I wove through rush hour traffic on Bitsa, rush hour actually being more like rush afternoon, one huge snarl of traffic and exhaust fumes and boiling, wet heat. On the way home, I stopped for a few groceries that Evangelina had texted me that we needed, and managed to get a half gallon of milk and five pounds of flour into the saddlebags, fruit and veggies piled on top of the files I’d copied. Even with the traffic, I got back home just after seven. Evangelina’s rental car wasn’t parked in front, and the house was dark, no wonderful smells of cooking food greeted me when I parked Bitsa beside the back stairs and opened the door. After unloading the groceries, I slid two stakes into my hair and opened a Snickers bar to meet my caloric needs, eating standing in the dusk-dimmed room at the kitchen sink.
“I thought I heard someone.”
I identified Bruiser’s voice before I tried to draw a weapon, but my heart jumped painfully. He was standing in the opening between the kitchen and sitting room, the space dim, the houses close on each side keeping out the last rays of the sun. Now that I knew he was there, I could smell him, freshly showered; his aftershave, a citrusy scent that was all man, lay faintly on the air. I could tell he had been sitting alone in the silence, which seemed like a not-so-smart decision when one was under so much strain. It seemed like an act that might lead to depression or drinking or something even worse. “You said there would be dinner. A three-star chef.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but he did sound oddly detached, almost despondent.
“She’s her own woman. Comes and goes as she wants.” I crushed the Snickers wrapper and dropped it in the trash. “There’s steak in the fridge.”
“You know how to cook steak?” he asked, his voice warming slightly.
“Light a match under it. If it doesn’t kick, it’s dead and done. Toss it on a plate, put a baked potato to the side with sour cream, toss a spinach salad for the vegetable lovers, and pour a beer.”
“I’d like my steak with at least a pretence of brown on the outside.”
“Wimp.”
Bruiser laughed, the sound startled. When it passed he said, “Thank you. I needed that.”
“You’re welcome. Question. Did you know that Leo was ... let’s call it playing pimp with Kemnebi and me?” A bit of Beast growled out with the words playing pimp.
Bruiser stilled at the sound. He breathed out a soft, “No. I didn’t.” He shifted in the dark, an uneasy sound, edgy and brooding. His pheromones smelled of annoyance, which was a peculiar blend of uncertainty and anger. “I knew he was curious how Kemnebi would react to your scent.” His words grew stilted as he added, “That is bloody well all.”
I let that hang between us for a moment and said, “Grill’s on the side porch. Take it into the back yard to light it so we don’t burn down the upper porch. I’ll bring out the steaks and some beer.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to retire to your bedroom first, for some R and R? It would be”—he thought a moment—“healthy and healing for both of us.”
Healthy and healing? “First off, your timing sucks. And second, as pickup lines go that one is at the very bottom of awful. Rick bought me the grill. It was a one month anniversary gift.” Yet he hadn’t called.
Bruiser walked to me through the early evening shadows, a murky shape that undulated like a form seen through a rainrunneled window. My heart did a bebop move; I gripped the cabinet at the sink to steady myself, half ready to dart away, though I never ran—not ever. “I’m a one-man woman,” I said. “I don’t play around.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “Not with you.”
Beast reared up fast, seeing the man through my eyes. She purred once, the vibration in my mind so strong I thought it must have escaped, but Bruiser didn’t react. Beast breathed in through my mouth and nostrils, smelling, tasting, wanting him. Good mate, she thought, strong, powerful. She gathered herself, holding me down and distant. Bruiser stopped so close I could feel his body heat through our clothes. He paused, watching me, his eyes looking down at me, and it felt so odd to be small beside a man. I could feel his breath on my neck and chest, an unfamiliar sensation. I managed the word, “No.” It came out breathy and uncertain. I firmed my voice and said again, “No.”
Beast raised my head and breathed in his scent, holding me firm and steady. I couldn’t step away or run, and when I stood there, like an offering, Bruiser lifted a hand and slid it around my nape, holding me gently, his palm warm and calloused from weapon use. He raised his other hand, cradling my face, his fingers long and elegant and strong. His voice a burr of sound, he said, “I intend to make you regret that decision.” Slowly, he brought his face down to mine, the motion disorienting. I could hit him. Knock him out. Throw him out of the house.
Beast laughed. Good mate. Rick gone. Want this one.
And then his lips touched mine. Slowly. Gently. Sliding back and forth on my mouth. I could taste him, his breath warm on my skin. I closed my eyes and sighed. Parted my mouth. Rested my face in his hand. And he pulled away, just as slowly. “I’ll get the grill going.”
Beast released me, stepped back, and I propped myself on the counter. “I’ll bring the food.” My voice sounded normal, not breathy and aroused, which was a surprise. I intend to make you regret that decision. Crap. I was in trouble. Beast huffed with laughter and withdrew, but I could still feel her claws in my mind, pressing and withdrawing, and the breath-stealing sensation of Beast in control of my body. I watched Bruiser as he left the house, his image still wavering and shadowy through the window.