Lifemate Connections: Eryn

by Keri Arthur

  It did matter, if only because of what was happening between them. She needed to know more about him. Needed to explore the possibilities that lay before them.

  But that required two willing participants, and she had a suspicion willing wasn't in his repertoire at the moment. So why was he here? Really?

  "Do you know the killer?"

  "Yes."

  "He works with you?"

  He hesitated, his gaze sliding past her for a moment, then coming back full of warning. Not that she really needed one when the sound of footsteps, as well as the tantalizing aroma of bacon, pancakes and coffee, was evidence enough that Dan was approaching.

  She waited until he'd deposited the food and the coffee, then picked up the small pot of maple syrup and poured it all over her pancakes.

  "If you eat a stack like that every morning, piled high with butter and maple syrup, how the hell do you remain so slim?" Grey asked, amusement glinting briefly in his eyes.

  "Luck of the draw when it comes to the gene pool. Beagles are naturally slender." She picked up her knife and fork. "You were saying?"

  He began to tuck into his bacon and eggs. "You need to keep away from the bar tonight."

  She blinked. "That's not what you were saying."

  "No. But it's what I needed to say."

  "Why?"

  "Because the killer will strike tonight, and I don't want you in the firing line."

  His words made her heart do an odd little jig. "Better me than someone who can't defend themselves."

  "There is no defense against the likes of this person. Not for you, anyway."

  "I'm a shifter. I'm fast. Strong."

  His smile held a condescending edge. "Not against this person. Not even against me."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You're just a face shifter-no disrespect intended. Granted, you're a male, and therefore stronger than me by nature, but I still should have the edge when it comes to speed."

  "You think?"

  "I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intent she had to quell the urge to squirm. Then, with a half smile, he put down his knife and fork.

  "Care to test that?"

  She hesitated. "How?"

  "On the count of three, you try to pull your right hand away from the pancakes before I can grab it."

  She put down her cutlery. It seemed too easy, which made her suspect it would be the opposite. "Who counts."

  He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

  "Okay. One."

  He raised an eyebrow, amusement touching his lips again. He crossed his arms, and rested them lightly on the table. It was a pose that suggested this was no contest.

  "Two."

  Tension ran through her. He still looked relaxed. Unconcerned. Like he had all the time in the world to lunge across the table and grab her hand.

  "Three."

  As fast as she could, she ripped her hand back, out of the way. His hand blurred as it shot out. She got as far as the edge of the table before his fingers wrapped around hers and stopped her dead.

  "Damn, that's fast," she muttered, trying to ignore the press of his callused palm against her knuckles. Yet it was impossible to ignore the warm response that spread from her hand to the rest of her body.

  "It almost wasn't fast enough." He shifted his grip and, with his thumb, began to lightly caress the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped into high gear again, and her throat felt suddenly dry.

  "What do you mean?" It came out little more than a husky whisper, and the heat in his gaze went up several notches. Even the air seemed to vibrate with the lust flaring between them.

  "You got your hand to the edge of the table. Most people wouldn't have."

  "Most people aren't shifters."

  "Most shifters aren't that fast." His gaze rose to hers. "Or this beautiful."

  For several seconds she lost herself in the ethereal beauty of his eyes, drinking in the heat, the sincerity, the desire, that were all too evident in those ghostly depths.

  It would be all too easy to fall for this man.

  This stranger.

  She blinked and tried to free her hand from his. He held it fast, then with his free hand, pushed the food aside and leaned across the table. She watched his approach, her gaze skating between his lips and his eyes, torn between watching the desire so evident in his gaze, and the advance of the luscious mouth she just wanted to kiss forever. She closed her eyes at the last moment, welcoming his kiss, opening her mouth, drawing him deeper. God, he tasted good. She kissed him long and hard, exploring his mouth with her tongue, tasting him as thoroughly as he tasted her.

  By the time he pulled back, her breathing was ragged and tiny beads of perspiration dotted her overheated skin.

  "I want you," he whispered, his breath so warm and fast against her lips. He raised a hand, cupping her cheek, his fingers seeming to burn where they touch. "Now."

  Oh God ... she so wanted the same. Yet she couldn't. Not here, not when she knew so little about him. Not when she didn't even know what he really wanted.

  He began to drop feather light kisses on her lips, her nose, her cheeks. "Trust your instincts," he said. "They rarely lie."

  "It's the rarely bit I'm worried about."

  "I'm not lying, Eryn. I want you."

  His mouth moved down her neck. She closed her eyes again, enjoying the sensation, feeling warmth flooding all the right places. "That I don't doubt. It's the rest of your story I'm worried about."

  "I've told you no lies here."

  His tongue skimmed the moisture around the base of her neck. A tremor ran through her. "It's the truths you haven't told that concern me."

  "The only truth that matters right now is what's happening between us."

  His breath was a warm caress of air against her neck. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to leap across the table and take what he was offering.

  "Tell me your name."

  He pulled back a little, his gaze searching hers. "It matters that much?"

  "Yes."

  An oddly pleased smile momentarily tugged his lips. "Grey Harrison James McConnell-the third-at your service."

  A laugh bubbled through her. "That's some moniker. No wonder you're reluctant to announce it."

  "It's the first time I've told anyone in what seems like ages." He touched her face again, his fingers gentle as he traced a line from her cheek to her lips. "In all honesty, I shouldn't have even told you."

  "Then why did you?"

  "Because a drowning man should never forsake a life buoy." His words were little more than a whisper against her lips as his mouth claimed hers again. This time, the kiss was a long and sensuous exploration that made her ache for far more than sex. Because this time his kiss held more than just passion.

  This time, for the first time, she sensed that he was a kindred spirit in loneliness.

  Or was she reading far more into the kiss, and his actions, than she ever should?

  Forget doubt. Make love to me, Eryn.

  The words were a sensual plea that invaded every corner of her mind. One that made her feel all weak and gooey. She pulled back and took a shuddery breath. Fought to gather the shattered wisps of control.

  But where this man was concerned there was no control.

  And certainly no backing away from the forest fire they'd started last night.

  "On one condition," she somehow managed to say.

  "What condition?"

  "You answer some questions."

  He outlined her lips with a gentle finger, his gaze distracted. "You may not like the answers."

  "That doesn't matter. I just need answers."

  His finger paused, his gaze suddenly sharpening. "And if I don't give them?"

  "Then I walk out the door right now, and you and I are finished."

  "That's akin to sexual blackmail."

  "No, that's honesty. I may want you, Grey, but I want answers more."

  He released a
breath that was full of frustration, then sat back and picked up his knife and fork. "Okay. But I could get into deep trouble for it."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Then why agree to answer?"

  He half smiled. "I'd rather be in trouble with my superiors than have you walk out that door."

  His words warmed her in a way his touch hadn't. "How would they even know you've talked to me?"

  "They know you've been assigned the case. They will know I've bedded you. It's not hard to put two and two together-unless, of course, you intend to keep what I tell you to yourself."

  "You know I can't."

  He nodded. "Then it's yet another black blot on my record."

  "Sounds like you've got more than one."

  "Trouble and I are familiar friends."

  "So, who do you work for?"

  "That I can't tell you. Not yet. Not until they give clearance."

  "So you're some sort of spy? Part of a secret government service?"

  "Spy? No. That's CIA territory."

  She stared at him, remembering her earlier feelings, remembering her certainty that he was here to find, and kill, their killer.

  "You're a hitman. A government hitman."

  He grimaced. "Enforcer is a nicer term, but yeah, that's basically what I am."

  Her eyes widened at his confirmation. "The government has its own hitmen?"

  "There are many evils in this world that the court and the justice system are incapable of dealing with. Evils that the penitentiary system would never be able to hold."

  "That doesn't give the government the right to be judge, jury and executioner."

  "Would you rather evil be allowed to roam free, creating havoc as it wishes?"

  "That depends on what you term evil. And who decides."

  "There are rules and checks in place."

  She snorted softly. "Like rules ever stopped a government from taking advantage of the system or doing the wrong thing."

  "No system is ever one hundred percent accurate. Even the court system." He paused for a moment, eating some of his meal. "Look, I'd rather not get into this any deeper right now. What questions about the case do you have?"

  She wolfed down some of her pancakes, barely tasting them, then asked, "If you know for certain the killer will strike tonight, do you also have an inkling of who the victim is?"

  He considered her for a moment, expression flat. "Yes."

  "How?"

  "Our clairvoyants saw their images. There are seven altogether."

  "So even though you know the victims, history can't be changed?"

  "History can, but it always takes time. Five have died, but there is always the hope we can save the other two."

  "Why not tell me so I can tell the police the identities of the other two?"

  "Because I'm taking care of it."

  She raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. You're here with-"

  She cut off her words, and stared at him.

  He smiled grimly. "Yes," he said softly. "You're one of the remaining two slated to die."

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Coldness settled in the pit of Eryn's stomach and refused to budge. She put down her knife and fork and pushed the plate to one side. If she ate anything else right now, her stomach might rebel.

  "That doesn't make sense. And it certainly doesn't follow the set pattern."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You really think there's a pattern in this madness?"

  She frowned. "Yeah. The killer has been bedding his victims before he kills them. The only person I was with last night was you."

  "Remember what you're dealing with."

  She mulled over his statement. "He's assuming the identity of the women's chosen partners?"

  "Once they've decided on a mate, yes."

  "But why?"

  "Because the killer cannot stand them having what..." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "...he cannot."

  "Children?"

  He shook his head. "Love. Acceptance."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Acceptance?"

  "In a department filled with freaks, your killer is considered the freakiest."

  "Why?"

  Again, he hesitated. "Because he is something no one thought could exist."

  "And that is?"

  "Something I can't tell you."

  "Can't, or won't?" she snapped.

  "Can't." He reached out, capturing her hand before she could pull it away. His fingers twined around hers, so warm and strong and so, so right. Which was surely a sign her common sense had flown out the window when it came to this man.

  "I have told you more than I should," he said softly. "Any more, and it could be dangerous."

  She snorted. "You've just told me I'm slated to die. What could be worse than that?."

  "Trust me, there are things far worse than death." He squeezed her fingers. "I come from an organization that has no wish to become known to the general public."

  The ice in her stomach grew heavier. "Well, that's a great choice, isn't it? Be killed by our killer, or be killed by the people you work for."

  "The people I work for don't kill innocents. But your memories of this time-of us-are certainly under threat."

  Her gaze widened in disbelief. "They'd erase it?"

  "Definitely." He gave her a lopsided smile that sent her hormones off in an excited little shuffle. "I don't want that. I want you to remember our time together. Want you to remember us."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're good together."

  That they were. But could they be anything more? Somehow, given what he'd said about the department he worked for, she suspected not.

  A fierce twinge of regret ran through her. She ignored it and changed tactics. "Why did you bed all the victims?"

  "Because my telepathy skills are not strong, and I can generally only read a woman's mind when we are in the midst of making love."

  That was an answer she certainly hadn't expected. Though it did explain how he'd known where she lived. "But why did you need to read their minds if you knew who the victims were going to be?"

  "What we didn't know was who they'd been with. Or who their chosen partner might be." He shrugged. "It was the fastest way to uncover which men we had to watch."

  "Then whoever had the watch assignment wasn't much good, because the women got killed anyway." She frowned. "Were your people actually watching the victims' apartments?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how did the killer get through?"

  "He's a face shifter, and even we can't track all the forms our people are able to take."

  She stared at him for a moment. "That's why you don't want the police to catch the killer. Your organization has no intention of letting the authorities suspect that people like you are out there. Or that the people you work for are out there."

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. "A quick mind as well as a stunning body. I chose well."

  She grinned. "Compliments won't get you said body. But more answers just might."

  His eyes gleamed with the hunger that still burned the air between them. "How many more questions must I endure?"

  "Six?"

  He shook his head, amusement touching the corners of his eyes. "I think I'll need to ease my hunger before I can answer that many questions."

  "Five, then."

  Again he shook his head.

  "Four?"

  He didn't answer, just gently straightened one of her fingers and raised it to his mouth. His gaze holding hers, he placed her finger in his mouth and lightly sucked on it.

  A tremor ran through her. Sweet Lord, this man could get her hot enough to melt without even trying.

  She licked her lips. "And you were accusing me of sexual blackmail."

  He simply gave her a smile that had enough heat to burn the soles of her feet, and continued doing erotic things to her finger.

  "Three?" she somehow managed to croak.

  He raised an eyebro
w, then released her finger and straightened her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her palm. Desire curled through her, a furnace threatening to explode.

  "Two?"

  "One," he said, dropping a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Then we make love."

  "Here?"

  "The place isn't important."

  "It is if it can get us arrested."

  "Do you really think the owner will call the police?"

  No. He'd sit back and enjoy the show. And give them free coffee as a thank you afterwards. "Why the urgency?"

  He gave her another of his mind-blowing smiles. "Because I want you so fiercely it's becoming positively painful."

  A feeling she could more than understand. "You'll answer my other questions afterward?"

  "If you make love to me again after I answer those questions."

  She raised her eyebrows. "Are you always this insatiable?"

  "Until I met you, no."

  There was no lie in his words, and her heart did another odd dance. "Really?"

  "Truly." He released her hand and slid out of the bench seat. Her gaze scooted down his body and she saw that he hadn't been exaggerating. His cock was so hard, his jeans so taught against it, that she could see every little bump in his skin. And oh, how she wanted to feel those bumps inside.

  "I've never felt anything like this before," he continued. "I need you as deeply as I need air."

  She scooted along the seat as he sat down beside her. "If that's a line, it's a damn good one."

  He caught her hand again and tugged her towards him. She shifted, pressing her back against the table as she straddled him. Or rather, straddled his thick shaft. He kissed her nose, and wrapped his arms around her waist. "No line, just a truth I never expected."

  His hands began sliding up her back towards the zipper, and it was becoming hard to think again. "Why?"

  "Is that your question?"

  His fingers skimmed her skin as he slid the zipper down, sending delicious tremors skating through her body. "No."

  He raised his hands to her shoulders, slipping his fingers under the thin straps of her dress then sliding them down her arms. "Then ask it, because I intend to make love to you, and I will not be answering questions during the process."

  The dress slithered to her waist, and the air felt gloriously cool against her suddenly bared skin. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. The heat surging between them just about boiled over, and she couldn't help a grin of satisfaction. Whatever lies this man might or might not be telling her, there was no lying about the urgency of his desire for her.