Wolf at the Door

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “Maybe I’ll show you whatever you want anytime.”

  “Ah, now that’s a pledge I will hold you to.”

  “Good! And my God.” He was staring at the litter of empty shells, the stack growing ever higher. But he was smiling, and even if he hadn’t been, she would know he was pleased. “You can really put it away.”

  “No worries; I’m still saving room for dessert. Baked Alaska! As long as we’re obliged to spend so much money this evening, I see no use in half measures.”

  “My kind of woman. Listen, you will lose your mind when you see how it handles Cloud solutions.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Not to mention customers in, what, one hundred fifty countries?”

  Now it was her turn to stare. “That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to stretch, but I run a one-woman op.”

  “And cheap, for what you get.”

  She seized his hand, quicker and faster than she meant to, and let go when he yelped. “Sorry. Tell me more. Talk to me about supply chain management.”

  So he did. And then she started to shake. She managed to force “When?” through her teeth.

  “Uh . . .” He was staring again, which she didn’t mind a bit. Lust. Interest. Lust. “I can show you on my laptop—”

  “When can we get out of here?”

  Lust. Lust. Confusion. Excitement. “You’re not talking about my laptop, are you?”

  The oyster shell she was holding suddenly broke in several pieces; in her excitement she’d squeezed too hard. “No. I’m talking about going to your place or mine and getting naked and spending the rest of the evening trying to hurt each other in various ways, with possible breaks for long showers, and maybe toast, after.” Something about discussing the latest software advancements in her field did it to her every time . . .

  “You. Are. My. Hero.” He looked around and screamed, “Waitress!”

  Fifteen

  As it happened, neither of them wanted to waste time driving to his hotel room or her temporary apartment, which is how they ended up on the floor of room 217 in the Minneapolis Hilton, just upstairs from the restaurant.

  Rachael had been between boyfriends for nearly two years, and she suspected Edward had been deprived of sex as well. That sort of thing can’t be good for us, she mused as he tried to unbutton her shirt dress with trembling fingers.

  In this case, it was a good thing, a wonderful thing, because his black excitement merely kindled her own. Which is why they never made it to the bed, only four feet from where they were lying.

  He tugged and pulled and she tried to help while their mouths fought and tasted each other, but really all they did was get in each other’s way, until . . .

  “Fuck it,” he growled in a voice so deep she could barely make out what he’d said. Then he tugged, hard, and buttons went flying and his hands were on her bra, over her bra, under her bra, and then her bra was up to her neck and she didn’t care at all.

  She didn’t care that much of his weight was on her, either. She kind of liked it. She knew he couldn’t help it, that he was operating through a fog of lust so thick he probably couldn’t remember either of their names. Strange, though. Usually she disliked that behavior, being squashed beneath a laboring man . . . male werewolves tended toward being control freaks during sex. It was all about domination. Not that she minded a bit of domination now and again—it was good for the digestion if nothing else—but she liked how it didn’t feel like a contest with Edward.

  They both wanted exactly the same thing. And they were both determined to get it.

  She reached down, found his belt buckle, yanked. It came loose with terrific ease and she flung it away, and then her fingers were busy at his zipper and he groaned into her mouth.

  She wriggled beneath him, trying to help him when she felt his hands on the backs of her thighs, lifting her toward him. She managed to tug her panties down enough to let him in, then seized his warm, sweetly throbbing member. She started to guide it inside her as he surged forward. Then she brought her knees up and pulled him to her as he sucked on her lower lip and thrust.

  And oh God, it was everything, it was the world, he was the world. “Ah!”

  He stopped at once and she could feel the tension in his arms, the muscles thrumming as he fought not to slam into her again, fought despite the way his body was screaming his need to both of them. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry, Rachael. Did I hurt you?”

  “Yes. And you’d better do it again or you’ll need to find a dentist immediately.”

  He laughed into her mouth and surged forward again, and she—

  lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust

  —wasn’t quite sure where her desires ended and his began, and didn’t much care, either.

  She met him at every stroke and (very unusual for her!) felt her climax start to build almost at once, felt the familiar-yetstrange sensation of an orgasm bearing down on her like a fighter jet.

  Yes, it’s definitely been too long. Far, far too long, and my God, Edward! Where has your dick been all my life?

  “Ah, God,” she groaned. “I’m going to come, Edward, sorry, I’m going—ahhhhh!”

  His teeth had been nibbling the hollow of her throat, his hands were fisted in her hair, and he ground out something like, “Thhkkk ddd,” which she assumed was “Thank God.”

  She knew why, could feel the muscles in his body actually shift as he reached his own point of no return. Then he was stiffening in her arms, went rigid in her arms. She could feel the new rush of heat inside her, saw his eyes roll up, and thought, Good thing we’re on the floor; I don’t think either of us could have kept our feet.

  Then he collapsed over her, whispering, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

  Her thoughts exactly.

  Sixteen

  “Oh, my.” She traced her finger over the fresh, orange-sized bruise he had on his left hip. “Did you forget to wear your safety equipment?”

  “After what just happened, I should definitely get some,” he agreed.

  His hair was adoringly rumpled. (Adoringly? Hair can be adoringly rumpled? If she had heard some other ninny say it, she would have laughed herself sick.)

  He glanced down and saw the bruise she was gently stroking. “Oh, that. Yeah. When you had your crying jag in the Starbucks at Barnes—”

  “It was not a jag.”

  “I got up to go with you and knocked into one of those big old display cases.”

  “Ouch.” She took a closer look; it was closer to grapefruitsized than orange-sized. “That must have hurt.” She had great respect for injuries suffered by those not of the Pack. How could they tolerate days and days of healing? Wasn’t it maddening? Agony? The continual pain, the way the marks took so long to go away, the incapacitation . . . and they had to eat medicine! If it was a terrible injury, they had to eat medicine or they would get an infection and die. Infection sounded like a terrible thing. She didn’t know how they tolerated it. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “For that?” He laughed, a cheerful, sunny sound. Strange to associate sunny with Edward when right now, at close to midnight, it was anything but. “Jeez, Rachael, I’m a severe wimp, but not that big a wimp.”

  She sat up so abruptly he nearly went sprawling. “Who called you that? Where are they?” She glanced around the dark room as if looking for the insensitive bullying moron who dared . . . who would actually call someone so wonderful . . . call them a . . .

  “I called me that. Whoa, calm down. What? Didn’t bother me any. You should see my friend Boo. Did you ever see Zombieland ?”

  She shook her head. She liked the way he was staring at her breasts while speaking casually. She liked the way she could smell his desire flare up when seconds earlier it had bee
n barely banked coals.

  “No? Deprived woman! Okay, we’ll Netflix it. I haven’t unpacked all my DVDs yet. Anyway, there’s a character in Zombieland, Tallahassee, and he’s described as a guy who ‘sets the standard for not to be fucked with.’ That’s my friend Boo.”

  “Hard to imagine ferocity from someone named Boo.”

  “That’s the trick, y’see. Nobody ever sees her coming. She likes it like that.”

  She started to ask if she would meet his friend, then thought, Why would I? We’ve only just met. We have lives waiting for us in Massachusetts. We probably won’t see each other much now that we’ve scratched our itch.

  Then she thought, We reside in the same area now, and when we go back to our lives, we’ll also live near each other. Does it mean something?

  She shoved the thoughts away—long-term relationship planning was not generally a Pack strength unless a pregnancy was involved. The imperative to start and raise a family was strong, even more so than for humans. “And you?” She was trailing her fingers from the bruise, across his stomach, up his ribs . . . “What do you like?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Over his nipples, back down his stomach, following his dark blond treasure trail (a description she had always found silly but apt), down into the thatch at his groin.

  “Edward?”

  “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the rush of blood in my ears.” He shook his head as if to clear it and she laughed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, or been so physically satisfied. “The harder I get, the more I can actually sense my IQ dropping. It’s kind of cool and terrifying at the same time.”

  But how satisfied was she, how sated, if she was ready to go back for seconds? If they both were?

  Maybe it’s about more than scratching an itch.

  And maybe not. “Ah, the trials and tribulations of walking around with a penis.”

  “I know! You have no idea what we menfolk endure.”

  Maybe he’s your mate. Oh, now there was a silly thought. They barely knew each other. And yes, other Pack members occasionally took non-Pack to mate, but it was rare. And Edward . . . they’d eat him alive, so to speak, if she brought him home.

  Maybe this is home now.

  It isn’t! This was never meant to be a permanent living situation! I have a life, a job, family to return to. Anything else—everything else—is just a distraction.

  She forced a smile. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

  “Huh?” His voice was getting thick with desire.

  “I know you want me.”

  This time he was the one to laugh, and she loved how his joy affected the urgent tang to his scent, like strawberries and balsamic vinegar. You’d never think the two would pair well, but the result was surprisingly strong.

  And sweet.

  “What gave it away? When earlier I said, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, you’re so wet’ or when I applied my penis to your—”

  “Oh, God. Please stop that.” She covered her face. “Applied? Don’t ever say applied when discussing mating.”

  “Don’t do that.” He gently grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. “You’re way, way too gorgeous to ever cover that face.”

  “That’s irrelevant.” And it was. She had no power over how she looked. It seemed silly to get credit for something she had nothing to do with.

  “Don’t you know, Rachael? Didn’t anybody tell you? You’re so beautiful.” He stroked his thumb across her right eyebrow and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re just so beautiful.”

  “Irrelevant,” she said again, feeling the blood climb into her face. Blushing like a ninny, very attractive. Next you’ll swoon. “But you’re sweet to say so.”

  “In your lexicon, sweet translates to stud, right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Called it! And I’m standing by my implication that figuring out you’re making me massively horny doesn’t exactly qualify you for Mensa.”

  “Just for that,” she teased, “no oral sex for you.”

  “Nooooooooo!” He had shaken his fists at the ceiling, startling the shit out of her. “Like that? That’s my Darth Vader nooooo! and did you notice that I did it a hundred times better than stupid Hayden Christensen? Hey, I wanted the guy to do well, okay? I wanted him to nail it. But he just—”

  “Please stop talking about Darth Vader and fuck me.”

  “Wow. Torn between two lovers. On the one hand—yeeek! Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one.”

  “I hope so.”

  Seventeen

  They utterly abandoned their transplanted lives for the next fifty hours. They didn’t leave their room, not once. And room service was kept busy, hopping back and forth with late suppers, with late breakfasts. With hot fudge sundaes at midnight, with shrimp cocktails (she ate them like dessert . . . they were so plump and sweet!), with toothbrushes and toothpaste, and with various other essentials neither of them had brought. Rachael put the whole thing on her Amex; she refused to let Edward drop one cent.

  They explored the shower, they explored the living room in their small suite, they explored each other. They told each other stories about themselves, and they watched several in-room movies, including the new X-Men, the new Hulk (“It’s the third remake!” Edward exclaimed, sucking down his second sundae), and the old Zombieland. And Rachael agreed with Edward’s assessment of the character Tallahassee: he definitely set “the standard for not to be fucked with.” In fact, she privately thought he could almost be Pack in the way he focused on fights and never worried about tomorrow.

  But all good things must end. And there were the dead people to wonder about.

  She hadn’t realized it, but she had been subconsciously worrying about the problem of the recent murders, people who might have been her new clients but for meeting up with the wrong person. She doubted it was a coincidence, but now began to wonder if it wasn’t a deliberate attempt to sow discord among either the vampires or the Pack.

  Or the vampires and the Pack.

  So she needed to do something she had thought to avoid for at least a month. She needed a face-to-fang with the vampire queen.

  Fortunately, Edward was as ready to go back to his temporary life as she was, if for no other reason than to get clean clothes. They shared a long, hot, wet good-bye kiss at the door to their room, and at the doors to the elevator, and down the elevator, and in the lobby, and in the parking garage. The parking garage was the best, because he’d leaned her against a car and began doing the most delicious things with his—

  “If I wake up in my dumb hotel bed and find out this whole thing was the wet dream of champions, I’m gonna be superpissed,” was his tender farewell. They promised to get together again as soon as they could. They promised to call and text to shorten the time between seeing each other. They promised to be careful and to talk soon.

  But one of them was lying.

  Eighteen

  Mrs. Cain looked, if anything, more haggard than she had when Rachael had last seen her. So she greeted her with, “Not another murder?”

  “No, thank all the gods. But it’s wreaking havoc on our new ad campaign. ‘Come to Minnesota . . . and be killed!’”

  “It’s not as good as ‘Florida is for lovers,’ ” Rachael agreed.

  “I’m afraid I have no new information for you, other than the fact that the victims were most definitely not Pack.”

  “Or, presumably, vampire.”

  Mrs. Cain blinked. “No. Of course not. But can you imagine? How would they ever cover it up?”

  “No idea. But about the victims being vanilla humans, I figured. I stopped by to let you know I’m off to set up a meeting with the vampire queen.”

  “You’re what?” Mrs. Cain had surged to her feet so quickly only another Pack member could have tracked the movement. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Almost certainly not.” Except when it came to seducing a fellow accountant and watching Zombielan
d twice in a row, not to mention the french fry fight. “I’ve been thinking since we last met, and I don’t like this at all.”

  “I can assure you, you’re not alone. No one likes it.” She eased back down in her seat, looking past Rachael instead of at her. Typical Pack behavior: she was physically backing down so Rachael wouldn’t assume the woman was challenging her. Although normally the domain of males, there were alpha and beta females as well, and, occasionally, Challenges. “But I fail to see what meeting with that woman would accomplish.”

  “I’m not sure, either, but think about it.”

  “I have been,” she said, looking glum. “I’ve mentioned I don’t like it, yes?”

  So she wouldn’t be seen as looming over the woman, Rachael plopped into a chair across from her. “Michael sends me to town to keep an eye on the queen, correct? And I’m no sooner here than people start turning up dead . . . people you had arranged for me to meet. That in itself is plenty odd, but what if someone is trying to stir up trouble between the vamps or the Pack?”

  “I’m not—”

  Rachael stepped on the woman’s words. “What if someone is trying to stir up trouble between the vamps and our Pack? The situation is already awkward—many of our people haven’t forgiven the vampire for letting our Antonia die in her service.

  “And you can’t tell me the vampires didn’t resent having to show up in Massachusetts for what was essentially a trial for, at worst, murder, and at best, negligence. We parted on general good terms, but for a while it looked like we wouldn’t. And it doesn’t take but one spark to rekindle a blaze.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” she said slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Still. Very dangerous, I think.”

  “I agree. But nevertheless.” She shrugged. If she hadn’t been willing to get dirty, she never would have gotten on the plane. “Onward and upward, rah-rah-rah.”

  “No.” Cain shook her head, her expression doubtful. “No, I think the risks are too high, Rachael. I think you’d better steer clear for now.”