Southern Shifters: Scents and Scentability (Kindle Worlds Novella) (4 page)

The worry sobered her and she raised her chin. “Because we really don’t know each other. We’ve spent the last three weeks in a series of shock and avoidance.” Truth. Stark. Naked. Vulnerable. “You want to see me do something I’ve never done.”

“Yes,” he admitted without an ounce of shame or regret in his tone. With deliberateness, he let his attention wander over her. Her breasts seemed to swell under the weight of his focus. “We can tap dance around the fact that you know, I know you’re interested and that you know I’m interested. Or we can pretend this conversation never happened and go back to the status quo.”

The status quo?
Her frustration and his attending to his pleasure while she slept? “Is there not a third option?”

“Not one either of us is free to explore.”
The intrusion of harsh reality…

“We are miles from anyone ever knowing anything. The world lies out there, beyond the snow.” His Council. Hers. They didn’t have to know. The experiment had nothing to do with their interactions… “Unless you’re just playing with me.”

The bowl vanished from his hands, then he cupped her face and his mouth closed over hers. His lips were so much softer than she’d expected, but also firm and demanding. Her thoughts short-circuited. A sizzling awareness ran riot before his mind crashed against hers.

Fuck her and get it out of our systems. We can do that…

The blunt brutality of the thought burst the sensuous bubble encasing her. She flattened her hands against his chest and pulled away. “Stop.”

He released her immediately. That his breathing seemed as ragged as her own offered her no surcease. He wanted to eliminate a problem—a physical purge of the desire he scented on her and responded to with a primitive need. “You were right the first time.” The words hurt her to say, but she slid off the sofa and retreated from him. “We can go back to the status quo.”

Without awaiting his response, she fled up the stairs to the loft bedroom and closed the door. Inside, she leaned against it and closed her eyes. Only steps away, the railing overlooking the living room reminded her she had no real privacy. Bennett, too, was only steps away below the wooden rail.

Everything in her ached, and her lips were swollen from his kiss. A part of her wanted to surrender to the primal drive to couple feeding his beast. The rest of her recognized the trap for what it was. She was allowing her emotions to get involved, and it would be utterly counterproductive to everything the Council sent her there for.
Look at how I’ve avoided testing the pheromones.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she swiped it away. Look at her, hating the fact he didn’t chase her up the stairs.

She’d made the right decision.

They needed the status quo, and she’d test the pheromones the following day—beginning with the damn repellant.

D
arcy confused him
. Only his grip on the sofa held him rigid when she fled up the stairs. The cat leaned forward, the desire to pursue obliterating all the reasons why teasing her and trying to provoke a sensual reaction were bad ideas. Kissing her had been a terrible idea. One taste and he wanted more, dammit. Rising, he retrieved her abandoned food and stalked toward the stairs.

Then a sniffle of sound struck him. Turning, he glanced at the railing above leading into the loft of her bedroom. Each night, after she turned in, he’d listened the quiet rustling of her preparing for bed, tortured himself with the images of her sliding beneath the sheets. So quiet. So proper—except when she absolutely wasn’t. Contradiction layered upon contradiction. Her questions excited him, as did her daring directness, until…

He bared his teeth. When she’d said,
We are miles from anyone ever knowing anything. The world lies out there, beyond the snow
… he and his cat had latched onto the idea. The animal had no reservations, no doubts, and absolutely no restraint. Convincing himself to defy conventions, however, meant acknowledging the lust might lead to more. He was too solitary a being not to recognize the need he’d begun to experience around her.

Need to touch. Need to care for. Need to simply be.

Another sniffle. Balancing her food bowl, he took three steps back and then darted forward. One, two, three and a leap carried him to the railing. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he found her, pressed against the door, the heel of her hand against her mouth, smothering sound.

Tears streaked her cheeks. His beast bucked against him. It wanted him to fix it. Her eyes widened at his appearance. Sliding over the railing easily, he pointed to the bed. “Go, sit.” Then he held out the food. “Eat.”

Outrage bloomed in her expression. “You don’t get to order me around.”

Probably not, but neither he nor his cat cared. She was in pain. Pain they’d caused. It was time to fix it. “Sit and eat.” He growled the order and she pushed away from the door in one harsh jerk of a move. The uncertainty in her steps, the awkwardness flushed by anger, were his doing. When she took the bowl from him, it was all he could do not to snatch her close and hold her.

Then she ignored him, presenting her back and walking away. The cat-like dismissal tickled him. Was she even aware of what she told him with every single step? Forcing himself to stand still, he endured her stripping off her clothes after she set aside the bowl. He devoured the smooth line of her back. Not once did she look at him or give him a view of her breasts. No, she subjected him to the glory of her ass, and he was right, she was every bit the sturdy, curvy woman he’d imagined beneath her clothes. The dimple of her ass beckoned him, as did the warm width of her hips.

God, she would be a handful. The musk of her desire filled the room. Despite her hurt, she still wanted him. Closing his eyes, he drank in the scent. His cock ached and his beast settled some. They were close to her. The urge to rub against her, to mark her with his scent, so he could taste the way it would blend with hers, welled through him.

When he opened his eyes, he found her standing in a shapeless, oversized t-shirt which struck her mid-thigh. Her legs were bare, but he knew from experience she slept in socks. Sure enough, there they were—pink, fuzzy, and hugging her toes. He’d as yet to see her bare feet.

Did she paint her nails?

“Take off your socks.” The quiet order resonated with the hunger he tried to suppress. She sat on the bed and raised her eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.” He had no other reason to offer her. Settling against the railing, he maintained his distance. The darkness of the loft room didn’t inhibit his vision at all. Instead, he relied on his night sight to caress her with his gaze.

Her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Soft lips, yet full of demand when he’d kissed her. Her scientific restraint and poise fascinated him. Even the terms she’d used—so clinical and yet so direct. He’d compared her to a she-cat, but he shouldn’t have. The females he’d known were used to demanding what they wanted and getting it. His Darcy didn’t seem to share the last proclivity.

When she tugged off one sock after what seemed like an eternity, he smiled. Passionate pink glimmered on each nail. Bright. Colorful. Another layer to the woman he could add to his growing fascination. “Is that your favorite color?”

“The pink?” Her question held a note of surprise.

“Yes.” Nothing she wore reflected the interest, and a wealth of emotion wrestled across her expression. She had no game face. No way to disguise her internal struggle. Among others of his kind, he’d learned early to school his features. They revealed a great deal via scent and body language. Some were more open than others, but he’d learned at a young age to guard his thoughts and his reactions. If necessary, he could even disguise his scent—one talent he’d never shared with anyone, not even the Council which offered him sanctuary.

“It’s a pretty frivolous color.” Her clinical answer displayed judgment. Embarrassment heated her scent and her face.

“So?”

“So, I’m a scientist. I don’t have time for frivolity. I have work to do.”

He’d known she was in the mountains for research. “Does having pink toenails interfere with your work?”

A frown, and her shame fled. Incredulity stamped her features. “Not at all.”

“So, it’s your favorite color.”

“Actually…yes and no. I think purple was my favorite, but I’m developing a fascination with blue.”

His cat preened. He’d never given much thought to the color of his eyes, but she met his gaze when she said it. Shyness entered the fray of emotions rioting over her face. So much earnest need and curiosity warred with her earlier irritation and embarrassment. She was an absolute delight.

It decided him.

“You said we don’t know each other.”

She nodded once. When he glanced at her bowl, she tugged her sock back onto her foot and slid her legs beneath the covers. He didn’t chastise her for removing them from view. Instead, he folded his arms. Only once she’d retrieved the bowl of stew and taken a bite did he continue.

“Tell me about you.” He didn’t want to know. Correction, he
shouldn’t
want to know. His cat stretched within him. They both longed to hear her speak, to tell them all the things they needed to know, so they could study their prey. Once they understood her, they could stalk her properly and lure her into their bed.

The realization startled him. He would have her. The only matter to be settled was when, not if. Hunger to touch her flared deeper within, and he ached for it.

“What do you want to know?” The shyness in her voice beckoned him. She didn’t know how to answer, or maybe she was reticent for all the reasons they’d listed. “This is a bad idea.” Her next words confirmed his supposition.

“I don’t care.” He didn’t. Pulling his shirt over his head, he dropped it on the floor, aware of her frozen stare as he reached for his jeans. “I’m not going to pin you to the bed and have you,” he told her.
No matter how provocative the idea might be
. “I’m going to make this easier for both of us. I want to touch you, and you want to touch me.”

“We shouldn’t…”

“Again, I don’t care about shouldn’t.” Stripping the denim away, he ignored his cock, engorged and seeming to lean in her direction. His body didn’t give a damn about would, should or could. The more time he spent with her, the more his brain got on board with the cat.

“I’m a cat. We enjoy tactile contact, and I think you do, too.” He hadn’t forgotten the way her caresses across his skin lit him on fire and left him wanting more.

Her gaze dipped to his waist then up again. “You didn’t want me to touch you.”

Confession time
. “I lied. You need to know me, and you need me to know you.”
I need to know you, as well.
The thought slipped away from him, and her mouth formed a sensuous ‘o’. Every time she did that, all he could think about was sliding his cock into that beautiful mouth and seeing those gorgeous lips wrapped around him. Ignoring the wanton thought for a moment, he let his response sink in before adding. “Tonight…tell me about you. Tell me anything you want.”
Tell me everything.
Another slip, and he could almost feel her jerk of excitement. Could she read his mind?

Sometimes…when you project.
The sweet answer steadied him.

Then know I want you, but only the terms you’re comfortable with. I won’t force you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want.

A shiver raced over her and the bowl trembled. She needed to eat. Reaching for his cat, the animal raced forward. Fur spread over his body and his muscles and bones rearranged themselves—the agony and ecstasy of embracing his other half—and then he stood on four legs. Delight filled her focused expression.

May I?
He directed the thought toward her, and she nodded slowly. Three steps and he jumped then landed on the open bed next to her. Rapt, she stared at him until he closed the distance and made a place for himself next to her. Settling his head on her thigh, he drank in her scent and every part of him relaxed. Yes, they wanted her, but they were close to her, and she let them touch her. It was more than enough…
for now.

Eat. Tell me about you.

The silence stretched, fraught with possibilities, but slowly the tension in her drained away. “Can I pet you?”

Please.
His eagerness, however, needed to be tempered with practicality.
After you eat.

Her descending hand froze then she began to spoon the stew into her mouth with swift bites. The speed at which she consumed the meal tickled him, and he purred. The muscle in her leg tensed, and he rubbed his cheek against her coverlet, marking it. His purring increased until it rumbled through him.

“I love your purr.”

The compliment delighted him further.
It is only a sound.

“Says the cat.”

Yes.

“Did you know your thoughts purr, too?”

Surprise.
No.

He heard smugness in her tone and a hint of happiness.
I love the sound of your thoughts, too.
Her mental voice stroked him almost as effectively as her fingers had his chest.

Then we are in agreement.
He’d never cared for mental communication with others. The invasiveness, it was too personal.

“I can talk.”

No.
Quickly, he reassured her.
I like the sound of your voice in my mind.

The spoon scraped the bottom of the empty bowl.
Really?

Yes.
No artifice. No lies.
Tell me about you?

After setting the bowl aside, she touched tentative fingers to his forehead. He lay quiescent and let her explore as she began to stroke his head.
I always wanted a pet when I was growing up.

Why didn’t you get one?

Animals are distracting. Pets are messy.
Loneliness echoed in between her words. He rubbed his cheek on her leg then raised his head so she could continue her ministrations. Her nails were short, but she scratched him gently and the sensation relaxed him even more.

So are people.