by Keri Arthur
Trust her to be landed with hormones that could never be happy with what they had.
When the trembling eased, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sweat glimmered across the warm gold of his skin, and his body trembled beneath her. His gaze was fierce, hungry. Demanding. A tremor that was all anticipation ran through her. What was still to come would be good. Real good.
"Satisfied?" His voice was a growl that rumbled right through her.
She allowed a small smile to touch her lips. "If you mean am I satisfied that you're willing to let a woman take complete control in the bedroom, then yes, most definitely.
"Good." He tugged on the rope, freeing his hands. "Your turn."
Another tremor of excitement ran through her. The edge in his voice, the heat in his eyes, suggested that her turn would be a long, drawn out seduction, despite the fact that he was quivering with need.
And women had turned away from this man? What kind of fools were they?
She silently offered him her hands. He looped the silken rope around her wrists, then undid the rope around his ankles and shifted so she could lie down.
"On your stomach," he said, voice still rough.
She obeyed, and he straddled her, the heat of him brushing her skin as he leaned forward and loosely looped the rope around the middle post of the headboard.
Then he said, his words little more than a whisper of warmth past her ear, "You will beg me to give you what you denied me."
"I don't beg for anyone," she replied, knowing even as she said it that in her present state, begging was high on the agenda if she didn't get what her body demanded.
"We'll see." His voice held a confidence that made her quiver deep inside. And that quiver had absolutely nothing to do with fear.
She closed her eyes, waiting for his touch. A top popped, and the warm aroma of citrus and sunshine stung the air. She cracked open an eye. What were the odds of two men wanting to do the exact same thing to her?
Then his oiled hands slid over her back, and the question was rolled away by pleasure. She closed her eyes again, all but purring as his fingers worked magic up her back and across her shoulders. By the time he'd finished she wanted him badly, and she couldn't help groaning in frustration when he climbed off.
"And what was wrong with finishing as we were?"
"The fact that you're not ready to beg me for it yet." He slapped her butt lightly. Even the sting of his hand on her flesh had excitement flushing through her body. "Turn around."
She did. He moved down to her feet, tying them spread-eagled, then started the whole massaging process all over again. It was a sensual and erotic experience that had her panting with need and aching like crazy. But still she wasn't ready to beg, and the dangerous glint in his eyes suggested he had no intention of moving on until she did. Part of her did want to give him that, to just beg so she could feel the thick heat of him inside. She needed that, needed him thrusting deep, so very, very deep ... and yet, there was also something undeniably exquisite in the torture of waiting. In letting the moment, the tension, and the desire build, until there was nothing between them but urgency and need. She might not be far from that point, but she hadn't reached it yet. And obviously, neither had he.
He reached across her and placed the oil back on the bedside table. "Beg for me," he said softly, his words warm whispers across her lips.
"No," she whispered back, then kissed him.
There was nothing soft, nothing sweet, about this kiss, and yet it was incredibly passionate. It was the kiss of lovers, not two strangers making love.
And then he was inside, driving deep, and she was arching up to meet him, wanting everything he could give, as hard and as fast as he could give it.
Only he didn't give her anything else, just pulled out of her, leaving her empty and aching. His teeth nipped her bottom lip lightly when she opened her mouth to protest. "Beg for me," he whispered again.
"No," she panted, squirming beneath him, trying to recapture his cock and drive him home again.
Only she didn't need to. The words were barely out of her mouth when he was ramming hard inside her again. This time, he stroked several times before withdrawing. The man obviously had amazing control.
"Give me what I want," he said, his gaze holding hers, fiercely determined.
"No," she said, wondering why she felt it was so important that she kept resisting. Damn it, she wanted to be fucked hard, he wanted to oblige, and all she had to do was open her mouth and say please.
But something deep inside had decided resistance was important.
He shifted, moving to one side, then slid his hand down her body and into her slickness. She shuddered, enjoying his caress, the press of fingers against her heated, aching flesh. Enjoying the feel of them sliding in and out, in and out, as his thumb flicked teasingly across her clit. Teasing her, making her ache, making her tremble and moan. And stopping each and every time she came close to orgasm.
He didn't ask her again, but in the end, she had no choice but to give him what he wanted. Not when her body was screaming for completion.
"Please," she panted, "I need you ... want you ... inside."
He slid over the top of her, his grin wicked. Victorious. "Are you begging me, Eryn?"
"Yes." God, yes. "Just do it."
With one swift, hard stroke, he was inside, and it felt so good she could only groan. Then he began to move, thrusting deep and strong, and it was fierce, and passionate, and so damn good she wanted to scream.
And though she could barely even breathe let alone scream, she knew this was what had been missing in her love life up to now-a sense of connection that almost seemed spiritual. She could feel him, not just inside her body, but on the outskirts of her thoughts. As if the linking of flesh had somehow linked their minds. Emotions swirled between them-a kaleidoscope of color that was passion and warmth, even caring, though she couldn't say how that was possible when they didn't even know each other.
Yet she knew she only had to open up and that kaleidoscope would completely fill her, mind, body and soul, making them one in a way mere sex never could.
She didn't reach out. Didn't dare.
Thought slithered away as the pressure began to build. It spiraled upwards, rapidly gaining momentum, until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only wait for the inevitable peak. A peak she leapt over with abandon, twisting and shaking and moaning. He came with her, his roar echoing in her ears as his body slammed into hers and his release flooded so very deep.
When the tremors finally eased, he laughed softly and rested his forehead against hers. "Well, I'm damn glad you finally gave in."
She grinned. "Yeah, so am I."
He dropped a kiss on her forehead and drew back a little. "No yodeling though, which is somewhat disappointing."
She frowned. She'd said that to Grey, not Harrison, so why would he make a comment like that? Or was it simply a matter of him somehow realizing she was a beagle shifter? "I'm not the type of girl who yodels for just anyone, you know."
"I'm not just anyone," he said, a touch of male arrogance in his tone. "Perhaps we need a replay."
She shifted her hips, moving against him. Despite the fact that they'd only just finished making love, he was still quite firm inside her. It wouldn't take much to get him going-just as it wouldn't take much to get her going.
"If the replay is slower, I'm all for it."
He gave her a wicked grin. "If slow is what the lady wants, slow is what the lady gets." He reared back, undid the ties around her legs, then reached forward, undoing the knots around her hands. Then he drew her up onto her knees, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His eyes were more gray than blue, and held an intentness that made her soul shiver. "This time I intend to make you yodel so loud the whole bar will know your pleasure."
Her pulse zoomed at the thought, and she grinned as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "You can try."
He certainly did try.
&n
bsp; And he damn well succeeded.
* * * *
Movement woke Eryn many hours later. She cracked open an eye, watching him pad across the room and gather his clothes.
"Where are you going?" she asked softly, a little surprised he'd leave before their time in the room was up.
He barely even glanced at her as he pulled on his jeans. "Work."
She looked at the clock on the bedside table, and frowned. "It's three in the morning and still dark outside."
He hesitated. "Yeah, but there's stuff I have to do before I actually go to work."
He was lying. And the mere fact that she sensed this made her frown. Damn it, Harrison was human, not shifter, and they shouldn't have that sort of connection. If he was a shifter, then okay, maybe, as it was a well known fact that shifter pairings often connected on many different levels. But she'd never heard of a human-shifter pairing sharing anything more than great sex.
And while humans were more than capable of psychic abilities, it wasn't telepathy or empathy happening between them. It was something stranger-something deeper.
She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. "What are you working on at the moment?"
He hesitated, and once again that odd, distant look crept into his eyes. "Reinstalling pipes in Tennamar."
Tennamar was one of the old estates built on the fringes of the city, and a good hour's drive away. So, it was logical he'd leave early, considering he had to go home and get all his gear-so why didn't she believe that was the reason he was leaving? Why did she believe his reasons for going were a whole lot darker-and more deadly?
"Will you be here tomorrow night?"
Something flashed in his eyes. Regret. Exasperation. Neither of which made any sense. "Yes."
Yet he'd said earlier tonight he wouldn't be back until Monday. That had been the truth. This wasn't. "Then maybe I'll see you here."
"Yes." He strode across the room and leaned down to kiss her. It wasn't the good-bye kiss she'd been expecting, but rather a promise of things to come. He raised a hand, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, his gaze intent, as if memorizing every curve, every flaw, in her face. "Till next we meet."
He spun before she could speak and walked to the door, his movements grace itself.
She blinked, for the first time realizing what she was seeing.
It wasn't the walk of a plumber with a hankering to be a cowboy.
It was the walk of a man who moved with the grace of a vampire and the power of a shifter.
Grey, not Harrison.
* * *
Chapter Four
Eryn blinked again, wondering if her imagination was playing tricks.
It wasn't.
That was definitely Grey's walk. And, suddenly, all the other little niggles came flooding back. The ever-changing color of his eyes. The way her hormones had latched onto him after meeting him at the bar the second time. The sudden lack of any scent besides masculinity. The deep connection between them.
She wasn't crazy.
It was Grey.
He was shifter all right-just not the type she'd presumed. He was a far rarer kind-a face shifter. A man who could assume the identity of any man he touched.
That's why he'd brushed past Harrison. He'd wanted to assume his identity. Which meant Harrison was probably still in the men's room.
She waited until Grey had left the room, then scrambled out of bed to grab her clothes. The footsteps leading away from the room told her Grey was out of earshot.
"Jack, you awake?"
"Like I have any other choice with all the noise you've been making."
"Get security into the men's right now. Before Harrison gets there."
She heard the snap of fingers, then the scramble of movement in the background as Jack said, "Why?"
She grabbed her dress and pulled it on, then hunted around for her shoes. "Because the man I've been with the last few hours wasn't Harrison, but Grey. I'm betting the real Harrison is still in the restroom."
"I think all that sex has blown your circuits."
She grabbed her shoes, dangling them from her fingers as she made her way towards the door. "You ever heard of face shifters?"
"No."
"They're an extremely rare form of shifter who can assume the shape of anyone they touch."
"So why call them face shifters?"
"Because it's their face and hair that changes the most. Generally, the body just shifts its mass around a little, but doesn't actually change shape." Which explained the amusement in the fake Harrison's eyes when he'd first stripped. She should have recognized his body-or, at the very least, his penis and balls, because she'd certainly spent enough time licking her way around both.
Still, who'd have expected Grey to be a face shifter? And that he'd usurp Harrison's position in her bed?
Damn it, why do that? Why bother?
"You think he took Harrison's place to check you out?" Jack asked.
She stopped at the door and peered around. Grey was nowhere in sight. "I really don't know what's going on. You checking out that name he gave us?"
"Steepan? Sure am. So far, it's proving to be another dead end frighteningly similar to Grey."
She padded barefoot down the carpeted hall. "Meaning they might just work together?"
"Could be." Jack hesitated. "Security's just contacted us. Seems you were right. The real Harrison is half undressed, hog-tied and unconscious in one of the stalls."
"Where's Grey then?" She stopped at the top of the stairs, but the right-angle bends prevented her from seeing the entire bar.
"Just did an about face and is heading for the front door."
Meaning he must have seen security going in and guessed his cover might be blown. "You going to arrest him?"
"If we arrest him for mugging Harrison, we may never get to the bottom of this murder case."
So Jack-or at least the department-still thought Grey was the probable killer. "Have you got someone ready to follow him?"
"The eye is in the air as we speak. Come back to the van, Eryn."
She bit her lip, wanting to follow Grey, yet knowing it wasn't her job. And even though her alternate form was made for hunting, she had to have a scent to follow. Grey was nothing more than a tantalizing hint of masculinity-nice, but difficult to follow on a clear night, let alone a rain soaked one.
"Okay," she said. "Be there in five."
She slipped on her shoes and headed down the stairs. Her gaze automatically went to the door, and at that moment, Grey, still wearing Harrison's form, looked over his shoulder. Even across the distance of the pub, his gaze had the power to rock her. He half raised a hand, as if in good-bye, then seemed to regret the gesture. He cut the movement off abruptly and walked out into the night.
She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then made her way across the room to collect her coat.
The rain hadn't eased, nor had the wind. Holding the flyaway ends of her coat together, she splashed her way towards the van, cursing and shivering as the fat drops of water slithered past the collar and down her neck.
The van door was flung open as she approached, spilling warm light into the gloom. She stepped into the van and squeezed past Henry's rotund figure, hitting the warm, crowded interior with a sigh of relief.
She shucked off the dripping coat, hanging it on a hook near the door, then squeezed past Bob, Jack's other assistant. He didn't even look at her, his gaze glued to the bank of com-screens in front of him, watching the man who walked with a predator's ease.
"What's he doing?" she asked, plunking onto a chair and scooting it towards Jack.
He glanced at her, a sexy smile touching his lips. "He's walking far too well for a man who's just had several hours of amazing sex."
She raised an eyebrow. "If several hours are all it takes to make you legless, you seriously have to get out of this van and start working on your sexual fitness."
"Ain't that a fact." He glanc
ed back at the com-screen. "He's heading down seventh."
"No detours? No car?"
"Not so far."
She raised her gaze to the image on the screen. "He knows he's being watched."
Jack frowned. "How? We're using a hawk shifter. In this weather, he shouldn't be able to see him, let alone scent him."
"Grey's not that kind a shifter."
"Then how could he know he's being followed?"
"I don't know." She raised a hand, tapping the screen with a finger. "But if he didn't know, why hasn't he changed back to his true form?"
"Maybe he can't. Don't some shifters have time restrictions?"
"Only because the sheer mass of their alternate shapes can overtax their hearts. Elephants, for instance."
Jack raised a silvery eyebrow. "Never seen an elephant shifter."
"They're rare."
"As rare as face shifters?"
"No."
Jack crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. "Seems to me a face shifter might be right at home in the CIA or military."
She nodded. "Even as a cop, they'd be useful. Undercover work would certainly be a whole lot safer if you could just disappear into another identity."
His expression became thoughtful. "You know, we hadn't actually thought to check the files of other departments."
"You think he could be a cop?"
Jack shrugged. "You've been with the man, not me. What does your gut instinct tell you about him?"
She hesitated. She'd worked with cops for nearly nine years now, and Grey just didn't fit the profile. Then again, neither did Jack. But look past the twinkle in Jack's eyes, and you saw the calculation, the distance, that came with being a cop for any length of time. Beyond the occasion flare of lust, Grey's eyes very rarely showed anything. And when they did, it was something altogether darker and more dangerous. He was a killer, but was he a killer of innocents? Somehow, she suspected not.
"If I had to take a guess, I'd say he was a trained operative of some kind."
"Which leads us right back to the military or CIA."
"Or FBI. They have several new paranormal units, don't they?"