Marriage Claws

by Paige Cuccaro

Ouch. “Wow. Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “No. I mean, you have a natural scent that’s far more . . . enticing than anything you could buy from a store,” he said. “It’s weird.”

  “You’re not really good at the compliment thing.”

  “Not tonight, it seems.” He laughed, turning to pour the eggs into the pan. They popped and sizzled, the yummy aroma already making my stomach growl. “Sorry. I’m usually much better at expressing my thoughts but when I’m around you . . .”

  He trailed off, shaking his head. He added the mix of veggies and diced bits of ham and pre-cooked bacon. He looked sideways at me again, the expression on his face more thoughtful.

  “I meant that most humans smell too much like . . . well, like humans. But you . . . underneath your perfume—which is perfectly nice—you have a natural scent that’s much more . . . distracting than any human I’ve ever met.”

  “You can smell my skin underneath the perfume?” I asked trying not to overthink the fact that my scent distracted him.

  He nodded, using the spatula to spread the veggies and meats evenly through the eggs. “All the time. I can smell it now. It’s . . . a little intoxicating. Very strange.”

  “Okay, here’s a suggestion. Try not to use the words ‘strange’ and ‘weird’ when describing your thoughts about a woman.”

  He laughed again and the rich baritone sound rolled through my chest, melting my insides. I inhaled, trying to calm the needs awakening inside me.

  “Right. Good tip. Sorry.” He shook his head again, sprinkling shredded cheese and folding the eggs in half. “I told you, I can’t seem to speak intelligently around you. You have an odd effect on me. And I don’t mean odd in a bad way. I mean, unlike anyone I know.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said glancing from the pan to me and back again. He sprinkled more cheese and my stomach rumbled, but the need growing inside me had little to do with hunger. “I’ve never had a woman actually rob me of speech and thought before. I kinda like it.”

  He slid the perfectly cooked omelet onto a waiting plate and stretched past me to grab one of the cook’s forks from the container. His dizzying scent swirled around me, adding fuel to a growing desire I didn’t know how to extinguish. I closed my eyes, breathed him in through my open mouth and exhaled as he leaned back. My hands were shaking, my thighs warm, muscles tight. I couldn’t help it.

  Our eyes met, his powerful frame so close a casual lean would have me pressed against him. Energy sparked between us like magnets pulling me toward him. Jack lifted the plate, and cut a bite with the side of his fork.

  “Open,” he said softly, but his voice was low, intimate, the fork in his hand hovering at my lips.

  I opened my mouth, my eyes glued to his, and he slipped the fork passed my lips. The omelet was delicious, moist, bursting with flavor, but my senses were too full of Jack to care. The feel of him was so close—the smell of his wild natural scent, the look of hunger in his eyes.

  “It’s good,” I said.

  “Is it?” His gaze dropped to my mouth as he set the plate on the prep table. He brushed his thumb along my bottom lip, cleaning it or desiring it, I wasn’t sure, but the look in his eyes made my body tighten. His finger caught under my chin, held me as he leaned closer and fit his lips to mine.

  My breath caught, warm tingling sensation rushing through my veins. I closed my eyes, relaxing into his kiss. The feel of his lips drew me in, my mind light, unfocused. My heart raced, my blood a heated rush under my skin.

  He slipped his arms around me, deepening his kiss, and I opened my mouth to him. Like a predator who’d lured in his prey, Jack’s muscles hugged tight around me, crushing my body to his and my breath caught. He pulled his lips from mine and straightened, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

  “Kate . . ,” he said, his chest swelling with quickening breaths. His kisses moved to my closed eyes, one and then the other. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  “No. Don’t be sorry,” I said loving the feel of his warm lips pressed to my cheek, to the bridge of my nose, to my temple.

  “We can stop,” he said. “You don’t have to do this. We agreed . . .”

  I exhaled, my breath reflecting off his chest to warm my face. “I know.”

  “Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, trailing one kiss after another along my jaw.

  “I know,” I breathed.

  “I thought I’d made sure. But . . . dear God . . . Kate, there’s something about you.” His mouth found mine again and he took the kiss I would’ve given, demanding more. His passion radiated through the way he held me, the way his larger body enveloped mine.

  The need he’d awakened in me burst into a flame, burning through my veins and obliterating my good judgment. I knew this was dumb—this was a complication neither of us needed or wanted. But his hand moved up my side, his thumb brushing the edge of my breast, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think for wanting his touch, wanting to feel his hands on my bare skin.

  I unbuttoned my blouse and Jack was suddenly helping, kissing me while pulling at the fabric of my shirt. Before the last button was undone, his hands dropped to the clasp of my slacks, unfastening the zipper and slipping his long fingers into my panties, caressing my skin.

  He pushed his hands down my thighs, his palms hot against my legs and his kisses burning a line down my chest, from between my breasts to the top of my belly. Each press of his lips warmed like the embers of a fire, my body tightening with need.

  The slacks and panties fell loose past my knees to my feet, and I stepped out of them, pressing my hands up the hard wall of his chest, catching buttons, unfastening as I went. Jack yanked the knot of his tie until he was free of it, stripping off his shirt the moment he was able. I smoothed my hands over the solid muscles of his chest, the iron ripples of his abs—and everything female inside me shuddered with need.

  His hand cupped the side of my face and his thumb pressed my chin up, lifting my lips to his again. His demanding kiss stole my breath as he smoothed his hands down my chest, cupping my breasts, his thumbs rasping over my lace bra, finding the pucker of my nipples. A gentle tease, a quick pinch and he moved his hands to my waist, clamping hold and lifting me to the cold metal table behind me. Jack wedged his hips between my knees, spreading my thighs wide. Without thinking my hands went to his belt, to the button and zipper of his slacks.

  An instant later I wrapped my hand around the stiff rod of his penis, freeing him. Jack jerked me toward him. I gasped, but he centered my sex with his—his body hard and ready. One hand hooked under my knee he clasped the back of my neck with the other and took another firm, insistent kiss. His hips rocked forward, slipping his sex between the tight, slick muscles of my body, entering me. Sweet sensation seized my breath, rippling through my muscles, and I shifted forward, driving him deeper.

  Within seconds instinct took hold, both of us frantic, driven by desire, by need, by mind-numbing sensation. Jack pulled me closer, perching me on the very edge of the table as he thrust into me, again and again, his kisses growing harder—more possessive. Metal things banged in rhythm on the table, some finally clamoring to the floor. I didn’t care.

  His careful dominance charged my sexual fantasies, turning me on, like napalm on a campfire—I was a blaze wildly out of control. Sensation stormed through my body, heart racing.

  A wonderful pressure instantly built inside me, pushing at my skin, whirling tighter and tighter. I caught my breath; trying to hold out, hold on, the pleasure humming under my skin. I couldn’t think. Didn’t need to. My body knew what it wanted, what it needed, and it was nearly there. The stroke of him inside me pushed me closer and closer, muscles trembling, breath ragged.

  I couldn’t hold back any longer, the pressure suddenly exploding inside me. I called out, wordless, in a cry of ecstasy.

  Sweet release gushed through me, filling my head, cascading down my chest and arms, quaking all the way to
my toes. Jack burned hot and fast, reaching climax seconds later. His moan of relief rumbled through me, his breaths hot against my ear.

  We stood for a quiet moment, nothing but our shallow breaths filling the air. Finally, he lifted his head from my shoulder, his arms still holding around me.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice weak. He kissed the top of my head. “That went a little faster than I would’ve liked, but you felt so . . . It was hard to control myself. Were you . . . satisfied?”

  I laughed, raising my head from his chest. “And then some. Just wish we’d used some kind of protection.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re a different species. Non-compatible. Nothing can be passed between us,” he said.

  God, I hope that’s not just a line. Great. Was I actually hoping he was a werewolf?

  He stepped back and helped me slide off the table to my feet, then bent to grab my things from the floor. I glanced around. A few pots littered the floor, but other than that there were no obvious signs of what we’d done.

  “We’re gonna need to sterilize this area again,” I said.

  “Yeah. I figured,” Jack said, his blushing smile matching my own. “I’ll clean up the omelet. You grab the disinfectant and a couple sponges.”

  Right. I should get that on a T-shirt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We hadn’t talked since we left The Sweet Spot last night. Well, we’d talked, but we hadn’t talked . . . about what had happened, what it meant, how it made me feel. And it had made me feel . . . something.

  I wasn’t sure how to describe it. I wasn’t even sure I could blame it on last night. But suddenly Jack was just in my head. Not like I was obsessed or anything, but I was aware of him, like I could feel him in the apartment, feel him moving nearby. Hell, it was almost like I could smell him.

  I knew he was coming before he stepped from the hallway into the kitchen. I held my breath, refusing to turn around.

  The cook had left a breakfast spread on the center island: waffles, toast, fresh fruits, and bacon. A carafe of coffee stayed warm on a tiny hotplate.

  “Morning,” he said. “Chef already head out?”

  “Morning.” I answered without turning from the stove. “Yeah. He said he had to make a run to the market.”

  The teakettle chose that second to scream, making me jump, and I grabbed it from the burner to fill my cup.

  “You eat yet?” he asked.

  I turned with my cup, dipping the teabag, trying to will it to sink deeper into the darkening water. What the hell was I doing? I don’t even like tea. “Not very hungry.”

  He chuckled. “What’s that like? I’m always hungry. Not sure that’s a guy thing, or a werewolf thing.”

  “Both, I think,” I said. What were we talking about? Nothing. We were talking about nothing on purpose. I couldn’t take it anymore. “About last night—”

  “Right.” Jack exhaled, clearly relieved. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. If you wanted to talk about it, or just pretend it didn’t—”

  “No. We should talk about it,” I said. “Obviously, it was a—”

  “Mistake,” Jack said. “Right. I know.”

  I snapped my mouth shut—forcing a smile. “Exactly.”

  My eyelids were blinking too fast, and I could feel the tension in my cheeks trying to hold the grin. But I couldn’t snap out of my shock. I mean, I was going to say basically the same thing. I swear. We weren’t thinking—heat of the moment—shouldn’t have happened—won’t happen again . . . probably . . .

  But for some reason, hearing him say it first kind of took the wind out of my sails for a minute. It knocked my brain off the rails.

  “Really?” he asked, studying me. “You don’t sound so sure.”

  I shook my head, kicking my thoughts back on track. “No. I mean, yeah. Yes. I’m sure. Mistake. Huge, horrible mistake. Can’t happen again.”

  “Well . . . I wouldn’t say horrible,” Jack said, his mouth curving up into a sexy private grin. “Mostly it was kind of amazing.”

  I knew that grin. Over the past few days I’d been seeing it more and more. It was the smile he gave when he wasn’t thinking, or actually when he was too deep in his private thoughts to temper it. It was warm, and natural, and so rare and genuinely sexy I’d begun to treasure seeing it light his face. Damn.

  “Anyway,” I said, deciding to stick with the huge, horrible mistake for a topic header. “I feel kind of . . . strange today.”

  “Sick?” Jack straightened, concern knitting his brows.

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” I slipped onto the nearest bar stool on the short end of the island. Jack sat catty-corner to me on the long side. He was already dressed for work, light gray suit, blueberry tie, dark hair brushed back from his forehead in a silky wave. He looked wonderful. Damn. “I’m kinda, sorta, hyper sensitive to you—I think. I can smell you, that woodsy, forest scent you’ve got going. Y’know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. We talked about it last night.”

  “No. That was different,” I said, then exhaled—frustrated. “I mean, it’s the same scent but this time you were nowhere near and I could still smell it.”

  “Did you shower?”

  “Of course.” Rude.

  He stared at me a half beat then shrugged. “It’s probably just in your nose. Left over. Should fade.”

  “No. It’s more than that,” I said, secretly wondering if my heightened sense had something to do with the whole werewolf thing. Could it all be real? No. “I’m . . . aware of you. It’s like I’m tuned into Jack-radio twenty-four-seven. All Jack, all the time. It’s like I can . . . I don’t know . . . sense you.”

  “Oh.” His smile returned, but it wasn’t his secret one. This time there was a tightness to it that dulled the light in his eyes, lessened its impact. He shifted his attention to his plate, filling it with a few waffles, grabbing some bacon and then the glass decanter of maple syrup. “That’s just . . . well, it happens. Sorry.”

  “Sorry? What happens?” I asked.

  He glanced at me then back to his plate, drowning everything in the thick dark syrup. “Human women tend to get . . . I mean, some of them have—how would you describe it . . . ? They’ve gotten a little . . . hooked on me—after sex.”

  “Hooked?” How’d the guy manage to sit there with that enormous head and not fall over?

  Jack shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, you have to admit, it was kind of mind-blowing. Some women aren’t used to being that well . . . satisfied. They can’t help themselves. It’s like they confuse sex for love and they fall for me . . . hard. I’m sure you’ve seen the tabloids. It can get a kind of awkward.”

  “Hold on, heartthrob. No one said anything about falling for you,” I said. “I’ve had great sex before. This is different.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jack said, not sounding at all convinced. “We had a deal, remember? I can’t risk anything getting in the way of becoming alpha.”

  “I’m fine, Jack,” I said. “It’s not like I’m secretly collecting strands of your hair to add to a collage of fuzzy, long-range photos of you I’ve got glued to my closet wall.”

  He flashed me a worried look.

  “I said I’m not doing anything like that.” I sighed. “It’s nothing like that at all. It’s something else, something different. I feel . . . connected to you. But that’s weird too, right?”

  Jack turned his attention back to his breakfast. “Not weird. Just unique. You’re a sensitive person, Kate. It’s one of the things I admire about you—the way you put yourself in another person’s shoes, connect with them. I see the way you feel and care about the people who work for you. You’re a genuinely good person.”

  “Thank you. But—”

  “We shared something incredibly intimate. I feel it too . . . a little,” he said.

  “You do?”

  He shrugged again, loading his fork. “Yeah, of course. I’m not a total cold-hearted douche. But I think we should try t
o keep a handle on things. I mean, this is still a business arrangement, right?”

  I nodded, starting to feel foolish. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  He chewed, smiling, then swallowed. “Good. So we’re on the same page. Last night was great, but we’re not going to let our feelings—our emotions cloud our better judgment.”

  “Totally,” I said, wishing I was the one driving the conversation. “But just so we’re clear. I’m not falling for you or anything. I just—”

  “Feel connected,” he finished for me, then smiled and it was the good smile that made my heart skip. Damn. “I get it. I feel it too. I’d like to think we can come out of this as friends. Good friends. I like you, Kate. I’m glad we have this . . . connection.”

  I exhaled, feeling better about the whole strange situation. “Me too.”

  “Fantastic.” He checked his watch, and sighed. “Shoot. I have to get going.”

  “Oh. Right. I got the schedule Genève slipped under my door,” I said, still not convinced the woman existed. “Anything you wanna tell me about her?”

  Jack pushed to his feet, his gaze flicking to me. “No. What do you mean?”

  I shook my head. To each his own. “Apparently, I have the day off.”

  “Right. Nothing but meetings and projects to check on for me,” he said. “Are they expecting you at the diner?”

  “Nope. George is covering today.”

  “Oh,” Jack said glancing around as if searching for any obstacles. “Would you want to tag along with me? Most of my day is going to be pretty boring. But I have to check on a reno project over on fifth. It’s a lot like the one we’ve got going in your building but about three months further along. Interested?”

  A peek into my building’s future? “You bet. Just let me check the mirror and I’m ready.”

  “Check if you have to, but I can already tell you, you look beautiful. If I didn’t mention it before, I really like your hair down like that. You always wore it up at the diner when I’d stop in.”

  My hand went to my hair on reflex and I smoothed one side, tucking the newly color-enhanced copper strands behind one ear. My belly fluttered. “No. You hadn’t mentioned. But thanks.”