Shilo wished
she
was relaxed.
They were a handsome bunch, and not just because they were all young and unnervingly well built. Jessie and Dante were both ‘pretty boy’ handsome, with classic, well defined features, though both of them had just enough of that ‘bad boy’ look about them to prevent them from looking too boyish and make it clear they were ‘all man', and deep down dangerous to the female of the species—human or lycan. Kane had that rugged outdoorsy, high testosterone look. There was nothing ‘pretty’ about him, and he was still appealing enough to make a gal's heart rate shoot through the roof when he narrowed those dark eyes assessingly on her in one of those, ‘I can see right through your clothes’ looks—which he was doing, she discovered, every time she happened to glance at him.
Maurice was fair like Jessie and neither ‘pretty boy’ handsome nor rugged. She finally pinpointed his sex appeal to a sort of ‘Bond-like’ sophistication. He was handsome, but it was more his attitude than his good looks that made him appealing.
She wasn't ordinarily uncomfortable with silence. She was used to it, hardly noticed, but the silence in the room was almost deafening, despite the noises still coming from upstairs—splashing water, the thump, thump, thump of small running feet dashing in first one direction and then another, childish giggles, and whining.
She cleared her throat, which seemed determined to clog with nerves, and was about to ask if they'd had any luck tracking down the rogues when Dante forestalled her. “Did Jules show you around today?"
Shilo turned to look at him when he spoke. “Around?"
"The pack community."
Shilo blinked at him while her brain tabulated that, struggling for a reason why Julie might have done so. “Actually, we didn't go out at all. Julie decided to fix both of us a drink last night, and I'm not really clear on much after that,” she said with amusement, “but I slept almost till noon so I think we were up really late."
"There's a thought,” Kane murmured, getting to his feet abruptly. “Anyone up for drinks?"
Shilo objected half-heartedly, knowing she shouldn't indulge, but somehow the objection seemed to be lost in the give and take as Maurice rose to assist Kane and took drink orders. Maurice was back in a moment and shoved a screw driver into her hand. She took an incautious gulp of it as Dante's hand drifted from the couch behind her and settled on the back of her neck, rubbing along the column almost absently. She couldn't even
taste
the orange juice. A wave of dizziness washed over her even as the alcohol hit the bottom of her stomach like a ball of fire, sending out a wave of heat. She made a face.
"Too strong?” Dante murmured, amusement threading his voice.
"A little,” Shilo admitted hoarsely.
He took the glass from her hand and passed it to Maurice when he returned with a drink for Dante. “Too strong."
Maurice nodded and disappeared with the glass. Returning with the glass a few minutes later, he handed it to her and watched her as she lifted the glass to her lips.
"Better?” he asked as she took a second, equally incautious, gulp. It didn't burn like the first, but it sent another wave of dizziness through her.
She looked at the glass suspiciously, but it didn't seem polite to complain. “Yes,” she lied courteously.
He grinned at her and left.
There was something about that grin that set off warning bells, but Shilo decided she was imagining it.
She set her glass down.
Dante handed it back to her.
She sent him a questioning look, but settled back against the sofa as his hand tightened along the back of her neck, urging her to sit back, sipping the drink more slowly, although she thought, wryly, that it might be a little late for caution. Her head was swimming and she'd already begun to feel surprisingly mellow.
"Jules should take you around to meet some of the other pack members,” he said casually. “I think you'd enjoy meeting them. I'll mention it to her before we leave."
Shilo nodded agreeably instead of informing him that she didn't especially want to meet the rest of the ‘pack'. “Julie said it was a pretty big community,” she said instead.
He grunted an assent. “Ten males, two females, and six pups in my own pack. There are a couple of dozen packs within my territory, though. Some smaller, but most of them at least as big or bigger."
Shilo nodded, tried to mentally calculate just how many lycans that was and gave up. “That's a lot,” she murmured, surprise flickering through her when Dante removed her empty glass from her hands and set it on the table beside the couch without even glancing in that direction.
Reaching up, also without looking, he flicked the lamp off. “Better?"
The light hadn't been bothering her to start with, but she nodded politely. “What does everyone do—for a living, I mean?"
"We have various business enterprises. What do you do?"
She had no idea why, but the question struck her as funny. She snickered. “Whatever I want."
"She won't be needing another drink,” Dante said with a trace of both amusement and censure as Maurice retrieved her glass.
"I'd like one, though,” Shilo informed both of them, exerting her independence.
Dante shrugged easily, but she caught the faint shake of his head and Maurice's nod before he turned and left.
"Whatever you like?” Dante prompted before she could take exception.
She considered arguing, but finally decided she didn't really want another drink. Slipping further down in the seat, she propped her feet on the scuffed coffee table beside Dante's. “I absconded with the cash,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I figured they owed me—years worth of back pay. It wasn't that much, actually—not considering the cost of living, or how many years I'd been there, but I get by. I've got a little patch garden, and animals—and I sell stuff online."
Dante's hand settled along the side of her neck. He stroked the skin lightly, sending the most delightful, knee weakening shivers through her. “I think my baby's drunk,” he murmured, sounding amused.
She supposed she should've felt silly about him calling her baby, but she liked the way he said it. She liked the ‘my’ part even better. “Yep. Something weird about the light in here. Everybody's eyes are glowing,” she added, tipping her head to look up at Dante. “Yours, too. Are mine?"
His lips curled up at one corner. “Yep."
"Weird, huh?"
"Mmm,” he agreed, shifting forward and twisting so that he could push her down on the sofa.
"What are you doing?"
"Making you more comfortable."
"I was comfortable before—a little dizzy."
"Exactly. This will be
more
comfortable,” he murmured, stretching out beside her.
"Oh. Ooohhh,” she moaned as he insinuated a leg between hers and burrowed his face against her neck. Warmth flooded her as she felt the press of his body along her length, the pressure of his knee against her sex. Her belly fluttered with anticipation. “That's nice."
He chuckled huskily. “You like that?” he asked quietly, moving his lips in a slow, tantalizing trail along her throat.
"Mmm. We're not alone,” she whispered.
"They don't mind."
She stared up at him when he lifted his head to study her, confused, mostly because she was thinking about her own discomfort when she'd mentioned it. “They don't?"
He tilted his head slightly, moving slowly closer until his lips were slanted over hers. She sucked in a sharp breath as the heat invading her leapt into flames at the light contact. He sucked lightly at her lips, withdrew and angled his head slightly for another assault to her senses, increasing the pressure a little more each time and finally covered her mouth completely with his. His tongue skated along the surface of her lips. She parted them for him readily, feeling a heady rush sizzle through her as he took the invitation and delved inside the moist cavern of her mouth, raking his tongue boldly along hers. Shockwaves traveled through her in the wake of her absorption of his taste and scent into her system. A tidal wave of heat rolled back along the return path.
Her hand, trapped between their bodies, clenched instinctively on his shirt as her center of gravity seemed to shift and her sense of equilibrium completely abandoned her. Her mind spun as the opposing sensations of floating and growing weak and heavy hit her at the same time. She moaned, low in her throat, in delight at the rush of giddiness that swept her. He tasted wonderful, and he felt even better, she thought, wondering which thrilled her more, which contributed most to skyrocketing her from curiosity to buzzing expectation.
He moved closer still as he caressed her tongue with his own, pressing his hips so snuggly against her she could feel the hardness of his erection digging into her thigh. Despite her disorientation, she knew what it was, and it made her sex quake with a surge of need that completed her descent into a fever of mindless excitement. More by instinct than design, she arched against him in return, pressing her mound against his belly, sucking at his tongue to more fully appreciate the flavor of him.
The entire tone of his kiss and his embrace changed abruptly from slow and savoring to ravenous, shaking need that sent a harder shockwave of desire through her. He swept her tongue into his mouth, sucking on it as she'd sucked on his, then advanced again to lay claim to every tender surface of her mouth. Each caress touched off another pelting wave of fiery heat. Within moments, she was moving restlessly against him, wanting, needing to feel that delicious pressure higher, against her sex, inside of her.
She gasped for air when he broke the kiss and settled his mouth against her throat. Desire boiled through her like burning acid. She'd never felt so wonderfully out of control, so needy, so desperate. She clutched at him frantically. “Dante!” she gasped, her voice a hoarse croak of desperation.
He stiffened, lifted his head to stare down her. She licked her lips, struggling with the reluctance to ask when she was afraid he wouldn't give her what she wanted so badly. “Please,” she whispered finally, opening her eyes to look up at him. “I need...."
He silenced her with his mouth, kissing her almost apologetically, refusing to allow her to push him into a more heated kiss, though god knew she tried. She made a sound of distress when he broke the kiss.
"Hush, baby. I'm sorry."
She swallowed with an effort against the hard knot of desire and disappointment clogging her throat, trying to understand what he'd meant by that. “You don't want...?"
He stared at her hard. Prying one of her hands from his shirt, he guided her arm downward, pressed her palm around his heated length through his jeans. “Does this feel like I doan,
chère?"
he murmured, his accent noticeably more pronounced.
She still didn't understand. How was that proof of anything when he'd stopped just when it was getting really good?
He made a sound of impatience at her expression. Rolling off the couch, he straightened and pulled her up. She swayed slightly when she'd gotten to her feet, weak and heavy and thoroughly disoriented. Slipping an arm around her to steady her, he guided her to the stairs and then up them. He pulled her against his length almost roughly when they reached the door of her room. “Doan look at me like that,
chère.
It's more'n I can handle at the moment.” He caught her jaw, forcing her to look at him when she tried to look away, embarrassed, angry, horrendously disappointed. “That went further than I meant it to, baby, but I'm not going to add dumb to stupid and give you somethin’ to hate me for in the mornin’ when you're sober."
He lowered his mouth to hers again, kissing her until he'd coaxed the angry tension from her and she'd wilted against him before he lifted his mouth from hers. “Get some sleep, baby."
Shilo felt a shiver skate down her spine as he deprived her of his warmth. She stared after him as he moved quickly down the stairs and strode from the house. Finally, feeling thrown away, she went into her room, undressed, and got into bed. The sheets felt frigid against her overheated skin. Every part of her was throbbing in complaint.
She needed a shower, she thought dimly. She could smell him on her skin and the scent only made her ache more. Her mind was still reeling with a combination of too much alcohol, too much Cajun lycan, and no release, though. She didn't think she was up to standing in the shower.
She finally got up anyway. His scent on her skin was driving her crazy, and she knew she was never going to get any sleep unless she could put her pussy to bed first.
* * * *
Silence reigned in the SUV until they were nearly home. “You think you marked her?” Jessie asked finally.
"How the fuck would I know?” Dante growled. “Ask Maurice. He's the fucking expert."
"She seemed receptive,” Maurice said after a moment.
"Of course she was fucking receptive,” Dante snarled. “She was fucking drunk. You put too much vodka in the damned drink."
"She was too tense. She wouldn't have let you kiss her all,” Maurice snarled back at him.
"Somewhere between tense and ready to run, and drunk on her ass would've been nice,” Dante retorted coldly, spearing his fingers in his dark hair and raking it back from his face.
"You should've gone ahead and fucked her. She wanted it. If you'd spilled your seed in her we'd know for certain."
Dante dropped his hand to his erection and adjusted it, sliding a glare at Maurice in the rear view mirror. He wished to hell he'd been as convinced of that as Maurice seemed to be. Unfortunately, he wasn't. He couldn't shake the fear that it wouldn't bind her to him, that it would have the completely opposite effect and make her distrust him even more than she already did. She sure as hell would if the marking didn't take, because, once she was sober she'd realize he'd played dirty. “
I
want to know for certain it's me she's responding to and not the fucking alcohol pumping through her."
Maurice exchanged a look with Jessie, who was seated beside him.
Dante ground his teeth. “That was a piss poor plan,” he muttered.
Kane shrugged. “I know you'd rather do it your way,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “But can we really afford to when she thinks she's leaving in a few days?"
Dante rubbed his hand over his jaw irritably. He could still taste her. Acknowledging it was enough to send another surge of desire through him, making his genitals throb more painfully. He'd nearly lost it, he thought, feeling a wave of cold reason wash over him. One kiss and he'd nearly lost it.
She would've really hated him then.
Not that she wasn't going to in the morning anyway. He'd seen in her eyes, the hurt, confusion ... accusation. She thought he'd been playing with her to amuse himself. She hadn't believed him when he'd tried to explain that she would've felt a hell of a lot more used if he'd taken advantage of her when she was too drunk to make that kind of decision.
God! He'd fucked up. He knew it in his gut. The one time in his entire life it mattered and he'd thoroughly fucked things up!
"Shit!” he snarled. “Who would've thought one drink would knock her on ass? How much fucking vodka did you put in it anyway?"
Maurice shrugged. “Three fingers. I usually have two."
Dante sent him a look of disgust. “It didn't occur to you, I suppose, that she's about half your body weight?"
Maurice looked uncomfortable. “Sorry boss."
That was a lot of fucking help, too. ‘Sorry’ didn't undo it—Not any damned more than his apology to her had undone his mistake when he realized he'd gone too far and was damned if he went any further and damned if he didn't. He should've kissed her before—would've if Charlie hadn't decided to pop in on them and ruin the mood, damn it to hell!
Then
he could've at least seen if the marking was going to take without pushing her too hard too fast. And he didn't doubt for a moment that Julie had known damned well what he was up to when he'd followed Shilo upstairs, the scheming little bitch.
There were times when he felt like wringing her neck.
Like this one.
He was still pissed off when he got the house.
By the time he'd lain in bed a few hours, staring angrily at the ceiling, he wasn't pissed off anymore. He was worried as hell. If there was one thing he knew about his little darling, she was used to running. Rolling out of the bed, he grabbed his cell and punched in Jean-Claude's number.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Keep a close watch on my woman."
There was a moment of silence. “I have been."
"I mean watch
her
, not just the fucking house."
Another prolonged silence followed that. “You think she might try to run?"
"Maybe. Hell, I don't know. Just watch her."
He didn't feel a hell of a lot better after he'd hung up. He paced the room restlessly for a while, wondering if it would've been better if he'd just gone ahead and taken her. He didn't like ‘maybes', though, and there was, unfortunately, no certainty that he would've marked her even if he had fucked her, because, regardless of what Maurice had said, there was the little matter of her psychic abilities and the ‘sometimes they were infected and sometimes not'—and Maurice had admitted she was the strongest he'd ever run across. It seemed to him that made marking her damned iffy at best.
It hadn't seemed worth the risk of turning her completely against him by giving her reason to distrust him—which she would've if he'd taken advantage of the situation. Then he would have a hell of a time coaxing her, and he might have to if the marking didn't ‘take'. Finally, he went back to bed, realizing he had to at least try to get some sleep.