Pleasure Me (2 page)

Wylder tapped the bar, held up two fingers to Gee then strode to Starr. “Hi. Have a beer with me. Please. Over here.”

He chose a table away from the others and held out a chair for her. She remained where she was, scanning the room. Several couples danced, foreheads and groins pressed together, hands roaming shoulders, hips, asses. A group of guys played cards. Others talked and ate. The biting odor of beer, hamburger, musk, and older scents seeped into every inch of the space. No one looked her way again. For them, she didn’t exist.

She drew in her shoulders. Whether from hurt at how the pack members were treating her, or how he had so many years ago, Wylder had no idea. If he’d been a braver soul, he would have slung his arm around her and kept hugging until tomorrow then scent marked her to claim his territory for good. Not wanting to appear too needy, horny, or nuts, he waited.

She finally shuffled to the table with the enthusiasm of a man headed for the electric chair and dropped into the seat. “Thanks.”

He would have given several years of his life to have her the way she used to be, giggling joyously, staring at him as if he not only hung the moon but had also invented the sun in his spare time.

“You bet.” He sank to his chair, tried to find something to say, and couldn’t think of one word. With billions whizzing through his brain, he’d come up with zip.

Carrie wailed her song about the destruction she’d wrought on her boyfriend’s pickup, giving too many women in here dangerous ideas on what to do to men who’d hurt them. Poor guys. Poor him. He tapped his feet and drummed his fingers, ready to jump out of his skin.

Starr sagged back in her chair. “You like this tune?”

He’d stopped listening when she’d moved. Her fragrance had him reeling again, unable to concentrate on anything else. One more wave of sweetness mingled with the scent of ripe woman and he’d be a goner. His hard-on ached like a son of a bitch. His balls were so hot they were practically on fire. He didn’t dare move, afraid of coming in his jeans. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“You’re tapping your fingers and feet in time with it.”

Oh
. He stopped. Wanting to talk, needing to, he leaned toward her then reared back at Gee’s sudden arrival. Wylder’s nose nearly brushed the guy’s thigh.

Gee didn’t back off, standing between Wylder and her as he delivered two beers to the table. “You want mugs?”

Wylder looked around the werebear to Starr. “You?”

She shook her head, not making eye contact with either of them.

“Thanks, we’re good.” Wylder gave Gee a smile, wanting him to leave before he said anything hurtful.

The moment he’d returned to the bar, Starr started breathing again.

“You were brave to have come to this place first.” Wylder handed her one of the beers. “I didn’t make it this far until my third week back in town.”

She finished her sip and ran her tongue around the opening of her bottle.

His balls twitched.

“The returning war hero didn’t get a warm welcome?” She looked at him at last, searching his face. Her expression softened. She became as lost in him as he was lost in her, until she snapped back to her cautious state. “There’s a surprise.” She shrugged. “You’d left for the good fight.”

That was the story he’d told everyone before taking off. For him to admit to his parents, Drew, and the others that he had to get away from Starr or do something incredibly stupid wouldn’t have set the right tone. Being a hero, at least in his own mind, was better. “Wasn’t the good fight. I was wrong.” He lifted his shoulders. “My guess is a lot of the folks here knew I was a damn fool before I took off. Killing people is no way to spread freedom. Wars are only good for corporate profits.”

She lowered her bottle, a faint frown marring her smooth forehead. “Did you actually kill anyone?”

His gut churned. He needed to keep his mouth shut about those days. “Only when I had to fight for my life or my buddies’ lives. Even then, killing was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

Yeah, and he didn’t want to talk about them. “It’s in the past. Best forgotten.”

“Right. Sorry.” She sipped her beer.

“Hey, I’m not cutting you off.” He touched her arm, her skin as velvety as a rose petal. Every nerve ending in his body fired, snatching his breath. “Ah, ask me what I do now, okay?”

She stared at his hand on her. “You won’t offer if I don’t ask?”

“Okay, that came out stupid.” He laughed. “I work at the lumberyard. Might get into construction, too. I’m keeping my options open. First, I need to pay my bills. Then I can see what I’d like to devote my life to.”

“There’s always Drew’s job.”

Wylder brought his hand back from her then twisted to look behind himself. Drew was talking to Gee, neither of them catching what she’d said. A quick glance around the cramped room proved everyone else was busy with their own fun. “Seriously?” He turned back to her and leaned in. “You think I’d want to battle him for the crown or be crazy enough to?”

“I don’t know.” She ran her thumb over the beads of moisture on her bottle. “I haven’t talked to you in years. Actually, I never talked to you at all. Whenever you saw me coming, you ran the other way.”

His cheeks burned. He cleared his throat. “Not because of you.”

She blinked. “Who then?” She made a face. “My mom? She told you to stay away from me? Your folks did? Magnum? Ryker? Gee?”

Wylder held up his hand before she named everyone in town. “No on all your guesses.”

“You’re gay?”

“What? No.” He made a face. “I had no business being around you.”

She turned to the others. A Keith Urban tune played on the box. The young couple at the next table kissed as though their time together was running out and they had to get in one more smooch before the end. The legs of their chairs scraped the floor; the table wobbled as they crawled over each other. One of the card players whooped and held up his winning hand. Two older guys arm wrestled. The guy next to them took bets on who’d win.

“Why didn’t you have any business being around me?” She faced him. “I’d like to know.”

Until now, he’d forgotten how blunt she could be, not to mention persistent. “Simple logistics. You were fourteen, I was eighteen.” A Grand Canyon of years had separated them at the time. She might have chased after him as a woman would, but she’d barely been a teen. No man in his right mind would have pursued the relationship. Now was different. At twenty-six and thirty, their age gap was perfect, finally. So was their future together. As soon as he brought up the subject of them dating, having a good time, screwing like monkeys, mating for life, and having no end of kids. “You needed to grow up.”

She searched his face, her own a mask suddenly, unreadable.

He sighed. “I had to do what was right.” Surely, she could understand.

“Right for whom? You could have been my friend and at least talked to me about stuff.”

Not with the way his hormones had raged. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions together, fighting an overwhelming urge to drag her onto his lap and kiss her senseless. Like the guy at the next table was doing with his woman. “I could have, but I wouldn’t have been strong enough to resist what I wanted with you. Instead, I avoided the situation and left.”

Her eyes rounded. “You’re saying you had that much desire for me and hid your feelings so well?”

Yep. Before he’d taken off, he’d masturbated to his fantasies of her as a full-grown woman. Once she’d reached eighteen, he’d jacked off to her pictures in the fashion magazines she’d graced. If the guys in his unit had found his stash of
Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire,
and
Glamour
, he would have been toast. “I was one fucked-up dude.”

She scooted up in her chair, hands between her knees, legs bouncing to no particular tune. “I actually ran you out of town because of what you felt?”

“You sound happy about your effect on me.”

“What? No.” She pushed back.

He pointed his finger. “You’re smiling.” God, her mouth was beautiful. Like a vision from on high.

She sobered, killing the magic. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Write a letter, send an email or something? You were thousands of miles away. You could have told me the truth then without me jumping you or you jumping me, but you didn’t. Not once.”

“I should have, but I was young and stone-cold dumb.”

“Not to mention rude. You couldn’t even have stopped to say good-bye, before you left, when you had one foot in the pickup with your dad revving the motor? Did you think I’d be able to catch up once you took off?”

“Again, I didn’t think, and I should have said good-bye. I’ll regret those lost moments for the rest of my life.” Shortly after he’d left for his service, she’d pulled her disappearing act. “Did you leave because of me?”

“Do you really need to ask?” She pressed the heels of her hands against the lip of the table. “What choice did I have? You were gone. No one would tell me what your plans were after your tour would be over. Whether you’d even be coming back. Your father and mother said I should forget you, rather than bothering them like I’d bugged you. You acted as though I had Ebola every time I was around. What was I supposed to think?”

“You didn’t have to run away.”

“Was I supposed to stay here and hope you’d come back? Wait until I heard about you mating with a human you liked better than anyone in this town and making a life with that woman in another city, state, or country? I overheard you bitching to your friends about being a shifter. What a downer living here was. How it would bore someone who was already brain dead. You wanted to be in the big wide world around humans. You made life with them sound so exciting I thought I’d try it, too. And I did.”

He’d talked crap to his friends so they wouldn’t guess he was leaving because of her. He should have been straight with her back then, noticed the turmoil she’d been in. “Are you all right now?”

She snatched back her hand before he could touch her again. “Fine.”

He glanced at the left side of her face, part of it still hidden by her hair.

Her cheeks and throat flushed red. “Don’t worry about me. My modeling career was over at twenty-four. I knew I was too old when my agent and the photographers started giving me the names of plastic surgeons for Botox, mini-facelifts, and the other crap to keep me looking like a tween rather than an adult. I refused to go the established route and couldn’t get a gig to save my life. Wasn’t much of an actress, either, according to the suits in Hollywood. There’s no need to worry over my looks. I never did care about them. They were simply a means to make a living, okay?”

“Are you all right?”

Her lower lip trembled. “Never been better.”

Fuck, she was about to cry. “Let me help.” He scooted his chair closer. “What do you need? Tell me what you want.”

She pushed back then stood. “Peace. That’s all.”

She fled the bar.

Starr was halfway across the street when another surge of sorrow and longing hit with such force, she bent at the waist to ward off her pain. The damn feelings came anyway, tightening her throat, making her want.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He’d looked better than she’d dreamed, hotter than any man had a freaking right to be, and he was nice, too, actually wanting to talk. Maybe become friends. Screw around. Fall in love. No, wait. She’d be falling more deeply in love.

Was he deliberately trying to drive her insane?

The bar door creaked. Music and voices spilled out.

She bolted down the road, not wanting to be around him again. Her battered heart couldn’t take any more.

Loud male laughter rang out. His? Directed at how she’d run? No. Had to be someone else. She slowed and looked over.

The kissing fools from inside were outside now, both just barely of legal age to hang out at a bar. The young woman sprawled face up on the hood of a black pickup, the guy laughing again as he pushed up her tee. Snuggled between her legs, he kissed her naked belly.

Nitwits. Didn’t they know where desire led? To hell and back with no detours into everlasting happiness.

She sprinted away again, determined to erase Wylder from her thoughts.

Images of him bombarded her, running through her mind like a tune she couldn’t forget. He wore his hair long these days, the wavy brown locks grazing his shoulders, framing his rough, masculine features. Drool-worthy stubble graced his chin, cheeks, and upper lip, his bronze complexion darker from the summer sun. He’d packed on muscle during the last years, his shoulders broad, biceps bruising, his tee hugging his sculpted abs. He smelled of clean skin and male musk. Pleasant yet decadent, downright intoxicating.

When she’d first seen him at the window, sin had sparkled in his gray, lushly lashed eyes. The prize between his legs had thickened, pressing against his jeans. He was what every straight woman wanted…a guy who was hung, his cock meaty, hard, ready for trouble.

Crap.

She pressed one hand to her aching side, the other to her face to keep her hair from blowing back, revealing what a mess she’d made of her life. From the time she’d started noticing boys, she’d wanted Wylder to mark her, claim her as his own for eternity and all that other romantic crap.

Kade, her ex-lover, had claimed her instead, threatening to kill her if she even thought of leaving him. She had, finally, prepared to die in order to escape. After the horror he’d put her through, closing her eyes forever would have been blessed relief.

Right now, she simply wanted to be alone, nothing more. She didn’t want Wylder’s concern or continuing attraction to her if those were his actual feelings. Could be he felt guilty for leaving the way he had. When those emotions faded and he got over her being back in town, where would that leave her? Aching for him again while he found someone else or took off once more without warning?

No damn way. Love was for the foolish young and masochists. Count her out. Being a shifter was bad enough. Not belonging fully in the animal or human world totally sucked at times, while having to keep their powers a secret was no picnic either. One wrong word and every human with a gun might swoop down on the town and shoot all the residents dead. Worse, the government could haul them off for an experiment to see what made them tick, how they’d come to be.