don't you want presents? And parties? And lights and music, and trees and all the good stuff."
"You sound like Alice."
"She's a soprano, I'm a baritone. But if she's trying to get you back into the world, she's right." Harry loved life, he loved the world. He ached to show Marj that the world was beautiful again. "Hiding is only a temporary refuge."
"Who says?"
"Me. You need to remember you're alive."
Then he kissed her. There was simply nothing else he could do. What surprised him was the passionate hunger of her response and the way her mouth opened eagerly beneath his. The salt taste of her tears was on his tongue, her lips soft. The heat of her body and the scent of her skin went to his head.
His hands moved down her back, caressing and drawing her nearer. He sensed her surprise at her own reactions, that a part of her was fighting to gain control.
Oh, no, what this woman needed was a good loss of control.
What he needed was her.
He broke the kiss long enough to literally sweep Marj off her feet. She was so much smaller that holding her in his arms was easy. And cradling her against his chest was the most natural thing in the world.
"What the—"
He swung around and started out of the living room. "I'm not making love in front of the dogs," he declared.
Taffy and Noel were standing nearby, gazing at them with the sort of enthusiastic doggy attention that said they wanted to play, too. He almost regretted leaving the living room, with the romantic holiday air he'd created with the tree, the soft candlelight and cozy fire. But they could make love there later. Right now, he wanted the comfortable intimacy of her big, wide bed.
Harry carried her all the way to her bedroom, and Marj was shocked at herself for not protesting once. This man was little more than a stranger! Yet his kiss did something to stem the aching loneliness. She desperately needed his kisses, and more.
She's spent a year in hell, and somehow, Harry held out the promise of heaven.
She shouldn't want him so badly that her body ached with the need. But she'd wanted him since she'd first seen him in Murphy's.
Everything female in her had woken up and caught fire at the first sight of his eagle-nosed profile, the heavy lock of hair falling across his forehead, the sexy slash of his mouth, the wide shoulders and narrow hips. His smile, his confidence… his hands. Good God, what gorgeous, big, competent hands! She'd noticed them from the start. And wanted them on her from the start.
She wanted them on her now.
When he dosed the bedroom door and set her on the bed, she pulled him down beside her. He came with a smile, and a burning kiss that left her breathless.
"Touch me," she said, placing his hand on her breast. "Here. Everywhere."
"I will," he promised.
He stroked her then, and slowly peeled her clothes away. His lips followed where his hands explored, and she caressed him. His hard-muscled body was a wonder to her. It was a long time since she'd been with anyone, but even if she'd been more experienced, Harry was still a revelation. She was amazed at how bold she could be with him, how greedy she was to touch and taste and claim every inch of him. She took great pleasure in exploring his body, loosening his clothes as she went. His turtleneck came off first. She liked his chest, with its well-defined muscles and pattern of dark hair that arrowed down in a vee to his flat stomach.
"You work out," she said, and traced her hands over him.
"Nope," he answered. "You are so beautiful," he told her.
"I work out. Well, I lift a lot of bags of animal feed."
Then they kissed for a long time, bodies and mouths melded together for a long, arousing time.
When Harry got up to shed his trousers and underwear, she leaned up on an elbow to watch him strip. It felt deliciously decadent, really, watching a big, gorgeous man taking off his clothes for her.
He turned around, and she had the pleasure of studying his bare backside while he searched through his dropped clothing.
"Ah," he said. When he came back, he was holding a condom packet.
Marj moved beside him and stroked his erection, loving the weight and heat filling her hand, wanting that same feeling inside of her.
Within moments, Harry leaned her back on the bed. He caressed the insides of her thighs, and higher. His fingers danced and teased over her inner folds and clitoris. When she moaned and arched her hips upward, his mouth came down on her. His tongue drew more than moans from her; an orgasm pulsed through her almost instantly. She cried out, and her fingers stroked through his hair.
He moved up her body, sliding skin on skin, then he came inside her. His hardness filled her, the fit completely perfect. They moved together slowly at first, setting up a gentle rhythm, savoring each other, letting the pleasure rise and build.
It wasn't long, though, before his strokes became deeper, faster, and she rose to meet them with a hard-driving need of her own.
The passion building to overwhelm her was more than just physical. He was inside her, their bodies joined, but there was another joining, something wonderful between them that went far beyond physical release. They were—
Mated.
She felt it as well as thought it, and the word and the feeling belonged to both of them. This was a passion that was deeper, richer.
Roaring, rushing sensation overtook her, an explosion so wonderfully intense that she was consumed in long, lingering brightness that faded slowly back into the real world.
>
"Whoa," was the most coherent thing she could manage after she finally came back into herself.
"Ditto." Harry was a hot, heavy weight on top of her, and his lips were near her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe, sending little lightning flickers of renewed desire from her head to her toes.
"You're good," she said.
He gave a satisfied sigh. "I know."
What might have seemed arrogant and irritating to her before just made her laugh now, a low, breathy, downright dirty laugh.
He kissed her throat just beneath her ear, then moved slowly down her neck, her cheek, her eyelid, her jaw, her shoulder. Each quick, tender touch sent pleasure through her. His hand found her breasts, and her nipples were instantly hard and sensitive against his palm. His lips soon replaced his hand on her breast, and his hand moved down between her legs.
She'd thought herself completely satisfied, sated, melted with happy exhaustion. But within only a few moments, she was alive with desire all over again.
"I'm good " he said. "You're better."
Then they made love all over again.
chapter 9
« ^ »
"You hungry?" Harry asked, as they shared the shower. He was washing her hair and taking great pleasure in the fact that Marj was practically purring.
"Hmmm?" She sighed in utter contentment. Her back was pressed against his chest, and he felt the sigh all the way down his body. Just that small movement was enough to arouse him again.
"Hungry?" he asked over the rush of warm water. "For supper?" Not to make love again; not just yet.
He had to keep his head. The night was young, and he still had work to do.
"I'm starving," Marj said, slowly coming up out of the fog of sensual pleasure. She sighed, with resignation this time. "And the animals need taking care of."
"You need to hire some help."
"Don't think I haven't tried."
They maneuvered around so that she could duck under the showerhead and rinse the cinnamon-scented shampoo out of her hair. Cinnamon was perfect for her, Harry thought, with her dark auburn hair.
They climbed out of the shower, and within a few minutes they were dressed. He helped her with chores, and when they went back to the house, he rummaged in the pantry and the refrigerator and made a cheese omelet while Marj sat on the floor, playing with puppies and kittens. Taffy and Noel demanded her attention as well, and Harry took great pleasure in the amount of affection Marjorie Piper had to give.
The more he knew about her, the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know, and the more he wanted to be with her. Which was terrifying.
He had to find those kids soon and make his escape, or this was only going to get worse. He was werewolf, she was human. It hardly ever worked out. There were physical risks to consider, cultural problems. Family pressure alone kept most matings between were and mortals from really having a chance.
One of the reasons the adolescent group was missing was that a werecougar boy had hooked up with a human girl. Of course his parents, and his entire clan, were utterly opposed to the relationship. Harry's job was to bring the boy home.
He's just a kid, Harry thought. He'll get over her.
Just as Harry would get over Marj. They had something special, something he feared he'd miss terribly. But he'd get over it.
Marj looked up, sniffed. "Is the omelet burning?"
Harry quickly turned his attention back to the stove. A few minutes later the meal was on plates, and she'd put the tired puppies and kittens back in their crates.
"Hope I find them homes by Christmas," she said as she took her plate from Harry.
"Speaking of Christmas…" he said, and led the way back to the living room.
The candles and fire had burned down a bit, but the place still had a nice holiday glow to it. She gave the tree an almost tolerant glance. She did smile, at last, at the array of candles, and turned that smile on him.
His head was reeling from it as they sat down next to each other on the couch. This position left them vulnerable to two tall dogs, but they fought off Taffy's and Noel's begging, and laughed together while racing to finish eating before the dogs wore them down.
"Do they get to lick the plates?" Harry asked when they were finished.
"No."
"They should, because it's almost Christmas."
"Don't spoil my dogs," she admonished. She got up, and he followed her back to the kitchen. "You cooked; I'll clean. Want to dry the dishes?"
This domesticity was far too much fun. "I'd love to, but I have to go wolf hunting now." Harry took his leather jacket off the coat rack by the kitchen door and shrugged into it. "I think it's best if I conduct this search mostly at night. Not only will the animal be more active at night, but the less the locals see someone skulking around the area, the less suspicious they'll be."
She accepted his explanation and offered him a kiss before he left. He enjoyed the kiss so much that he almost confessed that he was her wolf, so that he could keep on kissing her and wouldn't have to leave.
In the end, it was Marj who nudged him toward the door. "Good hunting," she told him.
The words caught at his heart She didn't know it, but she'd just said the same words a werewolf's mate did when sending him out into the night.
He had to swallow hard around the tightening of his throat before he could say, "Thanks," and walk out the door.
I know that butt.
The thought came to Marj as she was reaching toward a cabinet to put away a plate. The memory was vivid, and overwhelming. The dish crashed to the floor out of her numbed hand. Taffy yelped, and jumped away.
Marj was so stunned that she had to hold on to the edge of the counter with both hands to keep from sinking to her knees as the memory washed up out of her subconscious. She'd only encountered the naked man a couple of days ago, yet all thought of him had been pushed out of her mind.
It felt like it had been deliberately nudged away, overlaid, covered. Her awareness of the process was almost tactile. As if someone as psychic as she was had used his mental ability to rearrange her thinking. Or at least to try. She knew how strange this seemed, but she didn't doubt the truth of it.
He had done it.
"I know that butt."
She closed her eyes, and the memory of watching him move around her bedroom in all his glorious nudity was superimposed over the image of the naked man lying inside the wolf's cage.
They were one and the same.
She remembered thinking that Harry was too big to have been trapped in the cage, before she stopped thinking about the naked man at all. Had Harry put the thought about his size into her head as a diversion?
She settled cross-legged on the tiled floor, amid the debris of the broken plate, and rubbed suddenly aching temples. With her eyes closed, she once again called up the memory of how Taffy had rescued her from her two attackers.
Once again, the image of Taffy superimposed itself over the sight of the wolf's glowing blue eyes, the softness of its fur brushing her face, its solid weight bearing her down.
The image of the loyal Labrador retriever made perfect sense. But she knew in her gut, and in her extra senses, that that wasn't what had happened.
As Taffy came up and sat down next to her, Marj reached over and put her arm around his neck. She felt his concern, and the constant love for her that was so much a part of him. Becoming aware of his emotions made her realize that Taffy might have his own memories of what happened that night.
What good was having the ability to talk to animals, if she didn't call upon it when needed? She didn't normally try to pick up more than an animal's current emotional state. Actually, she didn't generally try, it just happened. But she could pick up images and memories if she concentrated hard enough and the incident was sufficiently traumatic to stick in the animal's mind. She could only hope that the attack registered deeply in Taffy's mind.
And when she was finished with her him, she had an entire kenne
lful of witnesses that she could interrogate.
Harry was aware of the cougar's scent on far western side of the ranch even before he made the shift to wolf form.
He took deep breaths of the cool, dry night air as he took off his clothes, folded them, and tucked them between a bush and the base of the large boulder at the entrance of Marj's long drive.
The cougar prowling out in the darkness was no ordinary one, either: there was another shapeshifter in the vicinity. Harry hoped it was one of the missing kids, but somehow he doubted it. Because he thought that the reason he was having so much trouble tracking down his quarry was due to the camouflage talent of the were-cougar youth.
Harry stretched his hands over his head and arched his back before dropping down onto hands and knees. He ignored the sharpness of the winter wind on his bare skin and let the change come slowly, let it be a sensual pleasure rather than a rush of necessity. Making love with Marj had put him in the mood for all the sensual pleasure he could get.
The distant scent became even more obvious when Harry was in wolf form, and easily recognizable. Harry was annoyed at the delay in his search, but he couldn't put off tracking the other were, since it was his client, Mr. Losimba.
He was glad that the trail led quite a distance across the rocky valley, away from the buildings on Marj's hilltop. The last thing he wanted was the Losimba kid's family marking up the territory Harry was using as bait.
When he found Losimba, the werecougar was perched regally on top of a rock outcrop, his gold fur frosted by moonlight. Harry came to a halt and took a moment to appreciate the pose.
Then he switched from wolf to human form. All were-folk were telepathic, but it was easier to communicate mind to mind with humans than across forms. Wolf to wolf, or any other canine type, was natural for him, but canine to feline was just—wrong.
Harry ignored the sudden blast of cold, along with a natural distaste for cats, and said, "You're lovely. But if a rancher gets a look at you up there, you're going to get shot."
The Losimbas were as urban as most shapeshifters these days. Normally, when werefolk went out into the wild to take on their animal forms, they did so on large tracts of wilderness property owned and guarded by the Council of Clans. If you wanted to run free, you paid an annual fee for the privilege.
The Shadows of Christmas Past Page 26