by Susan Arden
Their gazes locked. She bit her bottom lip, grazing the skin and making it turn a deep shade of pink. “I’ve never known you to be on time.”
Pinpricks assaulted his skin in her presence as though his senses were heightened again. Still, he couldn’t understand why Sherry of all the Den staff should cause such unrest in him. His attention swam over her torso, taking in her lush hips, and he could almost perceive the warmth that lay in wait between her legs.
He inhaled her delicious scent and rasped in a hoarse voice, “Have you showered yet? You could join me. Then we can do the proverbial two birds with one stone.” He winked just to see the color deepen to her stunning face.
Her eyes gleamed and he swore she shifted her glance down his torso for a peek. “In your dreams,” she volleyed back.
For a second, he stalled. Her quip had struck home. Unchained the drawbridge into his memory. The image of Sherry ghosted before him. Her burgundy hair turned black as midnight, framing her ivory skin. Then as though a solar flare erupted in his brain, the image burst apart in his mind’s eye. In her place, a woman with long flowing hair stood dressed in a sweeping, dark cape. Same eyes as Sherry but her features were slightly altered. Her already milky-colored skin gleamed satiny as if caressed by moonlight. Her eyes glowed as only a shifter’s would at night.
He shook his head to clear the image. Instead the seductive chimera began to flame, turning to fire under his skin.
Droplets of sweat beaded his hairline. “You’ll have to excuse me, doll.”
“Jesus, Quinn.” Sherry closed the door and ran to him. “Are you ill? I saw the cut on your leg.”
“Only a scratch.” He closed his eyes. The image of darkened forms swam before him. Sharp screams. The scent of blood. The cloying feeling of dizziness swallowed him. A cold sweat broke out across his brow and currents of air rose and fell about him similar to the flapping of birds’ wings.
Sherry’s hand curled around his arm. Electrical jolts darted across his skin from the contact with her fingers. Warmth spread from where she touched him, but still he couldn’t shake the icy darts assaulting him. The opposite of déjà vu; these were foreboding. A premonition. He shuddered, taking hold of her fingers.
“Sherry,” he exhaled, opening his eyes. “Got to get you out of here.”
“Quinn, what is it?” She put her other arm around his waist and helped him move toward a chair. “My God, you’re as white as a sheet. You must be sick.”
“If I could get a breath.” He leaned onto her unable to explain this bizarre event.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Just tired.” His chest froze. His nightmare spilling into daytime. The skeleton in his closet about to escape. Easy to keep when a terror appeared when most other people slept. This was the secret that he lived each night.
“My God. You’ve got to get some rest. No wonder… you go on nonstop.”
He took in the sight of her gleaming, amber eyes. No way to explain, except to ground himself. Clear his thoughts. One of the few things that worked, deep breathing, he’d learned in Tibet, in a Zen Buddhist monastery hidden in the Himalayas. He’d spent hours sitting on a cold stone floor, incense swirling around him, as he had floated inside a meditative focus on his breath.
Something so simple. Air filling his lungs and then releasing. He repeated the process several times until Sherry’s scent filled him. Under his hands, the feel of her bare skin was both comfortingly warm and smooth as the finest silk. Her breath washed over him with a cool hint of peppermint.
His breathing eased, his body relaxed enough to deeply inhale and expel it along with his words. “I’m fine. A bloody headache. I’ve never had one this bad.”
Sherry’s brows knitted together. She narrowed her eyes, meeting his stare. Their faces so close all he had to do was lean an inch or two and they’d kiss.
“Are you being honest?” she asked, biting her lip and then seeming to ease up.
“Cross my heart,” he murmured, admiring the near wine color of her irises along with tiny flecks of gold and silver in a sunburst pattern. He’d never seen such unusual eyes—except one place—in his dream. “You’re her. Aren’t you?” he whispered without thinking.
“Who? What are you saying? Are you still drunk for heaven’s sake? Quinn I’m not one of your little friends from the underground clubs around here if that’s what you’re asking.” She pushed up and away from him.
Shit. There was no mistake. How had he not noticed before? Well. No shit, Sherlock. With deep crimson hair and a demeanor that would freeze vodka, Sherry wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress that came to him each night. She more resembled a she-dragon, spewing flames and laying aside burly men without a sword.
“I’m not drunk. Just a hell of a migraine. My lot in life, I guess.”
She stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Santo, my cousin gets them. Ibuprofen and a big sip of warm Coke. He says it does the trick.”
“I’ll stick to black coffee. Give me a couple more minutes before we meet. I need to get cleaned up.”
“Fine. I’ll go make coffee if you think that might get you down there sooner. This isn’t just about chewing your posterior. Speaking of cleanups, I heard that you arranged for the tidying of upstairs. I get it wasn’t totally your affair.”
“Are you going to apologize for busting in without an invitation?”
She notched her chin upward, nostrils flaring. “I don’t need one as the manager. I have right of entry. Each and every room. It’s in the contract. Same as you. I just don’t stick around and take my clothes off when the party gets going.”
“Pity,” he muttered, pressing his fingers along his forehead.
“For Pete’s sake. You make it hard to sympathize with your moment of weakness if you run right back to wanker land.”
Her scowl was ammunition enough to get him going and over whatever he’d suffered. Quinn stood up from the chair, unfurling into his full height over Sherry. “Stalwart as usual.” He mock saluted her. “A regular crying shame if you ask me.”
He purposely positioned himself much too close to Sherry, noting the minute details of her beautiful features and battling with the desire to ask her if she was really a black-haired beauty which might explain his wacko instinct to protect her. Hell, maybe this sharp urge to safeguard Sher was nothing more than an over active imagination coupled with Mick Carrigan’s threat that had him imagining he was her knight in shining armor. As usual the dream faded into the recesses of his mind. Gone until nighttime came again. But Sherry still stood in front of him. And his wolf senses pricked.
“Stop gawking as though I’m the one with the issue.” Sherry stared up into his eyes, her voice trembling. “This isn’t the time to work against each other. Not with Shawn out of the picture. Why do you always push me?”
“I don’t rightly know, truth to tell. You’re the only woman in the world who lets me push back without caving. My personal Mount Kilimanjaro, ” he said softly, then went mute. To himself, he also included the fact that her body did not just quit, but provoked him up one wall and down the other. More so this morning.
“So it’s just a challenge… to you?” Her chin quivered slightly.
“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Shit, he’d never witnessed this soft side her and hell it had him scrambling. He focused his hearing and detected her rapid heartbeat. A vein pulsed in her neck. The wolf underneath his human exterior longed to lap at her skin and taste her essence. He’d be sure if she were the one. Quite sure. His wolf senses never lied.
The room was quiet save the exchange of their breaths. Whatever had transpired, he’d crossed some barrier with her. As inexplicable as Sherry’s moods, and just as real. He hoped not as transitory. His own pulse kicked up. This felt like a chase, like he was targeting his prey. He had to leap or die trying or more like open mouth… insert paw.
Sherry’s tone was cool steel. “Oh,
I think you’re quite accomplished in saying exactly what you mean. I’m the fool. When will I learn to stop listening?”
“Don’t do that. Have dinner with me. Once. I won’t bite you.” The perspiration dried on his skin, creating a rippling of goose bumps over his flesh. He shivered, chalking it up to his temperature rather than her proximity.
“You’re a shifter. Lycan, aren’t you? I thought your kind were, in fact, known to bite.”
“Untrue. I don’t mark females. Never have and I’ve no plans to change.” As the words sprang from his lips, each tasted hollow. An erroneous sentiment. If only it could be forgotten as quickly as it had been spoken.
“Why am I not surprised? I’m only a challenge to a man who has no intention of a future except one filled with alcohol and meaningless sex. This could only get better if you said there was some pool you started as to my going out with you. Is this a bet, Quinn?”
“Never. But damn that would outdo fantasy football.”
Her eyes widened and he stopped smiling.
“I was kidding. About that. Totally, serious about dinner.”
“My goodness. I can’t recall a more enthralling invitation for dinner. Red Riding Hood comes to mind.” She shook her head, and rolled her eyes. Liquid eyes. Was she about to cry? His imagination was in rare form this morning.
Except, Sherry seemed to weigh his words. And her eyes became brighter. She blinked rapidly. Fuck! He’d never been smooth. His words had somehow hurt her. Should he retract them and start again?
“Sher, you see…” He stopped. It had been a long time since he was speechless.
“What? You’re holding back. Just spit it out. Whatever you have to say. Jeez, the anticipation is unreal.”
The space between them crackled with a tension that arose each time he tried to tell her his thoughts about his dream. Normally, by now Sherry would have already let loose on him or spun around, giving him the back of her head.
Instead, she licked her full lips, spreading a sheen of glistening moisture he hungered to taste. The wolf in him nearly growled and he closed him mouth to prevent Sherry from noticing his lengthening canines. He had one thought. Fully formed and nearly blinding him to all else. He had to sample her mouth. Had to know if she were the one. This time, he’d do what he should have upstairs.
“Give me what I desire.”
“What?” she whispered, clutching her throat. “Calm down.”
“I am calm. Somehow—don’t ask—but I know you need my help.” He waited for her response, watching her eye color turn almost fully black from the rapid dilation of her pupils. She lifted her hand and placed it on his arm. The contact was electrical, sending a charge over his skin. Sherry squeezed his arm as if testing his strength. He commented, “You’re not arguing.”
She shook her head and remained silent, running her hands over his bare arms and stepping closer. So close her breasts grazed his chest. The contact delivered a jolt of pleasure.
For several seconds, he was overcome by a driving force that exuded complete control on his awareness and fueled a tingling of his wolf senses that told him his mate was near. A crazed rippling need to claim her shook his whole body. He placed his hands on her hips, drawing her to him, and bent his head to capture her mouth. Her lips were velvet, luscious and had him groaning. She didn’t resist. If anything, she melded to him. They were two missing pieces to a puzzle he’d carried around. Something as simple as a kiss had him spiraling.
Quinn raised his head and regarded the woman in his arms. Sherry made to move back.
“Not so fast,” he whispered, “I need more than one fleeting kiss.”
Meeting his gaze, Sherry flashed topaz fire at him. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Stop thinking so hard.” Without waiting for her response, he took possession of her. The heat of her mouth drew out his instinct to seek and plunder. No way was he letting her slip away before getting another taste.
Enfolding her in his arms, he recaptured her lips, swiping his tongue along her mouth. She opened to him, and he pushed for more. Sherry ran her hands up his chest, the feel of her body spiked his hunger. Cupping the back of her head, he bit down on her lush bottom lip, reclaiming her mouth, her moans. The bindings of time dissolved. The past, present, future swirled around him.
Quinn’s heart pounded in his throat. “Doll, I’ve been searching for you,” he whispered, gazing in her fiery eyes. “All this time…” The rest of the words evaporated.
His brain buzzed from the electrical impulses swamping his overcrowded neural pathway. The revelation hit him with the force of a galactic explosion, realigning the molecules in his body and every one of his thoughts.
Sherry drew her brows together, marring the perfection of her face. “If this is one of your upper floor lines, try again, Adonis. In fact, you look weird. Like you’re about to throw up.”
“Wrong. I’m over that bout. Don’t avoid.”
She lifted her head, “You’re not talking about the Den.”
“You know I’m not.” Quinn tangled his hand in her hair, shifting her face an inch or two to give him better access for the type of devouring kiss he intended on sharing. He needed answers, and this was the moment. “There’s no going back. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Then now isn’t the time. Please, Quinn. I don’t have the answers you’re seeking.”
How in the Dickens could she have she read his thoughts? As soon as the idea crossed his mind, she blinked and then laughed nervously.
“You’re a man. That’s not too difficult.” She stiffened. The spell or whatever had been going on between them was immediately altered by her back to business attitude.
“Stop.” He moved his hands down her body and gripped her hips, unwilling to let her go. He was hard, throbbing and every cell in his body was on full charge. In another deep kiss… the tangle of their tongues, and he’d have some answers. If he were right, the power would be undeniable from this point on. Unavoidable. And he’d have no recourse but to blindly follow her. Did he really want answers to questions that would forever alter his life… and hers?
He had to figure this out and fast. Instinct was something he did not argue with and standing this close to her, his nerves were stretched to the point of snapping. She grimaced reminding him she was fragile. Mortal.
Every second standing near to her, his overworking senses assured him, she was the one. But that did not make any sense? His mate would be one of the chosen…not a sassy human with a degree in hospitality.
“What is it that you want? Truthfully?” She held onto his shoulders, the feel of her soft body against him was mind-altering.
“Sherry. One meal. That’s all I’m asking.”
Sherry twisted away, running her finger over the edge of her lips. “And then what? I can assure you I’m not a foregone conclusion. Your flyboy tactics don’t work on me, just so you know.”
His lupine senses held him by the scruff of the neck. He keenly zeroed in on her body temperature, her breathing, her heart rate. He inhaled her essence, an ultrafeminine scent. Human. It did not matter. His Lycan arousal lapped at the molecules. This had taken on the rules of a feral hunt, and she was his prey.
“There are worse things than enjoying the company of a single man,” he said.
“Name one.”
“What? Afraid that Cupid might play havoc with your heart?”
“Sorry, there is no fear that will happen over dinner, Romeo.”
“First timers. It has been known to happen.”
“Aren’t you immune to the condition yourself? If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be bed hopping each night. Really Quinn, if you want to invite me somewhere be serious. Don’t keep playing me because I’m something unattainable.”
“Just tell me, love. Are you tempted? Afraid you might like the idea of being in my bed.”
For a millisecond, the veil from her eyes dropped. Pain laced
her gaze and then she smiled, drawing herself up. “One of an endless stream. That’s a luxury I can’t afford, counselor. Losing oneself isn’t always the road to finding oneself. I don’t think a night of hitting the bottle and meaningless sex is my ticket to salvation.”
“Ouch.” He straightened. “It’s not all meaningless sex.”
She backed away and arched a brow. “No?”
“There’s conversation, too.” He smiled broadly, refusing to allow this woman to distract him, even if she wasn’t succumbing to his charm. She meant something to him. Exactly what, he couldn’t tell. Not yet. Fortunate for him, once he decided upon a chase, rarely did he give up easily.
And Sherry was not someone he was about to step away from… with lips like heaven. Never ever, his wolf sense whispered again and again. So captivating, he inhaled her scent and his gaze lowered to her arched neck, ready for him. And lower still to the neckline of her blouse, the tight material stretching and binding her breasts. All it would take would be a button to pop and her curves would be free. God, her tits would be glorious in his hands. Large and sensitive. The things he could do to make her moan.
His imagination was fueled, and he played mind hockey with several torturous images of her naked under him. The whispers he imagined coming from Sherry’s plump lips bordered on prayer material. Jesus, what he’d give to have her scream his name as he thrust into her repeatedly.
The wolf in him stilled as though prey were close-by. Just to have her accept a dinner invitation would be worth the ringside tickets he had for the upcoming Vegas heavyweight championship.
“You a betting woman?” he asked offhandedly.
“Oh, this ought to be wickedly rich? Hit me, Mr. Rothschild.”
“What if I withhold engaging in meaningless sex for a week? Would you agree to a date then?”
“You. Mr. Quinnlan Rothschild, IV will abstain from all sex for seven days?”
“Please. You act like the idea is farfetched. I’m not a deviant.”