Read Fever Claim (The Sigma Menace) Online
Authors: Marie Johnston
Fever Claim (The Sigma Menace)
Fever
Claim
The Sigma Menace: Book 1
By Marie Johnston
Fever Claim
Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Elijah
Copyediting by EbookEditingServices.com
2nd Edition Editing: The Killion Group
Cover by P and N Graphics
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
After being ditched only weeks before her wedding, Cassie Stockwell wasn’t out looking for a hookup. Then the devastatingly handsome bartender she’d been trying not to obsess over for months offered to give her a ride home. What could one night hurt?
When his future was almost taken away after one impulsive decision, wolf-shifter Jace Miller waited patiently for months before making a move on the woman he knew to be his destined mate. But will one night of passion keep his little human by his side once she learns of his world and the danger it brings to her doorstep?
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Contents
To my own mate, Kris. Thanks for having my back.
Chapter One
“Hey, hot bartender!” Cassie lifted her empty shot glass. “Absolutely Screwed over here.”
If she wasn’t on her third shot, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be calling the bartender anything. Or leaning over the bar to bare a little extra cleavage, a category she wasn’t doing so bad in. But the name of the mandarin vodka orange juice drink and getting dumped on her ass by her fiancé two weeks before the wedding, well, they just seemed to go together, and tonight she wasn’t going to analyze it.
Hot Bartender flicked his intense gaze to hers, and gave a slight nod. Cassie slid off the surface of the bar and plopped back onto her bar stool with a sigh.
What’d you expect?
She examined her empty glass, dejected by his lack of interest. She came into Pale Moonlight pretty frequently. It was her bestie Kaitlyn’s favorite hangout. In all the times she’d been in here the last ten months, she scarcely had the courage to even look at Hot Bartender. Of course, several of those times had been with her fiancé, oops—ex-fiancé, Grant, so it’s not like she’d been looking for male attention. Hot Bartender was in a different category of male and she was positive his
attention
would also be a different category. But his brand of male attention was not on her. He barely acknowledged her each time he set her drink down in front of her.
Cassie knew she wasn’t his type, or anyone else’s in this establishment, with its high ratio of tall, brawny males and underdressed females. Pale Moonlight had a reputation for being austere, and not just in aesthetics. The shockingly gorgeous men and women who owned and worked the club were notorious for not tolerating fights, unwanted groping (because it was obvious there was a lot of
wanted
groping), or illicit dealings of the illegal variety. Regardless, the club had a lot of loyalty with the local crowd.
The majority of that loyalty had to do with the back rooms dubbed The Den. Cassie had heard bits of gossip of what went on in those rooms. Hell, she’d seen enough to support the whispers—heavily muscled men leading scantily clad, eager women off the dance floor, disappearing into the hallway leading to the rooms that made up The Den. She’d watched with interest as those same men led the women back out, supporting them on their now weak, unsteady legs. Cassie dubbed them Jelly Girls because of their rubbery legs. The women always appeared to be in a state of post-coital bliss, with rumpled outfits and bedroom hair. They were passed on to the employees, who took the charges from there, leading them back to their group or out of the club. She’d watched astonished as the men would then beckon another interested, under-dressed, attractive woman and disappear with her back down the hallway.
Being a psychologist for living, she sometimes forgot she wasn’t beyond being shocked.
To each their own
. They all seemed to be consenting enough. Cassie gave a mental snort.
At least someone was going to consent tonight, probably over and over again, too.
“What’s with the hard liquor tonight, Tinkerbell?” a smooth, deep voice asked her.
With a start, Cassie’s gaze flew up and realized the panty-melting voice came from Hot Bartender. A new drink was in front of her, and so was he, leaning on both arms on the bar.
Alcohol fueling her courage and taking advantage of his proximity, she let her eyes roam over him. When she first came in here all those months ago and saw him behind the bar, she was too pussy to even look directly at him since her first impression was of the sheer masculinity he possessed. He was probably close to six and a half feet tall; imposing enough compared to her five and a half feet. She knew his eyes were the palest blue, like ice, and his head was shaved, but this close she could see the dark stubble covering his scalp and chiseled jaw. Thick, short, dark lashes rimmed his eyes and he possessed equally dark arching eyebrows.
She was following the intricate artwork tatted into the muscles on the side of his neck and running down into his tight-fitting shirt.
Mmmm… bet his body is a work of art judging from the fit of his shirt. He must be nothing but muscles and ink and more muscles. How far does that ink travel down? Are those scars under the tattoos? That’s hot.
“Tinkerbell?” he repeated. Cassie’s gaze flew back up to his face. He cocked an eyebrow and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. A flush of embarrassment worked up her neck to her face.
Oh hell
. She took and swallowed the shot.
“Uh, what?” The Absolutely Screwed drink was more accurate than ever. Hot Bartender just busted her ogling and that was another thing Pale Moonlight didn’t tolerate, making any advances on their staff. It happened (duh! look at them), but when the woman was leggy, with fuck-me hair and stripper heels in a painted-on dress, well they got away with more. Cassie was medium height, too curvy to wear anything formfitting—well, she could (and she’d rock it, thank you very much) but men’s hooker radars started to malfunction and she would have to slap someone. So she usually just wore her clothes from work; they were as sedate and boring as she was. Adding to that image was her non-highlighted, uncolored plain brown hair in a low maintenance pixie cut. Speaking of which—
“Did you just call me Tinkerbell?”
The other eyebrow rose up to meet the first cocked brow. “Yeah, it fits you.”
“Does it?” she uttered, a little dumbstruck. Hot Bartender was flirting with her. Hopes… almost up… nah, it was his job. She shrugged. “Well, I guess there’s worse things to be called. Can I get another Absolutely Screwed, please?”
“One more coming right up. But that’s all, Tink. When they hit you, it’ll be fast and hard.”
“Well, that’s how I like it, Hot Bartender,” Cassie said, a bit irritated. Did he cut everyone off after three—
four?—
shots? She was a grown ass woman. One who just got left at the altar, no less. Keep. Them. Coming.
“Do you, now?” Hot Bartender’s eyed flared with heat that was gone by the time her mind registered the innuendo she’d just put out there. Then he moved down the bar to mix her drink.
Ugh
!
How many bad come-on lines must he hear? Now the name Cassandra Stockwell can be added to his Desperate Lonely Women That Hit On Me At Work list.
I’m not desperate, dammit!
Cassie reassured herself.
Just really pissed
. Trying to be discrete, she watched him work, his actions quick and confident, his muscles rippling through his black shirt. She’d been in once, maybe twice, a month since Kaitlyn found the place, but was always too afraid she’d be kicked out for staring at him like she was researching her new book
How to Stalk the Hot Bartender
. And she might still be thrown out if she didn’t stop gawking. She tore her gaze away from him to the dance floor to look for Kaitlyn.
The hard rock music blaring through the club wasn’t really her thing, but the beat had her tapping her foot. That’s the closest she got to dancing. Kaitlyn, on the other hand, was out there with a guy Cassie had never seen in here before. Kaitlyn’s tall, willowy body slid up and down Mystery Man, somehow simultaneously riding his knee. Mystery Man had undone Kaitlyn’s long coppery locks. Her hair swung on her back while he rested his hands low on her slender hips and murmured into her ear. Maybe Cassie didn’t know what he was saying, but could assume his words were meant to entice Kaitlyn’s clothes off at the end of the night. Aaaaand they’d probably work.
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s with the hard stuff?” Hot Bartender was back. And still trying to talk to her?
She swiveled back on her stool to face him. Dammit, the room spun on her. “Well, if you must know. I was getting married in two weeks and I got dumped two hours ago. So, here I am—absolutely screwed and drinking my new favorite shot.” Cassie downed the rest of her shot.
He was in front of her like before, propped against the counter, watching her throat work as the citrusy liquid burned its way down. The heat returned to his eyes as he followed her hand that wiped away the remnants of the drink. It was a busy night in the club, but he was hanging out in front of her like he had all the time in the world. The other guy behind the bar, also extremely good looking, sporting the same uber bad boy image as Hot Bartender, was fielding all the drink orders, taking it in stride that he was left to handle the crowd on his own. But it was not like anyone was going to complain about the service to these two tall, almost sinister-looking men.
He nodded once, his pale gaze still resting on her. Her heart thumped a little harder and it wasn’t from the vodka. The rest of her body warmed, centering on her core.
“He wasn’t right for you,” he said simply.
“What?” Incredulous, Cassie half shouted her question, taken by surprise. “Why would you think that?”
He leaned over the bar a little farther. “Tinkerbell, you’ve been coming in with him for months and not once did I see him light you up.”
“Light me up?” She shook her head, marveling over this conversation with this man. This man who made her heart race just looking at him, made her insides turn molten when he looked at her, made her squirm in her seat hearing his voice.
“You two didn’t dance. You didn’t sit on each other’s lap. You seldom held hands.” He nodded his head toward the dance floor. “Your friend out there has had more action during this song than I’ve ever seen between you and your ex.”
Cassie’s mouth dropped open. Normally, she’d take a breath and analyze the situation before she said anything. She’d paid a lot of money for a lot of years of school to be able to do that. Mandarin vodka fueled her angry words. “What do you know about any of it? We loved each other, we respected each other. All you see here,” she gestured around her, “is lust. Nothing more.”
Hot Bartender leaned in even closer to her. “So you didn’t lust for him?” His low voice vibrated through her, making her shiver.
Dear Lord
. With him this close, she caught his scent—all male and like he hung his fresh linen in the woods. Her already warmed core throbbed to the beat of its own music and her breasts grew full and heavy.
“Tell me, Tink,” he continued, “have you been sitting here mourning your lost love? Or have you been running through all the logistics of canceling the wedding and tallying exactly how much you’ll be out once all is said and done?”
He had a lot of balls to ask her that. She was heartbroken, dammit! Grant was a nice man; they loved each other. Well, she thought they did until he stopped at her place earlier asking for his ring back because “this all just felt wrong” and he “needed to find himself.” She didn’t even want to think about the logistics of canceling everything, other than she was only bothering with trying to get money back from anything she’d sunk any of her own money into. Her mental list of calls to make on Monday was growing: there was the florist, the travel agent, the—damn that wall of man in front of her!