BAYOU NOËL (3 page)

Ignoring her warning glare, he once again
trailed his fingers over her cheek, tracing the line of her
stubborn jaw.

“What message, Molly?”

Her cat clawed beneath her skin, desperate to
reach the male she desired with every fiber of her being.

“I might be good enough to relieve your
boredom when you’re far from home, but obviously I’m not the type
of female you want to have an intimate relationship with.” She
shrugged, pretending she wasn’t melting beneath the feathery stroke
of his fingers. “That’s fine. I’ll find someone who does.”

Those honey eyes darkened to molten lava, and
his expression went feral and hungry with the power of his
beast.

“Any male touches you, Molly,” he snarled.
“And he dies.”

And just to accentuate the point, he kicked
the door closed with his boot.

The fire, the heat, the madness that raged
through Garrick was barely contained. Maybe it was because he’d
thought about Molly for too many years to count. Or shit, maybe it
was because he’d tried not to. Whatever the reason for the
onslaught of desire, he couldn’t stop himself now.

As he closed the distance between them and
took her in his arms, he felt ready to consume her. And hell,
anyone who might be foolish enough to walk into the room at that
moment.

Her head back and her dark, velvety eyes
pinned to his, Molly whispered in a pained voice, “Why are you
doing this, Garrick? It’s not fair.”

“I don’t care about fair,” he nearly growled.
“Do you?”

She didn’t answer him. “You had your chance
and you lost.”

He bent his head and took her mouth—that
perfectly pink mouth he’d dreamed about every damn night when his
head hit the pillow—kissing her with all the hunger he’d been
storing up and shoving away.

When he pulled back, her eyes were glassy and
she was breathless. But she still managed to utter, “You lost me,
Garrick.”

“No,” he said on a growl. “Never.”

He kissed
her again, hungry and impatient, and pulled her even closer until
her breasts were pressed against his chest, and his thigh was
wedged between her legs. And when he heard her moan, felt her
tongue slip into his mouth, and her fingers slide into his hair, he
felt his male’s stoic mind and his puma’s desperate heart collide.
This was right.
She
was right.
She tasted so warm and so sweet, and he knew that he could do
this—kiss her hungrily, suckle at her lower lip, feel her taut
nipples brush his chest, revel in the sweet heat of her pussy
against his denim-clad thigh—all day and all night if she’d let
him.

Desperate to know the feeling of her skin
under his palms, he gripped the edges of her shirt and dragged the
fabric up, up, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the
thing over her head. Then he dropped it to the floor and took her
mouth again. She groaned and raked her hands up his back.

He eased back an inch. “Do you know how many
times I’ve thought about this, Molly?” he uttered against her wet
lips.

“Oh, Garrick,” she whispered, a cry in her
voice.

“How many nights I’ve touched myself, wishing
it was you. Your hand. Your mouth.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Your
wet pussy.”

She arched her back, pressed her sex harder
against his thigh. “Oh god, Garrick. Please.”

“Have you touched yourself, Molly?” he
whispered in the curve of her ear as he pressed her back, groaning
when he felt how wet she was, even through the fabric of her jeans.
“Have you wished it was me? My hand? My mouth?”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “In my bed.
In the shower.”

Garrick’s puma growled and snarled beneath
his skin. Just the thought, the image, of her lying back on her bed
naked. Or under the hot spray of the shower with her hands between
her thighs, her nipples beading, her hips swaying. It made him
insane with lust. Fuck. She’d wanted him as he’d wanted her. He was
such an idiot male. It was something he’d always known, always
felt—but had pretended was nothing more than a casual
connection.

And, like a true bastard, he had stayed far
away to keep it so.

He drew back. No more. Not now. He wanted
this—needed it. Needed her. Her touch, her taste on his tongue.
With forced gentleness, he eased down the cups of her bra to reveal
her heavy breasts. For a moment, he just stared at her, every inch
of him going hard and anxious.

“Damn, Molly,” he uttered hoarsely, his hands
clenching with anticipation. “You are one beautiful female.”

Her eyes flickered downward. “No…”

“Yes,” he insisted, almost harshly. “Fuck
yes.” He reached out and cupped her right breast, then ran his
thumb over one puckered nipple. “The most beautiful female I’ve
ever seen.”

Her breath caught.

“And I don’t deserve you,” he finished.

“Garrick,” she began. But when he bent his
head and lapped at her other taut peak, suckled it into his mouth
and flicked it with his tongue, she said nothing more.

She was only gasps and moans, her hands
fisting in his hair as her hips danced against his thigh.

Fuck, she was so responsive. So perfect. So
right. So…

His.

His puma snarled, ripped at his chest with
its claws. What was he doing? Thinking? Every taste, every goddamn
touch, was like the hottest, most addictive drug.

As he suckled her dark pink bud into his
mouth, flicked it gently with his tongue, he released her other
breast and let his hand venture down, let it follow the warm trail
to the wet treasure it sought. When his fingertips met denim and
zipper, he made quick work of them. And, taking his mouth from hers
for a moment, he dragged the offending fabric down over her hips,
her legs and to her ankles, where she instantly stepped out of
them. His cock pressing fitfully against his zipper, he drew back
and stared at the vision before him.

The five-year fantasy come to life.

She was all soft curves, lightly tanned skin,
and erotic wet heat, and Garrick didn’t know what he wanted to
kiss, taste or fuck first. She had such a glorious body. Granted,
he’d thought about it, imagined it a hundred times with his fingers
wrapped around his shaft. But his imaginings were nothing to the
reality. Heavy breasts, berry-pink nipples, small waist, shaved
mound. All that, and the face and heart of an angel, besides.

It was no wonder then that he dropped to his
knees before her.

Her eyes widened. “Garrick…what are you
doing?”

“Worshipping you, Mol.” He dipped his head
and lashed at the outside of her sex with his tongue.

She cried out. “Oh my god.”

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling her shaved
pussy with his nose, then drawing his tongue through her hot, wet
lips. Christ, she tasted so sweet. Honey and cream.

“Garrick,” she cried again, her hands
reaching for his shoulders to steady herself.

“I got you, sweet thing. I won’t let you
fall.”

He grasped her hips, held her firmly, then
dipped his tongue inside her again, groaning when a hot wash of
moisture met him. He could feel her clit humming under the thin
layer of skin just above him, and he wanted to feel it in his
mouth. Wanted to suckle it hard at first, then soft, then light as
a feather until she came apart in his hands.

But first, he wanted inside of her.

His hands tightening on her hips, he titled
her toward him slightly, then slowly thrust his tongue up into her
pussy.

She gasped, cried out. “Oh, god! Oh,
Garrick!”

Her walls fluttered and creamed around his
eager tongue, spurring him on. He thrust inside her, going as deep
as his mouth would allow. His cock screamed to get out from behind
his zipper and into her tight, hot body, but he ignored it. He
wanted her climax this way. He wanted to feel her shudder against
his mouth as he drank her down.

He fucked her as she pumped her hips against
him, and it was only when she stopped, froze, her entire body going
rigid, that he slowed. His gaze drifted upward, and he saw her
stomach muscles clench, her ribs showing with every quick breath,
her nipples so dark and hard he nearly came at the sight. But it
was her face, her beautiful face, so flushed, so ready to fly, that
made him pull out and lick her all the way to that pulsing
clit.

“Oh, yes!” she cried out. “Yes! Garrick,
don’t stop!”

With feather-light flicks, he teased the bud
until it swelled, until it went dark pink. She was so worked up,
moaning, crying out, begging, her legs unsteady, that he had to
hold her firmly. Then, like lightning flashing, fireworks booming,
she fell apart, crying out, creaming against his chin, trembling in
his hands.

And Garrick lost what was left of his
mind.

That was the only explanation for what he did
next.

Or tried to do.

It happened so quickly he almost didn’t
believe it. One moment he was the Suit enjoying the female who he’d
dreamt and fantasized about for five long years, the next he was
lost to his cat. The puma inside of him snarled fiercely and claws
formed on his right hand. Before he could stop himself, his hand
was poised just above her abdomen, those claws ready to strike.

Molly’s head dropped. Her eyes were glassy
and heavy-lidded as she stared at him. “Oh my god!” she rasped.
“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he lied.

Christ, he knew exactly what he was doing. Or
wanted to do. He wanted to mark her.

Mark. Her.

Shaking the insanity out of his head, he
backed away, stood up. This wasn’t happening. He hadn’t done that.
He glanced down at his right hand. Fuck! The claws were still
there. How was this happening? Why? He’d been with females before,
and nothing like this had ever occurred.

Until Molly.

Oh, shit…of course Molly.

She was the goddam mating kind! And he was
most definitely not. What an asshole he was. He didn’t even know
what mating looked like. He’d grown up with parents who were never
together, who were completely, utterly and unapologetically devoted
to their jobs. It was all he knew. And no matter how much he wanted
Molly, she deserved a male who could be that for her. A mate. Give
her a home, family, something real and lasting.

His puma snarled fiercely at the thought.

“Your puma wanted to claim me.”

Her voice brought his head up, his eyes
narrowed and his cock pulsing once again at his zipper. She was
standing beside the bed, with a pink, wet pussy, and a bra that
remained below her swollen, delectable breasts. God almighty, he’d
never seen anything so fucking hot.

The claws on his right hand elongated.

He swallowed hard. “Yes. My puma wants
you.”

Her eyes glistened. “But you don’t.”

Was she kidding? Couldn’t she see his cock
tenting his zipper? Hadn’t she felt his desire? His uncontained,
desperate desire? “Molly—”

She shook her head, then turned to grab her
shirt. “I think you should go, Garrick.”

Fuck, he hated that she’d just covered
herself. “Don’t, Molly. Don’t be angry with me. I want you. Dammit!
I want you so fucking much, I ache with it. But…”

Her eyes, those incredible sable eyes, lifted
and pinned him where he stood. “But what?”

There was nothing Garrick wanted more in that
moment than to fly at her, get her back to the mattress, get her
legs spread and bury himself inside her. But he didn’t deserve her
touch, her warmth, her cream—or, more importantly, her heart.

“I wasn’t cut out for mating,” he said, his
voice a dark thread. “For being anyone’s male. I don’t have what a
good female deserves. I can’t be what you deserve, Molly.”

She held the shirt to her chest, but lifted
her chin. “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

He frowned. “I can’t disappoint you.”

“There’s only one way to disappoint me,
Garrick,” she said. “And that’s by not taking what you want. What’s
being offered to you. Goddess,” she sighed. “What’s right in front
of you.”

She didn’t know what she was saying. She
couldn’t. She had no idea what had been instilled in him and what
had happened. He would only hurt her more by staying, by taking
what he so desperately wanted.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered.

Turning away from the warmth and goodness,
sweetness and hunger that was Molly Cochell, Garrick walked out the
door.

Stubborn, pig-headed…jackass.

One cold shower and a half a bottle of Jim
Beam later, Molly was pacing the floor of her living room. How dare
the bastard come into her home and set her on fire with his kisses,
his hands, his magic tongue, and his wicked words, and then walk
away?

And how could she be so stupid as to allow
him to hurt her?

Again.

He was the master hit and run artist.

Was it some sort of game to him? To keep the
pathetic Healer so enthralled with him that she stayed to take care
of his mother? It certainly made his life easier to know he could
dash around the world while she stayed behind, keeping him
constantly up-to-date.

Well, enough.

Really and truly enough.

Taking another swig of the hard liquor, she
was staring aimlessly at the twinkling lights she’d strung around
the window when there was a knock on her door.

Molly frowned, not so drunk that she didn’t
recognize the familiar scent.

Setting the bottle on a low table, she
hurried across the room to pull open the door, her gaze running an
expert examination of Virginia’s angular face. Her color was high,
but that could be from the crisp night air, and she didn’t appear
to be in any pain.

“Virginia?” Molly gave a shake of her head,
trying to clear it. To say she wasn’t used to drinking was a
massive understatement. “What are you doing here?”