Hotter Than Hell (26 page)

By eight the sun was beginning to set. Cat had no idea how far she’d gone; the countryside had hardly changed, and she’d encountered only cattle, horses, and a few pronghorn antelope. Her legs ached, and Rosie was beginning to droop.

Cat dismounted at the foot of a small hill, stretched, and left Rosie to graze while she finished off the last bottle of water. Her heart was a leaden weight in her chest. She couldn’t continue with only the supplies remaining in the saddlebags; when morning came she’d have to turn around. The chances that she’d find Andrés were growing smaller by the moment.

Wearily she spread the blanket on the brown grass and lay down. She had just closed her eyes when Rosie nickered softly. Half afraid to hope, Cat opened her eyes again.

The stallion stood at the top of the hill, the plume of his tail stirring in the evening breeze. Cat rose, adrenaline rushing through her body.

Come, she begged silently. Come to me.

For a handful of minutes it seemed he would turn and flee. But slowly, hesitantly, he started down the hill, head lowered and ears pressed flat. He stopped several yards away, his eyes filled with that very human sadness.

“Andrés,” Cat whispered.

His ears flickered, but he came no nearer. Cat offered her upturned hands.

“I was wrong,” she said. “You’ve paid enough. It’s time you had a second chance.”

The stallion lifted his head. An eldritch light sprang up around him, gilding his coat and crackling the grass under his hooves.

Cat was never sure what she saw then. Andrés changed; four legs became two, and the ebon mane became a shock of thick, dark hair. He stood naked before her, still silent, still waiting.

Love and desire tangled in Cat’s mind, one inseparable from the other. She, too, had been transformed.

“We forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you, Andrés. Be free.”

He began to shake, and she realized he was laughing. His voice boomed in a cry of triumph and joy.

He opened his arms and she walked into them, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his body.

“Mi gatita,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “Gracias. Gracias desde el fondó de mi corazón.” He searched her eyes. “How may I repay you?”

In answer she kissed him, her hand wandering between them to stroke his erect cock. “If you really want to repay me,” she murmured, “don’t make me wait a second longer.”

She took his hand and led him to the blanket. He removed her clothing with something like reverence, worshiping her body with lips and tongue. But when he parted her thighs to enter, she rolled over and pushed him onto his back.

“It’s my turn now,” she said, and mounted him with a groan of pleasure.

That night she had the ride of her life. And when it was over and they lay together gazing up at the fading stars, she knew Itzel was at peace.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Stay with me forever.”

He traced her lips with his fingertip. “Forever is a long time.”

“Not nearly long enough.”

“You hardly know me. How can you be sure—”

“Let me show you just how sure I am.”

And they rode together, bound as one, until they could ride no farther.

TO DIE FOR

Keri Arthur

THE WORST THING ABOUT WORKING FOR AN INVESTIGATIVE agency specializing in paranormal and psychic events was the long, often irregular, hours.

My field of expertise might be missing persons rather than things that went bump in the night, but it still involved late nights and long shifts. Monsters mostly preferred the cover of darkness, it seemed.

But the second worst thing about working for the aforementioned agency was having a boss who had no respect for the “eight hours between shifts” rule, made law years ago.

So when Frank’s phone call woke me up after I’d barely been asleep for three hours, I was neither happy nor surprised.

“Rioli?” he said, his voice more gravelly than usual. Meaning he’d either been up all night or he’d hit the smokes again. “Need you in here ASAP.”

“Frank, I only just got home from the Harbor case—”

“This one’s important, Grace. Be here by seven.”

I glared blearily at the clock. He’d given me a whole thirty minutes. How generous of him. I hung up, dragged myself out of bed, and threw on some clothes. Luckily for us both, the traffic at that hour of a Sunday morning was practically nonexistent, and I found a parking spot right out in front of the agency’s multistory building.

It turns out I wasn’t the only investigator Frank had called in early. And when I heard the rapid tattoo of footsteps coming up behind me, I barely restrained a groan. There was only one man in this building who could make the mere act of walking sound so sexy, and I really wasn’t in the mood to cope with his banter this morning.

“Hey, Ravioli, wait up.”

“Ravioli is a food,” I said tartly, not breaking stride as I headed for the elevator. “And my name is Rioli. I’d appreciate it if you’d actually remember that.”

“Are you always this touchy in the mornings?” he asked, his voice so warm, so rich, that shivers of delight ran down my spine.

But then, I’d been supersensitive to this man’s presence from the moment he’d walked elegantly—and oh-so sexily—into the Preternatural Investigations offices eighteen months ago. Luckily for me, I was not alone in my admiration, and Ethan had wasted no time dipping into the pool, so to speak. The man was a werewolf who knew how to work both his aura and his lean, powerful body. He was sex on a stick, as one of my cubicle mates had noted. Right before she’d taken him home and enjoyed his stick.

Thankfully, I’d been spared the grittier details of their activities the following morning. I had imagination enough when it came to Ethan.

Which wasn’t to say I’d never been tempted to do more than imagine, but I often worked with the man on missing persons investigations. Unless you were very lucky, mixing business and pleasure always got messy.

Not that I’d actually mind a little of Ethan’s mess every now and again.

I blew out a breath and punched the elevator button. Control. I needed control. Ethan would smell the merest hint of arousal, and that would only stir his interest more. And I needed that like I needed a hole in the head. Especially when it had been so damn long since I’d had anything decent in the way of sex.

Weres of any breed might be free and easy when it came to sex, but I was a wolf shifter , and my parents were depressingly old-fashioned when it came to the whole mating act. Though I was pretty sure I could shake their overly strict sensibilities if the right man and moment came along. Ethan certainly wasn’t that man, hence the cobwebs and me feeling hornier than a bitch in heat whenever he got within hormonal radar distance.

I punched the button again. As usual, the damn elevator was taking its freaking time getting here.

“Or is it just me that brings out the worst in you?” he continued, from right behind me.

I took a breath that was filled with the warm, spicy scent of him, then slowly turned to meet the vivid blue of his gaze. A gaze that was too bright, and saw too much. A gaze that never gave much away, no matter what the situation.

But Ethan Garrison wasn’t just sex on a stick, he was ex-military, and a dangerous man despite his to-die-for smile. He was dressed in black this morning, his roughly rolled up shirtsleeves emphasizing the strength of his shoulders and upper arms, while his close-fitting jeans paid homage to the long, lean length of his legs. Even his boots and baseball cap were black. With his golden hair and skin, it was a potent combination.

“Going for the bad boy look today, are we?” I said, more to break the tension that always seemed to build between us than from any real need to talk to the man.

“Heard you liked a bit of bad. Thought it worth a shot.” His grin was pure cheek, and crinkles of amusement touched the corners of his bright, watchful eyes.

A combination that had my hormones doing happy little cartwheels.

“The bad boy is getting no closer to me than the other incarnations you’ve dreamt up,” I said, and wished my words would come out less breathy. “You and I work together. That’s enough.”

One dark eyebrow rose as he stepped a little closer. “Care to take a bet on that, Ravioli?”

The sheer heat of him slid across my senses like a caress. A caress Iso wanted. My heart was doing a triple-time dance and desire not only swirled through me, but around me. His nose flared and a lusty spark ignited deep in his eyes. Damn, I was in trouble now.

Still, I raised my chin. Defiant to the end, that was me. “I don’t bet.” Especially when I was likely to lose.

“Shame that. I enjoy a challenge.”

“Then I challenge you to take a flying leap out of a twentieth-floor window and make like a bird.”

He smiled, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat and refused to budge. Smiles like that should be declared lethal weapons.

“You’d miss me if I did.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a note of dryness into my voice. “Like I’d miss a proverbial pain in the butt.”

His gaze slid downwards. “And a very nice butt it is, too.”

The chime of the elevator arriving saved me from answering. I gave a silent sigh of relief—then wondered why as the doors opened, revealing the empty interior. Confined elevator spaces and Ethan were not a wise combination right now.

“Are you going to stand there gawking all day?” he asked, voice dry and a knowing smile touching his lips.

It was a thought. Not a practical one but a thought all the same.

I stepped inside and punched the tenth-floor button. “What floor you going to?”

“Tenth, same as you.”

He stopped beside me, so close he made me burn.

Damn, damn, damn.

I stepped back, trying to get some space between us, trying to cool my overheated body. “So Frank has called you in?”

“Yes. Something urgent has come up.”

Oh, I had no doubt about that, I thought, my gaze detouring briefly down his long, lean length. Man, what I wouldn’t give to be able…I wrenched my mind away from that particular direction and tried to think of boring things in an effort to calm my pulse.

Only nothing boring would come to mind.

The doors slid closed and the elevator began to rise at what seemed like a snail’s pace. Ethan took a step towards me. I couldn’t help taking another one back—though there weren’t many places I could go in such a confined space. I pressed my back against the cool steel wall and watched him almost breathlessly. Anticipating his touch, even though common sense suggested he was only teasing. After all, there wasn’t much he could do in an elevator in the space of ten floors.

Was there?

He moved closer. My breath stuttered to a brief stop. Like a rabbit caught in a spotlight, I watched as he bracketed his hands on either side of my head. Then he leaned forward, sending my senses into a spiral of delight. My nipples hardened, as if reaching out to brush his body. Which they couldn’t, because he wasn’t that close.

Part of me wished he was. Wished I could just melt against all that warm, hard flesh and allow my fingers the freedom to roam. But that would only be asking for more than I could probably handle.

So I raised a hand and simply pressed it against his chest, stopping him from coming closer. Even through the soft silk of his shirt, his muscles felt like iron under my fingertips, and my skin itched with the need to feel, to caress.

“Don’t,” I said. Unfortunately, my voice came out husky and that only ignited the spark in his eyes all the more.

“Don’t what?” he said, his breath a whisper across my cheeks. “Do this?”

His weight pressed against my hand, a gentle force I suddenly couldn’t stop and couldn’t resist. My aching nipples finally came in contact with the softness of his shirt, and something akin to electricity shot through my body. Lord, it felt good. And he was so close, so tempting, and his lips there, right there, right within tasting distance.

Oh, how I wanted to taste them.

And he knew it, damn him.

“Or this?” he added, then brushed his mouth across mine.

It felt like the touch of fire. Or maybe it was only me who burned, not him. Not his delicious lips.

“You want me, Ravioli,” he murmured. His lips moved from my mouth to my chin then my neck, tasting, teasing, arousing. I closed my eyes, savoring the heat zinging across every fiber of my being.

“Go on, admit it.”

I didn’t have to admit anything, especially when the scent of my arousal was so damn obvious.

“How can I want a man who can’t even remember my name?” I somehow managed to say.

His lips brushed the pulse point at the base of my neck, sending a tremor through my limbs, then continued down, following the V of my shirt. I closed my eyes, torn between the sweet desire of his kisses, and the knowledge that I needed to push him away before this got out of hand.

And it would get out of hand. He was a werewolf and an alpha, and the wolf within me just couldn’t help reacting to the power and masculinity of his presence. Not to mention his sheer, must-have-you-now sexiness.

“Ravioli suits you,” he murmured. His teeth grazed a nipple. I shuddered, and barely resisted the urge to arch into him. To offer myself to that tantalizing, tempting touch.

“So does my name.” My voice sounded as liquid as I felt. “Which is Grace Rioli, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t.” His lips trailed fire back up my neck. When his tongue flirted with my ear, my knees threatened to buckle. “But ravioli is my favorite food, and this particular dish is one I’ve longed to taste more fully.”

If he kept this up, he’d be able to drink me, because I’d be little more than a puddle at his feet.

“So basically, you’re saying I remind you of a small square pasta?”

His chuckle vibrated against my neck, and my toes curled in delight.

“You may be small in height and waist, Grace, but you’re sure not small in other departments.”

His tongue alternated with his teeth against my ear, teasing the exact right spot, and my body vibrated with the force of pleasure shooting through me. God, why was the elevator taking so damn long to climb ten floors?