Peeping Tom (2 page)

Shelley Munro

“Leo, you going to the woolshed dance?” Felix asked when his brother came into the kitchen.

“Nah.” Leo grabbed a black leather wallet off the countertop and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to Queenstown for the weekend. Why don’t you come too?”

Felix fought the need to say yes and finally good conscience won. He stood with an internal sigh. “Thanks but it’s my turn to hang around and keep an eye on the farm this weekend. I know Saber would do it if I asked but he deserves some time with Emily.”

He strolled past Leo and yanked open the fridge to pull out a beer. Returning to the seat he’d vacated, he sat, placing the can on the table in front of him.

“That’s part of the reason I’m going. Since Saber mated, I feel damned edgy all the time. It’s almost as if my mate is out there waiting for me. I felt it—a sort of awareness—when I was in Queenstown a few weeks ago so I’m going back to search. And if you repeat one word of this conversation to anyone, I’m going to flatten you.”

Any other time Felix would have grinned and teased his brother unmercifully but Leo’s words tugged a cord in him. Restless. Uneasy. Prickling skin and the urge for sex. It hammered through him relentlessly, nagging like a sore tooth. Felix tipped back his head and drank. The beer slid down his throat, the taste of crisp hops filling his mouth. He swallowed and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “I hope you find your mate.”

Leo frowned and pulled out the chair opposite Felix. He dropped onto it and peered at his brother with concern. “You too, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

Felix thought about lying but he didn’t have it in him tonight. His life was a friggin’

mess. Maybe Leo could help him make sense of the chaos. “Tomasine Brooks.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Leo. “Peeping Tom, the reporter?” He studied his brother and gradually the humor dropped from his face. “Hell.”

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“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

Felix scowled even as his body sent a surge of longing thrumming to every part that would listen. He stirred, silently cursing his rising cock. He foresaw another cold shower in his future. All he had to do was think of the woman and his cock rose like a bloody warning beacon. It hadn’t been like that the first time he saw her or the second. This feeling had crept up on him and sprang out unexpectedly. Last week. He’d been in agony ever since. “I’ve been avoiding her. It’s not difficult since you can smell her coming from a block away.”

“Yep, that godawful perfume she wears is better than a signal fire. Most of the shifters in town dodge her whenever they can to avoid her questions.”

“Yeah, that’s another reason I’m dodging her. I’m sick of her questions about the black panther sightings. You’d think she’d give up because she’s not getting any information from the locals. Not since the newspaper article she wrote about the black panther sightings near Middlemarch.” Felix’s gut churned at the thought of the petite dark-haired reporter. “Besides, she has career woman written all over her. I’m not going that route again.”

“You sure, bro? She has a kid and a cousin who lives with her, so she can’t be that involved with her career.”

Felix cursed softly and drank another slug of beer while he thought about his life and the way it sucked. “Tomasine Brooks is determined to get her story. She reminds me of Alicia—the same grit and killer instinct. She might be a tiny thing but I’m not going to let her walk all over me like Alicia did. I’m not a green kid anymore.”

“You can’t fight the urge, not if the woman is really your mate. Shit, if you’re feeling half the grief I am…” Leo trailed off with an expressive shrug. “Maybe you should try a one-night stand. Perhaps it’s not her.”

“It’s her all right.” And he wished like hell it wasn’t.

“But how do you know?” Leo insisted.

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Shelley Munro

Felix thumped his beer can onto the tabletop and leaned back on his wooden chair. He squeezed his eyes closed and remembered the moment his week had slid into the toilet. At the post office. He’d gone to pick up some stamps so he could post a couple of farm invoices and he’d bumped into her. Literally. A full shoulder to knee body contact. Felix shuddered remembering the heat that had surged straight to his cock. He’d smelled something foreign before the stench of her perfume had hit him and his eyes had started to water. The need to kiss her, to rip off her clothes and take her there in the street had almost killed him. “I almost fucked her outside the post office. That conclusive enough for you?”

Leo gaped for an instant. His dark brows rose. “Yeah. Okay. You might be right. Hell, outside the
post office
?”

“Scared the shit out of me. School had just let out.”

“What did you do?”

“I apologized for bumping into her and hightailed it out of there. Emily bawled me out for forgetting the stamps when I arrived home. I headed straight for the shower and— Well, that’s probably enough information. The rest is personal.”

“What are you going to do?”

Before Felix could answer, the distinct sound of feminine laughter came from the far end of the house. A husky male chuckle followed.

“It’s times like this that I wish our senses weren’t so highly developed,” Felix muttered. “The way I see it, I can either stay here and think about sex because I know Saber is getting some or I can head to the dance and think of sex there. Either way I’m screwed.”

“Nah, that’s your problem,” Leo said. “You want to be screwed.” He jumped to his feet and danced out of Felix’s reach. “You want sex. You want to do it, not think about it.”

“Thank you, oh wise one,” Felix snapped. “That’s very helpful. Tell me what I should do.”

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Leo sobered. “Hell if I know.”

There was silence as they pondered their collective problems. The bed started to creak down at the far end of the house.

“I’m out of here.” Leo snagged a set of keys from the set of hooks just inside the kitchen door. He paused and turned around. “Maybe you should let things take their course. Go to the woolshed dance and if she’s agreeable, take things from there.”

Felix spewed a mouthful of beer over the flowery tablecloth, one of the many changes instigated by Emily. He leapt to his feet, grabbed a cloth from near the sink and dabbed at the marks. “You’re telling me to sleep with the enemy. Man, where’s your brain?”

“Same place yours is,” Leo snapped. “Fuck her, dammit, and get her out of your system.” He stomped from sight, leaving Felix staring after him in shock. Leo had it as bad as he did.

A masculine groan reverberated down the far end of the house. Damn Saber and Emily. Felix thought about shifting and trying to run the frustration from his system, except it hadn’t worked so far. He’d shifted and run out by the salt lake for hours on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Nothing he’d done had pried Tomasine Brooks from his mind so far. He inhaled deeply and came to a decision—a coin toss. He’d leave his fate to the toss of the coin.

Felix rummaged around the countertop and finally uncovered a small bowl of change. He plucked a twenty-cent piece from the bowl and tossed it in the air.

“Heads for home,” he muttered as he watched the spin of the silver coin. It came down and he snagged it in his palm and slapped it on the countertop.

“Tails for the dance.” Felix stared at the kiwi on the face of the coin. His gut twisted and his cock chose that moment to show approval. Felix checked the clock on the microwave. If he hurried, he had time for a cold shower before the dance started.

* * * * *

13

Shelley Munro

Felix Mitchell wasn’t at the dance.

Tomasine scanned the woolshed, trying not to appear too obvious in her search for him—a bit difficult when most of the single men in Middlemarch were busy checking out her assets. She strolled past an empty wool press and ducked behind, her breasts heaving with each agitated breath. Bother, she had to calm down and quit the heavy breathing. Being the center of attention was not the plan. Sure the dress was eye grabbing, but she wasn’t the only one who had gone all out in the hope of attracting masculine attention tonight. The Mitchell brothers were an attractive proposition and since Saber Mitchell had taken a wife, the other brothers were considered fair game. Women from all the neighboring towns had made a point of attending the dance now that some of the bachelors actually seemed attainable. The country and western band had set up on the platform normally reserved for the men shearing the sheep. At the far end of the shearing board, the grinder was covered to prevent injury while the shearing machines had been unbolted from their positions above the chutes. The band belted out a song about cowboys riding the range and roping steers while the attendants did an enthusiastic line dance. Tomasine scanned the crowded shed searching for Felix. The wooden tables normally used for the shearers’

smoko or meal breaks were set up against the wall as a bar with an older man and a young woman dispensing drinks. Tomasine didn’t know who they were but their faces were familiar. She made a mental note to check them both out later when she had a moment. Right now, she was too nervous to concentrate on questioning anyone. What was she going to do if he didn’t turn up? A sigh whispered from her as she answered her own question. Wait for another night. As long as the assassins didn’t appear in Middlemarch, she had time.

When she caught a glimpse of a woman bearing plates of food, she followed, carrying her own contribution over to the area designated for supper. A group of older women presided over the plates, arranging the food ready for serving later in the evening and gossiping busily. A flicker of envy flashed through Tomasine. These 14

Peeping Tom

women knew their place. They fitted into the town’s social hierarchy. She didn’t belong anywhere and was busy searching for a place to call home but no one wanted her. Tomasine had to fight to halt a scowl. Bernard’s fault, but at least she was alive. The rest of the clan who lived on the savannah had died in the massacre, while others—all Bernard and Joseph’s followers—had remained safely ensconced at the newly built and very ostentatious palace on the outskirts of Dar-es-Salaam. Forcing a smile, she produced her plate of pikelets. The small rounds resembling miniature hotcakes were popular at suppers such as these. Or so Gina said. Tomasine wasn’t the best cook or particularly experienced, but the two of them had practiced until their pikelets looked as good as they tasted. Served with strawberry jam and whipped cream, she was positive her pikelets would pass muster. Her gut churned as she realized she sought the approval of these women. She wanted to belong—if it was safe. Which was where Felix Mitchell came in, but the man wasn’t cooperative enough to attend the dance.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” a tall, thin woman said. Tomasine recognized her as one of the mothers who had a child in Sylvie’s class.

“Tomasine,” Tomasine said with a smile. Hope soared since this was a better reaction than she normally received. Maybe persistence was the key to acceptance. Then she overheard two of the women whispering.
Peeping Tom
. She’d heard herself referred to in that light before, and not for the first time she wished her hearing wasn’t so good. And that she hadn’t succumbed to anger and written the black cat story as a way of dealing with her frustration. Not that she’d intended to publish it. It was a mystery to this day and fear stalked her every time she thought about it. She had no idea how the story had reached her editor at the paper. More whispers followed, jerking her from worry. Tomasine fought to maintain a passive face, and although her smile faded, she thought she passed the test. “Please call me Tomasine.”

An uncomfortable silence followed and Tomasine grimaced inwardly. Obviously the way into their affections was not via food. They were a tough sell. Circle the home 15

Shelley Munro

wagons to protect the town. If she didn’t make a breakthrough soon, she’d have to think about moving to another area. She had to have guaranteed safety in a shapeshifter community. Tomasine nodded at the women clustered around the supper table and moved off to get a drink. Immediately the chatter started behind her and Tomasine frowned. Well, that had been a big success.

“Dance with me?”

Tomasine flinched as an arm slid around her waist, jostling the beaded purse she carried hitched over one shoulder. She whirled around to face the male, words of anger on her lips. They died the minute she took in the man’s identity. Felix Mitchell. His short, dark hair was rumpled while his green eyes glowed darker than normal. Tomasine stared up at him, trying her best not to gape. What was wrong with this picture? He’d sought her out voluntarily.

“Um. Okay.” Great. Here was a prime opportunity to ask questions and the power of speech deserted her.

Felix took her hand in his larger one. His palm was rough and calloused from working on his family farm. Tomasine suppressed a shiver of pure need. Ever since they’d bumped into one another at the post office, she hadn’t been able to get the male off her mind. Or sex. That had figured largely as well. The thought brought irritation. All she wanted was a safe haven for her daughter and foster child. She didn’t need a man for financial security since Bernard’s insistence on her wearing a distasteful amount of jewelry at all times had worked in her favor. For once. They’d stopped at the clan village on the way back to Dar-es-Salaam after a visit to Kenya. Along with jewelry she’d carried passports and money. No, she didn’t need a man and certainly didn’t want one to boss her around and treat her like a straw floor mat. Tomasine had tried that scene and hadn’t liked it the first time. She wasn’t about to try it again. Felix led her over to the portion of the woolshed designated as a dance floor and took her into his arms without speaking a word. The band finished the slow song they were playing and immediately started in on another about making brown eyes blue. 16

Peeping Tom

Felix pressed her closer to his chest than was necessary but it felt right. It was just like the post office meeting all over again. The same swift kick in the gut, the melting feminine warmth inside and the desperate need to rip off her clothes. His clothes. The fierce desire to press skin to skin and join emotionally as well as physically. Tomasine surrendered to temptation and leaned in, breathing in his scent. It wasn’t quite the same as she remembered. There was a medicinal tang to him, as if he had taken pills or medicine. Tomasine frowned. Shape-shifters didn’t normally require the use of human medication. Was she wrong about the Mitchell family? She discarded the thought almost immediately.