Amir (BBW Bear Shifter Moonshiner Romance) (120 Proof Honey Book 3) (38 page)

When she could bear to look again, Ryan and Calvin were circling each other. Round and round they went. They would jab each other in the face with their fists while trying to block the other’s blows. It was so stupid! Jeanie cursed testosterone and its idiocy. Fighting to prove a point was no way to go about it. There were better ways.
 

Ryan was down. Jeanie stood on the roof of the SUV her heart in her throat. Wyatt was on the ground yelling something to Ryan while Calvin pummeled him with his fists. Jeanie’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away as with a great push, Ryan threw Calvin off him, pounced on him and slammed his head into the dirt with such force that Jeanie was sure he should be dead. But he was a Werewolf. Could they die from that?

And then it was all over. Jeanie sagged to her knees on the car and stared. Ryan had won. It was all over and he was still breathing.
 

“Told you it would all be fine,” Valerie said. Smiling.
 

And then a cry went up and all hell broke loose.
 

Jeanie would never know how she and Valerie landed on the grass, but suddenly there they were. Feet ran passed them and not all of them were human. There were snarls and yelps, roars and screams from all sides. Jeanie tried to stand up but she was knocked over, pushed face first into the dirt. She heard Valerie calling over the din but by the time she looked around, Valerie was gone.
 

With numb legs and hands that tingled like she’d got pins and needles in them, Jeanie hauled herself up and looked around. People were fighting everywhere. Blood splattered and clumps of fur and flesh dotted the ground. She was petrified.
 

Running, ducking between the combatants, her only thought was to get to Ryan. She had to get to him. But where was he in this mess of bodies? Jeanie struck out and pushed her way through. Suddenly she felt pain down her back as something sharp dug into her flesh and dragged her to the ground. She turned and saw a wolf standing over her snarling and she realized it had clawed her back.
 

Jeanie kicked out and caught the wolf on the muzzle just as a bear swiped a huge paw at the beast and sent it flying. Crying from fear and panic, Jeanie crawled to her feet and stumbled through the battlefield. She stepped over bloody bodies; some whimpering and some horribly silent. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. She repeated his name in her head like a mantra, over and over and over.
 

And suddenly a white wolf appeared in front of her. It snarled, displaying sharp white teeth. “Mr. Snow,” Jeanie whispered.

The wolf inclined his head and then leapt for her.

Jeanie screamed and fell under the weight of the beast. She closed her eyes waiting for the teeth, but they never came. In a flash the weight lifted, was spun off her and a big black bear, its fur matted with blood charged after the wolf.
 

Jeanie scrambled to her feet. She turned and found herself now face to face with Calvin. He was awake. He had a gash across his chest and a murderous look on his face.

“Don’t hurt me!” Jeanie screamed at him panicking.
 

He laughed at her and hit her. The blow sent Jeanie onto the grass again, sprawling as a ringing sound filled her ears. “I’ve been dying to do that since I met you,” he snarled. “And now I’ll just kill you, so you cause no more trouble.”

He glared at her and grabbed her by the throat lifting her off the ground. Jeanie was choking. Her lungs were on fire and she could feel the world slipping away. As she dropped into darkness she thought of Ryan’s kiss.
 

Snow had settled on everything. It wasn’t deep, just a powdering that made the air taste of tin and everything look like a gingerbread Christmas scene.
 

Jeanie snuggled in Ryan’s arms, cozy in one of his pajama tops. They were in his cabin, lying in front of the fire, cozy and warm. She ran a finger over the scar on his chest where Calvin had sliced him with a claw.
 

“Are you still upset that Petersen and Snow survived?” Ryan asked his gaze still on the book he was reading.
 

Jeanie was amazed at how well he knew her. “A little. I mean they caused such a lot of trouble and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Why does Clan law say it’s all over when it shouldn’t be?”

“Because if you keep hitting back, eventually everyone will die. Revenge is for the stupid. Now let it go. You don’t have to fight them now, Jess and Wyatt are safe and we have Sun Valley. And it’s all thanks to you.” He put the book down and kissed her hand. “Anyway, I’m way too relaxed to think about something that happened a month ago.”

“Fine. So what do you want to do?”
 

Ryan grinned at her. “Come give me a kiss little girl, or I’ll feed you to the big bad wolf.”
 

“You’d have to fly me to New York to get that right,” she said going along with the joke.
 

Ryan sighed and pulled her up. Then he flipped her on her back and kissed her. Jeanie wound her fingers in his messy black hair. The kiss was deep and unhurried. Neither one was going anywhere. With practiced fingers Ryan began to unbutton his pajama top exposing Jeanie’s naked flesh beneath. He cupped her right breast and licked the nipple until it stood hard as a rock then he moved to the left. Jeanie closed her eyes and lay back feeling little explosions of what she liked to call happy hormones, rush into her system each time he touched her in a new place.
 

As his tongue slid down her body, peeling her out of the pajama top, Ryan stopped suddenly. Jeanie looked up.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“Nothing,” he said. “Just nice to find no underwear in the way.”

His tongue continued moving down her, along her thighs and into her crotch. What had mornings been like before she’d met Ryan? Jeanie couldn’t remember. Not this good that was for certain. He busied himself in her, slipping his fingers in and out of her teasing her. Jeanie played it cool, letting him think he wasn’t driving her mad with desire. But eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and she pushed him onto his back.
 

“Your turn,” she said and began to kiss his stomach as she undid the ties on his pajama bottoms. They came loose and she pulled the fabric off him exposing him. He was hard and ready. But she also wanted to play so she took him in her mouth and sucked and massaged him until he groaned and pulled her off him

Jeanie straddled Ryan feeling him slip inside her as he had many times in the last month. They knew what they liked now, but each time was different, special. It was a dance where they made up the sequence of the steps each time and the rhythm changed as their moods fluctuated. It was heaven. Jeanie felt a wild abandon that she had never felt before. Ryan held her hips as she ground her pelvis against him making them both gasp with pleasure.
 

He flipped her onto her back and slid back inside. Now she wound her legs around him, holding him to her, feeling him go deeper and deeper. The moment rose and took them until neither could hold it back any longer and they melted into each other in bliss.
 

As Jeanie lay panting in Ryan’s arms, she looked up into his golden eyes and knew that she would never be lonely again. This was home, he was her Superman to her Lois Lane. Together they could take anything, after all they already had.
 

John

Bearly Saints IV

by

Becca Fanning

Meg Baker sighed as she watched the setting sun slip below the horizon.
So much for all my planning
, she thought, feeling the now-familiar twinges of fear and uncertainty that had plagued her from the moment she’d stepped out of the safe confines of Manhattan’s posh Plaza Hotel the night before. She had purposely waited until after Daylight Savings Time to leave, just so she would be able to take a bus that would both depart after ten p.m.
and
arrive in Nashville before dark.

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” she whispered, paraphrasing Robert Burns’ famous line.

Meg stared out at the passing landscape, so flat here in northern Tennessee but also so incredibly green. She had never ridden on a bus before, nor—to her knowledge—had she ever driven on an Interstate, beyond what it took to get from various airports to their city centers. Hers had been a life of chauffeured limousines, first-class trains, and first-class planes. Now, after almost twenty-four hours of seeing how the other half traveled, she was exhausted. And frightened, she had to admit, but also determined to see this through.

As a world-class violin soloist, she knew she could get a job playing somewhere, if only she could manage to not be recognized, and she’d thought Nashville would be a good place to start. It was a city of music, but music so unlike what she normally played, that perhaps she could manage to stay under her father’s radar for the time it took her to establish herself in another place, another career.

Good luck with that,
her inner voice said, making her stomach clench yet again.

That little voice was right, of course. If her father did not already have a private investigator on her trail, she would be surprised. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her to see her father waiting for her at the bus terminal in Nashville, but she hoped not.

She had been careful. Her father always, without fail, disappeared into his suite at nine-thirty sharp on any night she wasn’t performing. He was rarely alone and always left orders not to be disturbed. Having lost her mother at a very early age, Meg had no illusions about what her father did with the beautiful women who seemed to always be available to him in whatever city they were visiting, and she had learned early to cherish these rare nights of knowing her father was otherwise occupied.

Meg had her one soft bag and her old violin packed and ready to go, along with her new ID and the cash she had been stashing away over the past six months, thanks to various maids and bellhops who were only too happy to change the one-hundred dollar bills her father insisted she carry to impress people for much smaller denominations in exchange for a generous tip. Dressed in jeans, simple walking shoes, and a warm, serviceable coat she had purchased from one of the hotel maids, she’d slipped out of her suite just after her father had turned in for the night, taking the stairs instead of the elevator to the opulent lobby below. Before stepping out of the stairwell, she’d donned a plain, navy blue baseball-style cap, pulling her white-blond tail out the hole in the back—like she’d seen women on the streets do
֫
—then wrapping a scarf around her neck to both ward off the chill night air and hide the rest of her hair. She’d thought about getting a Yankee’s cap, but had opted for a plain one, since she was headed for Nashville and didn’t want to stick out as an out-of-towner once she reached her destination. Her eastern-educated, upper-class accent would be enough of a giveaway.

Walking the first three blocks, she’d timed her arrival at Carnegie Hall so the musicians would be heading out after an evening concert, because while most of them still wore their concert clothing, with a winter coat and a violin strung over her shoulder, she fit right in with the crowd of people looking for taxi cabs. She managed to flag one down, directing the driver to take her to the 42
^nd
Street Port Authority Bus Terminal, where she quickly used cash to buy a bus ticket to Cleveland, Ohio. She had been researching the best way to get to Nashville and had opted for a Greyhound Bus ticket, with five stops between New York City and Nashville and two transfers. In Cleveland, she had bought a ticket only as far as Louisville, Kentucky, and from there, she purchased a ticket for the final leg to Nashville. She’d done something to change her appearance in both Cleveland and Louisville. In Cleveland, where she’d had almost a two-hour layover, she’d found a meal and traded her warmer New York coat, for a lighter, short jacket in a thrift store near the terminal. She’d also traded her blue ball cap for a brown one and her white woolly scarf for something lighter weight in a buttery-yellow.

She sighed, now, praying all her efforts hadn’t been for naught. The bus in Louisville had been delayed by a half-hour, which had put them right in the middle of rush-hour traffic coming south on I-65. Now instead of dusk, she was arriving in Nashville at full dark. She would need to find someplace to stay, and she didn’t really know where to start. She hadn’t dared research hotels in Nashville from her own computer, because she was certain her father would check there first. She’d found out about the bus schedule, thanks to a former classmate at Julliard, who’d come from Nashville originally and had let her play with his new iPad, when they’d had coffee together just before Christmas. (She’d hoped it was long enough ago, that her father wouldn’t think to ask Bryan about it.)

Meg straightened in her seat and strained to see forward. Traffic picked up as I-65 merged into another wide Interstate to pass through the city. They stayed on the new highway—I-24 this time—but then shortly took an exit ramp that wound down sharply to the right before making a left turn onto the city streets.

As the passengers around her began collecting their belongings, Meg tucked the Nashville tourist book she had found in the Louisville bus terminal into her jacket pocket. She then wrapped her hands around her violin case strap and pulled her small, canvas travel bag from under the seat in front of her. There was something quite liberating about being able to carry everything she owned in these two small bags. With the exception of her violin—which had been a birthday gift from her grandmother on her thirteenth birthday—everything she carried had been purchased recently, either from hotel maids or thrift stores. She owed nothing to anyone and was free to be herself for the first time in her life.