She'd put her hair up in a clip to get it out of her way, though, and could feel that it was falling down untidily all over the place. Beyond that, she was liberally sprinkled with flour from making the gravy, spattered with grease from batter frying the squash, and had children's fingerprints all over her besides that—mostly Felicity's, who'd been given a cookie to hold her until supper was ready. And Felicity, for some reason completely obscure to her, seemed to think her breast was the perfect thing to hold on to to make certain Shilo didn't drop her.
The moment of truth arrived in spite of hell, though. Shilo had just settled in her seat with her plate when Julie announced, very brightly, that
she
had cooked. She could've done without that. It took an effort to smile and thank them for the compliments that announcement prompted. She didn't meet their gazes. Instead, feeling sick to her stomach and horribly embarrassed, she waited until everyone had started eating and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I don't suppose you have anything for a headache?” she asked Julie hopefully.
"Upstairs in the medicine cabinet—my bathroom. I'll get it."
"No, no! I'll get it,” Shilo said, scooting her chair back and getting up.
She felt curiously close to tears by the time she reached Julie's bathroom. She didn't know why. It was stupid, really. Did it really matter that the meatloaf was dry? Half the fried squash burned? The mashed potatoes lumpy? The gravy scorched? In the scheme of things, just how important was that, anyway?
It wasn't as if, if everything had turned out just right, they would've looked at her any differently than they already did—it was just a meal, not a mating ritual. She didn't even know why she'd let herself get roped in to the idea to start with. Impressing a man with domestic skills was only useful if both parties were thinking in terms of permanency, and she wasn't going to be around long enough for them to consider that even if she
could
consider it.
She was
not
going back downstairs red eyed from weeping like an idiot! Dragging in a shaky breath, she turned the cold water on and splashed it over her overheated face until she'd mastered the urge to weep. Shutting the tap off, she grabbed the towel next to the lavatory and patted her face dry.
A jolt went through her when she finally lowered the towel and looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Dante was standing in the bathroom doorway, which she realized belatedly that she hadn't closed.
"Did you find something for your headache?” he asked after a moment.
"I hadn't actually looked yet,” Shilo replied, averting her gaze.
She tensed as he moved up behind her and she felt his hands settle lightly on her shoulders.
Erotica/Romance. 74621 words long.
Chapter Nine
"You're tense."
Big surprise, Shilo thought wryly. If she hadn't been tense before she certainly was the moment she felt his touch. He shifted closer, kneading the tension in her shoulders, and she let out a sharp hiss.
He eased his grip instantly. “Too hard?"
She thought about it a moment. “No. It felt good."
Accepting that as consent, he went back to kneading her shoulders, working his way slowly inward toward her neck and finally splaying his thumbs and working them in tight circles along the bones of her spine from just below her shoulders upward. A rippling cascade of goose bumps washed over her as he closed a hand around her neck and worked upward to the base of her skull.
She closed her eyes, allowing her head to drop forward to give him better access. If she'd been a cat, she thought with an inward smile, she would've been purring. It felt that good, but he was producing almost as much tension of a different kind as he was easing the other. The heat of his body behind her sent another flood of goose bumps along her skin, made her throat tighten with an unswallowable mass of need. The cologne he was wearing, heated by his skin, intoxicated her ... Or maybe it was just him?
Who was she kidding? He hadn't been wearing cologne before and he'd had the same effect on her.
She tried not to think about what those hands would feel like moving over the rest of her body. If they felt even half that good....
She felt the heat of his breath against the hollow at the base of her skull a split second before the brush of his lips. She sucked in a breath and held it, gripping the lavatory frantically as it sent another heady wave of need through her. The muscles along the walls of her sex contracted almost painfully, squeezing heated moisture along the channel. A shiver worked its way along her spine.
"Mom wanted to know if you'd found the aspirin?” a munchkin voice intruded abruptly, sending an unpleasant jolt through Shilo.
Dante's hands dropped from her shoulders.
Shilo cleared her throat as he stepped away, feeling embarrassment heat her cheeks. She fumbled for the door of the medicine cabinet, flipping it open as she lifted her gaze and catching a brief glimpse of Dante's profile. He was looking at Charlie, but she could tell nothing about his expression. “Found it,” she responded, feeling her embarrassment deepen at the huskiness in her voice.
Her hands were shaking, she discovered, fumbling with the cap. “Child proof lid,” she muttered.
"Need help?"
She didn't glance at Dante. “I've got it. Thanks!"
Her shoulders sagged with both relief and disappointment as Dante dropped a hand to Charlie's shoulder and, pushing the boy before him, the two disappeared from her view. Shaking a couple of aspirin into her palm, she popped them into her mouth and then filled her palm with water several times until she'd managed to wash the damned things down. It felt like one was still lodged in her throat, though, as she left the bathroom at last and headed back downstairs.
Not that she wanted to. She would've far rather slunk into her borrowed room to hide. Discomfort and embarrassment had been heaped upon more discomfort and embarrassment. It was pride that sent her back downstairs to endure, the hope that, somehow, she could carry it off and no one would ever know how upset she was about the entire disastrous affair.
She knew her limitations. She wouldn't have been embarrassed if she hadn't fallen into Julie's little fantasy about making herself appear desirable by showing off cooking skills she didn't actually have.
Stupid!
The man was nearly ten years younger than her.
What
had she been thinking?
He wasn't even a man! He was lycan and the baddest of the bad, according to Julie. Everything else aside—and there was a mountain of reasons not to even attempt to attract his notice—
wanting
him to find her appealing was as bad as deciding to bathe in gasoline.
All that time spent in isolation had turned her brain to mush, she thought with self derision. As cut off from the rest of the world as she'd been physically, she wasn't completely cut off. Aside from all the ‘wonders’ she'd experienced first hand when she'd finally found her spine and used her gift to help her escape the clutches of the mad scientists, she'd gathered plenty of second hand knowledge from the media. Handsome, successful young men—or lycan—like Dante could have their pick of women—which meant they didn't actually pick. They sampled the cream of the crop, because they could.
It was in their nature anyway—men's—just like it was with lycan. And those who could just went around propagating the species—the same way they had since caveman times. The lord knew women had done everything in their power to leash the beast, but with limited success. Contrary to what Julie apparently thought, she hadn't been surprised, at all, to discover that, in the lycan community, the men didn't make any real pretense of settling with one woman. In the first place, there weren't enough to go around, also according to Julie, and in the second ... well, it was just not in their nature.
If she'd been lycan, she might at least have been able to get in line for a sample—and god wouldn't she
love
to get even a sample!—but Dante had been pretty clear that that wasn't considered ‘acceptable’ in general and that he, in particular, was against it on principle—that principle being that he thought human females ‘insipid’ and undersexed.
She might have agreed with that assessment of herself before she'd run across Dante, but she sure as hell hadn't been feeling undersexed since she'd met him. She'd felt
mildly
interested in a sexual encounter when she'd come to town, mostly because she'd accepted that that was as close as she was likely to get to feeling ‘loved'. Putting out was worth it, to her anyway, when it usually resulted in a few minutes of cuddling and appreciation afterwards—not always, but generally. Mostly, she thought, because guys had finally tumbled to the fact that women liked and expected it and they weren't nearly as likely to get seconds if they didn't at least pretend they thought the woman was ‘special'.
She'd pretty much forgotten all about the goal to strive for a little fake affection once her libido had kicked into overdrive, though. Fucking with no pretense of anything ‘deeper’ would have been fine by her if she could've just thought of some way to get her hands on that choice piece of male without seeming totally pathetic.
Even stone cold, the food wasn't half bad, she reflected as she picked at her meal half-heartedly. It wasn't half good, either, but she wouldn't have been completely disgusted with herself if she hadn't been trying so hard for perfection. God! She hated that she'd turned into one of those sad women so desperate for even a little bit of attention that she was willing to knock herself out and do just about anything to get it.
She would be so glad to get back home where she couldn't make a fool out of herself!
Julie insisted she'd take care of kitchen clean up since Shilo had cooked. Shilo ground her teeth at the fresh reminder for everyone—lest they forget!—that she was responsible for the food. Resisting the temptation to make excuses for herself on the grounds that it might not have turned out quite as bad if the children hadn't been so much of a distraction, Shilo countered by reminding Julie she had to get the children ready for bed.
To her surprise, the men supported her, volunteering to help with kitchen detail while Julie herded the demon brood upstairs.
Uncharitable thought! Truthfully, she thought they were sweet and cute—a lot of the time, anyway. They
did
seem to spend a good bit of time tussling with one another, but Julie had insisted that was just ‘boys’ and they didn't seem to get angry often or for long. She didn't remember the boys in the dorm ‘wrestling’ like that, but then again they weren't often allowed much room for interaction.
"It's a little much to take in, eh,
chère
?"
Shilo glanced up to discover Jessie was standing next to her where she'd been working at the sink, leaning back against the counter, his arms folded over his chest. His Cajun accent was stronger than either Dante's or Kane's, making it a little more difficult for her to follow since she wasn't used to hearing it. It flowed over her like warm honey nevertheless, and the engaging twinkle in his blue eyes, the curl of his sensual mouth, and the multitude of smile lines in his face added to that drawl, Shilo had no doubt, had led to the downfall of many a female.
She'd had a rather vague impression before that he was attractive, but she realized that was because she'd been so focused on Dante—and she'd been too nervous to notice even if she hadn't been. He was a lot more than just ‘attractive', though. He was exceptionally handsome, which she still might not have noticed except that he was also charismatic. Feeling more than a little breathless to be the recipient of that charming smile and the appreciative look in his eyes, Shilo struggled to try to act unfazed by it. She quirked a questioning eyebrow at him.
He nudged his chin in the direction of the noise coming from upstairs. “The junior pack."
She smiled wryly. “It's a little unnerving,” she admitted. “A big toe in the water would've been enough of a jolt to the system when I've never been around children ... much."
He took the plate that she'd just washed from her hand and dried it.
Shilo watched him with disapproval.
"I'm not doing it right?"
There was amusement in his voice. Shilo shrugged. “It's more sanitary to let them air dry."
He handed it back to her. “You germaphobic,
chère
?"
Shilo reddened and grimaced. She didn't think she was, but she
had
grown up in a sterile environment. She supposed it had rubbed off. She handed the plate back. “What the hell! Live a little, right?"
"A risk taker,” Jessie chuckled. “A woman after my own heart."
His husky chuckle made her belly flutter. Was it just the lycan blood in him, she wondered a little vaguely, that did something to her? Or was it just him? She found she couldn't help but smile back at him like a bedazzled teenager. “Oh, I'm hell on wheels."
He favored her with a look that singed her eyeballs. “I bet you are,
chère."
Turning, he bumped his hip against hers. “Move over. You'll be at this all night. Let me show you how it's done."
Shilo lifted her brows but moved instead of telling him she'd been in no great hurry. Ordinarily, she might have been, but she'd felt more comfortable with something to do and an excuse to keep her back to the room where Dante, Maurice, and Kane were collecting and scraping plates.
Before she had entirely assimilated or appreciated the efficiency with which they worked, the four of them had cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. Grabbing a damp cloth as Kane grabbed a broom to sweep up the overflow on the floor from the children's table, Shilo went to wipe down the dining table. Dante settled a hand on her waist before she was half finished, took the cloth from her hand, and guided her back into the living room. Sprawling in one corner of the couch, he dragged her down beside him and dropped one arm over the back of the couch behind her head. “I'd ask how this was working out for you,
chère,
” he said wryly, “but you look worn to the bone."
Shilo compressed her lips, struggling not to take that comment too badly. “I look that bad, huh?” she asked when she failed.
He captured her face in one hand and tipped it so that she was looking at him. His eyes were gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else she didn't dare identify. “You look good enough eat,” he murmured huskily. “Unfortunately, I'm now full...."
"Of burned food,” Shilo finished for him.
"Would you believe me if I tole you the smell of burned meatloaf drives me wild?” he asked teasingly, his Cajun accent thickening.
Shilo couldn't help but chuckle shakily, feeling heat completely unrelated to embarrassment flood her at the casual touch, in spite of the teasing way he'd said it and the fact that the reminder caused her a pang. “I expect most women believe
anything
you tell them, but no. I wouldn't."
A frown flickered across his features. He released his hold on her jaw. She didn't know if it was because of what she'd said or the fact that the other men had joined them, but she was very regretful that the mood had been broken. Maurice sprawled on the couch on the other side of her. Kane and Jessie almost seemed to shrug as they moved to two chairs facing the couch and sprawled in them, Kane sliding down in his chair and folding one long leg over the other at the ankles, Jessie hooking one leg over the arm of his chair.
They looked totally relaxed—and somehow she still got the impression of being surrounded by a hungry pack of predators. Big surprise, that! She just wasn't sure if it was because she knew they were lycans or if she would've felt the same way if she'd been ignorant of that fact.
She had the feeling she would've. If she hadn't known they were lycans, though, she would've probably just put it down to the fact that she was surrounded by men that were not only exceptionally attractive, but who ‘exuded’ their maleness almost as if it was as tangible to her senses as the cologne they were wearing. She'd been in plenty of places thick with men—not often granted, but she had—without being the least bit aware of it in a sexual sense, without being so excruciatingly aware of her own femininity.