Lunar Mates 1: Under Cover of the Moon (2 page)

Her stomach grumbled. Okay, that told her food was the first order of business, something sinful to tide her over. She darted across the street to the bakery her older cousin, Tara Burke, ran.

Spying her cousin through the window, she smiled. A tall, good-looking man leaned attentively over the counter, and Tara blushed.
Well. It's about time someone caught her eye.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted around Meg as she walked through the door, and she breathed it in deeply. It was warm and mellow, and when she crossed the threshold she felt some of the tension of the last few days slip away.

The man straightened and nodded in acknowledgement, then picked up his Styrofoam cup and walked out the door. The town was filled with dark, mysterious strangers these days. She craned her neck to watch him leave and turned to Tara with a grin.

“Who's the hottie?” she teased, watching the blush return to her cousin's cheeks.

“No one.” She wiped a rag along the top of the counter before adding sternly, “Just a customer. Don't get any ideas."

Grinning, Meg walked over and leaned against the rounded glass display case.

“That's not what it looked like. Looked pretty up close and personal to me,” she said.

Tara groaned in response and held up her hand, which was wrapped in a bandage.

“No, I cut myself. He was just looking to see if I put the gauze on too tight. I swear, he walks in and I turn into Queen Klutz. Trust me, he's not interested. He probably thinks I'm a complete flake."

Meg disagreed, but the distress in Tara's eyes convinced her to change the subject.

“I swear, I gain five pounds every time I come in here,” she joked.

“Yeah, but it's so worth it,” Tara grinned back.

Meg shook her head and laughed. She might gain five pounds just smelling the heavenly place, but it never had any effect on Tara. She was of medium height and thin, never seeming to gain an ounce. She was going through another of her many hair phases—this time it was short, spiky, and deep burgundy. Meg leaned around to look at the back of it.

“What do you think?” Tara asked, looking ill at ease and fingering the back.

“I like it. It suits you,” Meg grinned.

“Thanks. So what's it going to be today? Did you just stop in to chat, or are you here to indulge?"

“Definitely to indulge.” Meg studied the display case. “I'll have a chocolate éclair. And coffee. I'm closing tonight."

“I think I'll join you."

They carried their small dessert plates and coffee mugs to a table by the front window. Meg bit into the éclair, closing her eyes in appreciation as the chocolate hit her system. It was rich and sweet, a sensual treat she should indulge in more often. She had a sudden image of Darius licking a line of chocolate off her stomach and opened her eyes in shock. She had to get this Darius thing out of her system.

“Heard from Summer?” she asked, needing to change the subject in her own mind.

“Yes. Got a postcard from Wyoming, I think.” Tara laughed. “I can't keep up with her anymore."

Summer was Meg's other cousin, and though none of them carried their grandmother, Tinnie's, last name, the town knew them as the Deveau girls. They'd all spent half their lives in Tinnie's house on the lake; Summer and Tara after their parents died, and Meg after Tinnie died. With a six year age difference, Summer and Tara had been the much admired and imitated older sisters Meg had always longed for. As adults, Tara and Meg had stayed in town. Meg took over her father's bar when her parents retired and Tara struck out on her own with the bakery. Summer, though, became a zoologist and was often out of town for long stretches.

“The house is selling this week,” Meg said softly.

Her eyes sad, Tara nodded.

“It's better this way. None of us are going to live in it. You and I have our own places, and Summer's never here.” Tara shrugged. “It's better to sell it than leave it empty."

“I guess,” Tara answered, her eyes downcast as she studied her coffee dregs, obviously trying to squash the pang of guilt selling Tinnie's house gave her.

They changed the subject to mutual friends and Tara brought up the latest community news. A man was discovered mauled to death in the swamps not far from Meg's house. The game warden was blaming the grisly death on a bear and had launched a hunt for it. It was a measure of how much Meg had isolated herself, that she'd missed something so major.

A frisson of fear skittered up her spine at the thought of how close the body had been found to her home. The house was her haven. In her self-imposed isolation, she wasn't assaulted by other people's thoughts or insights into a future she didn't want to explore. There were some things you just didn't want to know about your fellow townspeople.

But in the last few weeks the house had seemed to grow too isolated, or maybe just too lonely. Maybe she should take Tara up on her offer of her couch for a few days, because with the sudden clarity of her Gift, she knew the bear incident wasn't a bear at all.

The back of her neck tingled and she was certain someone was watching her. Again. For days the feeling of being observed had come and gone, and it was getting damned old. She turned and looked out the window, but only saw the usual ebb and flow of pedestrian traffic on the town's sidewalks. The feeling faded after a few minutes.

Darius. She scrunched her brow in irritation. He should just come in. Mentally she rolled her eyes. After ignoring him, refusing to take his calls, and avoiding work to keep him at bay, it was no wonder he didn't. The real question was why she suddenly wanted to see him.
The story about the bear attack must have me nervous. That's all
.

Thrusting Darius from her thoughts, she rose, gathered the dishes and took them to the sink through the swinging kitchen door. She still had time to explore some of the shops and catch up on paperwork back at the bar. She planned to take advantage of it. It beat sitting and brooding about dark and mysterious strangers and the delicious things one could do to her body.

Meg said goodbye to Tara and stepped outside. She turned in the direction of a little art shop, which was more a curiosity shop with interesting little finds. On the walk over she stopped and gossiped with friends. The bear attack was the most recurring theme, and everyone expected some insight from her. She snorted. Her witchy powers had never been so accommodating. She rarely picked up what she wanted to know.

Her uneasiness grew, and her sixth sense flared out in awareness. Certain someone was following her, she checked over her shoulder at every stop, but never spotted anyone. Never spotted
him
. Maybe it wasn't Darius after all. She felt like a mouse to a cat, and that just didn't seem to be his style.

She felt immediate relief when she entered the shop, and explored with more care than usual for the respite. A small placard in the front window announced new ownership, but the new owner hadn't taken the time to clean up. The usual clerk had her nose buried in a book at the front display case.

The place was a disaster and had to be in violation of the entire fire code. Meg loved it. Rows of tall metal shelves were crammed into the space, creating narrow aisles, and they were packed with fascinating odds and ends. You never knew what you'd find, and most items had more than likely been buried in the racks for years.

She would never have found the wolf on one of her usual visits to the shop. It was small and carved in light grained wood. With the base resting in her palm, it was about five inches tall. The wolf sat on its haunches, its head thrown back in a howl. It looked sorrowful. And lonely. The wolf touched some chord of recognition deep within her. She traced it with a finger, loving its pose and the contours and emotions evident in the figure. The carver had captured an elemental knowledge of his subject.

She had to have it. Turning it over, she had to look twice at the price. She started to put it back when a deep familiar voice spoke behind her.

“You don't want it?"

Darius
. She drew a deep breath before she could think better of it. She had been imagining his scent for weeks, that woodsy and completely male odor only he carried. He smelled wonderful.

She turned to find his broad chest just inches from her eyes. Another thing she remembered too well was his body. She wondered how well muscled he was under the loose fitting shirt he wore.
Don't go there
. Taking a step backward, she tilted her head up.

“Out of my price range,” she said lightly, still cradling the small wolf in her palm.

“Ah,” he answered. Smiling a little he asked, “You like wolves?"

She glanced down at the little statue. Before she'd taken over the bar, she'd followed her cousin, Summer, around the country in search of wolf habitats, but they'd never held the same fascination for her as they did for Summer. For her, they were a vocation. To Meg, they were just another endangered species.

“Not usually,” she shrugged. She turned and placed it back on the shelf, her fingers protesting the move.

She caressed it one last time, imagining she could feel the wolf's rough coat under her fingertips. Darius stood silently behind her, a brooding male presence, and she recalled the tension that had pushed her into the shop in the first place. Turning, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to take a defensive step away.

“Have you been following me? ‘Cause you can stop it.” She paused. “It's creepy."

He blinked and drew in on himself, his icy blue eyes sharpening on her face. Had she thought his eyes were cold? They seemed capable of shooting sparks. He moved closer to her in an oddly protective gesture that warmed her insides.

“This is the first I've seen you today. I was going to your bar, and saw you come in here. Perhaps you are mistaken, and it is ... anticipation that has you so jumpy."

She arched an eyebrow. How typical. A man couldn't provide an answer, so he fell back on his ego.

“No, I'm not mistaken,” she said, trying to inject a note of disdain into her voice. “Someone's been watching me for days. I can feel it."

She felt a perverse urge to egg him on. She had been close to deciding to fuck him and get it out of her system. Now, face to face with his arrogant attitude, she wasn't so sure.

“You seem the most likely culprit.” She gave him her most saccharine smile. The one she saved for obnoxious customers. “And it certainly isn't anticipation. More like
stalking
."

The look in his eyes morphed into pure lust. Too late she realized if keeping her distance was the plan, pushing this man was a bad choice. He would take it as a challenge. There was an aggressive air to him, along with a look of command. It was obvious he was not accustomed to being questioned. Or disobeyed. Obedience had never been her strong suit.

He smiled at her, and her stomach dropped. Sex with him would be mind blowing. She just knew it. He seemed to be reading her mind as he took her elbow and led her out of the store, turning towards her bar.

“I think we should discuss that a bit more privately,” he said in a lust-thickened voice.

It was a short walk. She was blinking in the bar's dimness before she even considered the implications of what she was doing. It was only five, and the place was still empty. The after work crowd would be drifting in within minutes. And she was about to have sex in her office. Excitement coursed through her and her pussy grew damp.

Before she could form a protest, Darius steered her towards the door in the back, dragged her inside, and shut the door. The lock clicked. There was no chance for her to put distance between them now. He backed her against the door, the hard length of his body pressed against hers.
And oh my, he was hard
. Every inch of him.

He nudged her feet apart and nestled his erection against her belly. His hands shackled her wrists next to her face.

She didn't like aggressive, domineering men. She liked a sexual give-and-take on an equal playing field. But this man had her blood heated and her heart pounding in anticipation, to use his word. She struggled to figure it out and briefly wondered if she could get away.

He must have seen it on her face.

“Oh no,” he muttered, leaning in. “I've waited too long to taste you."

It was not at all what she expected. He nipped her shoulder, feathering kisses to her neck and the erratic pulse beating there. His tongue traced the line of her jaw before finding her lips. Gently he pressed his lips to hers, his tongue following the curve of her bottom lip. The kiss was so sweet, she sighed and opened her mouth for his exploration.

Control was just an allusion. Though the kiss was almost languorous, his hands were joined hard with hers, his erection grinding hard against her hips. They'd just started and she was wet and ready. She would be ripping his clothes off if he weren't holding her so immobile.

God, she was sweet. He reined in his urge to plunge into her and tried to slow his racing heart. He wanted her memories of their first time together to be explosive but gentle.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

He hadn't been gentle a day in his life. But she didn't strike him as the type of woman who enjoyed loss of control. He was sure she would adjust to him, but he didn't have time to wait. His more logical side fought with his animal side for power. Logic lost.

He released her hands to pull the tank top over her head. She was wearing a plain white cotton bra with a front snap. The only thing sexy about it was the woman wearing it. It had to go. Maybe he could get her in red lace some day soon. Her nipples hardened under his gaze, and with a touch he released the snap. She had delicate high breasts with small nipples and peach colored areolas.
Beautiful
. He could look at her all night. But first he needed to taste her.

He sucked one of the hardened tips into his mouth. She groaned, inflaming his blood more, and cradled his head in her arms. He wondered if she was always so responsive.
No, best not to go there
. Feeling a rush of jealousy, he tightened his grip on her. The past couldn't be changed, and she was his now.