by Renee Rose
“Change of plans, princess,” he tosses back, and pulls in at a little Mexican taco stand on the west side of the now dry Santa Cruz riverbed. “I’ll take you to brunch.”
I’d protest, but I’m not sorry. I would’ve been late for yoga, anyway, and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I crave more time with my overbearing neighbor. Even if it is on a death machine. Which feels amazing between my thighs.
Garrett orders ten carne asada tacos, pays, and hands me the paper sack with our food. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“For a picnic.” He starts the motorcycle and takes the turn for A Mountain, leaning into a curve. The A is for the giant letter painted there—for University of Arizona—and I lean with him, trying to ignore the fact that I’m plastered against the hottest guy I’ve ever met. It’s almost like I never had the morning orgasm at all.
We head up A Mountain, the statuesque saguaro cacti standing sentinel as we zoom past. The sun is high, but the air rushes past me, making the temperature perfect.
By the time Garrett pulls onto an overlook, I’m actually having fun. The view of the city and natural landscape beyond is incredible. Wrens chirp from their nests in the giant cacti. This is what it’s like to be Garrett. Free.
The familiar knot of anxiety I always wear is gone, as if I’ve taken on his ease and strength. His overwhelming belief that the city belongs to him, and there’s nothing he can’t handle. I know I’m projecting, yet my gut tells me I’m right. What I feel is true. Garrett owns his life, downtown, this mountain.
But that’s stupid. He may be a werewolf, but it doesn’t make him invulnerable. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet?” I ask as I pull mine off.
“Worried about me, princess?”
“No,” I mutter. “A wreck probably wouldn’t make a dent in your hard head.”
He just grins. “How did you like the ride?”
“It was nice.” I flush.
“Glad I could pop your cherry. Your bike cherry.”
I narrow my eyes and try not to think about what it would’ve been like if he’d been the guy who’d popped my actual cherry. So much better than Tommy Jackson.
He just laughs. “Come on, princess.” He leads me to a picnic table. “Here. Dig in.” He opens the container of tacos.
“Nice of you to ask me what I wanted,” I mutter. “I could be on a diet. Or vegetarian.”
He freezes, looking horrified. “Are you vegetarian?”
“No.” My stomach growls.
“Thank the fates.” He picks up a taco and devours it in one bite.
I’m suddenly worried there won’t be enough for both of us. “But I am watching my weight.”
He scoffs. “Why?”
“Same reason I go to yoga every week. It’s what normal people do, you know, to keep in shape.”
“I like your shape.” His blue eyes sweep down from my face to my breasts and linger there. My nipples peak at the attention. “Tell you what, you eat—” he plunks a taco in front of me. “And I’ll watch your weight.”
“What?”
“I will watch it very, very closely.” He ducks his head beneath the table to ogle my lower half.
I snap my knees shut, but a slow throb starts between my legs. I imagine him under the table, prying my knees apart. Putting those sensual lips of his against my core. “I’m sure you will.” Damn my voice for sounding breathy and excited. “Pass.” I bite into the taco and moan. It is so good.
The man—werewolf—across the table looks like he wants to take a bite out of me.
Jesus, do werewolves bite? Why haven’t I asked yet?
I nod to his fingers, the blue ink rendering of the moon in its various phases. “For someone who has a big secret, don’t you think that tattoo is a little telling?”
He gives me a lopsided grin, one side of his mouth pulling up. “Most humans aren’t like you, Amber.”
It may not have been a compliment, but the way he looks at me makes my insides warm. “S-so, how does it work? Do you bite people to turn them during the full moon?”
Garrett gives a short bark of laughter. “We’re not fucking leeches.”
I stare blankly.
“Vampires.”
My stomach knots. There are vampires, too? Eeesh.
“No, you’re either born a shifter or you’re not. You can’t be turned. In fact, there are pathetically few of us left. Breeding with humans has caused our species to dwindle.”
I suddenly long to know everything about them—meet the whole gang and understand what makes them tick. It hits me hard, like this is some knowledge I’ve been missing my whole life, that I should have known.
“I have a question for you, Counselor.” Garrett has polished off six street tacos. “How do you drive if you get visions all the time?”
“I can suppress them. I don’t usually get them unless I’m around big crowds of people. Or when I get touched.”
He bares his teeth, like he can’t stand the idea of anyone touching me. “How are you not a recluse, then?”
“I kind of am. I don’t go out a lot, except to work and yoga. Foxfire is my only close friend.” My life sounds pathetic. Normal Amber is pretty lame.
“Why did you choose to become a lawyer?”
I square my shoulders. “Why? Because I could’ve been a fortune-teller instead?”
He laughs. “No, baby. Somehow, I can’t see you doing that. I’m just wondering what makes a hot, talented woman like you go into such a rigid occupation.”
He means I’m too uptight. I touch my tangled waves, wanting the security of my usual French twist. “I work with kids in the system, getting them out of bad situations.”
“Isn’t that pro bono stuff?”
“Almost,” I admit. “I’m lucky I got scholarships for law school, otherwise I couldn’t afford my student loans and rent.”
“I didn’t know you were such a humanitarian type.”
“Yep. Foxfire calls me a bleeding heart liberal. But I want to give back, and if I can help these kids navigate the system, save them from what I—” I stop short. I didn’t mean to tell him about that.
“Save them…” Garrett prompts when I don’t go on. “What were you going to say?”
I set down the rest of my second street taco. Should I tell him? “I was in the system.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “Foster care, from the time I was six.”
His fingers wrap into fists, jaw sets tight. He looks one part sick, one part furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Easy, Hulk.”
He exhales a measured breath and stands up.
I watch him walk around the table and plunk down on the concrete bench beside me, straddling it.
He reaches for me, using one giant paw to swivel my knees in his direction, turning me in my seat. Leaving his hand on my knee, he cups my nape with the other. His brow knits with concern. “You okay?” His voice is gruff, like he’s going to go back in time and kick the ass of anyone who hurt me in my past.
“Yeah.” I let out a shaky breath. I can’t believe I told him. It violates my number one rule for keeping Crazy Amber under wraps. It took Foxfire years of prying to get it out of me. “Foster care saved me, but it wasn’t easy. I tried my best to act normal, but I kept getting sent back because they thought I was crazy. You know, because of the...”
“The visions?”
“Yeah. My last set of foster parents thought I had a drug problem.” I shake my head. “They spent years trying to medicate me.”
“Did it help?”
“No. It made me feel worse. But they meant well. And my life in foster care was so much better than the alternative.”
“So, now you work with kids, making sure they get the life they deserve.” His eyes are the deepest blue, filled with understanding. I don’t want to accept it, but it feels so damn good.
“Yes.” I’m grateful he changed the subject back to work. Work is safe. I launch into a long e
xplanation of my state job as child’s attorney, representing kids in the foster system.
“Sounds intense,” he says. “It also sounds like you’re really making a difference. Not bad for a slimy lawyer.” He tries for light, but his eyes still hold a world of grief on my behalf.
I roll my eyes and give his sturdy chest a light shove.
He catches my wrists and pins them together with a large hand. “None of that, bad girl.”
Oh, lordy. The memory of my spanking last night comes rushing back. As if it hadn’t been at the forefront of my mind all day.
“No disrespect.” His voice drops an octave. “Or I’ll have to punish you again.”
My pussy clenches, but I ignore the way the threat lights me up.
He drops his gaze to my pebbled nipples showing through my tight yoga tank, ratting me out.
My face heats. “Y-you’re the bad one. Not me.” I yank the container of tacos closer. “There are two left, Aren’t you going to eat them?” It’s a lame attempt at distraction, but he allows it.
“So, if you were having lunch with a business owner who wants to give back to the community, what would you say foster kids need most?”
I straighten. “Does this business owner happen to own property all over Tucson? Including Club Eclipse?”
He grins. “Maybe.”
“Believe it or not, I’d love to have access to the club one night.”
He quirks a sexy brow. “Really?”
“Really. One of the social workers for the foster kids is looking for a place to host a “Families’ Night Out” with kids and their foster parents. It’d be so cool to take them to Eclipse. Let them have a dance party.”
“I don’t serve alcohol to anyone under twenty one,” he deadpans.
“Of course not,” I swat his hand. In a blur of movement, he catches it. My lips part as his mouth closes over my fingers, sucking them. The slow roll of his tongue has me blushing. Once more I imagine that tongue working between my legs. Not that I’ve ever wanted that before. Hell, I’d always thought it was kind of disgusting. You know, unsanitary. But the velvet wet heat of Garrett’s mouth has me dying for it.
I sag in my seat when he lets me go.
Swallowing hard, I continue. “I-it’d be a dry event. Just sodas and music. Maybe a light show. The kids would think it’s so cool. It’ll be good neutral territory for them to bond with their new families.”
“All right,” he says slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Would your roommates volunteer to help?”
“Jared and Trey?” His eyebrows pop up. “They’ll do whatever I tell them to do.”
“You said it yourself: they’re Boy Scouts. They’d be great role models. As long as they tell the kids not to drink or smoke, and to stay in school.”
“My buddy Tank owns a motorcycle shop. He has a handful of high school kids who hang out on the regular to learn from him. I’ve always thought it could be a formal program. You know—vocational training or something.”
My heart squeezes to hear that Garrett—the giant werewolf I’d so misjudged—thinks about helping local teens. “That’s an incredible idea. Would you want to be a part of it?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
I picture him mentoring young would-be thugs and giving them a sense of purpose and confidence. “I bet you’ll make a great dad,” I blurt. My eyes widen when I realize I just brought up having kids on our first date. I don’t even know what made me say it. Yes, I do. My overactive ovaries, which are still dropping eggs every two minutes in hopes they’ll get lucky with him. “I mean—”
“Yeah, I’ll teach them to pick locks and ride motorcycles. Isn’t that what every woman looks for in the father of her pup?” There’s a challenge in his voice, and a flush of shame runs through me for being so judgmental of him.
“I’m sorry I acted like a snooty bitch when we met. I was just nervous about my safety and I—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, stamping his lips over mine with an unspoken demand.
I yield, opening for his tongue, trying to ignore the way the Earth tilts on its axis and dumps me on my butt. Somehow, I know my hair is never going to fit back into the uptight twist I used to wear.
“Oh, Amber,” Garrett breaks the kiss. “If you had any idea all the terrible things I want to do to you, you’d know you were right to be nervous.”
My breasts ache now, nipples stinging and chafing against the fabric of my yoga top. I want his mouth on them. I want to know all the terrible things. He’s already spanked me. What else is the kinky werewolf into? Bondage? Humiliation? I never considered anything but plain old missionary sex to be in my future, but it’s like a door has slid open, showing me a whole new, beautiful world.
I grope for something to say, something safe and neutral. “What about you?” I bump his foot with mine. “How did you get into real estate?”
“I moved to Tucson when I was eighteen. My dad gave me a startup loan, and I bought a small commercial property and rented it out. Did all the repairs and fixup myself. Then I got lucky. Downtown revitalization took off, and the value of the property shot through the roof. I borrowed against equity to pay my dad back and open Eclipse. My dad was disappointed to say the least.”
“That you opened a nightclub?”
“Yeah. He says I’ll always be a punk.”
A rush of anger runs through me on Garrett’s behalf. I may have jumped to the same conclusion when I met Garrett, but I’ve since seen he’s more than a motorcycle-driving hoodlum. And even with a startup loan from his father, any guy who could grow his real estate empire from one commercial building to a multi-million dollar empire has some business skills and savvy.
Garrett’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess he’s right.”
Hearing about his father’s condemnation suddenly gives me some insight into why Garrett hasn’t grown up. With a father like that, you’d either want to prove him wrong or prove him right. Looks like Garrett chose proving him right. Yes, he’s a little old to be rebelling, but if he grew up with an overbearing, judgmental asshole for a parent, I can see how that might stick with him.
“So, what’s the average day look like for you?”
“Drink beer. Harass my hot neighbor.” He keeps playing the thug role.
I yank the container of tacos away just as he reaches for one. He arches a stern brow. I stifle a grin and shove them back, eyeing his enormous pecs.
He catches me looking and smirks. “Like what you see, angel?”
I shrug like his nearness has no effect on me. “You work out for those?”
“Naw. This is all genetics, baby.” He flexes, showing off his giant biceps. I wonder how many girls at Eclipse throw themselves at his feet every night. The thought makes me want to strangle all of them.
“Run the club? Manage your properties?” I continue pressing.
“Nope, I have pack members and employees to do that, now. I manage them.”
Pack members. He has a pack of shifters. I don’t know why, but I love that idea. The men who seemed so intimidating and rough in the elevator that first day, the tough bouncers at the club, they’re not motorcycle club members. Or maybe they are, but they’re also pack members. Wolf pack members.
I suddenly wonder if every motorcycle club is actually made up of werewolves. I’m too embarrassed of my ignorance to ask.
I wonder if they dress like punks on purpose. To warn humans off or something. Not that I’m complaining, today. His massive body is drool worthy in his signature ripped jeans and faded T-shirt that reads Dark Side of the Moon.
Moon. Heh. I wonder how much moon paraphernalia he collects.
“Eat your taco, Counselor.” Garrett has polished off the remaining two and points at my second, half-eaten one.
“I’m full.”
“Then come with me.” He tugs me up, his huge hand swallowing mine. Strong fingers, powerful enough to crush metal, but so gentle with me.
He l
eads me up the mountain, away from the motorcycle. We’re off the beaten path, and when it proves too tricky for my tennis shoes, he lifts and carries me easily over the rocky terrain, to the very top of A Mountain then sets me down on a small boulder. The view is even more spectacular.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” I ask.
“I just wanted to change things up.” He fingers a lock of my hair. “What you told me on the picnic table—about being in foster care—do you tell many people that?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Are you close with your foster parents?”
“The last ones? The ones who tried to medicate me? Not really. I think I went to law school just to prove I didn’t need their help or anyone else’s.”
“Do you have any close friends? Anyone who knows you’re psychic?”
“Just Foxfire. At least, she’s the only one who believes me when I tell her what I’ve seen.”
“Anyone else?”
I shake my head. My chest hurts a little. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Now I know why you’re wound so tight, baby. Your gift makes you isolate from others. You have no one to watch your back.”
“It’s not a gift.” My throat clogs.
“And you don’t have anyone to share your secret with. No family. No pack,” he murmurs as if talking to himself.
The pain under my breastbone expands until I blink back tears.
He catches my expression. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pulls me to stand and wraps me in his arms.
I resist, hating weakness.
He ignores my attempts to push him away, his strength making me seem like a toddler. “I just want to know what makes you tick. I don’t want to hurt you, Amber.”
“You can’t hurt me,” I declare, but it’s an old assertion. The cousin to I don’t need anyone, and I know it’s not true. I give up resistance and sag against him, resting my cheek on his massive chest. I wipe my eyes.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
I want to call bullshit on that. But I like the way it sounds. And I like the way it feels to lean into his warm strength and soak it up.
I’ve never opened up to anyone the way I did to Garrett. I’m not even sure how he got me to. But I trust him. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life. “Well.” My voice sounds shaky. “I guess we both know each other’s secrets now.”