The mention of “foster mother” had the desired effect, and Bridget’s eyes softened with sympathy.
Phelan spoke again. “I wish y’all had called first,” he said, shaking his head at his parents. “You must have booked a flight right after you hung up with Richards.”
“It was her idea,” Johan put in, sliding an arm around his wife’s waist, steering her away from the half-dressed Lola and Phelan and toward the sectional sofa. His accent held a trace of his Eastern European roots. “Let’s leave these two be so they can get dressed.”
Lola let out a sigh of relief, glad to see the end of this awkward exchange. They dressed quickly in the loft. Lola wore what she was starting to think of as her Perdition uniform, leggings with a long-sleeved t-shirt paired with one of Phelan’s old flannel shirts worn with the sleeves rolled up, and her sneakers. Her t-shirt was a plain white, but the leggings were made with a fabric sporting house cats executing kung fu moves on a deep red background. She had no idea why anyone would give away a sewing machine with all the trimmings, and a giant box of cool fabric, but she was grateful not to have to wear the same things day after day while she stayed in town.
Phelan looked handsome wearing a deep blue Henley that made his eyes look brighter, jeans, and suede boots. He had kidded about her making him a pair of jeans the night before, but from her perspective, she didn’t think she could do any better than his faded old jeans which perfectly showcased the ass she’d dug her nails into all night long. She had the sudden impulse to jump on him and drag him back to bed, but they had guests.
Phelan caught her eye just as she was standing next to the bed, pinning her hair into a frohawk. The heat from his gaze made her mouth go dry and her pussy clench. She smiled at him. Without a word, he closed the distance between them to stand in front of her, grinning. Then he pushed her on the bed, sending bobby pins flying, and followed her down with his large body caging her in. He looked into her eyes, his blue orbs bright with humor. He was such a good-looking man.
“Hey!” she whispered-yelled in protest. “Knock it off!”
She turned her head and nodded at the loft steps, reminding him that they had guests waiting on them. He took advantage of her exposed neck and nuzzled it.
“That tickles,” she whispered. It did tickle, but even more, it made her hot, and he knew it. The night before, they had discovered together the touches that took her to the edge, that made her body tremble with desire. And he was trying to take her there—with his parents within earshot!
“I know it tickles,” he confirmed her suspicions. “That’s why I’m doing it. I want to make you scream.” He continued nibbling her neck.
“But your parents are downstairs,” she protested.
“Yeah. Make sure you use your inside voice when you say my name.”
She bucked against him, trying to get him off her. But he was an immovable object, his chest solid and unforgiving. She felt as if she were pushing against a brick wall. She was frustrated, but it felt so good to have someone so strong holding her. Protecting her. It made her wish she didn’t have to leave.
But you don’t have to leave.
This startling realization had her giving up the struggle. Her smile faded and she went quiet. Phelan noticed, stopped teasing her and went still. His brows came together as his eyes ran over her and he looked suspicious. He exhaled, his warm, minty breath fanning over her face.
“What’s wrong?”
Shit. What do I say to that?
She shook her head, refusing to say more. He opened his mouth as if to speak when a loud voice, laced with authority, carried up the loft steps.
“Kids! Get a move on!” Johan’s disembodied voice called out to them.
They both froze like children caught up to no good.
“You heard the man. Get a move on,” she said, pushing against Phelan’s chest again. Reluctantly, he let her up.
When they returned to the great room, it was empty. They exchanged looks, then went looking for his parents. They found Johan and Bridget outside, loading their luggage into the bed of Phelan’s truck.
“Aren’t you staying?” Phelan asked, looking confused.
“We’ll stay in town,” said his father, giving his wife the side eye. His mother looked none too pleased at this development.
“But, Dad,” Phelan started, only to be dismissed with a wave of his father’s hand.
“Take us to town, son. We’re staying at the Inn.” The tone of Johan’s voice brooked no argument, and Lola watched wide-eyed as her fake mate’s head dropped in deference to his father’s command.
They piled into the truck, Phelan’s parents folding their long bodies into the extended cab seats over Lola’s protests.
“You two are mates,” Johan said simply. “You belong in the front, with your mate. We’ll be fine back here.”
Lola scooted her seat forward, giving Bridget, who sat directly behind her, more leg room. Even still, Lola felt the woman’s legs shift behind her, poking the back of her seat.
“Sorry, I can’t move this seat up any farther,” said Lola, looking over her shoulder at Bridget.
Bridget opened her mouth to speak, and Johan sent her a warning glance. Phelan started the truck and they set off on the gravel road leading from the cabin to the farm-to-market road leading into Perdition.
“We’ve been in worse situations,” said Johan. “It’s a short ride.”
“Eight minutes,” said Lola, remembering the first time they’d driven from the cabin into town. She looked at Phelan’s profile, wondering what he was thinking. She was relieved that she didn’t sense any anger through their empathic bond.
When he’d insisted the night before, and this morning, that they were mates, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she could sometimes sense his emotions. It felt too much like something that would be part of a mating bond, but she didn’t want to encourage him in something that could never be. She would be leaving soon, whenever it was safe to return to her old life. She should have asked him for new information on the case this morning, but it had slipped her mind. It also occurred to her that she hadn’t checked her bank accounts recently. Not only that, it hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so.
That meant she was in trouble. Big, big trouble. She had to stay focused on her goals.
Frowning, she turned in her seat to look out the windshield to the paved road before them. Phelan reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He kissed her knuckles, and his turquoise eyes looked into hers with such tenderness that her heart lifted painfully in her chest. She detected something else in his emotions that she did not want to acknowledge.
Love. He thinks he loves me.
Startled by this thought, she shrank into the upholstery, not knowing what to do with herself.
“Mr. Richards didn’t tell us what you do for a living,” Bridget said, snapping Lola out of her thoughts.
“Bridge–” Johan started.
Lola looked at Phelan, who was staring at the road intently.
“It’s okay,” Lola said, deciding it would be best to come completely clean. No one in Perdition seemed to care what she did for a living, and she and Phelan hadn’t really discussed it in detail. She decided to share a truncated version of her life story.
“Right now, I’m a cocktail waitress at one of the establishments on Harry Hines.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Bridget. “That must be how you met my son.”
“Yes, it is,” said Phelan, stepping into the conversation. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that we were fated mates.”
He gave her a speculative look from the corner of his eye, which she returned with a tremulous smile. He rubbed the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. His touch made her body catch fire, and the sensation in her chest expanded painfully.
“Lola is working at the Woodland Creatures brothel, saving up enough money to pursue her dream of opening a boutique.” He gave her playful wink.
> “An entrepreneur!” said Johan with enthusiasm, surprising her. She turned to look at him and was startled to find the stern man grinning from ear to ear.
Neither of Phelan’s parents seemed to care at all that Lola worked in a brothel.
They spent the next few minutes talking about Lola’s future plans. Soon, they pulled up in front of a rambling three-story Victorian mansion with a sign indicating “The Inn of Perdition.” It was on the outskirts of town and dwarfed the other houses on the street. Two trucks were parked in front of the building. As they all clambered out of Phelan’s truck, Lola could see a scaffold along one side of the building. One of the trucks held many five-gallon pails of paint. The front porch and steps had recently been replaced, and Lola smelled freshly cut wood.
“Is it open?” Lola wondered aloud, looking around at the state of the grounds. The shrubbery and lawn were overgrown, and the front windows were smudged with construction dirt.
“Let’s find out,” said Phelan, squeezing her hand. The four of them walked up the path to the house. A sign on the door read “closed for renovation,” but the lights were on and she could see movement within. A man and a woman, it appeared, and they were arguing in animated fashion, the woman waving her arms around and shouting at the man.
She and Phelan exchanged puzzled look, and she tried the door. The door swung open easily, and the two of them stepped into the spacious foyer, followed by Bridget and Johan.
The couple continued to argue animatedly, and didn’t seem to hear the Cermaks and Lola enter. Tall, lean, with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes that spoke of an Asian ancestry, the man was a handsome bastard, like a lot of the shifter men in Perdition. The woman, also quite tall, was voluptuous, her hips and thighs filling out a pair of worn jeans nicely. She had complexion that made Lola think of a pecan shell, and thin, brown hair that was loose and wild. The man was dressed in a short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans with a few white smudges of construction dust adorning his clothing. The woman wore a threadbare long-sleeved t-shirt and, weirdly, a pair of opera-length gloves. She, too, had construction smudges all over her.
“Look, I didn’t ask for your help! I don’t need your help! Why don’t you go do some homecoming stuff with your perfect, shiny friends?” the woman screamed.
“Jane–” the man started.
“Excuse me?” interrupted Lola, not wanting to hear more of what seemed to be a very personal conversation.
Jane and the man both turned to look Phelan, Lola, Johan and Bridget. Simultaneously, the fighting couple said, “What?”
“Are you open?” Lola asked, feeling stupid since the front door said the place was closed for renovation.
The man and woman responded in unison.
“We’re closed!” the man stated.
“We’re open!” the woman growled.
The man and woman glared at each other, then looked back at the group.
“I’m the owner,” the woman declared, emphasizing every word. “And I say when we’re open.”
The man cast Jane the stink eye.
“He’s just here for the weekend. For homecoming.” She raised an eyebrow at the man, as if daring him to contradict her.
She stomped to the registration desk, grabbed the sign-in book, and marched over to Lola, Phelan, and his parents.
“Names!” she barked, looking irritated. The man she’d been arguing with followed her every move with the concentration of the predator Lola was sure he must be. To Lola, they looked as if they were a highly attuned, bickering couple. Sexual tension crackled between them. Although the woman made a show of ignoring the man, something in the sway of her hips communicated the woman’s desire to jump on the man and ride him like a carnival pony. Lola thought absently that they seemed like a couple that would fight in order to have make-up sex.
“So... are you open?” asked Johan, cocking his head to one side. “The sign on the door says you’re closed for renovations, but your lights are on.”
“Look. I’m the owner,” she huffed, putting emphasis on the word “owner.” She held out a gloved hand to Johan. “Jane Guzmán. We’re under renovation, but I know everything is booked up for homecoming. I can give you a room, but since we’re not officially open, I won’t charge you.
“There’s no breakfast service during renovations, but it’s my policy to require a deposit for possible damage to my property.”
With canvas tarps on the floor and draped over furniture, construction dust everywhere, and the unkempt appearances of the proprietor and her stalker, it was hard to imagine causing any sort of damage that would be detectable. The man approached the woman and snaked an arm around her possessively. She elbowed him in the ribs.
“If you’re going to let them stay, you can’t ask them for a damage deposit,” the man said. He looked at Phelan, his brow wrinkled for a moment, then a smile lit his face. “Phelan Cermak!”
He stepped forward and gave a confused Phelan a bro hug.
“Eric Andrews, you idiot!” exclaimed Jane’s stalker, grinning. A pair of dimples slashed Eric’s cheeks.
Lola watched as recognition dawned on Phelan’s face.
“I never thought you were one for manual labor.” He grinned at the other man and bro-hugged him back. Then he stepped away and looked down at himself, checking for construction dust.
“What are you doing back here?” Eric asked.
“I’m here for homecoming, and I brought my girl,” he said, beckoning Lola to join them. “Lola, me and this fool went to high school together.”
Lola managed a wan smile and a small, awkward pseudo wave.
“Hi,” she said, cognizant of the fact that she was very much the odd man out. Everyone knew everyone else, had had history by virtue of the fact that they had all lived in town for a number of years.
They started talking, and from what she could gather, Phelan and Eric had had a number of teenage misadventures together. Bridget and Johan were also involved in the animated conversation, while Jane appeared to be keeping herself busy elsewhere. Lola supposed that it was often the case in small towns where everyone knew everyone else.
Lola sensed an opportunity to step away from the smiling and nodding routine she had affected when Phelan’s parents arrived. She had done more smiling and nodding than the Queen of England, to the point where she thought it entirely possible that her face might freeze in a rictus of a polite smile.
So, while everyone engaged in a mini-reunion, Lola stepped outside for some fresh air. The weather was crisp and pleasant, the sun was shining, and the sky was huge and a cloudless blue she’d come to associate with Texas in the years she’d lived there. From the front porch, she could see much of the town, and she decided to take a short stroll while she waited for the Cermaks to finish their business.
Yes, she’d take a short stroll and return to the Inn in a bit when everyone was done with their catching up.
They wouldn’t even notice she was gone.
Chapter 33
Lola was gone.
Phelan realized this after he’d gotten his parents settled at the ramshackle Inn of Perdition. He’d been getting caught up with Eric Andrews whom he’d known all through high school. The two men decided to meet at the homecoming pack run.
Jane Guzmán had been homeschooled due to a medical condition that made her highly allergic to a number of substances. As a result, she avoided skin-to-skin contact with other people. Phelan wasn’t sure of Jane and Eric’s relationship, but there was clearly some attraction going on. And they bickered like an old married couple.
Lola had disappeared to points unknown during the discussion, and Phelan couldn’t blame her. She really didn’t know anyone there, and his parents had shown up with no advanced notice. He was pulled back into the discussion when his mother suggested that Lola, Phelan, Bridget, and Johan all spend the day together getting acquainted.
His father went all alpha on his mother’s suggestion, stating, “Let the boy bond with his mate without our
interference. Son, I’ll see you at the pack run this evening. Go find your woman.”
Phelan gladly took the opportunity to escape. He and Lola hadn’t finished their mating discussion from earlier, and now that his parents were in town, there would be fewer opportunities to have private chats.
He followed his nose down the main drag of Perdition, passing the apothecary, the Foundlings thrift store, and past the diner. He stopped a couple steps past the entrance. The scent had stopped at the diner door. Lola must be inside.
He entered to the jingling of the bell above the door and scanned the patrons. And there she was, his mate, wearing her eccentric kitten-pizza leggings. She also wore one of the half aprons waitresses used to stash their order pads and writing implements. He spent no time at all pondering how his mate, a complete newcomer to town, came to be waiting tables at a diner as if she’d been slinging hash there for the past fifteen years.
That was because Lola, his mate, was standing over Dennis Lauder, smiling hard enough that her face might crack and looking distinctly uncomfortable. He had her by the wrist, his thumb pressing the pulse point and rubbing. Phelan could see the tension in Lola’s body, the way she tried to pull her hand away without making a scene.
Dennis had his hand on his mate. And she didn’t like it.
In Perdition, as well as in most wolf packs, when a man and a woman declare they are mates, no one was allowed to interfere with that bond. It was pack law.
Phelan knew it.
Dennis knew it.
Everyone living in Perdition knew it.
Now Phelan had to do something about it.
Lola turned then, and pinned her gaze on Phelan. A red filter of anger seemed to drop over his eyes and he let out a warning growl.
Dennis followed Lola’s gaze. His eyes met Phelan’s, then narrowed. The chief patted Lola’s hand indulgently, gave her a sarcastic smirk, then allowed her to pull away.
Before he realized he was moving, Phelan was at the table, standing in front of Dennis and Lola. His fangs descended, his claws itched at his fingertips, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out another warning growl. He took a deep breath. He needed to get his wolf under control.
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