by Jaycee Clark
Now, months later, she still second-guessed herself. She could still read people, could still read auras, but could she trust those readings?
As she watched, one person she knew she did read correctly strode down the sidewalk towards her. The young woman—Lake figured in her late teens or early twenties—was troubled. Her aura was damaged, dark and muted, but Lake could see where it had once been bright, shining and shifting, a rainbow dancing on water. Energies trailed behind her, like long tendrils, reaching across the street even. Anger, pain, hope, and…hope.
Lake wondered again who the young woman was. She’d seen her go into the shop before, though she’d never been in the gallery when Lake had visited.
Chicken.
Shut up.
The waiting isn’t getting easier.
“Fine.” She pulled her tote higher on her shoulder, one she’d knitted from fun yarn of various colors. It was bright, cheery and probably ugly to some. She loved it.
To hell with it. Just go in. Look around. Ask him. One. Two. Three.
Lake pushed into the gallery just after the young woman, who looked back twice before stepping into the shop as well. Up close, Lake noticed the girl had wise eyes.
The shop smelled as it had the other times she’d been in, a mixture of hardwood and turpentine. The pale terracotta-washed walls were a great backdrop for the black-framed prints. Two walls were covered in photographs, black and whites, sepias. The other held various sized canvasses, bold slashes of paints, sweeping landscapes, cool watercolors. Everything was showcased, from neoclassical to more modern, dark works. A bank of windows filtered in the light splashing onto pedestals and display cases with everything from sculptures to jewelry. She’d been in several times to look around, so maybe no one would think anything of her being in here now.
The girl glanced at the man, Maxamillan Gray, behind the counter and then at Lake. Lake saw then, the girl was an old soul.
Smiling, the young woman said in a soft voice, “You know you’re yellow?”
“Alyssa,” Maxamillan warned.
Lake studied him, as attracted to him as she always seemed to be. He was a bit taller, and she topped or stood even to most men at five foot eleven. On the occasion she managed to drag her ass out of bed for early morning Pilates, she’d seen the man cycling or jogging. Long and lithe, he was toned but not muscular. His forearms and biceps attested to all the sculpting he did. Some might think him soft, she supposed. After all, he wasn’t the rugged cowboy, nor was he the suave New York gallery owner. This was a man who lived and owned his own world and was very proud of that fact. He wore no ring, with no signs he’d worn one recently, which didn’t actually mean anything.
His gray eyes landed on her and raked her over quickly once, then narrowed slightly at the corners before slowly gazing down her body again. When his gaze met her eyes, she cocked a brow and gave him one of her half grins.
Maxamillan’s dark hair was dusted with gray at the temples. His chiseled face was neither too narrow, nor overly harsh. He reminded her of a David sculpture—perfection from his slightly curled hair to his lips, the bottom slightly plumper than the top.
And where the hell was her mind? The look, the gaze, those lips and the way he moved. She knew enough about men to know he’d be great in bed. Or maybe she just knew.
A slight blush stole over his cheekbones before he turned back to the young girl. “Alyssa, you owe this woman an apology.”
Lake refocused on the young woman—dark hair, cut short and stylish, her eyes the same gray as Maxamillan’s—and realized they were related.
“Dad.”
Lake grinned, seeing the tattoo on the girl’s shoulder, a Celtic symbol. “Actually—Alyssa, is it?—I’ve always seen my aura as more orange than yellow. But then, granted I’ve been out of sorts for the last several months, so yellow is probably right. Come to think of it, I’m surprised it’s not blue or brown or something.” She studied the young woman and dropped her shields, barely tapping into the energies surrounding them. “You, on the other hand, used to be all colors.” The energy all but poured over her. “My God.”
Alyssa frowned. “Whatever.”
The power shooting off the girl started to tap and drain her own. The anger was spiked. Not anger—no—rage. Rage, dark and deadly in its repression, all but hissed in the air. It was held in check by the calming waters of hope, of blue, of greens, of…
Lake could only stare at the young troubled woman. “No. I-I saw before, the muted colors, but I had no idea…” She had to push the energy charging across her skin back, back behind the shields. She took a deep breath and looked square into Alyssa’s gray eyes. “You are an incredibly, incredibly gifted young woman. I hope you know that.” Then other words tumbled out of her mouth. “Be careful. Be very, very careful, Alyssa.”
Alyssa stared at her a moment more, shook her head and then turned without another word and walked to the back of the gallery.
Lake watched her, heard the boots thumping on the scarred wooden floor, even heard the faint jingle of the bling on the girl’s low-slung jeans.
A door in the back slammed.
Lake blinked and remembered where she was and what she’d done. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I just…” She trailed off. “I shouldn’t have…”
Maxamillan cleared his throat, looking in the direction his daughter had gone. “Actually, it’s okay. She loves to shock people, thinks it’s great fun. Fact is, she’s not used to the tables being turned.” He pushed the sleeves of his long sleeved Henley up. The light gray brought out the color of his eyes. “She’s always thought…” Those eyes speared her. “Well, it doesn’t matter.”
Lake studied him and realized that perhaps he didn’t know. “You do realize your daughter is very gifted? I haven’t seen or felt energies like hers in years.”
One brow arched. “You believe in auras?”
Lake couldn’t help it. She laughed. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a card with her name and cell on it. Then she pointed across the way to the coffee shop. “Give this to your daughter. Tell her to come see me. I own—or did own, and probably will own again…well, actually, I do plan to reopen up when I move back…” She realized she was rambling. “I do own a shop in Sedona.”
He grinned at her. “Are you sure about that? You sound like you might not have it figured out yet.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“What type of shop?” He glanced at the card, then back at her. “A shop for all your needs?”
“A new age shop. That’s my slogan.” Shaking off the feeling she needed to explain herself to him, she continued, “Anyway, tell her I’m staying over there and to call me if she wants to…” Again she trailed off. “Talk.”
He frowned and scratched the side of his face, studying her card. “You’re staying over at the coffee shop?”
“Renting a room from the Howards.” She wished now she hadn’t worn the turtleneck sweater. It was warm. Or maybe it was just her. “It’s a nice place. The H-Howards are really nice.” She was rambling. Jeez.
“Oh-kay. Well, Lake.” His gaze rose back to hers. “Your name is really Lake?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is yours really Maxamillan?”
He laughed. “Touché. Though, please call me Max.”
“Max.” Lake smiled, turned and walked to the door.
Just as her hand touched the old rusted handle, he said, “Um, look. I’ve seen you over there, seen you come in a few times and I was wondering…”
Lake stopped and stared back at him. Waited. And waited some more. She hoped to hell he wasn’t in a relationship.
“And you were wondering…?”
“That is, well,” he muttered something and took a breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for drinks sometime.”
She smiled. “I’m really not into the bar scene, Max.”
He frowned. “Neither am I.”
“Good. Then how about the coffee shop?”
He
smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. “I’d like that.”
She waited.
“This evening around…” He motioned with his hand. “Seven?”
“Sounds good. See you at seven across the street, Max.”
Just as she walked through the door she heard, “’Bout time. God, Dad, I thought you’d never actually spit it out.”
The wild thing she saved is the man she’ll desire most.
Animal Instinct
© 2010 Michelle M. Pillow
A Ghost Cats Story
Eve Matthews, head veterinarian at Jameson Wildlife Rescue and Preserve, measures success by no one’s rules but her own—much to her rich parents’ distress. A life filled with animals means she’s rarely alone. Still, a little human contact of the male variety would be nice.
The only one in her life right now is Midnight, a black panther she brought back from the brink of death. She doesn’t think twice about bringing him home to keep an eye on him. Changing clothes in front of his golden eyes. Confessing her deepest fantasies to his alert ears. It’s not as if he’ll ever tell anyone her secrets.
Forced to watch her every move, listen to her every word, Viktor is in torment, trapped in panther form while he heals. He aches to fill her nights with the pleasure she craves, but to shift too soon risks death. Until the night she pleasures herself, and he can take no more.
They come together in a cataclysm too fierce to be a dream. But the shifter who left Viktor for dead is drawing near, determined to finish the job he started.
Warning: Contains a voyeuristic cat shifter, a heroine who’s an exhibitionist unaware, and explicit sex that may just give you cat scratch fever. Iced catnip tea recommended.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Animal Instinct:
Viktor looked over the gorgeous, unmoving woman who rested next to him on the bed. He could see her perfectly in the dim light of the bedroom. Only a soft blue glow came in from the window. She was ravishing, so much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Just his luck, he’d find the first woman he truly desired and cared for in his eternity of living only to be stuck in his shifted form, unable to do anything about it.
Viktor’s injuries kept him from shifting, yet, ironically it was his injuries that brought him to Eve Maitland. A fellow cat shifter named Bartel had stabbed him in the back while he was in human form. Eve’s intervention saved him from being put down like a feral animal. It was only the power of the cat form and the sweet, administering hands of a sexy angel that helped him to heal. Every day he wanted to thank her, but if he tried to become human too soon, he’d die. If he stayed shifted too long, stayed in this place too long, he risked bringing his troubles to his caretaker’s door. Bartel would want to finish what he started. He wasn’t the kind of man to leave loose ends. Viktor was a loose end. Luckily, Eve kept him in her trailer, hidden away. But once she moved him onto the preserve, he’d be easier to track.
Eve’s legs stirred against the bed as she slept. Viktor studied the long line of her body. She unintentionally tortured him day and night with her presence. She talked to him about herself, telling him secrets, whispering her fantasies, asking him questions that couldn’t be answered with his animal throat. It was pure torment. She undressed before him, letting his cat eyes see her body without hesitation or thought. During his time spent under her care, he’d been afforded numerous views of her form—in the shower, the bed, dressing and undressing. A few times when she didn’t know he looked, he’d watched her pleasure herself—wiggling her hips against her exploring fingers, stirring up her feminine scent until it clouded his mind, jerking and panting as she brought herself to climax with a silent cry of release. If he were shifted to human, he’d groan in anguish at the memories of watching her climax by her own hand. Since he was panther, he merely growled low in discontent.
He knew she was drunk, could smell the liquor in her veins mingling with her woman’s scent—a scent that was finally driving him to the point of risking exposure, a scent so sweet it could make a man risk shifting before his body was ready. Feeling a tingling in his limbs, Viktor stiffened in surprise. Was he healed enough to finally try it?
The smell of her again filled him and a mindless urgency overcame him. Viktor urged his body to transform. She’d petted him, stroked him. It was his turn. He needed to touch her with his flesh, had to know if her skin was as soft and supple and sweet as he imagined. It had been a long time and the transformation hurt like hell. He endured the pain exploding in his limbs, popping his joints, extending his bones and retracting his canines. An imaginary fire burned across his flesh, pulling his skin to the point it felt as if he might rip in half. Sore muscles twinged and hardened, cramping violently. He’d come too far. He couldn’t stop it now, not as he shifted to human once more. Black fur was slowly replaced by tanned flesh. His muscles lengthened and stretched, arching and curling until they molded into a hard, masculine frame. The bed shook and Eve moaned. Her hand reached out, absently petting his shifting shoulder as she slept. The touch brought him little comfort. His lips parted in a silent, agonizing scream. And then, finally, it was finished.
Viktor took a deep breath, trembling weakly as he readjusted to the energy it took to be in the larger form. His skin pulled tightly against his frame and his joints ached. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay a man for too long—not yet anyway. But once he was completely healed, the human form would again be his dominant shape.
Lying naked on the bed, he looked at Eve with his dark human eyes. His cock stood erect and ready and he couldn’t discern whether it was from the rush of blood through his shifting body or the knowledge that he’d finally be able to satisfy that deep curiosity. Though his vision was sharper as a cat, he could see her soft lines perfectly. Delicate material cupped her breasts, revealing shape but not texture. His fingers twitched. One touch. That was all he’d take. One small touch. He had to know.
Running a masculine hand down his ribcage, he suppressed a groan. He was lying to himself. If he touched her now, in this state, he’d never stop. His eyes flickered down Eve’s body only to come up again, landing once more on the soft rise and fall of her round breasts. His long, tapered fingers wrapped around his thick cock. Shifters weren’t known for suppressing their sexual appetites and it had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his. The heavy length of his shaft lurched and throbbed beneath his hand as he stroked it.
His mind whispered wicked thoughts to his body. She said she wanted a wild man to take her. She asked for it. She wants it. You want it. Think of how her skin will taste. Think of how fragile her flesh is. Think of how wet she smells between the thighs.
Moving with liquid grace, he turned onto all fours and crawled to be closer to the woman on the bed. His breath came in hard gulps as he looked at her. He was a fool to think he could ever resist. He’d been forced to gaze at her creamy breasts and athletically smooth thighs for too long. He wanted a closer look. He wanted to touch her, taste her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to make her scream his true name.
Viktor licked his lips and sat back on his heels. Sexy lace panties hugged her narrow hips, the straps falling over where her hipbones protruded slightly from her skin. He knew when he pulled them down that he’d find a narrow patch of dark blonde hair guarding her opening.
Her thighs parted slightly as she stirred next to him on the bed. He couldn’t resist lowering his face between them to breathe in her exotic feminine smell. Without thought, his lips parted and his long tongue reached forward to taste her through the silken barrier.
Eve lurched against him at the contact, wiggling and moaning in her sleep. A soft pant came from her lips and her legs fell open to him as she inadvertently begged him for more. Viktor grinned and could not deny her plea.
“Mmm,” he moaned in the back of his throat, bathing her panties with his tongue until they were soaked and clinging to her hot, moist pussy. His breath hit against her. He could taste the sweet cream of her body tr
ying to saturate the silk.
He pulled back and she whimpered lightly. She reached for her own breast and began massaging. Her legs stirred as she mumbled, “No, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Hearing her soft, sleepy voice, he couldn’t help but obey it. His fingers ran up her warm thighs to grab her panties from her hips. He worked them down, off her body. Seeing the soft glistening of her drenched pussy, he adjusted her on the bed and spread her legs wide to him.
As his mouth latched onto her clit, drinking furiously, his fingers rode up her flat stomach to help her massage her breasts. Their fingers intertwined on the soft globes. With a rip, he tore open the bra, freeing the mounds to his searching fingers. He rubbed the nipples, pinching and squeezing them into hard buds. His teeth nipped lightly, making her squirm against him. He moaned and dipped his long tongue into her slick channel for a deeper taste.
Though his cock protested, his mouth would not give up its newfound pleasure. Muscles tried to grip his tongue as it swept inside her. Her thighs squeezed his head. She sighed softly, moaning for more.
And, oh, Viktor wanted to give her more.
Even a wrong turn can be right.
Best Intentions
© 2010 Mandy M. Roth
A Ghost Cats Story
Lily arrives at Thioshpaye Bar and Cabins looking for room, board…and a man. The one standing behind the counter ought to be perfect—she’s not going to find anyone more gorgeous. But she’s only looking for a one-night stand, and the connection that sizzles between them tells her she could spend a lifetime in his arms.
Brayen’s cougar-shifter eyes must be deceiving him. Humans aren’t supposed to be able to see the building, much less waltz right through the door. But he can tell that Lily is special—and sees through the bravery that masks her inner vulnerability. His pack won’t welcome a human, but when Lily is nearly attacked by wolf shifters, Brayen knows she’s his to protect—and love. At least for tonight.