Avet, Danica - Ain't No Bull [The Veil 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) (19 page)

Grant shifted in his recliner, the same recliner he’d masturbated in three days before, not that she was thinking of it or anything. He wore those reading glasses perched on his nose as they tried to find a link between the kidnapping attempt and his company’s winning bid. The stubborn bull seemed to think that was the only reason someone would want to hurt him.

Izzy knew better though. If the person after him was who she thought he was, Grant only had to have a passing acquaintance with someone of power and he’d be a target. Of course, being the owner of the security company in charge of the Ball meant Grant was in a very important position. He’d have the lives of some of the most prominent Veilerians in his care. That would be enough to make Ormond cream his pants.

She couldn’t tell Grant any of that though. She’d taken an oath to keep any information she heard to herself and her word was her bond, which was why this bet killed her. If she slipped just once and begged Grant to do all the naughty things she kept thinking about, he’d have her.

Shaking her head to clear it of yet another thought about Grant, his tongue, and her body, Izzy did her best to concentrate on the list, but a thought kept recurring.

Looking up at Grant, who was even hotter with the reading glasses on his nose, she asked, “What about your employees? The guys you were drinking with that night?”

He put the papers he was looking over down, slipping the glasses off his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah,” he said on a yawn. “I thought of that. There were four of us there that night, but they went out on assignment the next morning and it isn’t the kind of job that will allow me to call. I have to wait for them to come back from the field.” He stretched before settling back in his chair.

“How long are we talking here?”

“Let me think,” he yawned again, scratching his jaw. “They’re providing backup security for some vamp who works for a band. They’re touring right now, so it’ll probably be a few months before they get back.”

Izzy slumped. “Yeah, that is so not gonna help us here. Are you sure you can’t call them?”

The look he gave her suggested she have her head examined. “I’m not going to pull those guys off the job just because some nymphs tried to kidnap me.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “We’ll just wait to talk to Duffy.”

“Joy.” Yeah, more waiting. She hated waiting.

“Have you heard from your Cajun friend?” he asked offhandedly, though there was a deep current beneath his voice as though he really cared how she answered.

“Nah, it’ll take him a couple of days to locate everyone and then they’ll have to get together to chat before they decide anything.”

“I see.”

The sound of his hand rasping across his jaw made her nipples tighten in spite of her worry. She was jonesing for the minotaur in a bad way. His nostrils flared and she knew he was scenting her arousal. Damned bull.

The phone rang, breaking the tension. Grant reached over to answer it and Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. She was so going to take a break with BOB sometime today. As soon as the minotaur left the house, she promised her raging hormones.

“Strickland.”

Izzy could hear the panicked sound of a woman talking, more like shrieking, on the other end of the phone. Grant sighed deeply, swiping a hand over his face.

“Yeah, Ma.”

He paused, flicking a glance at Izzy that she couldn’t decipher. “Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know if I can—” He sighed deeply, getting to his feet to pace around the living room.

Izzy pretended to study the list when in fact she was staring at his tight ass as he stalked in front of her. Her mouth watered. He had the kind of ass meant to be gripped while he was pounding between a woman’s legs. Hello, nurse, she thought with an inward sigh. No, no! Bad Izzy!

“Fine, fine, I’ll be there in a little while,” he sighed into the mouthpiece, irritation evident in his tone. “Tell Dad we’ll talk about this when I come over.”

He faced away from her, one hand on his hip as he wrapped up his conversation. Light blue denim was meant to be worn by this male. Humming to herself, her mind positively swimming with images of what she could do to that ass, Izzy was slow to respond when Grant turned to face her.

If she had been paying attention, she might’ve been able to control her expression. As it turned out, her gaze was level with the bulge in the front of his jeans that seemed to grow right before her eyes. Her body was flooded with liquid heat. Mm, mm, she thought, licking her lips. His mama might be a bitch, but she made one helluva stud.

“…going to my dad’s ranch, do you want to come?”

“Come? Oh yeah…” she moaned, biting her bottom lip.

Grant’s body went completely still, though she could hear his breathing speed up. Her own heartbeat increased until they were both panting. Sweat gathered along her hairline as she watched that denim-covered cock move towards her. Oh yes,
come
to Izzy.

He stopped several feet away from her with a surprised laugh. The laughter yanked Izzy out of her absorption with his tackle and she raised her eyes. Grant’s gaze was still hungry, though there was an underlying thread of amusement in his baby blues. “Did you just say ‘Come to Izzy?’”

Gods, it was really hot all of a sudden
. Oh, no, it wasn’t hot, she was fucking blushing like a schoolgirl! “No, I said ‘she’d have a hissy,’” Izzy said easily. Sometimes it was a good thing to be a bullshitter, except apparently when dealing with bulls because Grant laughed harder.

“Dude, seriously, go to your mama and leave me in peace,” she insisted.

They stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours to Izzy, but couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds. It was never a good thing to back away from a shifter unless you wanted to give them the right to walk all over you, and Izzy was no one’s doormat. Maybe in Grant’s case, she’d let him use her as a sex toy, but not a doormat. She’d seen too many good women ruined that way.

“When I get back, you and I are going to have a serious talk,” Grant warned, his gaze holding hers as he traversed the room to the hook in the wall his keys dangled from.

“I hate talking,” Izzy mumbled, not really lying. She hated talking when it actually meant anything. Senseless, meaningless conversation? She was so there, but when things were important, she was more of a doer. Which was probably one of the reasons she had control problems, she thought ironically.

“Then I’ll do the talking and you do the listening, but we’re going to work some things out,” he insisted as he shrugged into a light jacket. Keeping his eyes on hers, he adjusted his cock in his jeans, sending the flames in her body even higher. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

With that cocky comment and a devastating smile, he was gone before she could reply. Izzy heard his truck start and snow crunch as he pulled away from the house. Sitting on the sofa in the quiet, she peered around. He was a security expert. She knew he had cameras in the house, and she wanted to find them before she looked for relief because she wouldn’t put it past the bull to spy on her while she played.

Seeing nothing obvious, she came to her feet to wander around the house not so aimlessly. She found five cameras in the living room alone, two in the kitchen, one in the small hallway leading to the bathroom, and several hidden under the eaves of the veranda that wrapped around the house. But she wasn’t too worried about those. Oh no, she wanted to make sure she had privacy in her room.

Sauntering back inside, she savored the warmth of the house and entered her room. She studied every nook and cranny, all the bric-a-brac that she suspected might hold a camera, but found nothing. Standing next to her duffle bag, she slapped her hands on her hips. She could just bypass the little pleasure session, but she needed relief. Grant had her so revved up she suspected just imagining what it would be like to have him inside her would set her off.

A smile of anticipation curved her lips as she opened her bag. BOB was probably going to need new batteries after she was finished with it.

Izzy frowned a bit. It wasn’t where she normally packed it. It had to have rolled to the bottom of the bag while in transit. She threw the duffle bag on the bed and upended it. Clothes, weapons, toiletries, and shoes poured out of the bag. But no BOB.

Her heart seized for a short moment. “No,” she mumbled as she sorted through her clothes and shoes. “It has to be here.” But no matter how much she tore her bag apart, there was no BOB.

Body shaking with impending rage and hopeless sexual frustration, Izzy dropped to her knees in the middle of her bedroom.

“No!” she howled at the ceiling.

* * * *

Grant sat in his mom’s kitchen sipping coffee and pretending to listen to his dad rant. The humongous vibrator he’d stolen out of Isola’s bag was sitting in the glove compartment of his truck. If he couldn’t have satisfaction, neither could she. This way they’d be miserable together until she finally saw the light. He’d smelled the change in her body, the ripening as it prepared itself for conception. It wouldn’t be long now. Mentally rubbing his hands together, Grant saw the path to his goal clear and free.

Clear and free except for the bull-headed minotaur sitting across the table from him. Paul Strickland was nearly five hundred years old, though he didn’t look a day over forty-five. Sharp blue eyes, the Strickland eyes, weighed Grant’s every move and found him lacking.

“Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind?” his father demanded for the fourth time in the half hour Grant had been at his parents’ house. “You’re a Strickland! We don’t bond outside the harem!”

“Paul,” Arabella said softly, warningly when Grant didn’t bother hiding his brewing anger. “Maybe we should just talk about this.”

Paul’s hand slammed on the table. “There ain’t nothin’ to talk about! I don’t know who this…this Amazon is, but she is not ruinin’ twelve generations of tradition!”

Grant stared his father in the eye. He respected his dad, thought he was a good, hardworking minotaur who deserved an easy retirement, but no way in the nine hells was he going to stand down. “That Amazon is going to be my bonded mate until the day I die. You can accept it or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh, Grant,” his mother cried out, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Paul’s face went from red to burgundy as his legendary temper soared. Black bled through the blue of his eyes until he was on the precipice of shifting.

That was when a loud boom shook the house. Grant jumped to his feet, running for the front door. This house had stood the test of time: range wars, Indian wars, blizzards, and Strickland children. It had to be an earthquake threatening the foundation, he thought with a pang to his heart. He might have issues with his dad, but he loved his parents and their house.

Again, the house shook, but this time the boom was accompanied by a gods-awful howling from the direction of the front door that made the hair rise on the back of his neck. Flinging open the door, he grunted as a big, female foot slammed into his stomach.

“Son of a bitch!” he gasped, bending over in an attempt to alleviate the pain of Isola’s kick.

“Where is it?” she roared, sinking her fingers in his hair and jerking his head up.

“Where’s what?”

“Where’s BOB?” she screeched, pulling his hair until tears burned his eyes.

“What in tarnation is going on out here?” Paul shouted. His deep voice boomed, rattling Grant’s eardrums. “Who is this woman?”

* * * *

Izzy’s head swiveled until she pinned the old minotaur with a stare that had him backing up slightly. “My name is Izzy Malone, he stole BOB, he needs to prepare to die,” she snarled, twisting her fingers in Grant’s hair.

Grant wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her tight enough to let her know he could hurt her if he wanted to. Normally, by this time in a fight, she would’ve sought to disable her opponent, but she was too damned pissed off to be nice. Reaching lower, she found one of his nipples and twisted. Hard.