Don't Judge a Bear by His Cover (7 page)

"Separate rooms," he finally says. I can see he wants it to be otherwise, but I nod in agreement. I don't speak. My whole body is aching to stay close to him. To suggest some kind of nonsense like a room with two twin beds, or to attempt to share a king-sized bed in a chaste manner. Any excuse to lie close to him in the dark and hear his breathing. To maybe reach out a hand and touch his hip, or feel him roll closer to me.

But that's not me talking. That's this primitive instinct that being close to him has kicked off. I'm not going to succumb. I'm stronger than that. "Two rooms," I whisper, and when our eyes meet I feel something akin to electricity run down my spine, setting butterflies off in my stomach and causing a knot to rise in my throat.

Torben coughs, nods, and quickly gets out of the truck. I watch him stride through the dim parking lot lighting to the little office and curse myself for a fool. What would it be like to make love to a man who arouses such sensual longing in me? To feel his hand ghost down my back, his lips on my neck? Oh god, to feel his massive body over my own, one hand pulling my thigh up to his hip, opening me. I squirm in my seat. Somehow I'm already wet down there, these rampant thoughts arousing me more than the kisses and touch of previous lovers ever has.

I press my face into my hands, take a sharp, deep breath, and then comb back my hair. Sit up straight. Roll down the window to let cold air bite into my heated thoughts. Get it together. Torben said it: we're both being affected by our primitive instincts. He was fighting this as much as I am. He doesn't want it. That thought hits me like a punch. He doesn't want me, outside of his inner werebear's nature. If we were two regular people, we wouldn't be feeling this. I wouldn't be sitting here wanting to throw myself at him, half-hoping he'd force me to share a room with him, fantasizing about his body like a teenage girl over her first crush. He doesn't want this. I don't want this. I need to remember that, no matter what my body tells me.

The door to the office opens, and both Hrald and Torben emerge. Hrald bounces a key fob in the palm of his hand and then nods to something Torben said. He asks a question, but gets a hard stare in return. Somehow I know he's just asked about my getting a single room. With a laugh and a shrug, he turns and walks away.

Torben watches him go, then comes to the truck and grabs both our bags from the flatbed. I get out, the parking lot asphalt so old and beat up that it crunches beneath my feet like gravel. I pull my jacket closer together, and almost insist on carrying my own suitcase. But to hell with it. Torben holds the bags as if they weigh nothing, and if he wants to be a gentleman, I'll let him.

"Come on," he says, voice quiet, almost guarded. "You're in 7. I'm in 8."

I try to force some levity into the situation. "Intent on keeping an eye on me?"

I'm pleased to see a grin. "Ha. No. I want to be close in case Hrald tries something."

My blood runs cold. "You think he would?"

Torben's expression is hard. "No. Not with me here. But he's dumb enough to get drunk and start thinking some foolish thoughts. My being right next to your room should keep in him in check."

I gulp and hug myself tighter. "Is the rest of your clan like him?"

"Like Hrald?" Torben laughs darkly. "No. He's the omega. The weakest. The most pathetic, and thus the one sent on missions like this. The rest are stronger. More dangerous."

"And Krassok?" I almost don't want to ask.

We walk in silence up to my door, which he unlocks for me. "Krassok." Torben's voice is flat. "He's the worst of them all. Here's the key. You hungry?"

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly, like a lion poked with a stick. I give him a weak smile. "I could eat."

"I'll go grab some food. I'll knock on your door in fifteen. Then I'll tell you what I'm planning."

"OK." I want to ask what he's going to get, tell him what I'd like to eat, but something about his just getting the food is appealing. Is that my primitive side liking his providing for me? Or just my being curious to see what he'll get? I don't know, and I'm too tired to figure it out. "See you in fifteen."

He tugs on the brim of his baseball cap like some kind of cowboy, gives me that smile of his, and turns away.

I close my door, lock it, then take two steps to sit on the corner of my bed. What am I getting myself into?

Chapter 9

I take the opportunity to shower and switch into clean clothing while Torben is gone. The bathroom is just a little larger than a telephone booth, but the water is scalding hot and I manage to wash away the staleness of a day on the road. I put on a pair of jeans and a clean white shirt and am starting to dry my hair with a towel when there's a knock at the door. I peer through the window, see Torben holding a brown paper bag, and open it.

Immediately my mouth fills with saliva at the smell of hot fries and meat. Torben raises the bag as if he's justifying his appearance at my door, but then freezes as he looks at me. For a moment I wonder if there's a hole in my shirt or some kind of horrific smear on my forehead, but then Torben actually blushes and looks down and away, moving past me to set the brown paper bag on the small circular table in the corner.

Oh, I think, and feel myself flush in return. There's nothing wrong with me. The exact opposite. Seeing me with my hair wet and skin warm and damp from the shower got to him in some way. I'm suddenly nervous to close the door. In some indefinable way, Torben's more dangerous to me than Hrald. I push the door closed, lock it, and taking a deep steadying breath, turn to where Torben's pulling out a couple of large burgers and cartons of fries.

"There's a surprisingly good burger joint down the road," he says, keeping his eyes on the food. "I hope you're not a vegetarian?"

"No," I say, moving to sit, tummy rumbling. The food is still piping hot. I lay out napkins onto which I spill my fries, then tear open three packets of ketchup and festoon the fries as if they're Christmas decorations. "Not at all."

"Good," he says, sitting as well, and takes up the burger. It looks tiny in his hands, but I can barely hold mine together. Without looking at what's between the buns, I bite down, and am rewarded with a medley of rich flavors that make me groan with pleasure. Caramelized onions, barbeque sauce, heavenly burger, ripe tomatoes and some kind of rich, smoky cheese. I lean back, chewing happily, and we polish off our burgers in silence, both of us simply enjoying the good food and the fact that it's helping us connect on a safer level.

"Damn," I say at last, wiping my fingers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Torben smiles, as if my gratitude in some way has salved his mind. We sit there smiling at each other, and slowly I become aware of the tension sliding back into the air, our eyes locked, my awareness of his body, of his lips and hands and everything rising and making it hard to breathe naturally all over again.

Torben coughs and leans forward. "So. My plans."

"Yes," I say, gathering myself.

"Fair warning. It's a simple plan, and possibly dangerous."

"Ha. Well, I gathered as much from Soren's disapproval."

"Right. So, I'm to be the alpha of the Claws. Which means my word is law. What I say goes, and if any of the others don't like it, they can challenge me for the position."

I nod. That much makes sense.

"So tomorrow morning I'm going to tell the Claws that we're giving up our turf up north. We're going to move to the Honeycomb Falls area, and we're going to start working to help the local food bank in distributing supplies to the poor and hungry."

I just stare at him. His face is completely serious. "Ha. Ha ha ha. No, really, what's your plan?"

Torben arches an eyebrow. "That's what I'm going to say. Krassok will immediately challenge me for the alpha position, and I'll fight him."

"And lose on purpose?"

"No," says Torben, voice turning grim. "I'll do my best to beat him. If the others get the feeling I threw the fight, that will invalidate Krassok's victory. Either he beats me fair and square, or I trounce him and remain alpha."

"And then? The others will come south with you?"

"No. A second will challenge me. And then a third, and a fourth if necessary, till I'm worn down and lose." Torben looks down at his massive hands. "It's as close to democracy as a clan can get. If enough of your numbers are against you, ultimately you will be defeated. That's why a true alpha can't lead by sheer strength alone."

"But..." I crunch a wad of napkins in my hands. "Why? Why go through all this if you planned to lose the position to begin with?"

Torben's smile turns wry and bitter. "I'm a Halderson. As long as I'm out there, the clan will refuse to completely accept a new leader. Krassok needs to defeat me to earn the complete trust and obedience of the others. Otherwise my name would always be thrown in his face."

"Oh," I say. I look down at my hands. "This sounds like a really, really dangerous plan."

"No kidding," says Torben, rubbing at his face. "That's why Soren was mad. But there's no other way. I won't be their alpha. And like you told me last night, they won't leave me alone. I can't deny my past. I have to deal with it. So I will."

I don't know what to say. In the yellow light of the motel lamp, he looks so alone and lost. Brave and yet afraid at the same time. He's going to fight who knows how many vicious monsters tomorrow morning in order to earn his freedom. That anticipation has to be awful. I want to rise and move over to him, hold him, pull his head to my stomach and comfort him.

His golden eyes meet mine, and my mouth goes dry. His need is so strong. I can feel him fighting the same desire. To just reach out, maybe, and take my hand, to feel my skin against his. It's easy to tell yourself that's where it would end. But I know, and he knows, that it would just open the floodgates. That one touch of skin would lead to fingers clasping, to arms encircling, to our lips meeting, and then the beast in him would take over and the primeval need in me would be unleashed and we would make love with burning urgency for hours and hours and...

"I should go," whispers Torben, rising to his feet.

I stand too. "Yes, OK." I want to beg him to stay. Come up with any pretext to delay his departure. Ask questions. About him, his family, anything. But I know that's just an attempt to keep alive the chance of our touching. Becoming intimate. Around Torben, I can't trust my impulses. My rationalizations.

Torben moves to the door, and then hesitates. Hand on the knob, head down, I can see him wrestling with himself. Trying to force himself to open the door and step outside into the night. To not turn and reach out for me. And to my amazement, I realize that if he did that, right now, if he extended his hand to me, I'd take it. All my awareness and resolution feels like blades of grass in a hurricane. I've never heard my heart beat so loudly. Never been so aware of my skin, my nipples hard, my sex throbbing and so slick I'm going to need to change my panties.

The moment stretches out. I can't breathe. I clutch the top of my chair in a death grip, holding on as if a vortex is trying to suck me away. Torben closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and then wrenches the door open. Two steps, and the door closes behind him.

He's gone. I let out a whimper and sink into the chair. My heart is hammering. I feel lightheaded. Good god, this is powerful beyond anything I've ever felt before. This goes beyond chemistry, and right into the realm of sheer physical need.

Why am I fighting it? Why is he? I can't even remember right now. I feel a keening sense of loss. I could be in his arms right now. His lips on mine, his cock rigid and hot in my hand. Instead I'm sitting here panting like a woman who has just narrowly avoided being struck by a car, adrenaline raging through my system, my whole body caught up in fight or flight mode.

My hand steals down between my legs, and as I press my fingers against my pussy I feel a pulse of heat burn through me, an image of Torben's eyes hovering in the air before me. I bite my lower lip and think of his hands on my body. Pulling my clothing off, his body muscled and powerful and dominating my own.

With a cry I stand up and hug myself tight, trying to control my hands. Never have I felt so unhinged. So out of control. That's not true. The old me was like this. Impulsive. Passionate. Driven by emotion and need and a desire to live deeply and truly. But that's what got me in trouble. That's what led me to this current predicament. I swore to never be that wild again. To never lose control.

I pace. I wash my face with ice-cold water, and try to sit and meditate. Each time I still my thoughts, each time I begin to feel some measure of control, images slide in from the corners of my mind and play havoc with my concentration. I'm exhausted but I can't sleep. I finally turn off the lights and lie in bed, my whole body afire and trembling. I feel fevered. I can't stop thinking about the fact that he's only a few yards away, lying in a bed of his own on the other side of the wall.

It's too easy to imagine slipping outside. Into the cold dark, to take a few steps to his door. To knock, a quiet sound that I know he'd hear. The door would open and there he would be, naked perhaps, his cock straining from the agony of an hour or more of just thinking of me. His eyes wide. Surprised. Hungry. Willing to be persuaded, to let me take the lead.

I slide my hand down my stomach to cover the mound of my sex as I imagine pushing him back, my hand on his bare chest, and stepping into his room. He'd be hesitant, but my hand would curl around the shaft of his cock, sliding all the way down to the base before rising to the swollen head.

I squeeze my breast and groan again, pinching my nipple as I imagine his cock. Large, thick, perfectly shaped and with a gorgeous crown. How would it feel to take him in my mouth? To kneel before him, that ripped body trembling minutely as he holds himself still, one hand cupping his balls as I hold his gaze, my tongue circling the head of his cock?

I slide my fingers up and down my slit, circling my clit, tapping it and teasing it, knowing that I'm playing with fire. This fantasy would only take moments to become real. If I push myself too close to the edge, I'll lose all control. I'll lose all judgment. I'll allow myself to become a slave to a force I can't comprehend. Become a plaything in this shifter's world.