Bear-ly A Hero (Bear Claw Security 2) (2 page)

L
imes couldn’t remember
the last time he’d been so angry. It hadn’t even been when she’d whacked him in the eye when he was just coming in to make sure she was okay, since the house was dark and no one was answering the door.

She was supposed to be expecting him.

No, what had made him angry was the way she just looked up at him and asked him not to hurt her. And said she wouldn’t fight him. First, why did she think he was some kind of monster? Second, if she did think that, why would she just roll over and let him do as he pleased? Would she say that to anyone threatening her? Darkness roiled in him for some reason. He didn’t like that at all.

But why should he care? He’d only come here to convince her she shouldn’t work with him anyway.

But apparently, she’d been expecting something different. She was still looking at him with a mix of fear and awe that made him angrier yet.

He nodded to the chair across the room. “Sit down,” he commanded. He chided himself for the tone he’d used as she jumped and then scurried over to the chair. No need to be harsh and commanding with this one.

As she sat there with her hands in her lap, he studied her carefully.

She had a mass of dark curls around her face, slightly obscuring her eyes from his view. But he knew from earlier that they were dark brown and wide and sparkly when she was scared.

Ugh, he hated she was scared.

He wasn’t supposed to care about those things.

She tucked her knees up under her and put her hands over the top. She had a curvy body, from what he could make out under the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing. The jeans she had on had seen better days. She had pretty brown skin, and he didn’t see a touch of makeup on her face. And now that he thought about it, her hair didn’t look like she paid much attention to it.

She felt him watching and grabbed at it self-consciously, tying it back with a ponytail holder from her wrist, which she held in her mouth as she battled the hair into the right shape to tie it off.

Then she looked at him again and he could make out her face better, even in the dim light of the room, since he’d only managed to turn on one lamp.

She was pretty, in that average, friendly kind of way. A pert, snub nose, wide cheeks, smooth forehead.

“What are you looking at?” she asked in a shaky voice, trying to be defiant.

“An extremely stupid person, that’s what I’m looking at.” He pointed at her with the umbrella. “You really think this was going to do anything?”

She bit her lip. “I reacted fast.”

He set it down on the couch beside him. “You’re lucky you hired us.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t last a second on your own if I’d really been one of the bad guys.”

Her little face tightened in anger. That was cute. “Excuse me?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. She pointed at his eye. “I believe it did do something.”

So she had. He gave her a dark look as he put a hand up to touch the skin of his eye, and she bit her lip and slumped back again. “And you really want to remind me of that?”

“No,” she said quick. “No, I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

He sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Look, anyway, there’s been some kind of mistake—”

“I agree,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “Definitely a mistake. I can’t work with you.” She put her hands up, as if warding him off, and Limes felt a prickle of indignation. “Absolutely not. I’ll work with that Brontosaurus guy.”

“Bronson?” Limes asked, fighting back a somewhat hysterical laugh at her mauling of Bronson’s name.

She waved a hand. “Sure, Bronson. Whatever. You’re all as big as dinosaurs. But fine. I’ll work with him.”

The irritation came back at that, swiftly replacing any amusement he’d felt. A prickle of unwanted possessiveness waved through him, shocking him to the core.

Limes didn’t ever feel possessive. Especially not toward women who hit him in the eye and didn’t want his help and basically insulted him from the moment he met them.

He narrowed his eyes, and she did that cute little lip-biting thing again. It made him want to do things to her. He should be the one biting it.

He sat upright in the chair, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how odd his thoughts were.

Limes worked with computers. Limes cared about computers. Limes didn’t care about cute bottom lips or helpless curvy women who didn’t want his help anyway.

He stood, then looked around the room, then sat again. He couldn’t make himself leave.

Not until they’d worked this out.

But Limes didn’t know how they would do that, because for some reason, now that she didn’t want to hire him, he didn’t want to leave.

He was supposed to be the one that cut this off. Not her. She should be
lucky
to have him. He could protect as well as Bronson, even if he didn’t have Bronson’s people skills. He folded his arms, not caring that it looked intimidating.

He saw her eyes glance over him again and once again noted the fear there and just beneath that, if he wasn’t imagining it, just a hint of… appreciation?

Maybe that was wishful thinking.

She rolled her lips together. They were full, he realized, watching them. Full and plump. Like the rest of her. He wanted to just gather her up in his arms and—

“Ouch,” he said as a twinge of pain went through his eye.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, standing and almost running to her fridge. She pulled out an ice pack and wrapped it in a paper towel and then handed it to him. “This should help. I’m sorry. When you broke in… I thought…”

He took it from her, eyeing her warily. “All right. I shouldn’t have done that. I admit I panicked a bit when it was dark, knowing you were supposed to be home and you’d recently sought to hire protection.”

She nodded. “It’s okay.” But it didn’t look okay. She still looked shaky. Twitchy. Like she was expecting someone to come through the door any minute.

A part of him wanted to stay there and make sure no one did. Show her what to do instead of swinging a useless umbrella. Still, she’d gotten a good hit in.

Definitely stronger than a human. He inhaled the air. What, though? He wasn’t sure. Something smaller than a bear, based on her size.

Hm.

“Anyway,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap as a curl popped free from her bun and fell in her face. She quickly pushed it back. “Like I said, there’s been a mistake. I’ll go back and meet with Bronson in the morning.”

Limes’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“In the morning,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ll go in the morning. I’ll be fine until then.” She gave him a weak smile. “I just overreacted, obviously.”

Limes leaned back, hands behind his head. “You shouldn’t judge on appearances.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but was too scared to. “Sorry,” she said insincerely.

He liked that. “What?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“What are you pissed about?” He gestured to her posture. “You said sorry, but your eyes said, ‘Fuck you,’ so what’s your problem, lady?”

“You’re rude,” she said flatly, folding her arms.

“I believe you were told that,” he retorted.

“And you say I’m useless.”

“You behaved uselessly,” he said.

“And you look like a thug,” she said.

His lips tightened at that. “I
am
a thug. I work in personal security.”

“But you’re supposed to be a hacker. You’re supposed to be—”

He stood abruptly, cutting her off as he crossed the room and stopped in front of her chair, intimidating her as he put a hand on each side of her, caging her in. “I’m not supposed to be anything but what I am.”

He liked the way fire lit in her dark eyes as she looked up at him. Finally, she seemed more angry than afraid.

That was good. He liked her angry. He didn’t like her cowering in fear.

She pushed at his chest, and he stepped back easily. He could almost feel her heart pounding as she stared at him, hair more undone, face slightly flushed. “Fine,” she said. “Be what you want as long as you get out of my house.”

Limes simply took a step back and glanced at the couch. Then he walked down the hall beyond the kitchen and flicked on a light there.

He ignored her muttered protests as he looked for a linen closet. When he found one and opened it, he heard her squeak in response and stand up, coming to the end of the hall to watch him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making a bed,” he said, bringing sheets forward and spreading them over the couch so he could sleep there and watch the entrances. The window and the door were the most probable entry points.

“But-but… I don’t want to hire you,” she said helplessly. As if she knew it were impossible to dissuade him.

“Too bad,” he said, lying back on the too-small couch and resting his head on his hands, pretending he could somehow get relaxed in this position. “I’m staying whether you like it or not.”

She took in a deep breath, and he glanced at her, enjoying the way she seemed like a teapot. All steamed up and ready to blow.

He almost expected her to yell at him, but instead, she turned on her heel and stomped down the hallway.

Then he heard her footsteps coming back. “Fine!” she said. “Stay if you want. But in the morning, you’re fired!” Then, with a little screech of disgust, she was gone.

Limes gave a bitter grin. “We’ll see about that.”

T
he next morning
, Limes was up and ready when she was. Which was good, because after a sleepless night followed by awful dreams, she was cranky and fired up and ready to march back into Bear Claw Security to let them know there had been a mistake.

Limes was in her kitchen, eating breakfast. Her eyes widened at the plates in front of him. One was covered in eggs, poorly cooked and just sort of splayed over it, and some badly burned toast, which he was devouring as he read something on his phone.

He turned to her with a grin as she approached.

Even as she thought she was starting to get used to him, she managed to still feel a chill down her spine when she took him in. He was ginormous. And those tattoos. And that height. And that face. Why did that face have to look so mean? Was it the super-short, almost buzzed hair? Was it the stubble? The way even his smile looked evil? Those green eyes?

He raised a glass of orange juice to her as she glared at the mess he’d made.

“Helped yourself, I guess,” she said, pulling a low-cal shake from the fridge and downing it quickly.

He frowned at it and then shook his head. “I don’t get why women starve themselves.”

“Because society is hateful to us if we don’t,” she snapped, not feeling it was really his place to comment. He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway.

Well, it was really all her fault. She had invited him,
insisted
he be the one to take her case. She would just have to correct that.

“Society is stupid,” he said, wiping his mouth.

She was surprised by the amount of food he’d polished off as he stood, brushing his hands off on a napkin. He stretched and then let out a sigh. Then he turned to her with his typical stare. Vaguely bored, vaguely impatient. He folded his arms.

“So you want to go back and talk to Bronson, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, bracing herself for his disapproval.

“All right. I’ll take you over there.”

She blinked in surprise as she slid her arms into her jacket. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’ll go together. So you’re safe.”

“But we haven’t even talked about what’s after me,” she said. “How do you even know I’m unsafe at all?”

“You attacked me with an umbrella,” he said. “You’re obviously scared of something. Or someone.” He opened her front door and let her walk out under his arm, which was easy since it seemed he was twice her size.

She strode down her front walk, trying to ignore the pounding of his footsteps after her.

She wondered what kind of car a man like this drove and stopped when she saw a gigantic black truck parked a couple houses down. She sighed.

Of course.

“What?” he asked.

“That yours?” she asked, pointing at it as they headed in that direction.

“Nah,” he said, scanning the street. He pointed at a car just across from them. A pink convertible. “It’s that one.”

“Seriously?” Her jaw dropped, and he barked out a laugh.

“No, of course not seriously. Geez, you’re easy,” he said, walking over to his truck and hitting a button on his remote that unlocked it.

She opened the door herself and looked up at the high cab. The douche didn’t even have one of those railings that made it easy to step in. She was far from in shape. Her work made that tough. That and the fact that she spent the rest of the time she had on her hobby, which didn’t exactly involve a lot of movement.

She struggled for a moment and then heard Limes let out a sigh of disapproval and walk over. She felt a rough hand on her backside and gasped as she was pushed easily up into the cab.

“Hey! You—”

“Calm down, princess,” Limes said. “I just pushed whatever needed pushing.”

“Well, from now on, you keep your hands off me,” she said.

“Fine by me,” he said. He gave her a mean grin. “I’ll get you a stepstool next time.”

“I don’t need a stool,” she said. “Because I won’t be working with you.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

“Hmph,” she said, buckling in and leaning against the window. “What is it about shifter men and not being able to keep their hands to themselves?”

He’d been fiddling with the radio, but he stopped and looked over at her, an unreadable expression on his usually harsh face. She almost thought he was going to ask her what she meant, but then he just sighed and started up the truck, which rumbled to life.

So much engine. Was that really necessary?

Limes pulled out sunglasses and put them on as they turned out onto the road and into the early morning light.

Damn, it was bright this morning. She snuck a peek at his eye now that there was better lighting. She’d been almost afraid to look earlier.