Bite of the Moon: Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance Boxed Set (41 page)

She glanced at him.

He stared at her. A moment of tense silence reigned, interrupted only by the crackle of wood in the iron stove. For a few seconds, he found it difficult to breathe and wished a divine hand would scoop him up and carry him far, far away from temptation.

With a hip-rolling gait, she headed straight toward him. “Let’s get the hardest part over with. I know I’m going to whimper and moan.” Perching on the edge of the table, she gathered up her hair to bare her throat. “Do it, Mac, before I dread it.” She heaved a heavy sigh that lifted her bosom. “Clean the bite.”

He gazed at the bite with concern. In contrast to her fair skin, each tooth mark was a vivid russet hue and glowed like a firebrand. For certain, the internal clock of bear transformation had been primed and mustn’t be set off.

“Ready?” Soaking a cotton pad with sharp-scented antiseptic, he pressed it to the wound.

She winced. “Oh! That’s cold. It smells worse than Lysol.”

“The alcohol will evaporate.” Dabbing the pad against her skin, he thoroughly cleansed the bite until the cotton dried. He reached for a fresh pad, doused it, and repeated the process. “This should have been done immediately. I’m sorry we waited.”

“Don’t be sorry. The bite’s not your fault. Blame it on the big bad bear. I still can’t get over the fact I was bitten by a wild bear and lived to joke about it.”

With a fresh pad, he cleaned the slight wounds on her arm and the scrape on her forehead. Tossing the used cotton onto the table, he looked her in the eyes. “Anyplace else?”

“Here.” She tugged the pajama collar aside, revealing the top of a lush breast. “I may have actually clawed myself trying to release the seat belt. I barely scratched the skin, but it’s a little red. I think we should clean it just to be safe.”

Drawing a tense breath, he leaned over to bathe the faint abrasions, trying like hell not to think too much about how close he and Andi were. Everything about her pleased his senses. “Even after a dunk in the river, you smell nice,” he blurted.

She balked. “How can you tell over this nasty stuff?”

“I have a good nose.” The bear in him could smell an open tube of toothpaste a quarter of a mile downwind. “Your skin has a smoky vanilla scent.”

“That’s my mother’s perfume—Tahiti Royalé. She loved its earthy vibe. I wore it today in honor of her. God, I feel so awful her ashes are still in the car.”

“Try not to worry. As soon as daylight comes, I’ll check your SUV.”

“Thanks, Mac. You are so kind.” She looked at him and smiled, provoking a jolt of conflicting emotions. He wanted to pull her close. Ride her hard, treat her tenderly, but most of all, he wanted to run for his life before things got any more complicated than they already were. What the fuck had he set in motion?

He forced himself to pull away. “Where are your wet clothes? I’ll run them through the dryer.”

“Where is my scotch?” She giggled. “I’m joking. The wet clothes are in the bathroom, hung over the tub.” Standing, she took a shaky step. “I’ll get them.”

“Wait.” He took hold of her arm. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and relax. I’ll collect your wet things and get you a drink. Okay?”

Nodding in agreement, she allowed him to lead her to the couch. She
plopped
onto the leather cushions
.
“That wasn’t very graceful was it? I’m sort of lumbering around. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t move.” He rushed into the bathroom and gathered her belongings from the floor. “This will just take a minute. I need to change out of my damp clothing too.” Crossing the floor, he approached the iron stove.

“My boots can’t be too close to the fire,” she called.

“I know.”

“Of course you know. Jeez, I’m being an idiot. I’m just used to being the boss and making sure everyone knows what to do.”

He loosened the laces and set her boots a safe distance from the stove. “What do you do?”

“I manage a chain of boutique hotels.”

With long strides, he headed toward the cabinet where he kept the scotch. “I’m a ‘sleeping bag and tent’ kind of guy. What makes a hotel ‘boutique’?”

“Boutique is a code word for a high-quality, small hotel with decor that won’t leave patrons feeling seasick from all the mismatched patterns.” She paused. “Big headboards too. For some reason, every room has a massive headboard.”

He pulled a pair of clean jam jars from the cabinet and set them on the countertop. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like headboards? Yes, of course I do, but they don’t always have to be the size of a city bus.”

Reaching for the scotch, he twisted the cap open. “I meant, do you like your job?”

“I used to love my work. Lived for it actually, but lately, not so much.”

He poured a small amount of amber liquid into each jar. “What changed?”

“Watching my mother battle cancer and pass away far too young changed me. You can’t see that sort of thing unfold in front of you and not ask the bigger questions. My work is very competitive. A lot of people want my job. Even taking a week off to scatter my mother’s ashes is a big deal, but I knew I had to do it. When you asked if I had anyone I should call, my first reaction was ‘hell no! Don’t let them know I’m injured or might be away from the helm for a while.’ Under the guise of looking after our clients, Mr. CrossFit would be snooping in my contact files so fast….”

Offering her a jar, he sat on the couch at her side. “Mr. CrossFit?”

“It’s a stupid nickname for one of my colleagues, William Crossman. He’s gunning for my title.” She examined the jam jar. “This is cute, I like it.”

“It’s practical. I didn’t bring any highball glasses up here.”

“You don’t entertain often?”

“I don’t entertain ever. You’re my first guest.”

“I’m honored.” Andi held the oak-fragrant scotch to her lips and sipped. The liquor burned going down, but not as much as her curiosity to know more about Mac. The crooked grin on his handsome face was just too charming. Her bad luck meeting men had turned to good with the flip of her car. Next question, why was this hunk alone? If he worked in her office in West Los Angeles, there would be a block-long queue of eager women, and likely a few hopeful men, trying to get closer to him. But here he was, alone on a mountain ridge. His bathroom cabinets betrayed no signs of a female companion. Yes, she’d looked. So what? “Mac, how long have you been working the Sierra Portal station?”

“Almost three years.”

The scotch flooded her with warmth. “You’re here all seasons?”

“No, the road leading to the Sierra Portal closes in winter. Thanksgiving through March, I work ski patrol at the Sierra Ridge Resort eight miles down the highway.”

“I know that area! That’s why I’m here. When my mother was young, she worked at the Sierra Lodge. That may have been where she met my father, but I’m not certain. He remains something of a mystery. My mom could really ski. Total athlete. But not me. I’m not cut out for the cold or the tight pants. Never got the hang of it.”

A pensive expression creased his brow. “Are you sure there isn’t somebody who needs to know where you are and that you’re all right? I can radio Warren and he’ll pass the message along.”

She huffed. “No one in particular. I have a few friends, but mostly my coworkers are my friends.”

“Someone must be worried?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m a bit of a loner. At work, I’m the boss, not a buddy.”

“I guess I’m in the loner category too.”

“It’s different when you’re a woman. Nobody respects it. I’m the youngest manager Five-Star Hotels has ever hired. It’s been a fast, all-consuming ride. There’s no time for extras. You could say I’m sort of driven.”

“What’s an ‘extra’?”

“You know, a boyfriend or a family. Maybe later.”

Setting his scotch down on a squat stack of books masquerading as a coffee table, the edges of his mouth curled. “Ambition is great. But when your car slides over the side of a cliff and a bear pulls you from the wreckage and there’s no one in your life who needs to be told you survived, it might be time to slow down.”

Tipping the jar, she sipped her drink. “You sound like my mother.”

“Did she scold you?”

“No, she pushed me. She’d say, ‘Andi, you’re the only one who can set a speed limit on your life. Go for it.’ I was encouraged to succeed. We had it rough, especially when I was young. It was just my mom and me. Sometimes she worked two jobs to support us and pay for my college. She believed in me like no one else. But this last year, things changed when she started bugging me to slow down and get a life. It’s sort of hard to shift gears.” Placing the empty jar next to his, she glanced at the floor. “Why am I boring you with this stuff? I’ve been chattering non-stop, haven’t I?”

“You’re not boring me.” A radiant smile lit Mac’s face. “You’ve been through a lot in a short space of time. I think this is the adrenaline talking.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right. The scotch is working its magic too. I’m starting to chill.”

He glanced at her empty glass. “I’d offer you another, but I think you should put something solid in you first. When did you last eat?”

“Let me think.” She toyed with the cuffs of the pajamas. “I’ve been driving all day. Drank a lot of coffee. Nibbled on some trail mix. Late last night I got Chinese takeout, moo shu pork….” A quick glance out the window confirmed a skinny crescent moon lit the sky. “What time is it?”

Pushing his sleeve back, he glanced at his watch. “It’s 5:47. Dinner time.”

“Dinner time? Ha! I usually eat at nine, if I’m lucky. Ten thirty is typical.”

“I eat early and go to sleep by nine.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like pasta?”

“I love pasta.”

“Good. I’ll make dinner for us.”

“You’re going to cook for me? I’m honored.”

Amusement shone in his eyes. “We can’t order takeout up here. There are no eagles willing to deliver a pizza. Besides, I like to cook.”

“I hope I’m not being a pest.” She picked up the jar and sniffed. “I’m surprised I like this. I must be appreciating scotch through your eyes. The scent is triggering images in my mind.”

He paused with his head tilted. “What sort of images?”

“Corny stuff. What you’d expect from a beverage with scotch’s history. A landscape of rolling heather, bagpipes, knights, and castles. Would you pour me the tiniest smidge more, just so I can smell it?”

“Okay.” A hint of hesitation in his voice raised concern. “But sip slowly. Dinner is going to take at least twenty minutes.” Taking hold of the jar, he rose from the table to refill her drink.

She watched Mac’s every gesture with intense interest. For a big man, he moved with smooth confidence. His long strides carried him across the floor in half the time it would take her. He removed the scotch from the cabinet and twisted the cap off. Mac had exceptionally broad, masculine hands. Silky hair covered his powerful forearms, which looked strong enough to lift a car. When he glanced at her, she realized she’d been staring.

He held the bottle poised above the rim of the jar and poured a trickle. “Good?”

“That’s fine.”

After resealing the bottle and setting it inside the cabinet, he returned the jar to her.

“Thank you.” Holding the scotch under her nose, she sniffed the subtle fragrance. “I can see why you like it. I didn’t notice it the first time, but aside from the obvious smoky-oak notes, I also smell moss.”

“Do you?” He rubbed his chin as if he were deep in thought. “Most people miss that detail.”

She sniffed the air. “I smell honey too.” Rising from the couch, she strolled into the kitchen area. Passing the cabinet where the scotch was stored, she opened its neighbor and looked inside. “There it is.” Taking hold of a sticky mason jar, she held it under her nose. “Yum. It smells so good. This is clover honey, isn’t it? There really is a big difference in the varieties, isn’t there?” Gripping the metal cap, she tried to unscrew the lid, but it didn’t budge. “I know I’m being a bother, but would you mind if I put a little honey in my drink? It sounds fantastic.”

An odd expression crossed his face. “Sure.” He reached for the honey and gave the lid an effortless twist before handing it to her. “Here you go.”

Tipping the container, she drizzled the honey into her drink. “It’s so thick. This is taking too long to pour. I want it now.” Lifting the mason jar to her lips, she was just about to sip honey straight from the jar when she smelled something else sweet and fruity. “Where are they?”

Turning in a slow circle, she sniffed. “I smell fresh blueberries.” She headed toward the refrigerator and flung the door open. “There they are. Oh, they look gorgeous. Can I have a few?” Without waiting for his answer, she reached into the bowl. Grabbing a handful, she ferried them into her drink.  “This is going to be fabulous!”

She glimpsed her reflection in the kitchen window. The sight of another female in her territory was enraging. Baring her teeth, she growled. “Oh, my God! What am I doing? I’m snarling at myself.” Setting the jar of honeyed scotch and bobbing blueberries on the countertop, she backed away.  “I’m riffling through your kitchen like an animal.” She sighed. “What’s wrong with me? Mac, I apologize. For a minute there, I sort of lost control.”