“What do I get if I do that?”
The real question was: would he actually go so far as to kidnap her if she refused? She’d thought she’d known him. Not well—she’d be the first to admit that she hadn’t spent much actual one-on-one time with him. But the bayou town where they lived wasn’t a big place, socially speaking. The Breauxs might be known for being big and surly, but they also had a reputation for shooting straight and playing fair. And frankly, for having downright kinky tastes in bed. She’d been willing to work with that when she’d gone out with Jackson all those years ago. Was it possible he’d changed that much?
Was she engaging in wishful thinking?
“Me,” he said roughly. “You get me,
shug
.”
“Define
get
.”
“You’re my mate. I’m your mate.”
“You keep saying that.” The kitten in her hand purred, curling up in a ball. She rubbed a finger over its tiny head. All she had was her degree and her practice. While she still did Christmas and Thanksgiving with her parents and her sisters, somehow they’d drifted apart. They weren’t closer than a holiday meal and greeting cards. That was something, but she was…alone. She didn’t know what Jackson was offering, but he tempted her badly.
“You won’ be alone again.” His rough voice made her promises she didn’t know if he could keep.
“You can’t guarantee that.” People changed. They moved on, made new lives. She’d done that. “You didn’t even manage to have dinner with me.”
“My oldest brother—our Alpha—called me. He needed me to hunt. I had his back. I went.”
“And if he calls today? Tomorrow? Next week? Then you up and go again? Too bad, so sad?”
“What do you know about wolves?”
“I’m a vet. I know something.”
“When a wolf chooses a mate, he usually leaves his pack and sets up on his own. He builds a new pack.”
“By making wolf babies. I’m not signing up for that.”
Today
. Something inside her clenched and melted at the unexpected image of a dark-eyed baby.
“We can stay with my brothers. You’ll be Pack. Or we can do our own thing. But we’ll be doin’ it
together
,” he emphasized. “You and me. That’s the important part.”
Pretty words. Sweet, seductive words. Eventually, he’d change his mind. She couldn’t imagine Jackson settling down. He wasn’t the kind of guy who worked a nine to five and applied for a mortgage at the bank.
“Give me your two days. You wan’ to renegotiate on Tuesday morning, we’ll do that. For two days, though, you give me your loyalty. Your obedience.”
Wow. Her head wanted to curse him out for his arrogance, but her body had a whole different plan. He made her darn panties wet and that was the unfortunate truth. Still, she had to take a stand.
“We modern women aren’t big on that whole submissive thing.”
“I’m a two-hundred year old werewolf,” he growled. “I’m not always going to do things the way men like your sheriff would. But you like the idea of takin’ orders from me. I’d never hurt you. Let me show you what it could be like.”
“I—”
Am impossibly tempted.
“There’s nothin’ wrong with likin’ what you like. My job is to give it to you.”
He wouldn’t even make her give him the words, although the words were deliciously sweet. Her sweet face was a pretty shade of pink as she thought it over. She had no idea how badly she tempted him.
Choose me.
He’d been looking for her a long, long time. Most of his kind, they got lost in the animal. Shifted and shifted until there was no coming back and the man took backseat to the wolf.
She could save him from himself, make him more of a man and less of a beast.
“Two days?”
”You give yourself to me for two days,” he agreed. “One hundred percent. No holding back. You trust me to look out for you, to give you everything you need and to keep you safe.”
“This is crazy,” she muttered, but the sweet creamy scent of her arousal teased him and fierce elation swept through him.
She was going to say
yes
.
“Yes.” She glared at him. “This is stupid and all kinds of crazy, but yes.”
His.
His wolf howled inside him with savage satisfaction and the man had to touch her. Right out here, in the open space of her office, he decided. He’d make sure she understood exactly what she’d just agreed to. Flattening his hand on her belly, he slid his hand down into her heat where she was wet and slick with her juices.
“Right now?” She sounded appalled as she wriggled backward.
Uh-uh. He’d warned her and he desperately needed this taste of her. She’d agreed to stay and he planned on enjoying every minute she’d granted him.
“Open up.” She also needed to learn to obey him. Here, it was about her sexual pleasure. Out in the bayou, however, it could be a matter of her life or death. So there were some lessons she’d be learning now, no matter how little time they had.
She hesitated—and then she
did
it. Damn. Her trust was something special. She parted her legs a few inches giving him all the access in the world. He took advantage and ran his fingers down her folds, parting her. She gasped and rested her head on his shoulder, where he couldn’t watch her face.
“You’re goin’ to come for me,
shug
.”
He wrapped an arm around her and explored her with his fingers. His left hand gripped her waist, while he tucked his fingers inside her panties and stroked. Down the slick folds, his thumb testing her opening. Back up to circle her clit in a lazy circle. She was soft and slick, the sweetest peach he’d ever touched.
“Eden.” He growled her name, burying his face in her hair. She quivered as he drew another circle around her clit. She throbbed where he touched and, Christ, she was beautiful. Her quiet gasps and moans picked up tempo and he moved quicker, deeper. She came for him, just like that, panting his name in a little chant as she pressed hard against his hand.
She hadn’t just done that.
In the middle of her clinic, with his hand down her pants like they were in high school.
Nope. Not her. It must have been some other Breaux-crazy woman wearing her panties because, darn it, that orgasm had been one of the best in her life. She wanted to be all blasé about it, but he was a fantastic lover. He’d earned every
inch
of his reputation all right.
She moved away from him, wobbling a little as her legs decided whether they’d like to be in the business of standing up—or wrapped around Jackson’s waist. He steadied her with one big hand on her waist and she knew she was blushing. Maybe he did these kinds of things all the time, but she didn’t.
“Tell me everything you remember about the wolf’s injuries.” There. Her voice sounded calmer. More professional. At least she wasn’t gasping out
Jackson
and demanding
more
. Her face burned.
“Hey.” He caught her and turned her gently to face him. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Tell me about the wolf.”
“Uh-huh.” He stared at her calmly. “You don’ need to be embarrassed.”
That was easy for him to say.
“We’re not talking about it,” she said fiercely. He was a
guy
. Wasn’t talking supposed to be antithetical to his gender or something? Surely werewolf guys couldn’t be that different from the rest of mankind. “Tell me about your wolf.”
“I’ll explain later,” he said. “We need to get going now. Fifteen minutes,
shug
. Then we’re out of here.”
Right.
Later
was a euphemism she was all too familiar with. It meant
not now
,
ask your father
or
when Hell freezes over
. Clearly, she could take her pick. Jackson had snapped back into warrior mode as soon as he got his hands out of her pants. There was a lesson in that for her, and she didn’t think it was the one he’d been trying to teach her. Whatever had happened out there in the bayou—however he’d ended up injured so badly—he equally clearly didn’t believe the danger was over.
Two days. It was like a last-minute camping trip, right? And he’d sworn nothing and no one touched her while she was with him. She was skeptical. And yet…she’d said
yes
and she’d say it again. While she packed up in the fifteen minutes he’d given her, he’d borrowed her phone and made a few calls.
Apparently, he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he belong to a Pack. She knew there was an entire bunch of Breaux brothers. It was hard, after all, to miss that much Cajun goodness and the town simply wasn’t that large.
“I’m headin’ back into the bayou,” he barked at whoever answered on the other end. Did werewolves have command and control centers? She fought back a hysterical giggle.
“Yes. Tell Luc,” he snapped, channeling his Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly. “Okay, then
get
Luc. Put him on.”
There was a pause as Jackson paced back and forth, waiting. He was still wearing just the borrowed sweatpants and was barefoot. She didn’t know what his plans were, but surely he couldn’t intend to head out like that.
“Right. Got it,” Jackson growled, looking distinctly unhappy. “I’ll be waitin’ for you.”
“Pig-headed asshole?” she asked sweetly, mentally laughing at the frown Jackson tossed her way. While he waited for whoever or whatever his werewolf clan had decided to send his way, Eden fired off a couple of emails and made some calls. Her kittens would be well-looked-after.
The big black Ford rumbled up when her mental countdown clock hit five minutes to go time. Between the powerful engine and the jacked-up wheels, the truck screamed bayou badass. Jackson swung around from his endless scanning of the bayou as soon as the truck pulled in.
“Friends of yours?”
She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. But—if Jackson was calling friends and making his presence here that obvious—surely he wasn’t guilty as charged?
“My brother Luc. You can meet the family.” He flashed her a quick smile that didn’t quite disguise the fact that he was tight and on edge. His unease made sense when she caught sight of the truck’s driver.
The man who dropped down out of the truck really,
really
redefined big, bad motherfucker. He had to be well over six feet of sun-bronzed muscle. Dark hair had been cropped close to his head and his face was all hard lines and shadows. A pair of black sunglasses were pushed low on his nose, and he wore the Breaux uniform of faded blue jeans and motorcycle boots paired with a black cotton T-shirt. All of the Breauxs were large men, but this one won the prize. He reached into the truck bed and grabbed a duffel bag, then he headed toward her front door.
“Your company’s here.” She wasn’t tangling with that man.
Scary guy knocked on the door and Jackson jerked his head. “Let him in.”
He wasn’t the kind of man two inches of Plexiglass and a deadbolt kept out. His face was cold and closed. While he waited for her to open up, he puts his back to the door and scanned the bayou, where the water and the cypress trees crowded the edge of her lot. As soon as the deadbolt cleared the lock, he pushed the door open so swiftly that she’d have been hit if he hadn’t scooped her up and out of the way.
“You ready to roll?” He set her on her feet before she can do anything but suck a breath in. The question wasn’t for her anyhow.
“Just about.” He held out a hand for Eden, gesturing for her to move closer. Since this might be a clear-cut case of
out of the frying pan and into the fire
, she quickstepped it to Jackson’s side. Mr. Tall, Dark and Badass tossed the duffel bag to Jackson, who caught it one-handed and tossed it onto her desk. The place had never seen so much action.
Jackson tucked her behind him, opened up the bag, and started rifling through the contents.
Holy. Moly
. The cargo pants and boots weren’t unexpected, but Jackson’s brother had also packed a small arsenal. Eden counted four handguns and an extensive collection of hunting knives.
Jackson didn’t seem surprised, however, by his new wealth of weaponry. Nope. He examined and sorted the gear with an ease that spoke of familiarity.
“Hit me.” Luc motioned for Jackson to report. “Run down the situation for me.”
“We’ve got a human down. Cruz Jones found the body.”
Luc nodded. “That’s good. Cruz will cover where he can.”
“The sheriff’s crooked?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could remind herself that now would be an excellent time to engage her verbal filter. She didn’t really need to piss off Tall, Dark and Scary. And yet…darn it. Cruz’s involvement just proved she had no idea how to pick guys.
The sardonic curl to Luc’s mouth warned her even before he explained. “Nah. The sheriff’s a shifter too. He’s got a good nose.”
Wow. She hadn’t seen that one coming. “He’s a werewolf?”
Jackson shook his head. “Fox. I think. At least, his sister is. She mated with our brother, Dag.”
She sank down into her office chair to think that one over. She’d almost asked Cruz out on a date. And he was a shifter.
“How many of you are there?”
“Not that many.” Jackson stripped off the sweatpants and dressed rapidly in a pair of cargo pants, yet another black T-shirt, and military boots. Rapidly, he stowed knives and handguns in various pockets.
She was so in over her head here.
“Why are you here?” Luc’s steady drawl brought her back to the present moment. “We’ve established what happened to Red Shug out there in the bayou, but now I wan’ to know what’s up with you.”