A Werewolf to Call Her Own (Mystic Isle, Book 2) (10 page)

He didn’t look happy to see her.

Her previous lack of confidence came rushing back and she started to back away. But she heard his deep voice in her mind.

Running away again, vamp?

The question was so smug, so unlike the man she’d welcomed into her body that she stopped cold. All of her excitement fizzled and popped like a bubble.

His lips lifted in a half snarl/half smile.

Ceara had studied her covenmates relentlessly these last few months. The exotic beauties who enraptured wealthy businessmen and royalty with their curvy bodies and come-hither smiles… They’d taught her how to hold herself, how to look at a man, how to snare his attention. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

What she hadn’t learned was how to handle her emotions.

She’d come.

She was either very brave or very stupid. Either way she had a lot of guts showing her face after what she’d done. Unable to help himself, Maxim swept his gaze over her; his cock tightened at the sight of her poured into the sleek red dress. It left nothing to the imagination, his or any other male’s on this rooftop. That just pissed his beast off even more.

It was as if she was flaunting herself for everyone to see. Taunting. Tempting.
Look at me. Look at how beautiful I am. Unattainable. You know you want me.

Her long, dark tresses cascaded over her naked shoulders, stark against her lovely skin. Shock and hurt filled her violet eyes as she focused on his face. Unlike the woman he’d met during the winter solstice, this one stood with her shoulders back and her head held high. And yet, there was still a hint of innocence about her, as if she was trying to project a confident exterior but inside she was at war. Her tongue licked her crimson lips and the punch to his gut was immediate. Only feet away, surrounded by candlelight and earthy green palm fronds, her scent swirled around him, drugging him. She seemed like a dream come to life. Too beautiful to be real.

After his seventh glass of Scotch this evening he’d started to wonder if he’d dreamed those nights in her arms. Her laugh. Her smile just before she’d jumped off the zip-line platform. She’d been so shy, slowly blossoming under his attentions. And by solstice he’d been begging to see her again. She’d promised to return this year. To meet him.

And he’d been prepared to wait, knowing she was worth it. But week after week, it became painfully and frustratingly obvious that there was something wrong.

A deep moan hummed through the air and her gaze swerved away from him to the couple at the next table over. He glanced to his right. Demons… they’d hump anything, anywhere, at any time. She watched them for a long moment before focusing on him again. There was something hot and needy in her eyes. Something he longed to give her.

Annoyed that he could feel anything at all for her after she’d practically castrated him, he downed the last of his Scotch. He’d been planning what he would say to her for months. But never in that plan had he imagined how drawn to her he’d be. The ocean breeze did little to cool his temper… or libido.

He should have known that seeing her again would tie him in knots. He should have known that seeing her would make him want to rip the dress from her body and lick her all over.

But his cock reminded him of how unfulfilled he’d been lately. That she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared.

“Nothing to say for yourself, then?”

Those beautiful violet eyes he’d lost himself in turned to ice. Hard, focused, with her brows pulling down. Her lips twitched, landing in a sneer.

“You know I only run from demons.”

With that, she turned and fled.

The way she spat the last word at him said she now included him in that classification. He was surprised that her words wounded him. He didn’t want to feel anything for her at all. Certainly not sorry that he’d so obviously hurt her.

Scotch forgotten, he raced after her, catching up just as she stepped onto the elevator. He dove between the closing doors.

Perhaps she deserved an apology.

He never should have taunted her with her fears. Not even when his own fears were eating him alive.

She hit the ground floor button and stepped away from him. The elevator swooped downward. He glanced at her out of the corner or his eye. Her lips were pursed into a thin line and her jaw worked back and forth. Even bubbling with fury and disappointment, she was beautiful.

He slapped the big red stop button and the car jolted to a halt. Turning toward her, he opened his mouth to apologize.

“So was this your idea of a joke?” Inwardly, he cringed as soon as the words left his lips. He wasn’t the least surprised to see her perfectly plucked eyebrows rise toward her hairline. She’d let her bangs grow out and she didn’t look like the shy, mousy vamp he’d first met. No. She was coiffured and elegant, her eyes full of carnal knowledge.

He’d given her that.

And now she was using it against him. The showy clothes. Crimson lips. Fuck-me heels. He bit back a curse.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

He put his hands on his hips, not trusting himself or his libido to touch her.

He leaned toward her, realizing his mistake the instant that her scent hit him square in the nose. Her unique coconut and honey fragrance tickled his senses, made him want to rub against her, sniffing out every spot where she’d dabbed perfume. He kept a tight leash on the beast demanding he push aside her skirt and fuck her where she stood.

She swiveled to face him, a hand coming up to rest on her hip. “Shouldn’t that be my line? After everything we shared three months ago, you summon me and now you act like a bear. I don’t deserve that, Maxim. I did nothing wrong.”

His jaw dropped. He felt cartoonish.

“Nothing -- wrong?” He blew out a breath so he didn’t explode. Turning away from her, he shoved his hands through his hair. Nothing wrong? Climax wasn’t just about pleasure. Not anymore. Now it was about being a man. Whole. Complete. Able to reproduce for the good of the pack!

He let out a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. Pivoting back, he eyed her. “I haven’t come in twelve long weeks, woman. I’m sure you had a good laugh. But you will remove your spell or curse, or whatever the hell you did to me. This is very much your fault.”

The venomous words hovered in the air between them. Her chin tipped up, both hands settled on her hips and she stared at him head-on, her eyes flashing silver, full of emotions he couldn’t read.

“Vampires don’t dabble with spells. Or curses. It’s not my fault you can’t get it up.”

Maxim didn’t know who was more startled by the sassy words tumbling from her lips. For the briefest of seconds, her old shyness came back and she dropped her gaze. He ground his back teeth together and summoned his control.

Cheeky little…
Biting back his annoyance, he turned back and placed a hand on the wall over her right shoulder, leaning in close. She didn’t back down. “Getting it up isn’t the problem, sweetheart. And it’s very much your fault since you’re the last woman I—”

Her lips twitched.

How could she find this humorous? He couldn’t come and she was smirking about it. “You find this funny?”

She shook her head. “No.” Placing a hand over his heart, she tipped her head forward an inch. She looked so bemused. Innocent and yet earnest. “I didn’t curse you. Maxim. There has to be another explanation.”

Another explanation? Did she think he hadn’t considered that? He’d considered everything. But she spoke so quietly, so confidently, he found himself wanting to believe her. Which was preposterous. He couldn’t let himself be swayed by her sweet voice.

With every day that passed, his need for a mate grew. If he hoped to bring stability to his pack and his new position as Alpha, he’d need a strong woman at his side. But what woman would bind herself to half a wolf… one who couldn’t give her children? He might as well chew off his damn leg. He’d be just as useful.

If it got back to them that their Alpha had gone to Mystic Isle to blow off steam and came home unable to… well, come… he’d be the laughing stock.

No. He could get this mess sorted out. He’d do whatever it took to get her to release the spell. And then he’d start afresh. Find a mate. And a new beginning of his own. When that moment arrived, he’d be ready.

She watched him closely, her lips parting. A hand slid around the back of his neck, so familiar, her skin so cool against his. He had her right where he wanted her. She looked ready to beg for his kiss. He’d give her what she wanted. Take what he needed. And then he’d demand release from the binding spell.

“Whatever the explanation… perhaps you should take care of the problem.”

Ceara watched the steady thump of blood through the vein in his neck. What would he taste like? Sweet and rich? Dark and delicious?

Suddenly his words pushed past her errant thoughts. Take care of the problem? Did he mean—

But his head was already descending. And despite her anger she found herself raising her lips for his kiss. She’d dreamed of this. Of him. Three months was entirely too long to wait to know his possession again.

His lips sealed across hers, and the waves of desire she’d been holding at bay, flooded her. She clutched the lapel of his jacket in one hand, and tightened her grip around his neck with the other. And gods help her, she kissed him back.

She’d missed this. Missed him. Missed the way he made her feel. So hot, lusty and in danger of losing control. The way he stole all her wayward thoughts right out of her head and helped her live in the moment.

His kiss was firm, demanding, just like his touch. Hands skimmed down her sides, tugging her hips against him. He pushed her with his whole body, pressing her against the wall until there was nothing between them but fabric.

There was nothing gentle or coaxing, nothing sweet or slow like he’d been last time. No. He was taking what he wanted. And heavens help her, Ceara couldn’t deny him.

But as quickly as the kiss began, he pulled back. She was slightly embarrassed at how quickly she’d lost herself in his embrace.

“I’ve never seen a vampire blush like that before,” he said, his voice soft with awe.

There he was again. The man who’d charmed and rescued her. But which one was the real Maxim Ciolek? Could she risk it? The first step was making him see that she hadn’t put a curse on him. Only then would she learn the truth.

“Take me back to your room.”

Chapter Eleven

Ceara sucked in a painful breath as the doors opened to the penthouse. She was right back where she’d started. With one major change. The man with his hand at her lower back was completely different.

Had it only been three months ago that he’d stepped off that elevator, orchids in hand, asking her to meet him again? It felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed since then.
They
had changed since then.

Is this your idea of a joke? Idea of a joke. Joke.

She wasn’t laughing. Couldn’t stop the words playing through her mind like an old record. Round and round.
Joke. Spell. Problem.

Wordlessly, she led him into the bedroom. Every part of her, every sense, every cell, was focused on the man behind her. Don’t give in. Don’t let him know he hurt you.

“Take off your clothes.” She trailed a finger along the polished wood dresser and hoped she appeared more in control than she felt.

“Why?”

She turned back to him and cocked her head. In her sultriest voice she said, “I’m going to take care of your problem.”
And prove you wrong.

Her heart ached for what might have been. But if he thought she was a lying, scheming vamp… well, she’d deal with him accordingly. She’d spent far too many years living with parents who thought she was a fragile creature, incapable of breathing on her own, much less living. She was not about to roll over and play dead for anyone else.
Ever
.

It hurt to watch him. He was far too handsome. His size and strength still called to her, made her feel small and feminine. And her body remembered every touch. Every whisper of his fingers over her skin, down her sides, against her --

His hands jerked his tie loose. She watched silently as his jacket hit the floor, then his shirt.
Take care of the problem.
How could such tender lips inflict such callousness? He toed off his shoes and shoved down his slacks.

Well, he hadn’t lied about being able to get it up. She glanced over at the bed.

“On your back, please.”

He gave her a curious glance but did her bidding. In a burst of energy, he jumped and landed in the center of the bed. Arms behind his head, cock pointed toward the sky, he gave her a hot, challenging look. Expectant and pleased.

Did he think he was going to get lucky? That she would just strip off her clothes and fall into bed with him?

Non
. That could not happen. But she would fix him. No matter the cost to her foolish heart. She would fix his little problem and then be on her way. Out of his life. Out of his penthouse.
Off this island
.

Smiling to herself, she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. “Did you know each room in Mystic Isle is equipped with its own toy store?” She pulled out pair of restraints and used her fangs to rip open the packaging. “A friend mentioned it.”

Holding them behind her back, she faced him. She hadn’t thought through this part of her plan. How does one tie an angry wolf down? Or rather, convince him to be tied down.

Projecting her inner Valencia, she skewed her lips into a smirk and approached the bed.

“I was surprised when Avery told me what these rings are for,” she said, hoping to sound casual and more in control than she felt. Now to do this right and not make a fool out of herself. She dropped one restraint onto the bed next to him and watched his eyes go wide. Holding the other one in front of her, she made a show of peeling back the Velcro. “But then, this is a sex resort.”

“You… you want to be tied up?” The words rumbled out of him, confusion lacing his tone.