Her Lycan Lover (6 page)

“Don’t try. We both know precisely the state of that room and Jesus. Quinn, you’re wearing a freaking pillow. Meet me downstairs. Bring clothing. I mean come clothed.” She spun around and sauntered down the hall. The sway of her curved hips hypnotized him until the slam of the stairwell door hit center in his brain where a hangover was currently housed.

She was killer with her skintight suits that framed her perfect arse and her refusal to smile. He doubted she’d give him the time of day had they not been required to pitch in and assist in the running of the Den in Shawn’s absence. What would happen when Shawn’s absence became permanent? He needed Sherry to manage this place so he could do his day job. Stepping on her toes, never a good idea in his world. She sure as shite didn’t need his help. Sherry could run the place with her eyes closed minus any need of oversight.

He shook his head as he went back inside the room, tossed aside the pillow, and searched for his trousers. Piles of clothing were strewn around the room, a mixture of men’s and women’s belongings.
Same vista, different day
.

A moment of rambling and he was dressed in smoke laden clothes. Nice and easy minus socks. Almost out the door, except a shiny patch of metal snared his attention. He bent down for a closer look. A lighter. He picked it up. On closer inspection the thing was fashioned out of 14 karat gold. He studied the rose insignia. Probably some sorority and it belonged to one of the woman. He laid it on the nightstand.

Exiting the room, he focused his thoughts on his day ahead now that sunlight had breached the horizon. Sunrise was his favorite time, when the remnants of the night generally faded. But today, the memory of his dream had plagued him upstairs. After seeing Sherry this morning, his dream lingered longer as though some door had been left unlocked.

He ran his hand over his face. Definitely, the coating of grim he had going on required a shower. Quinn scratched the stubble covering his jaw. And a shave might be in order considering he had court not to mention Sherry. Damn, it was getting late. He pulled out his phone and texted the cleaning crews to get someone up straightaway to sort out the remnants from the party. Heading down the backstairs to his office. Once his phone was in hand, it would take an act of surgery to disengage but heck, this was the life he’d carved out for himself. His own law firm and several lucrative businesses kept him on his toes.

No reception in the stairwell. He pushed open the door on the first floor. Four bars on his screen and he pressed the icon for Eleanor, his secretary. Somewhere, maybe inside the restaurant, he heard Sherry conversing with the staff. Cautiously, he walked down the hall, reading a text from his secretary. He needed to speak with Eleanor, but held off dialing. No need to draw attention to himself and provoke her highness into another display of her self-righteous talons.

As he turned to go into his office, he glanced down the hall. Sherry was standing with her back to him, talking with the chef. Daylight spilled in from the front room windows just beyond her. Curvaceous, petite and a fireball—she was the goddess of distraction in his book. The silhouette of her body cut a perfect hourglass figure through the lighting coming down the hall. His brain stuttered.

Sherry was all woman.

And a damn mystery.

Might be one of the few people he actually knew who kept things on the down low. Sherry was virtually stealth on her desires, except for the clues from her body language he mooched. She was all business. Every lovely inch and he’d regarded her from afar too many times to mention. Easy for her to keep to her ivory tower frost. He finished dialing once safely within his office.

Eleanor would be driving, on her way to the law firm. She’d worked for him so long, she had keys to each of his residences and authorization on his bank accounts, and she played interference with his family on a routine basis.

She answered. “I was just about to ring you.”

“Please tell me I’m not on at 10 a.m. in front of O’Connor.”

“You’re not,” she exhaled. “It was moved up to nine.”

“By whose damn authority?” he asked, tempering his roar.

“By the judge. Where are you?”

“Not far. My office in LoDo. I’ll need you to have the file delivered. No time to swing by the office.”

“Since you called and you’re up, I think that can be arranged. Or have you yet to retire for the evening?” Her chiding laughter made him button his lip. “Your parents are in town this weekend. You have a dinner reservation at the club.”

“You’re in rare form. Why on Earth are they coming to the Den?”

“Stow it, Hercules. I’ve yet to lose my marbles. I reserved a table at Ledges. Your father wants to get in a round of golf.”

“Christ El, you nearly scared ten years from my life.” He tugged off his shirt and scanned the daily news on his computer screen. “I’ll need a couple of my clubs repaired. The iron is busted and one of the woods cracked. Any more surprises this morning?”

Sooner or later, his parents were bound to make a showing. They’d queried him on several occasions about the businesses he owned in LoDo beyond his running the family law firm.

His whole family was on a need to know basis and what he provided was sketchy at best, especially about the Den. He’d filled them in on the various restaurants and galleries to keep the conversation away from the shifter club. Still, somehow they seemed to know he had a finger in the Den and didn’t let it rest, not when their sterling reputation was at stake. They’d taken to calling his ventures ‘mad hobbies’ as if he were a teenager and LoDo a passing phase. Only the law firm was considered serious. And only because his father and uncle were partners. Quinn fully expected to hear something about growing pains during their visit.
So
not humorous considering the time he’d spent roaming the Earth.

“It was good to hear you get ready to howl.” El snickered. “I’m in the firm garage. I’ll send the file to the Judge’s chambers. Then you’re clear until noon. Meeting with the board. Probably in preparation of your father’s visit,” she mused out loud.

“I suppose. Nothing we can do. He’ll go ballistic. Same as last year. Same as next year.”

“Buck up. The firm is in good standing. Three jury verdicts this year alone. You recouped with some new companies. You’re not responsible for a worldwide nose dive in the economy, Junior.”

“Did anyone tell you you’re priceless, El?”

“I hear better with vacation time. Say next Thursday?”

“Fine. Take one of mine. You deserve it. Meanwhile, I need for you to pull some property records. The old Carrigan warehouse. See what activity is going on? What properties are changing hands, if any? That sort of thing.”

“Will do. Anything specific you want? Comparable properties? You’re not thinking of buying another building over there?”

“Enough to say I had an offer and now… I’m curious.”

“Okeydoke. I’ll get your file over and work on the warehouse. Remember, O’Connor’s son plays for Denver. Punter. I’ll have your clubs taken for maintenance. You cracked one the last time they were serviced. Titanium. Think you can watch it?”

“That depends on the conversation this weekend.” He laughed, remembering the last time he’d swung his wood and it had fractured. That happened often. If he didn’t pay attention, he’d habitually break objects with his Lycan strength. “Good bit of info. Thanks.”

He gingerly tossed the phone onto his desk and kicked off his shoes on the way to his private bathroom. Once inside he removed his trousers. Shit, he needed to text El about his dry cleaning. The door to his office opened and he stopped midstride across the carpet.

“Silk boxers? Better than a pillow.” Sherry stood on the threshold. “Jesus, do you own clothing befitting your profession?”

“Do you know how to knock is the better question? Cause from where I’m standing, you’re the one that keeps barging in today.” He backtracked toward the bathroom, cursing himself for another biting comment, but his snappy remark had prevented Sherry from noticing his leg. He hopped on one foot while yanking on his trousers and stuck his head outside the doorway as he zipped. “Is this about the restaurant?”

“Among other things. I thought I heard you talking in here.” Sherry’s cheeks colored.

“I was speaking with Eleanor. I’m running late.”

“I’m waiting for you, too. You’re not the only one with a life in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Ten minutes isn’t up.” Returning to his office barefoot and bare chested, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I’m jumping in the shower and I’ll be straight along.”

Their gazes locked. She bit her bottom lip, grazing the skin and making it turn a deep shade of pink. “I’ve never known you to be on time.”

Pinpricks assaulted his skin in her presence as though his senses were heightened again. Still, he couldn’t understand why Sherry of all the Den staff should cause such unrest in him. His attention swam over her torso, taking in her lush hips, and he could almost perceive the warmth that lay in wait between her legs.

He inhaled her delicious scent and rasped in a hoarse voice, “Have you showered yet? You could join me. Then we can do the proverbial two birds with one stone.” He winked just to see the color deepen to her stunning face.

Her eyes gleamed and he swore she shifted her glance down his torso for a peek. “In your dreams,” she volleyed back.

For a second, he stalled. Her quip had struck home. Unchained the drawbridge into his memory. The image of Sherry ghosted before him. Her burgundy hair turned black as midnight, framing her ivory skin. Then as though a solar flare erupted in his brain, the image burst apart in his mind’s eye. In her place, a woman with long flowing hair stood dressed in a sweeping, dark cape. Same eyes as Sherry but her features were slightly altered. Her already milky-colored skin gleamed satiny as if caressed by moonlight. Her eyes glowed as only a shifter’s would at night.

He shook his head to clear the image. Instead the seductive chimera began to flame, turning to fire under his skin.

Droplets of sweat beaded his hairline. “You’ll have to excuse me, doll.”

“Jesus, Quinn.” Sherry closed the door and ran to him. “Are you ill? I saw the cut on your leg.”

“Only a scratch.” He closed his eyes. The image of darkened forms swam before him. Sharp screams. The scent of blood. The cloying feeling of dizziness swallowed him. A cold sweat broke out across his brow and currents of air rose and fell about him similar to the flapping of birds’ wings.

Sherry’s hand curled around his arm. Electrical jolts darted across his skin from the contact with her fingers. Warmth spread from where she touched him, but still he couldn’t shake the icy darts assaulting him. The opposite of déjà vu; these were foreboding. A premonition. He shuddered, taking hold of her fingers.

“Sherry,” he exhaled, opening his eyes. “Got to get you out of here.”

“Quinn, what is it?” She put her other arm around his waist and helped him move toward a chair. “My God, you’re as white as a sheet. You must be sick.”

“If I could get a breath.” He leaned onto her unable to explain this bizarre event.

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Just tired.” His chest froze. His nightmare spilling into daytime. The skeleton in his closet about to escape. Easy to keep when a terror appeared when most other people slept. This was the secret that he lived each night.

“My God. You’ve got to get some rest. No wonder… you go on nonstop.”

He took in the sight of her gleaming, amber eyes. No way to explain, except to ground himself. Clear his thoughts. One of the few things that worked, deep breathing, he’d learned in Tibet, in a Zen Buddhist monastery hidden in the Himalayas. He’d spent hours sitting on a cold stone floor, incense swirling around him, as he had floated inside a meditative focus on his breath.

Something so simple. Air filling his lungs and then releasing. He repeated the process several times until Sherry’s scent filled him. Under his hands, the feel of her bare skin was both comfortingly warm and smooth as the finest silk. Her breath washed over him with a cool hint of peppermint.

His breathing eased, his body relaxed enough to deeply inhale and expel it along with his words. “I’m fine. A bloody headache. I’ve never had one this bad.”

Sherry’s brows knitted together. She narrowed her eyes, meeting his stare. Their faces so close all he had to do was lean an inch or two and they’d kiss.

“Are you being honest?” she asked, biting her lip and then seeming to ease up.

“Cross my heart,” he murmured, admiring the near wine color of her irises along with tiny flecks of gold and silver in a sunburst pattern. He’d never seen such unusual eyes—except one place—in his dream. “You’re her. Aren’t you?” he whispered without thinking.

“Who? What are you saying? Are you still drunk for heaven’s sake? Quinn I’m not one of your little friends from the underground clubs around here if that’s what you’re asking.” She pushed up and away from him.

Shit. There was no mistake. How had he not noticed before? Well. No shit, Sherlock. With deep crimson hair and a demeanor that would freeze vodka, Sherry wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress that came to him each night. She more resembled a she-dragon, spewing flames and laying aside burly men without a sword.