Jealous And Freakn'

Copyright © November 2011, Eve Langlais

Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey © November 2011

Edited by Brieanna Robertson

Produced in Canada

Published by Eve Langlais

Suite 126 — 2377 Hwy #2 Unit 120

Bowmanville ON, L1C 5E2

www.EveLanglais.com

Francine’s loved Mitchell
, a wolf like herself,
since she first set eyes on him back when
they were just kids
. However
,
Mitchell’s never seen her as more than another annoying sister. Determined to make him realize she’s all grown up, she enlists the aide of Alejandro,
a gorgeous cat shifter
.
She never
count
ed
on wanting them both.

Alejandro knows Francine is special from the first moment he meets the fiery plump wolf, which is why he suggests she use him to make Mitchell jealous. A great plan, especially if it means
he gets
to kiss those luscious lips. One taste
,
though, and he’s addicted, but how does he make her see past the man she loves to realize she’s also meant to be his mate
?

For a long time now
,
Mitchell
’
s been
avoiding
Francine
, his bratty sister’s friend
. However, the little girl he remembers is all grown up, and when he sees her in the arms of another, a need to claim her overrides all his common sense. But, he’s waited too long and fate has decided that he’s going to have to share. Can he bend enough to accept Francine
with her
other man, or will
his
freakn’
jealous
y
send him running
?

Warning:
Excessive amounts of heat may be generated when reading this story. Do not sit or stand near flammable objects
unless they happen to be your partner
. Please note that while the heroes sustained injuries during the
course of the story
, Francine did eventually kiss them all better
, naked of course
.
This is a ménage romance, with heavy emphasis on the romance. It does contain multi
-
partner, sexual situations that some people may find titillating. Reader discretion is advised.

Acknowledgements

Hubby, as usual, gets a thank you for being my inspiration and biggest fan. Love you, George.

I’d also like to extend a great, big thank you to Brandie Buckwine, a fellow author, who Beta read this piece for me. Not only did she spot some pesky typos, but with her advice, helped me make one scene super special. You rock!

Prologue

Legs pumping wildly, he tore through the woods behind his house, unfortunately too far from the shelter of his room. Despite his speed, he knew his pursuer owned fleeter feet—and unwavering determination. If he were to survive, he needed to hide, and quickly. Panting, he stopped and perused the area. Eyes frantically scanning, he searched for somewhere to hide. He said a short prayer begging the ground to open up and swallow him. No such luck.

The rustling sound of his stalker approached, and panic gripped him. He couldn’t allow himself to get caught, not after what happened last time. He thought about wiggling his skinny body under the partially collapsed tree, however the idea of becoming trapped halted him. Perhaps he could climb a tree? Cover himself in leaves? Or…

Too late. A hundred pounds of persistence tackled him to the ground, knocking the breath from him. Before he could wiggle free, the bane of his existence grabbed his arms and pinned him.

“Gotcha!” Bright brown eyes set in a freckled face with a gap-toothed smile stared down at him.

Dammit, she’d caught him, again. At least this time his brothers and friends weren’t around to ridicule him.

“Francine,” he said, trying to sound stern like his mother, not an easy thing to do with a thirteen-year-old voice prone to cracking. “Let me go.”

“Not ‘til you say it,” she ordered with the command of a queen stifled in a ten-year-old’s body.

“No. I won’t.” To admit it would probably cause the end of the world, his world, not to mention make him a laughing stock.

“Oh yes you will,” she said with a grin, leaning close, the aroma of watermelon bubble gum wafting over him. “I’m not letting you go until you do.”

And she wouldn’t. Francine owned a few pounds on his yet to grow frame. This was one of the times his runt status sucked. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he warned, even if he didn’t actually mean it. His mother would kill him if he bent a hair on Francine’s head, his baby sister’s best friend and ultimate pain in his ass.

“Ha. I’d like to see you try. We both know I could kick your butt in a second. Now tell me.”

“No.”

She retaliated, her fingers letting go of him only to dig under his arms, going straight for his ticklish spots. Mitchell screamed and squirmed as she tortured him, but he couldn’t manage to push her off, no matter how much he tried.

“Say it!”

“Never!”

She gave him a purple nurple, twisting his nipple until he let out an ungodly squeal that no animal or boy should make.

“Say it,” she again ordered with all the pity of an axe murderer. None.

Mitchell knew what she wanted. Dreaded it, in fact. Never, ever would he say it. She could kill him first. He sealed his lips tight and glared at her defiantly.

Annoyance made her freckled button nose wrinkle. “Stop being so freakn’ stubborn. You know we’re meant to be together, so just admit it.” Such certainty from a ten-year-old girl who still played with dolls.

Looking into her familiar countenance surround by bobbing red pigtails, a well-known visage he’d encountered almost daily since she was a baby, he screwed up his face. “Eew, Francine. That’s just gross. You’re like a sister to me.”

His announcement, as expected, didn’t go over well. Her face tightened in irritation. “I am not your freakn’ sister,” she yelled as she sat up and placed her hands on her waist, the picture of thwarted indignation.

“Close enough,” he growled, suddenly rolling his body sideways, jolting her off of him. Free, he sprang to his feet and ran, fast as he could, but he still heard her holler.

“You might escape for now, Mitchell, but you can’t run forever. One day, you, you’ll come to your senses and admit you’re my mate.”

Like
freakn’
hell.

Chapter One

Years later…

Figured her car would decide to die without warning, probably because the warranty on it ran out the week before.

“Stupid piece of crap.” Francine slapped the steering wheel and got out of her car. She glared at the offending piece of junk, wondering just how she would now make it to her best friend’s baby shower in time. Sure, she could have stripped and turned furry, running the rest of the way, but then how would she carry the damned present she bought for the occasion? Arriving empty handed seemed so gauche no matter the reason. And, given the awkward size of the gift, she couldn’t exactly carry it in her canine mouth.

Sighing, she yanked out her cell phone, only to curse at the black screen. She’d forgotten to charge it—again.

“Great, just freakn’ great. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?” Hands on her hips, she peered up and down the road, still at least three miles from where she needed to go. Just her luck, she didn’t spot hide nor hair of anything, not on this secluded stretch of road, part of the reason the little neighborhood at its end proved so popular with shifter families.

What to do? It occurred to her that other guests were expected, so perhaps if she started walking, one would happen to come along and give her a lift. Never mind the fact she ran late and was probably the last guest to arrive. Surely fate wouldn’t let her miss her BFF’s big moment?

Grabbing the present with its big yellow bow, Francine began walking in heels meant to look pretty and elongate her short legs. They lasted five minutes. The third time she stumbled in the gravel, she ripped them off her feet and threw them in the woods. Five minutes after that, she regretted her haste as the rough pavement underfoot didn’t exactly scream comfort.

Fifteen minutes into her walk, hot, annoyed, and her feet dirty, she plopped herself on top her present in the middle of the road, determined to wait for a vehicle even if it took all day. The box, of course, dented under her weight and she jumped off it with another curse.
Great
,
just great. Could this day get any more annoying?

The attempt to straighten out the box ended up with it looking even more lopsided and she restrained an urge to kick it. Thankfully, luck finally came her way before she gave in to an urge to go psychotic on the gift. A rumble in the distance had her peering up the road. Waiting for fate to drop the other shoe, she didn’t move as the sound approached. But it didn’t start to rain, and the vehicle didn’t do a sudden u-turn to head in the other direction. She perked up when she noted the motorcycle coasting to a stop in front of her, then sighed. While guys who rode bikes were hot in her book, and any other time she would have jumped on the chance for a ride, unfortunately, given the mangled present she still needed to bring, he just wouldn’t do.

Clad in leather, the rider wore a shorty helmet along with a pair of aviator sunglasses that reflected her own image back. A bandanna covered his lower mouth and jaw, a protection against eating stray bugs that effectively rendered him featureless.

He cocked his head at her. “Need a ride?” he shouted, his mirth at her situation evident even over the engine noise.

She took a second to admire the size of him; tall, wide, and sexy in his riding gear. But, she was already spoken for. Kind of. Mitchell would eventually come to his senses and realize they were meant for each other. Hopefully before all the eggs in her ovaries expired.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to leave the present behind. I’m going to a baby shower.”

“What a coincidence, so am I. The present’s not a problem. I’ve got great balance. I’ll hold it if you hold onto me.”

Another guest for Naomi’s party, which meant he was a shifter, just like her. The smell of exhaust made her unable to sniff what species he belonged to. Not that it mattered—she already had a man, sort of, once he stopped acting like a stubborn ass.

Unsure of how her rescuer would manage to drive and hold onto the gift at the same time, she hesitated, however, not spotting any other signs of life, she didn’t really have a choice. It seemed like his offer was the only way she’d get to the party fashionably late.

“Fine, I accept. But if you drop it, I’ll have to hurt you,” she warned.

“Promise?” This time, she definitely couldn’t mistake the humor.

“Pig.” She didn’t say it with heat, though, and he laughed, a rumbly sound that tickled over her and made her inner wolf wake with a start to peer with interest at the stranger.

Strolling over to his bike while holding the gift, she let him take the package from her then eyed the small wedge of seat behind him.

“Are you sure I’ll fit?” She owned panties with more crotch room than that thing.

“Just hold on tight, baby, and I’ll do the rest.”

His words sent a blush to her cheeks, especially since he said them in a sultry tone that rendered his meaning quite clear. She just wished she could see his face to see if he joked or not. At five-foot-two and packing some curves, she wasn’t the type to have guys hit on her out of the blue, not until they’d had a few beers anyways.

Actually
,
on second thought, better I don’t see his face. He’s probably butt ugly, and besides
,
I’m almost taken.

Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she managed to swing one leg over to plop herself on the sliver of seat, wedging it between her thighs. Its pressing hardness along with the vibrating thrum of the engine between her legs made for some interesting sensations.

The driver’s free hand grasped hers and pulled it around his torso, tugging her into his body. “Hold me tight, baby, and I’ll take us where we need to go.”

Screw the shower, going to heaven came to mind as her body reacted to his proximity. Wrapping her arms around him, she fought an urge to let her hands stroke up and down his chest. Even clad in leather, she could tell he owned a hard, muscled physique. Words, for once, failed her, which would have cracked her BFF up. But what shocked Francine most was her wolf’s reaction. Her inner canine wanted to sniff the stranger up and down and follow it up with a lick. Usually that type of reaction only happened when she thought of Mitchell.

“Ready?” he prompted.

Nodding, she held on for dear life as he gunned the bike and they shot off, his one arm held out holding the gift while the other did the rest. It occurred to Francine to wonder how he intended to drive one handed, but he seemed to be managing fine, so she decided to keep her mouth shut lest she distract him. Besides, she preferred to concentrate on how she felt plastered against him. A small part of her winced that she cheated of a sort on Mitchell, the man who wouldn’t claim her even though she knew he was her fated mate. But another part of her, the same part that made her give Tommy Keller her virginity at her grade twelve prom out of spite, wanted her to squeeze closer and drop her hands to see if his thighs felt as muscled as they looked.

I’m such a skank,
she thought. A horny one, who after the Tommy incident, vowed to stay away from men until Mitchell came to his senses, a vow she broke within a month when she heard about his newest girlfriend. Jealous—and pissed he kept fighting fate—she went to a bar to get drunk and bang some guy whose name she usually couldn’t recall the next day.

However her days of sleeping around to quell her irritation and heartache were things of the past now. She’d turned over a new leaf. As of nine months ago, she no longer did that. No sirree, once she saw Naomi, the biggest bitch she knew—God, she loved that girl—find her mates—the skank lucked out and got two—she just knew her time was about to come. She didn’t want the scent of another man clinging to her when it did. Although, she wouldn’t have minded seeing a jealous Mitchell. Actually, just seeing Mitchell, who avoided her like she suffered from the plague since they were kids, would have proven an improvement. Currently, the only thing she ever saw of Mitchell was his ass as it went flying out the door to escape her. The chicken.

It hadn’t always been that way. He tolerated her well enough as his kid sister’s best friend, but that all changed when they got to their teens. She’d kept waiting for him to make his move. He didn’t, so she had, sometimes with a little too much enthusiasm and force. He rebuffed her, over and over. She’d grown to hate his oft repeated, “But I think of you as a sister.” Jerk, like his sister ever tried to give him tongue.

So, despite how wet Mr. Hot-In-Leather made her, she wouldn’t do anything about it, because she just knew if Mitchell would let himself stay in a room with her for longer than thirty seconds, he’d finally realize she’d grown up. And then he’d claim her so they could live happily ever after, before she went postal and killed his furry ass.