Bayou Noël

by Alexandra Ivy

Raphael didn’t move. He didn’t look angry or fearful. Instead, he said in a calm, curious voice, “That’s a reaction which should be examined, brother. Don’t you agree?”

  Nostrils flaring, Garrick backed up. As the realization of what he’d just done, and to whom, snaked through his burning blood, he shook his head and growled. “I apologize. I must be jetlagged.”

  Unfolding from the trunk of the cypress, Raphael moved forward, amusement lighting his eyes. “So where is she?”

  “Medical,” Garrick uttered tersely. “She quit. After five years.” He sniffed. “Claims to have a new position.”

  “Then she’d be in the dormitory with the other single Nurturers.”

  Garrick’s gut clenched. He’d forgotten that part of Nurturer housing. “When you referred to the other males who might be interested in her, were you speaking in general or do you know—”

  “I know nothing, brother,” Raphael assured him. “But if you’re this jacked up over the idea of such a thing…well, what does that tell you?”

  “That she doesn’t belong there,” Garrick tossed out.

  “Try again.”

  His eyes lifted sharply to connect with Raphael. “That this new job of hers is a bad idea. She was safe and comfortable where she was. She was happy…” He broke off. Happy? Shit, clearly not. Because if she had been, she’d have stayed. And wouldn’t have looked at him like that in the hall before she’d walked out. Like he was her jailer. Like she wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

  He swallowed thickly.

  Like she wanted something else. Or someone else.

  Without even a grunt of farewell to his mentor, Garrick shifted back into his puma form and took off into the trees. He would fix this. Offer her more money, more challenges to her Nurturer nature, whatever she required. Anything to get her back home where she belonged.

  Then he could return to his work, to where he belonged, with peace of mind once again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Molly was given her old rooms at the back of the dormitory.

  She didn’t have a lot of space. A small bedroom, a living room and bathroom. Still, they were hers. With no aggravating male thinking he could stroll in and out of her life whenever he felt the urge.

  After unpacking her belongings, she’d headed to the communal storage shed to gather lights and holly, as well as the small box of decorations she’d left there after the death of her parents.

  Once back in her rooms, she’d set about creating a Noël atmosphere, all the while forcing her heart and her mind to accept what was. Yes, she was back to where she’d started. Yes, her spirit was bruised. And yes, it felt as if she’d wasted the last five years of her life.

  But she’d be damned if she was going to allow her heavy heart to ruin these last precious days of a holiday she adored more than any other.

  Bayou Noël was going to belong to her now.

  At last, satisfied that she’d replaced the institutional boredom of her space with a festive cheer, Molly moved to the window that overlooked the bayou, remembering the last Noël she’d shared with her parents. A smile touched her lips.

  She’d tried to pretend she was too old to be excited by all the presents that had been neatly and beautifully wrapped and stacked both around the fireplace and inside their stockings. But she’d been secretly thrilled when her father had refused to listen to her protests, and had swung her into his arms so she could place the angel goddess on top of the mantel.

  That’s what she missed. What she wanted.

  The laughter. The love. The sheer comfort of family.

  A family of her own again.

  She wiped away a tear. Dammit. Maybe she’d make a stocking for herself this year. And some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

  This was her place. Her new start.

  Repeating the words in an attempt to convince herself that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake by walking out of that house earlier, Molly abruptly stiffened as she caught the familiar scent of an approaching cat.

  Garrick.

  Shit. Pulse pounding, she moved forward, wishing she’d locked her door. But she was too late, as the angry male simply barged into her rooms, his aggression filling the space with prickles of heat.

  Glancing around, his brows slammed together as his gaze took in the pictures and personal items that had already been set around the room, as well as the Noël decorations.

  His clever mind wouldn’t miss the less than subtle displays of nesting.

  And he wasn’t pleased.

  “What is this?” he growled.

  “My home.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, acutely aware that he’d left behind his jacket and tie. With his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of the chiseled muscles of his chest, and his dark hair ruffled, he’d never looked more outrageously male. A shiver shook her body as the image of licking her way over that smooth, caramel skin seared through her mind.

  No.

  She was not supposed to be fantasizing about the annoying puma. She’d spent too many years in that daydream. She forced herself to meet his burning gaze. “And I don’t recall inviting you.”

  His hands landed on his hips, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights. “You had a home.”

  “No.” She shook her head, refusing to be intimidated. “I was an employee who happened to live beneath your roof.”

  He looked shocked at her blunt words. “That’s bullshit. You know my mother considered you family.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. Of course he would try to use his mother to convince her. God forbid he actually said that he might think of her as family.

  “But I’m not,” she insisted, turning to pace toward the mantel where she’d placed a photo of her mother and father. Her father had his arm around her mother’s shoulders and they were gazing into each other’s eyes with blatant affection. Loneliness sliced through her heart. “Not in any real way.” With an effort she turned back to Garrick, willing him to understand. “Tonight, when you and your mother light your family candle on the Noël tree, I’ll be alone.” Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “Next year, I want to light a candle with someone.”

  He prowled forward, his presence seeming to shrink the already small room. “Don’t do this, Molly. We’ve shared five years together.”

  “Through letters,” she snapped, ignoring the magic of their almost daily correspondence. She might have discovered the real Garrick beneath the composed Diplomat, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a flesh and blood lover who would share her life. The good, the bad. The ups and downs. To hold her during the night and stand at her side during the day. “While you were thousands of miles away.”

  His eyes softened, and he reached out to lightly brush a finger over her cheek, his touch agonizingly gentle. “And yet I never felt closer to anyone in my life.”

  Oh, his words…his gaze… Pleasure seared through her, her cat surging toward the touch of the male she considered her mate.

  It was the logical side of her brain, however, that was currently in charge. With a deliberate motion, she brushed his hand away.

  “The distance was safe. But as soon as you came home, you treated me like a stranger. You put up barriers between us.”

  His expression became guarded. “That’s not true.”

  “No?” Her voice revealed her pent-up pain. “How many times did I wait at the door for you to arrive, only to be treated with an aloof politeness when you finally made your rare appearance? Or how about when I invited you to take an afternoon to spend alone with me? Every time, you told me that you had too much work to get away.” She gave a shake of her head, feeling raw as she exposed just how deeply she’d needed him. “It might have taken me awhile, but I finally got the message.”

  Ignoring her warning glare, he once again trailed his fingers over her cheek, tracing the line of her stubborn jaw.

  “What message, Molly?”

  Her cat clawed beneath her skin, desperate to reach the male she desired with e
very fiber of her being.

  “I might be good enough to relieve your boredom when you’re far from home, but obviously I’m not the type of female you want to have an intimate relationship with.” She shrugged, pretending she wasn’t melting beneath the feathery stroke of his fingers. “That’s fine. I’ll find someone who does.”

  Those honey eyes darkened to molten lava, and his expression went feral and hungry with the power of his beast.

  “Any male touches you, Molly,” he snarled. “And he dies.”

  And just to accentuate the point, he kicked the door closed with his boot.

  CHAPTER 5

  The fire, the heat, the madness that raged through Garrick was barely contained. Maybe it was because he’d thought about Molly for too many years to count. Or shit, maybe it was because he’d tried not to. Whatever the reason for the onslaught of desire, he couldn’t stop himself now.

  As he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, he felt ready to consume her. And hell, anyone who might be foolish enough to walk into the room at that moment.

  Her head back and her dark, velvety eyes pinned to his, Molly whispered in a pained voice, “Why are you doing this, Garrick? It’s not fair.”

  “I don’t care about fair,” he nearly growled. “Do you?”

  She didn’t answer him. “You had your chance and you lost.”

  He bent his head and took her mouth—that perfectly pink mouth he’d dreamed about every damn night when his head hit the pillow—kissing her with all the hunger he’d been storing up and shoving away.

  When he pulled back, her eyes were glassy and she was breathless. But she still managed to utter, “You lost me, Garrick.”

  “No,” he said on a growl. “Never.”

  He kissed her again, hungry and impatient, and pulled her even closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, and his thigh was wedged between her legs. And when he heard her moan, felt her tongue slip into his mouth, and her fingers slide into his hair, he felt his male’s stoic mind and his puma’s desperate heart collide. This was right. She was right. She tasted so warm and so sweet, and he knew that he could do this—kiss her hungrily, suckle at her lower lip, feel her taut nipples brush his chest, revel in the sweet heat of her pussy against his denim-clad thigh—all day and all night if she’d let him.

  Desperate to know the feeling of her skin under his palms, he gripped the edges of her shirt and dragged the fabric up, up, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the thing over her head. Then he dropped it to the floor and took her mouth again. She groaned and raked her hands up his back.

  He eased back an inch. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this, Molly?” he uttered against her wet lips.

  “Oh, Garrick,” she whispered, a cry in her voice.

  “How many nights I’ve touched myself, wishing it was you. Your hand. Your mouth.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Your wet pussy.”

  She arched her back, pressed her sex harder against his thigh. “Oh god, Garrick. Please.”

  “Have you touched yourself, Molly?” he whispered in the curve of her ear as he pressed her back, groaning when he felt how wet she was, even through the fabric of her jeans. “Have you wished it was me? My hand? My mouth?”

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “In my bed. In the shower.”

  Garrick’s puma growled and snarled beneath his skin. Just the thought, the image, of her lying back on her bed naked. Or under the hot spray of the shower with her hands between her thighs, her nipples beading, her hips swaying. It made him insane with lust. Fuck. She’d wanted him as he’d wanted her. He was such an idiot male. It was something he’d always known, always felt—but had pretended was nothing more than a casual connection.

  And, like a true bastard, he had stayed far away to keep it so.

  He drew back. No more. Not now. He wanted this—needed it. Needed her. Her touch, her taste on his tongue. With forced gentleness, he eased down the cups of her bra to reveal her heavy breasts. For a moment, he just stared at her, every inch of him going hard and anxious.

  “Damn, Molly,” he uttered hoarsely, his hands clenching with anticipation. “You are one beautiful female.”

  Her eyes flickered downward. “No…”

  “Yes,” he insisted, almost harshly. “Fuck yes.” He reached out and cupped her right breast, then ran his thumb over one puckered nipple. “The most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.”

  Her breath caught.

  “And I don’t deserve you,” he finished.

  “Garrick,” she began. But when he bent his head and lapped at her other taut peak, suckled it into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, she said nothing more.

  She was only gasps and moans, her hands fisting in his hair as her hips danced against his thigh.

  Fuck, she was so responsive. So perfect. So right. So…

  His.

  His puma snarled, ripped at his chest with its claws. What was he doing? Thinking? Every taste, every goddamn touch, was like the hottest, most addictive drug.

  As he suckled her dark pink bud into his mouth, flicked it gently with his tongue, he released her other breast and let his hand venture down, let it follow the warm trail to the wet treasure it sought. When his fingertips met denim and zipper, he made quick work of them. And, taking his mouth from hers for a moment, he dragged the offending fabric down over her hips, her legs and to her ankles, where she instantly stepped out of them. His cock pressing fitfully against his zipper, he drew back and stared at the vision before him.

  The five-year fantasy come to life.

  She was all soft curves, lightly tanned skin, and erotic wet heat, and Garrick didn’t know what he wanted to kiss, taste or fuck first. She had such a glorious body. Granted, he’d thought about it, imagined it a hundred times with his fingers wrapped around his shaft. But his imaginings were nothing to the reality. Heavy breasts, berry-pink nipples, small waist, shaved mound. All that, and the face and heart of an angel, besides.

  It was no wonder then that he dropped to his knees before her.

  Her eyes widened. “Garrick…what are you doing?”

  “Worshipping you, Mol.” He dipped his head and lashed at the outside of her sex with his tongue.

  She cried out. “Oh my god.”

  “So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling her shaved pussy with his nose, then drawing his tongue through her hot, wet lips. Christ, she tasted so sweet. Honey and cream.

  “Garrick,” she cried again, her hands reaching for his shoulders to steady herself.

  “I got you, sweet thing. I won’t let you fall.”

  He grasped her hips, held her firmly, then dipped his tongue inside her again, groaning when a hot wash of moisture met him. He could feel her clit humming under the thin layer of skin just above him, and he wanted to feel it in his mouth. Wanted to suckle it hard at first, then soft, then light as a feather until she came apart in his hands.

  But first, he wanted inside of her.

  His hands tightening on her hips, he titled her toward him slightly, then slowly thrust his tongue up into her pussy.

  She gasped, cried out. “Oh, god! Oh, Garrick!”

  Her walls fluttered and creamed around his eager tongue, spurring him on. He thrust inside her, going as deep as his mouth would allow. His cock screamed to get out from behind his zipper and into her tight, hot body, but he ignored it. He wanted her climax this way. He wanted to feel her shudder against his mouth as he drank her down.

  He fucked her as she pumped her hips against him, and it was only when she stopped, froze, her entire body going rigid, that he slowed. His gaze drifted upward, and he saw her stomach muscles clench, her ribs showing with every quick breath, her nipples so dark and hard he nearly came at the sight. But it was her face, her beautiful face, so flushed, so ready to fly, that made him pull out and lick her all the way to that pulsing clit.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried out. “Yes! Garrick, don’t stop!”

  Wi
th feather-light flicks, he teased the bud until it swelled, until it went dark pink. She was so worked up, moaning, crying out, begging, her legs unsteady, that he had to hold her firmly. Then, like lightning flashing, fireworks booming, she fell apart, crying out, creaming against his chin, trembling in his hands.

  And Garrick lost what was left of his mind.

  That was the only explanation for what he did next.

  Or tried to do.

  It happened so quickly he almost didn’t believe it. One moment he was the Suit enjoying the female who he’d dreamt and fantasized about for five long years, the next he was lost to his cat. The puma inside of him snarled fiercely and claws formed on his right hand. Before he could stop himself, his hand was poised just above her abdomen, those claws ready to strike.

  Molly’s head dropped. Her eyes were glassy and heavy-lidded as she stared at him. “Oh my god!” she rasped. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know,” he lied.

  Christ, he knew exactly what he was doing. Or wanted to do. He wanted to mark her.

  Mark. Her.

  Shaking the insanity out of his head, he backed away, stood up. This wasn’t happening. He hadn’t done that. He glanced down at his right hand. Fuck! The claws were still there. How was this happening? Why? He’d been with females before, and nothing like this had ever occurred.

  Until Molly.

  Oh, shit…of course Molly.

  She was the goddam mating kind! And he was most definitely not. What an asshole he was. He didn’t even know what mating looked like. He’d grown up with parents who were never together, who were completely, utterly and unapologetically devoted to their jobs. It was all he knew. And no matter how much he wanted Molly, she deserved a male who could be that for her. A mate. Give her a home, family, something real and lasting.

  His puma snarled fiercely at the thought.

  “Your puma wanted to claim me.”

  Her voice brought his head up, his eyes narrowed and his cock pulsing once again at his zipper. She was standing beside the bed, with a pink, wet pussy, and a bra that remained below her swollen, delectable breasts. God almighty, he’d never seen anything so fucking hot.