by Lori Foster
“Are you okay, Sweet pea?” Mamma asked as she came up the walk a moment later. She sat down next to Jane. “You look a bit frazzled and that is not a usual look on you.”
“It’s been a frazzled kind of night.”
“I think it’s been an I miss Rex kind of night.” She gave Jane a hug. “You think too much, Sweet pea. You got to let your heart have its way once in a while. Granted, the Garrisons let that happen on a regular basis and you get to pick up the pieces but just this once don’t think, just go do whatever you have to do to be happy and don’t ask questions. You won’t be sorry, Jane Louise. You deserve to be in love. Rex is a great guy. He loves you beyond words. Listen to your mamma just this once.” She kissed Jane on the cheek then strolled back to the magnolia bushes.
Bonaventure Cemetery was a really creepy place Rex realized as he hunkered down in the bushes and waited for Jane. Would she come or not? Did she love him enough to do this for him, for them? It was asking one hell of a lot, especially for logical, rational Jane Louise Garrison. Damn it, his ears were cold, his nose was cold, even his damn balls were cold. He liked summer so much better, except for flea season. There was rustling, then footsteps and Jane Louise walked into the little grassy clearing to the headstone marked Mr. Bentley. He was the Schnauzer who kept Lilly Bentley company for twenty-two years in this life and now into the next. A dog ritual needed to be on a dog grave.
“This is crazy,” he heard Jane say as she turned away, his heart sinking in despair. He wanted more than anything to yell back, “Don’t go.” But he couldn’t. He’d said all that he could and now it had to be her choice. Did she love him or love who she thought he was?
Jane turned back. Yes!
Grumbling, she laid out the paper he’d given her earlier, the one she’d crumpled up and tossed across the porch but now had. Taking a stick she drew a circle around the grave, then added seven white candles with five dog biscuits and one raw steak in the middle, just as his instructions directed.
Moonbeams cascaded down on Jane, her soft curls swayed as she lit one taper, then the next. She knelt down in the circle, her lovely body silhouetted against the golden light. “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” she muttered. “I am completely crackers and belong in the loony bin . . . or I’m in love.” She sighed. “Definitely love.” She held out her arms to the sky.
Hail, hail, hail, great wolf spirit, hail
A boon I ask thee mighty shade
Within this circle I have made
Release Rex a werewolf strong and bold
Release him to me to love and hold
Rex’s heart beat wildly. She did it! She did it for him. She loved Rex Barkley. The dog strolled out of the bushes and into the clearing. He wagged his tail.
Jane gasped. “Rex? Oh, my God, Rex? Is that really you? You were the one in the park. You saved me and Maxwell. Come here so I can kiss you on the nose. Least that’s what you have written here on the paper. If this winds up on YouTube I’m having you neutered.” She licked her lips. “Here we go. Are you ready? I’m not sure I am.” She closed her eyes and kissed him.
Her eyes fluttered open. “All right. I did everything that you said. So switch into a man. Abracadabra. Alakazam. Hocus pocus. Poof. Come on, do the poof! Hey, come back here. Don’t you dare walk off into those woods, Rex Barkley.” She stood. “Rex, damn it! Get back here. Where are you going? Rex?”
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Rex said as he brushed leaves from his jacket and walked out of the woods to Jane Louise, his Jane Louise. He slid his arms around her sweet body and kissed her incredible lips that he feared he would never kiss again. “God, I love you. You rescued me, Jane.”
She squeezed his arms and shoulders and gazed into his eyes. “It is you. It really is.” Her eyes got a little squinty. “But was the dog who was just here you or a dog you trained? Are you . . . were you . . . really a werewolf, Rex?”
He laughed. “I’m just a guy in love with a girl. A magnificent girl. I’m yours, all yours. Did you know, werewolves are wonderful lovers.” He winked. “Want to go home and see if that part’s changed?”
“But . . . but . . .” She gazed around at the candles and woods and moonlight. “I have no idea what just happened here.”
“All that matters is you love me completely with all your heart. That you love me as much as I love you.”
She shook her head, then nodded and shrugged. “You’re right, I do love you. You may not have been the guy I always thought you were and that’s okay. I love you now no matter who you are or what you are. But one of these days, you’ll have to tell me what really happened. Were you . . . weren’t you?”
“A werewolf brought us together, Jane. Now we have the rest of our lives to love each other. Nothing is more normal or logical than that.”
ATTICUS SAVES LISA
Ann Christopher
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m in love with you, Lisa,” said Cruz Shaw.
Oh, my God.
Stunned paralysis set in, rooting Lisa Evans’s butt to the sofa and her jaw to the floor. Her fingers tightened reflexively around her glass of zinfandel, threatening to snap the stem, and she worked hard to loosen them, to breathe and gather her thoughts.
She’d been staring with deliberate focus across the living room at her brother Keenan and his therapy pet, a capuchin monkey (she always thought of them as organ grinder monkeys) named Atticus, trying to pretend she was only peripherally aware of Cruz sitting next to her, but so much for that.
The possibility of Cruz loving her had all sorts of unwanted emotions jamming her throat, clogging it. Surprise and dismay were there and, hidden deeper but no less powerful, tiny flickers of . . . joy?
Joy? No way. Not her.
Ruthlessly self-protective, as always, she stomped out the good feelings and focused on the rest. Years of practice had made it easy to suppress any desires she might have; she knew where her duties lay. Once, long ago, she’d had a girlish dream or two, but now she was all about responsibility. She was a caregiver for whom a love affair was not an option and never would be again—period, end of story, turn out the lights, and lock up as you leave the building.
The smartest thing she could do, and she was a very smart woman, was to focus on a few key things: her career as a radiologist, her brother, and her charity work. Sexy men like Cruz didn’t make the list and never would. And that meant she would have to protect herself from the simmering want in his dark eyes, the fresh scent of sandalwood and spices on his light caramel skin, and her own weak body’s reaction to him.
It wouldn’t be easy, of course—nothing ever was with Cruz—but she could do it. She had to do it. But . . . how could she do it?
She hesitated, stalling for time and trying to think.
Think, Lisa. Think, think, THINK.
Cruz Shaw, software engineer, her younger brother’s best friend and a man she’d known for most of her thirty-five years, thought he was in love with her.
This was exactly the announcement she’d dreaded and feared. There’d been something new in the way Cruz looked at her lately, something smoldering, intense, and scary. That was why she’d been avoiding him and ignoring his phone calls. She’d known in her gut that this conversation was roaring straight at her, a freight train of trouble racing along at full speed, but that didn’t mean she was ready for it right now, tonight, in the middle of her little dinner party to celebrate her brother’s return to work.
Tonight was meant to be about Keenan and his accomplishments. She and Cruz were supposed to be celebrating three things—first: Keenan’s recovery to the point that he could return to his job as an architect; second: his firm’s eagerness to accommodate his wheelchair and permanently curled fingers; and third: his new dexterity now that he had the help of Atticus’s tiny hands.
Hadn’t she made Keenan’s favorite meal: roast beef with garlic-smashed potatoes? Hadn’t she peeled apples for the pie, opened bottles of wine, and lit candles on every flat su
rface to create a festive atmosphere here in her cozy living room with its comfy sofas, pillows, and animal sculptures? Wasn’t Earth, Wind & Fire’s music being piped through the built-in speakers? Earth, Wind & Fire. The upbeat stuff, not the ballads.
How had this turned into a scene of seduction and longing?
They ought to be discussing Keenan, not love. But Keenan was far away across the room, near the fireplace, playing with Atticus and oblivious to the unfolding drama between his sister and his best friend, and Lisa was trapped on the sofa with the sexiest man in the world.
“Are you even going to look at me?” Cruz murmured in that dark, silky-sexy voice that promised endless nights of pleasure for the woman lucky and brave enough to share his bed.
Cornered, Lisa took her time glancing away from Keenan and into Cruz’s face, but she could only turn her head so slowly, avoid the inevitable for so long. At last her gaze connected with Cruz’s, and electricity flowed between them, shocking and bright.
Man, was she in trouble.
If only Mama had told her that trouble didn’t have to be a dark alley with a strange man in a trench coat. Trouble could be an invited guest to her home. Trouble could be a tall man she’d known for years, one with flashing eyes and gleaming black hair that curled around his ears.
Trouble could be sitting right next to her.
Impatient now, Cruz watched her with those intent brown eyes. The harsh line of his jaw tightened with the kind of determination that made her want to abandon all pride and just run as far away as she could get. His sensual mouth was thin now, the full lips grim and hard. There would be no escape from dealing with him tonight, Lisa knew, no reprieve and, worst of all, no mercy.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, surprised her dry throat could generate words. “What’s gotten into you?”
One corner of his mouth turned down in reproach. “Don’t play dumb, Lisa. It’s a waste of time.”
Yeah, she’d figured as much, but she’d try a stall tactic or two anyway. “I don’t know where this is coming from. This is not the time or place—”
“If you hadn’t been avoiding me like a coward for the last two weeks,” he said implacably, “we wouldn’t have to do this here.”
Stung and desperate—it was just like Cruz to tell the truth in all its brutality—she switched to a new gambit: negotiation. “Let’s talk tomorrow then. We can have lunch . . .”
“I don’t want lunch from you.” His gaze slipped to the curve of her cleavage in her strappy black dress, highlighting what he did want. “And you blew your chance to do this your way. So now we’re doing it mine.”
Shooting a quick glance at her brother—Keenan was feeding Atticus mini-marshmallows from a small cup now, a rare treat, and the monkey was chittering with rapture—she leaned closer to Cruz and lowered her voice.
“I know you’ve always had a . . . a . . . slight crush on me, yeah, but you shouldn’t confuse that with love.”
This was sugarcoating it, of course. Cruz had been wild about her since that long-ago first day of school when she was fifteen and ten-year-old Keenan had brought home his new friend from the fourth grade, a recent transplant from Miami. She’d seen the spark in Cruz’s eyes even then; she wasn’t blind. But there was a world of difference between the puppy-dog looks of a pre-pubescent boy and the hot, naked want radiating from Cruz now.
“Go ahead and tell yourself I’m not in love with you.” Despite his calm voice, she could see his growing frustration in the flush that crept across his cheeks. “It’s probably less scary than having to deal with what’s between us.”
“There’s nothing between us.” The lie was automatic and easy as long as she didn’t look him directly in the eye. “Why are you doing this? For sex?”
“Lisa,” Cruz chided.
It was a real talent he had, saying her name in a way that made her edgy and ashamed, scared and aroused, and all at the same time. The question had insulted his honor, she knew, and he didn’t like it. As Keenan’s best friend, he understood very well that Lisa was off limits as a sex buddy—it was a Player’s Club rule, wasn’t it, to never seduce your friend’s sister?—and Cruz would never in a million ice ages suggest such a thing.
This knowledge, perversely, terrified her. The thing between them was about far more than sex; she knew it even if she wasn’t ready for it. Just like Cruz had to know that whatever desperate untruths came out of her mouth—she’d claimed there was ‘noth ing’ between them, and even managed to say it with a straight face—were a smokescreen for her to hide behind.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Keenan looked around at last, a bemused frown marring his smooth forehead.
“Nothing,” said Lisa.
Atticus the monkey, fussing now that he’d devoured the last of the marshmallows, turned the empty cup upside down, shook it, and tossed it to the floor in obvious disgust. Then he began a systematic and frenetic search of the tricked-out wheelchair’s many pockets, looking for more treats. The bright blue leash attached to his collar jangled with each jittery movement.
Keenan ignored the monkey and narrowed his suspicious eyes at Lisa and Cruz. “You look like you’re plotting something.”
“Please,” Lisa said quickly, rolling her eyes for emphasis.
Cruz made a low, rumbling sound of dissent but didn’t contradict her.
“So . . .” Shooting a sidelong warning look at Cruz, Lisa forced some cheer into her voice and prayed that her face wasn’t as fluo rescently red as it felt. God only knew how Keenan would react if he knew his best friend wanted his sister and she just didn’t have the energy for that. “When’re you giving Atticus his little thank-you present?”
“Right now. I’ll go get it. It’s in my room.” Keenan used his stiff hands to turn his chair around, but one of the wheels hit the empty marshmallow cup. “Atticus,” Keenan said, indicating the cup. “Pick up.”
“Eeee-eeee-eeee,” Atticus complained, looking into Keenan’s face with wizened brown eyes. Lisa had no problems understanding the monkey-speak. The little guy couldn’t have been clearer if he’d opened his mouth and said, May I please have more marshmallows? “Eeee-eeee-eeee?”
Keenan frowned down at Atticus. “Don’t you back-sass me, boy.”
There followed a quick but intense staring contest, which Keenan seemed to win. Whining and muttering darkly with disappointment, the battle for additional marshmallows lost, Atticus hopped down to the floor, flashed a bright red image of Elmo and pals on his diapered bottom as he picked up the cup, and jumped back into Keenan’s lap.
The two rolled off down the hall leaving Lisa alone with Cruz.
Silent and defenseless, she waited for divine inspiration to help her deal with this man, this mess, but none came. Cruz let her fidget and watched as she ran a hand through her hair, shifted in her seat, and avoided his gaze. That was another talent of his: letting her stew in her own juices. Along with making her laugh, making her think, and tying her belly into delicious, quivering knots.
With no rescue in sight and no available options, she asked Cruz the scariest question she could think of: “What do you want?”
For several beats he didn’t answer, but the dark emotions leached away from his expression and left something worse: open adoration. Not the glimmers of admiration she’d seen here and there over the years when she’d caught him watching her in an unguarded moment. This was worship, the kind of fierce love that men killed and died for. This was the searing brand of a man beholding his dream woman, the answer to his prayers, and the future mother of his children.
And Cruz didn’t even try to hide it.
In a gesture so unspeakably tender it nearly killed her, he raised one gentle hand and cupped her cheek. Lisa melted into nothing-ness, lost forever to the sensation of his hand on her body.
“I want you to forgive yourself for the accident.”
This, of all things, was not what she’d expected. She stiffened with shock and the
overwhelming need to escape, but he tightened his fingers in her nape, forcing her to listen.
“I want you to let go of your brother because he’s got Atticus now and he’s got his job back. He’s ready to start living his life again and he doesn’t need you as much as he did before, but I need you.”
The ringing vehemence in Cruz’s last three words startled her. So did the turbulence in his eyes, the urgency. As though he did need her. As though nothing in his life could ever be right without her.
And she . . . God help her, but that flicker of joy was rising again, stronger this time. The fear was still there, of course, dominant and unchallenged, but the joy wasn’t quite so easy to beat back.
Nor was the desire that surged hot and thick through her blood, or the insistent ache between her thighs. She wanted Cruz’s hands and his mouth, the slick hard slide of his sweaty chest against her breasts, the relentless thrust of his body into hers.
The want was too big to hide; she shuddered with it and he knew.
“Lisa.” His glittering gaze latched onto her lips as though he could already taste her. “You need me too, don’t you? I can feel it.”
Much as she wanted to surrender, on this point if nothing else, Lisa wasn’t fool enough to think he was only asking about her sexual need for him. “I can’t—”
“I want you to stop being afraid, Lisa,” he said, cutting off her can’ts and won’ts and no’s, as though he could stamp them out of existence if he caught them early enough. “I want you to think about how happy we could be together.”
He paused. The weight of his silence told her that his biggest want, the most important one, was about to hit her hard—a TKO right between the eyes, and she was right.
“I want you to marry me,” Cruz told her.