Fur Factor (10 page)

“I told you, there’s nothing ‘up’ with me and Samantha,” he said. “She’s an employee and a member of the pack. That’s it.”

“She’s a werewolf, too, then?” she asked, but his nod just confused her further.

“Then why did she look like she was afraid I’d jump her? She could probably spin me on one finger like a basketball.”

He got a couple minutes of reprieve while the waitress came back to take their order, and Missy could almost see him sorting through explanations in his head as he looked for the best one.

He sighed when the waitress took their menus and headed back toward the kitchen.

“She probably wasn’t exactly afraid of you. She was just being cautious.” She gave him a look over her coffee cup. “You’ve said that, but you still haven’t said why. I mean, I’m really about as non-threatening as you can get. Unless she has a mortal fear of the Alphabet Song.”

“Like I said, it’s…complicated.”

“Mary Had a Little Lamb?”

“It’s a Lupine thing,” he began, pausing when she rolled her eyes.

“And I wouldn’t understand? Is that what you’re trying to say? Forgive me, but I think I’m quite capable of understanding if you’ll do me the courtesy of explaining.” He tapped his fingers on the scratched Formica and frowned. “You don’t sound a lot like a kindergarten teacher at the moment.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ve associated with many since you were five,” she said. “And don’t change the subject. Just because I teach five-year-olds doesn’t mean I’m okay with being treated like one. What is this big werewolf secret I wouldn’t Christine Warren

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understand?”

“It’s not a secret, just a point of culture.”

She leaned back when the waitress set their orders down, but she didn’t look away. She wanted to know what was going on. “And?” He studied her, and she set her shoulders and lifted her chin, determined to make clear her refusal to back down.

When he spoke, he sounded matter-of-fact and just a little bit cautious. “You’re her new alpha. She was being cautious around you as a sign of respect. That’s what the kiss was about, too.”

“But you’re her alpha, not me. I’m not even Lupine.”

“Alphas come in pairs, male and female. I’m alpha male of the pack, but Samantha acknowledged you as alpha female, and Lupines call alpha females ’Luna’

because they’re as influential as the moon.”

Missy wondered if the world would ever shift back onto its axis, because it had been off kilter since he’d first touched her the night before.

“I’m not Lupine,” she repeated. “I’m not even a member of the pack. I can’t be a leader in it.”

Graham swallowed a mouthful of bacon. “Samantha obviously disagrees.”

“She can’t just decide to do that, can she? I mean—“ Missy’s protest sputtered to a halt when Graham slid a forkful of fluffy eggs into her open mouth and leveled a stern glance at her.

“Can we not talk about Samantha, please?” He looked a little impatient, but at least he tried to be polite. “You’re only giving me a weekend to win you over, and this particular conversation is cutting into my time.” Missy nodded reluctantly—since

she couldn’t do much else with her mouth full—and he withdrew his fork. “Good. Now finish your breakfast. We’re going to have a busy day.” Graham turned his attention right back to his meal, and Missy tried to pretend she didn’t interpret that comment in an entirely sexual manner. But she still had to cross her legs and press her thighs together to ease the ache her imagination and his husky voice inspired.

She looked down at her plate and began spreading blackberry jam on her toast, more to keep her hands occupied than because she wanted to eat it. Somehow, the strain of the night had her craving protein, not toast. She forked up a bite of her asparagus and cheddar omelet and tried to behave like the idea of keeping busy in his bedroom all day had never crossed her mind.

“What are we planning to do?” She met his gaze with the most casual expression she could muster, but she still ended up blushing at the devilish glint in his eyes.

“Well, you won’t move in with me until we get to know each other better,” he said polishing off his eggs and digging his fork into a stack of pancakes. “So today, Christine Warren

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you’re going to show me everything there is to know about you. Then tomorrow, I’ll show you everything there is to know about me. Monday, I’ll help you pack.” Missy rolled her eyes and laughed, but she couldn’t quite suppress the little voice inside her that wailed at the injustice of the fact that by Monday, he’d be sick of her and moving on to the next woman who caught his attention. That moment of truth was still two days away, and she sure didn’t plan to waste this opportunity brooding about the way it would end. In fact, she didn’t plan to waste a minute sharing all the boring details of her life just so he could get sick of her that much quicker. She planned to milk every drop of enjoyment out of their time together that she possibly could, and that did not mean letting him watch while she did her laundry or finished her grocery shopping. If she only had this one weekend with him, she wanted to spend it touching him. Preferably naked. And, even more preferably—horizontal.

Then, she’d spend next week holed up in her apartment, crying her way through box after box of tissues.

“Letting you know everything there is to know about me is not going to take all day,” she said, pushing away her half-eaten meal, hoping the gesture looked more like she was preparing for something and less like her stomach had knotted up so hard she couldn’t swallow. “In fact, I can tell you all about me in just a few short sentences.” The voice inside her head shrieked in protest, but Missy ignored it. She ignored her pounding heart, her shaking fingers and her suddenly dry mouth and prayed for the strength to seize what she knew would be the two best days of her life.
Okay,
she thought, taking a deep, trembling breath.
Here goes.
Just don’t let me look like an idiot.

That’s all I ask.

Missy leaned back in the vinyl booth and stretched out her legs until she could hook her ankle around his calf and pull him closer. Then she gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile and lowered her not-quite-steady hands to her borrowed shirt, unfastening the first two buttons with slow, teasing motions. She saw him still, saw his eyes drop and fix on the pale skin newly bared by the partially unfastened shirt, and she felt a sense of power that made her smile widen.

“I just turned twenty-seven years old,” she said, slipping her hand into the open placket of the shirt she wore and trailing her fingers along the pale skin from her throat to her modest cleavage and back again. His eyes followed the motion as if they were glued to it. “Only child. Born in Brooklyn, raised in Westchester County. Went to Sarah Lawrence. Degree in Early Childhood Education. Never broken a bone, but once sprained my wrist playing tennis. Haven’t picked up a racket since.” She continued speaking, opening another button every few words. By the time she started telling him about her parents and the fact that she was mortally afraid of jellyfish, the dimple of her bellybutton was just visible in the opening of her shirt. She saw his jaw clench and circled her fingertip around the last remaining button. It and the knot in the shirt tales were the only things standing between her and her very first arrest.

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“Allergic to shellfish, but adore catfish, especially blackened. Favorite musicians include Stevie Ray Vaughn, Sarah McLachlan and the Indigo Girls.” She paid no attention to anyone around her, since none of them paid any attention to her. They lived in Manhattan, which meant one woman in a diner with her shirt hanging open but still covering all her vital parts didn’t make front-page news. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even make a blip on their radar.

Licking her lips, she rubbed her foot against his leg under the table and slowly, slowly unfastened that last button.

“I like long walks in the park, breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings and watching old musicals on DVD. Biggest turn-ons are confident men who know what they want, have a sense of humor and turn furry once a month.” She shifted slightly, baring the center plane of her pale, smooth torso to his avid gaze. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he clutched the table top in a white-knuckled grip, but she couldn’t resist pressing just a little further.

Her eyes on his face, she pushed her shirt aside just far enough for him to see the inside curves of her breasts then ran her hands between them and down to the fastening of her jeans.

“Think you know enough about me yet?” she asked, her voice husky and purring and as taunting as her subtle striptease. “Or did you need something else?” Her fingers flexed and the top button on her slacks popped open. Almost instantly, Graham’s eyes blazed a vivid, glowing green and his arm shot into the air.

“Check, please!”

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They made it back to his house in seven minutes flat, including calculating the waitress’s tip, though Graham didn’t so much calculate as throw her a wad of cash and drag Missy out the door before she could utter another word. After that stunt, she’d better not open her mouth again until she was ready for him to put something in it.

He managed to refrain from slinging her over his shoulder again only because they were already so close to home. But lest she think he wasn’t impatient for her, he fell on her like an attacking pit bull the minute the front door closed behind them.

She landed on the entry carpet with a hard thump, and he heard the hiss when the impact managed to knock most of the air out of her lungs. Whatever she had left, he stole from her in a kiss so hot and wet and mind blowing he almost came just from the feel of her mouth under his. His lips moved against hers, firm and avid, while his tongue plunged deep to tangle with hers. She tasted of coffee and woman and the sweet, wild flavor of Missy, and he wanted to devour her. He swore she tasted even better than she had the night before. Richer. More intense. Maybe he was imagining it, but in the interest of accuracy, he figured he’d better make sure by conducting a few more tests. Taste tests.

Naked taste tests.

Growling in anticipation, he closed his hands over the knot holding her shirt closed and ripped it apart. Never mind he’d just reduced his own shirt to dust rags, because the treasure that lay under it was a hell of a lot more important to him. His hands clenched into fists as he spread the sides of the shirt and bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her nipples beaded even before he touched them, stabbing into the air like little pebbles and making his mouth water. He popped one between his lips quickly, before he started drooling in his enthusiasm.

She murmured and shifted beneath him, creating a distracting friction against the demanding inhabitant of his jeans. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he reached down to open her pants. Somehow the black material disintegrated under his hands. He hadn’t intended to be that rough, but apparently his instincts couldn’t care less about his intentions.

Missy didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way her breathing sped up and her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders and then down his back, until she could grab handfuls of fabric and pull his shirttails from his waistband. He levered some of his weight off of her, bracing his palms against the oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor. He gave her nipple a last, fond lick and began to nuzzle his way across her chest to her other breast.

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He was right—her taste had gotten richer, sweeter, hotter since the night before, but he knew he’d have to taste another few select spots before he could confirm that theory. Her neglected nipple was only next on a very long list.

Halfway across her chest, when his nose hit that heated patch of flesh between her breasts where her scent had pooled, Graham froze. In that moment he knew for certain that her scent
had
gotten stronger, and he knew why.

Missy was fertile.

He held himself over her, poised and still and trembling with the effort of restraint, and fought to keep his beast far enough under wraps not to hurt her or rush her or send her screaming from his house in terror. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled deeply, unable to control the need to drink in her fragrance, even though every drop made it more difficult to restrain his impulses. He stood on a precipice, and he knew that if he didn’t pull away from her now, this minute, and get as far out of range of her scent as possible, he would make her pregnant, and when that happened, their mate-bond would go from theoretical to irrevocable. After that, it wouldn’t matter what she wanted, because Graham would never be able to let her go.

Missy whimpered beneath him. Her hands tore at his shirt, but the sturdy material held fast, and she slid her hands between their bodies to attack his buttons.

One after the other, she slid them from their moorings until she could push the shirt off his shoulders and out of her way. Then she bowed her body upward and ran her warm, pink tongue over one of his flat nipples, and he knew he’d passed the irrevocable stage of their bond a long, long time ago. She was his, and now he would make sure that never changed.

With a fierce snarl, he reared back onto his knees, pulling away from her just long enough to rid himself of his clothes, tossing them away and falling on hers. He shredded the fabric with fingers whose tips had sharpened into claws, and scattered them across the hall floor. When all of her skin lay bared to him, he crouched back on his heels and licked his lips.

Missy stared up at him, her eyes glassy and narrowed, her lips parted to make way for her panting breaths. “Graham. I want you,” she breathed, reaching up and twining her fingers in the silky-rough pelt of hair on his chest. She tugged, and he grunted at the sharp sting of pulled hair, but didn’t move.

She frowned up at him. “Now,” she said, her voice louder and firmer. “That wasn’t a generalization; it was an invitation. So get moving.” His beast leapt forward at that, clearly intent on fucking her senseless, knocking her up and then howling his triumph to the waxing moon. Fortunately, Graham grabbed it by the throat before it could pounce and wrestled it into temporary submission. If he frightened her now, he risked a lot more than sexual frustration. He risked a lifetime of misery, because an unhappy mate did not bode well for their relationship.