“There’s some attractive women here tonight,” Creighton pointed out. “I wouldn’t mind them checking out my meat.” He guffawed crudely at his own joke, and wandered off to mingle with the crowd.
“Why the pouty face?” a voice at his elbow said. He turned to see Melinda Kramer, the bear shifter who was one of the construction supervisors in his crew – among her other roles. Melinda was tall, about 6 feet, and had straight, shiny brown hair and an athletic build. She looked out of place in her low-cut evening dress; Melinda was built to wear jeans and a t-shirt, or camouflage. She didn’t do the girly thing very well.
“Because I’d rather be anywhere else on the planet right now,” Flint said, but he managed a smile for her. “What brought you here? Are you going to bid on some hot piece of manflesh?”
“What, you mean like you?” she said, flashing a hopeful smile.
His lips quirked in a wry smile in return, but he didn’t answer. Their history was long and complicated. A year ago, she’d risked her life to save his. They’d been on a mission to rescue a kidnapped operative in India, when things had gone south. The local thugs who’d kidnapped their man had gotten word of the rescue operation, and several of their team had been killed. Melinda had pushed him out of the way just as he was about to be shot, and she’d literally taken a bullet for him.
He felt obligated to her, and she was also damned good at what she did. Unfortunately, she was also infatuated with him, and he didn’t return her feelings. The more he pulled away, the harder she pushed. It was becoming increasingly awkward between the two of them.
When he didn’t respond, her smile faded. “Just kidding. I meant, I could bid on you to spare you having to go on a boring date with some bimbo who’s desperate enough to come to one of these things.”
He shook his head. There was no point in leading her on. “Save your money,” he said gruffly, and walked away, setting his glass of bourbon down on the bar.
Suddenly he felt an odd tingling, and a pulsing in his groin, and he looked around the room to see why.
Well, hello. This was an interesting development.
It was Coral, and she looked good enough to eat.
She was wearing a silky dress with a flared skirt. It dipped enticingly low at the neckline, revealing the ivory swell of her breasts. Her curls were piled on top of her head in a delightfully messy bun; he wanted to mess her hair up even more.
She was talking to one of the bachelors who were up for auction, a human whose flowing black locks were slicked back with hair grease. She laughed at something the human said, and he leaned in, staring straight down her cleavage.
Flint fought to suppress a growl. He didn’t like her laughing at what the man said. Was she actually flirting back, or just being polite? The thought of her being with the human sent a surprisingly strong surge of anger rippling through him, and he had to fight to keep his claws sheathed.
And suddenly, Flint’s plans took a complete 180.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, which was clearly a problem. The best way to get her out of his system was to have a quick fling with her. Just a casual roll in the hay. She wanted him too, didn’t she? He was sure he hadn’t read the signals wrong. He’d asked around, found out she’d only be here for the summer. That was perfect. They couldn’t get emotionally attached. He was only here to fulfill his mission, and once that was done, he’d also be moving on, as he always did.
Resisting this woman would be dangerous, he reasoned, because if she muddled his head like this, he couldn’t do his job properly. Therefore, for the sake of national security, he needed to have sex with Coral Colby. Preferably a lot of sex. The more sex he had with her, the better chance he’d have to get her out of his system, right?
He ignored the nagging little voice in his head which told him that one taste of her would never be enough.
The man was still talking to Coral. Before he could stop himself, he felt his face growing furry and his hands turned into huge paws, with long, deadly claws scything out. Glancing around him, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and forced his bear back down, and his paws turned into hands again.
The human put his hand on Coral’s arm, and Flint bit back on the growl that rumbled up from deep inside him.
As if Coral and he were connected by an invisible thread, as if she sensed the red hot rage emanating from his body in waves, a startled look flashed across her face and she glanced around the room and then her eyes met his. Her eyes widened with surprise.
Grinning, he began to push his way through the crowd, but then the MC’s voice sounded over the loudspeaker. “Gentleman, please assemble backstage. Ladies, take your seats.”
It took every ounce of self—control for him to turn and join the crowd of men streaming to the small side door by the side of the stage. What he wanted to do was race across the room and tear the man who was flirting with her to pieces.