Hurricane (Last Call #2) (6 page)
Her eyes shot open. “It’s the only
thing I can do, really. Put things back together.” Just
looking at him as he lounged inside the door made her heart
race. “I couldn’t sleep, and I told you I’d fix it, so I
thought I’d get started. I hope that’s okay.”
He pushed off the wall and strode toward her
in a way that did nothing for her composure. “Don’t belittle
that talent. I have massive power at my fingertips, but I
never could do anything delicate with it. All of the more
subtle spells in the building were cast by other people.”
“
Mmm.” She rose and
leaned the painting against the nightstand, then pulled at the hem
of the T-shirt she wore. “He was here, wasn’t he? I
thought I felt him.” The dread had woken her from a sound
sleep and driven her from the bed, like the threads of a nightmare
she couldn’t quite remember.
Ben folded his arms around her and pulled
her against his chest, into the warmth and safety of his
embrace. “I told you from the start, sweetheart. Robert
Carmichael is no match for me.”
It would be easy to melt into him, to ignore
reality. “That isn’t --” She drew back and stared up at
him. “I know what he must have said. I heard the same
things from him when I left.”
“
I’m not in the habit of
listening to anything that a man like Carmichael says.” He
lifted a hand and rubbed his thumb along her jaw in a gesture that
was more tender than sexual. “Besides, I’ve given him
something else to think about.”
Fiona tried not to smile. “You
didn’t.”
“
Mmm, I sure the hell
did.”
Her shoulders shook with laughter as she hid
her face against Ben’s chest. “Boils? Chronic bad
breath?”
“
Nothing so crude.”
His fingers stroked through her hair softly. “Let’s just say
I’ve given him good reason to pay more attention to whether or not
he’s treating his lady friends with the proper care.”
She grinned. “I’d better get back
to work. The Tiffany lamps alone are going to take all
night.” Her hands began to tremble as she took a deep
breath. “Thank you for everything, Ben.”
He shook his head as if
she’d said something amusing. In the next moment she was in
his arms and headed toward the bed. “If you want to thank me,
you’ll ignore the Tiffany lamps and come to bed with me.
To
sleep
, that
is. I think we’ve had enough sex to last us at least seven or
eight hours.”
“
Maybe.” Fiona clung
to his shoulders and kissed his neck. “You don’t have to ask
me to stay. It won’t hurt my feelings if you need me to
leave,” she lied.
“
And you don’t have to
stay,” he countered. “But it might hurt
my
feelings a little if you wanted to
go.”
“
I don’t want to go.”
She felt almost shy, which was ridiculous, considering the way
they’d spent the evening. But she still had to fight the urge
to hide her face again when he dropped to his bed with her on top
of him. “This is going to sound crazy, but I feel…
naked.” She trailed the tip of one finger over his jaw.
“You don’t know my last name, but you’ve
seen
me. Who I am.”
He was silent for several
seconds, his dark eyes fixed on hers. Then he smiled.
“So look at me.
See
me. For who I am.”
She hesitated for a moment,
then slid her hand to rest on his chest and closed her eyes.
His skin warmed under her hand, and she felt his wariness,
his
weariness
. He was strong, and his protectiveness wrapped
around her, gentle and calming. Under it all was what he’d
seen of her, what he felt. Curiosity, fascination, and
fondness. Desire.
She leaned down and caught his mouth with
hers, pouring her own emotions into the kiss. He responded
with a low moan as he threaded his fingers into her hair and
cradled the back of her head. He kissed her with breathtaking
skill, a lazy exploration of her mouth that finally gave way to
something hotter, more demanding.
He kissed her until she was lightheaded,
then tugged gently at her hair and smiled up at her when she pulled
back. “You need rest, sweetheart. Sleep here.
Stay here.”
With the magical connection between them
still fading, Fiona knew he was talking about more than a
night. Still, her hesitation vanished, and she rested her
head on his shoulder with a soft, sure smile. She wouldn’t
leave, not now. Maybe not ever.
“
Yes.”
Wondering what other
drinks are on the menu? Check out this excerpt from
Kieran scanned the floor at Last Call and
wondered, not for the first time, which of the men in the crowd
would be the one to fuck his girlfriend.
Next to him, Eve argued with the bartender,
her voice husky and nervous. “I’m not discounting tradition. I just
wonder about the symbolism.”
“
You’d have to ask the
owner, ma’am. But it’s a drink with layers. A top and a
bottom.”
Eve’s cheeks heated, and Kieran heard the
way her heart raced even over the loud music and the noise from the
dance floor. “Oh.”
“
Do you want to order
one?”
The flashing lights hurt his eyes, and the
music was loud enough to rattle even normal eardrums. His
supersensitive ones were starting to question the wisdom of coming
to the club.
Still, it had taken him the better part of
six months to convince Eve to come with him, and he wasn’t going to
leave without getting what he’d come for. So he turned and glanced
at the menu in Eve’s trembling hand. “The Sunrise means you’re
looking for a top, right?” At the bartender’s nod, Kieran pulled
out his wallet. “What’s your name?”
It must have been an odd request, because
the man fidgeted a little. “Bernie.”
“
Well, Bernie.” He pulled
out his gold card and held it out between two fingers, trying to
ignore the way Eve held herself rigidly at his side. “We’ll need
two.”
The bartender glanced at Eve, whose
breathing had turned a little unsteady, before turning his
attention back to Kieran. “You don’t need two unless you’re both
participating. Just to avoid misunderstandings.”
As nervous as Eve was, she couldn’t hide the
longing in her eyes. Kieran grasped her hand and smiled
reassuringly. “We do everything together, Bernie. We’ll need two
drinks.”
The bartender turned away, and Eve’s fingers
tightened almost painfully around his. “You don’t have to do this,”
she whispered. “If this doesn’t go well… I don’t want to risk
losing you over something silly.”
He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed
her knuckles. “It’s not silly. It’s something you need. And you
can’t lose me, love. Not over this. So we’ll do it together.”
“
Thank you.” Her gaze
caught his, and she stared at him as if no one else existed as the
bartender’s voice cut through the music, spilling out of the
speakers to announce to the patrons of the club that the couple at
the bar had ordered a pair of Tequila Sunrises.
Eve was a strong werewolf -- it was the
reason they were at Last Call, after all -- and her sudden tense
nervousness evidenced itself in a prickling wave of power that
spilled out from her and raised the hair on the back of his
neck.
The wolf inside him whined. He steeled
himself against the urge to submit to her, to roll over and show
his belly, even in a figurative sense. He was used to it, to
fighting the instinct to cringe when Eve was wound up or
displeased.
More than a few people had abandoned their
dancing in favor of watching the events unfold at the bar, and
Kieran felt the appraising weight of their stares as he handed Eve
her drink and lifted his own. He knew what they were thinking; it
was nothing less than what he heard from his own pack all the
time.
You don’t belong together.
He raised his glass in a toast and arched an
eyebrow at Eve. “Tonight is for both of us,” he whispered. “No
regrets.”
“
No regrets,” she agreed in
a quiet, tense whisper before tipping her drink back.
The
Last Call
Series
http://www.moirarogers.com/last-call
Werewolf in
heat, looking for a temporary mate.
Contents under magical pressure.
Experience required.
Werewolf looking for a
dominant.
Supernatural looking for a first
lover.
Werewolf looking for a
submissive.
Looking for a partner immune to supernatural
seduction.
Too hot to handle--looking for a fireproof
lover.
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former
forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal
romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty
urban fantasy. Toss in a dash of whimsy and a lot of caffeine, and
enjoy with a side of chocolate by the light of the full moon.
By day, Bree and Donna are
mild-mannered ladies who reside in the Deep South. At night, when
their husbands and children are asleep, they combine forces to
unleash the product of their fevered imaginations upon the page. To
learn more about this romance writing, crime fighting duo, visit
their webpage at
http://www.moirarogers.com
.
(Disclaimer: crime fighting abilities may appear only in the
aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
