Dedication

For everyone who needs a reason to keep being, these lyrics by Big Country say it better than I ever could:

“In a big country dreams stay with you

like a lover’s voice fires the mountainside

Stay alive

So take that look out of here it doesn’t fit you

Because it’s happened doesn’t mean

you’ve been discarded

Pull your head off the floor, come up screaming

Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted”

“Big Country” by Big Country

Acknowledgment

A huge thank-you to my editor, Rebecca Fairfax, for helping me to make Bear’s Edge incredible. Hugs and love to Scott—thanks for bringing me chocolate milk shakes late at night when I was stuck at the computer, writing and revising all the ideas I had to get out of my head. Thank you to all my friends who babysat my kids when I had a deadline to meet, looked over paragraphs where I was stuck, and always encouraged me to keep moving forward.

Prologue

Three years ago—Towson, Maryland

Shayla Patrick’s new desk had everything. The sun gleamed in through the wide picture window to bounce a wicked glare off the polished mahogany where sharpened pencils sat together with pens in a pewter canister and a little brass cat held out its arms to hold Shayla’s brand-new business cards. The cat had been a gift from her boss. That bitch.

Though the morning had barely begun, the company had held a huge welcome-back party for her on her first day back at work. Shayla was glad she’d used a hell of a lot of concealer to cover the bruising on her face before leaving the house. Concealer couldn’t hide everything, though, and that was part of her life in the aftermath. Obligatory hugs and a frosted sheet cake had been followed by a surprise—she’d received a promotion. Her new Sales and Advertising Director position involved a raise, which would be nice. It also involved being stuck in an office all day long. Not so nice.

She picked up the little brass cat, pretending to examine it while she tried to wipe the scowl off her face. Her boss’s plastic smile slipped for a moment. Shayla put the cat down and pretended she felt civilized. Elizabeth—Elizabitch might be a more fitting name—started up again, this time about Shayla’s career advancement.

“You’ll get a chance to be a mentor with the great responsibility for supervising the sales and advertising force of this company. Your two major responsibilities will be monitoring your employees’ performances and finding marketing trends that Edwards Advertising can capitalize upon.”

“Elizabeth, you know I never would have applied for a job like that.” Shayla liked it out in the field. She made great income in the form of sign-on bonuses.

“I know, but it’s a better place for you now. I just think this will be easier for you considering—” Elizabitch stopped herself—a wise move—then stumbled on some more, trying to make the position sound exciting.

Shayla fought to keep an even expression at being warehoused in an office job so her healing face and future scars didn’t scare the clients. She didn’t know which she wanted to do more—cry or throw the stupid brass cat her boss had just given her out of the window. In the end, she rose to hang her coat on the sterile-looking shiny silver coatrack sitting in the back of her new office. Elizabitch got the message and left.

No sulking. She admonished the part of herself that wanted to hide under her new desk and cry all day in private. Is being hidden away in an office my new normal?

Shayla had a natural talent for reading people. Well, she could do more than just observe, but she never allowed herself to take things to that level. She would study her clients, watching their expressions and gestures, looking for clues to show her when to push and when to be gentle. Her skill had improved with time and practice. Now she would no longer be able to get the clients to look directly at her. Shayla sighed. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she put her pity party on the back burner and sat in her new leather swivel chair, making it squeak and squish.

Shayla’s talents weren’t gone. She could still read people, but the messages were different these days. People tensed up around her now, focusing somewhere past her head, giving her all the personal space she never wanted. And these were the people she knew! She supposed to some degree they were getting used to the idea. Her friends and family had come to visit her at the hospital, despite her requests for no visitors. She’d hated the moment when they’d come in, seeing an uncontrollable look of shock or pity immediately replaced by an uncomfortable smile.

A nurse had whispered, “Oh honey, the Lord must have his reasons.” Shayla knew no God or creator had caused her pain. A crazy man with explosives had decided to light his stash right near where Shayla had sat drinking her coffee and sending out e-mails on her computer tablet, enjoying the quiet ride of a new commuter van bound for Annapolis, Maryland.

An earsplitting sound had rung out inside the vehicle, and she’d flown sideways into something hard, pain radiating down her whole right side and blood dripping into her eye. When she’d lifted a shaking hand to wipe away the blood, the van had lurched, pitching her to the floor, ears ringing, eyes and throat stinging from the smoke filling the air. Bodies had piled on top of her, refusing to budge no matter how hard she’d yelled and pushed. A rescue worker had reached for her, telling her, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine. Everything’s okay.” She’d let herself believe those words so she could give in to the roaring in her head and the blackness overtaking her vision.

She’d woken a few hours later in the hospital to the news that a lot of people had died that day on the commuter van. Well, a lot relative to the zero who had expected to die that morning. It wasn’t the commuter van that had been the problem—it was the man riding with homemade explosives. People watching the story on the world news had been grateful just one small commuter van with one severely schizophrenic man off his meds had exploded and that no terrorist attack had occurred. The threat was gone, and people went on about their day. The local newscasters liked dredging stuff up, though.

Sensible heels had click-clacked from hospital room to hospital room, looking for stories. The jerks in flannel wielding cameras didn’t seem to care that Shayla’s face was swollen and purple or that she’d been trying to eat blueberry pie with her parents who had come from Connecticut to visit. The jerks in flannel had just hit Record, and the harpy in the pancake makeup had manipulated Shayla and threatened to just keep coming back until the interview happened.

Shayla could have terrified the reporter into leaving with nothing more than a few words, but she refused. Reading people and being savvy in business deals was one thing, but she wouldn’t allow her other ability to grow, no matter how much she wanted to make the reporter leave the room screaming in terror. Shayla’s dad had politely but firmly ushered the woman out by her elbow.

She was alive, but she had a way to go before she reached some the status level of “fine.” Shayla reached for her water bottle to wash the phantom taste of disaster out of her mouth.

* * * *

Shayla’s days were filled with supervising employees who didn’t actually need anything from her, hours of solitary research at the computer, and meetings that solved nothing and went nowhere. She hadn’t thought before about the management aspect of a company, but jeez, time and money were wasted at every level. Not to mention the lack of communication between different departments, which caused even more meetings that solved zero things. Edwards Advertising made money on the regular in spite of itself.

December turned to March, bringing with it green trees and annoyingly happy birds sitting on her office windowsill, singing to her. Shayla turned to stare out of the window at the amazing view of the lake and the park. The sun poured in, and she glared right back at the world.

The lake and the park. She didn’t have any more time now than she’d had in her advertising rep position to enjoy the spring weather and take her lunch to the lake for a picnic. Before, she hadn’t minded—she’d lived for her work. Now work sucked, but she had nothing else in her life to make up for it. Her so-called friends were all absorbed in themselves and their own careers, and it had begun to grate on her nerves. Going out with them felt more like a chore, and not telling them to get over themselves took effort, so she just stayed home. All. The. Time. The warmth of summer baking the streets of Baltimore intensified the restlessness building inside her. The heat cooked her from the outside, and the restlessness cooked her from the inside, boiling and churning until she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Sitting around on Saturday mornings watching TV and finishing paperwork started to feel more pitiful than comforting. She switched off the reality show she shouldn’t have gotten into in the first place and decided she needed to get out of the house, for more than just errands. She touched her cheek and eyebrow self-consciously.

Time for a new look. She booked an appointment with Evie, her fabulous hairstylist. This woman could make Shayla’s hair shine, even if Shayla had flat ironed it for a month straight. Two days later, she sat in her stylist’s chair holding a picture of what she wanted Evie to do with her long dark-blonde hair.

“That short? Are you sure?”

Shayla nodded.

“But with all your waves, if I cut your hair to your chin, it’ll just fall in your face if you don’t keep a clip in it. I doubt you’ll want to wear it that way every day. How about some bangs so you don’t end up looking like a shaggy dog?”

“No bangs. I want you to angle the front so it falls over the right side of my face.”

“You want to hide,” Evie whispered in recognition.

“I want to go out without being stared at.”

Evie left it at that, which Shayla appreciated.

After a week with her new hairdo, she kind of did feel like a shaggy dog with her hair always in her face. Burning through workout DVDs before work hadn’t helped her mood or her restless aggravation at all. In her supervisory position, she saw Edwards Advertising in a whole different light, one that shone on untapped possibilities and wasted money, but she wasn’t high enough on the food chain to make any real changes. She was just there. Sitting at her computer. Where it all felt pointless.

She stood and stretched her sore back and shoulders. She had been at the screen for hours, pulling data from willing sellers, looking for trends to capitalize upon for a company she didn’t care about so she could go home late to an empty condo. She walked around her perfect office. The standing mirror she usually avoided became a temptation. Why is this thing in here anyway? Was Elizabitch just trying to be mean when she decorated my office? Shayla turned to face the mirror, staring intently to see what it had to offer.

Her face didn’t look horrible or monstrous but would never look the same as before. While she didn’t need to jump on the wrinkle-cream and line-eraser-injection bandwagon just yet, hiding behind her hair had taken its toll. The mirror reflected the slump of her shoulders and the turn of her mouth. Even the way she dressed had changed. Without meaning to, she had traded her usual bright, unique style for more somber colors and appallingly sensible shoes. Jesus, her shoes that day were taupe, for fuck’s sake!

Shayla’s entire world had become muted, as if somebody had filtered out the color and dimmed the lights. Life had closed in on her. Even her once vivid dreams had become dull and gray. Is this it? Is this all there is? She wanted more.

Enough already. I don’t know what the answer is, she told her reflection. But it sure as hell isn’t this. She knew all the looks she would get when she dared to show her face and she decided she would look back and smile. No apologies. She pulled her hair back using a rubber band from inside her desk and stood straight. She needed a fresh start, a reason to get up in the morning. Now was the time to work on making a trade. She had some money saved up and the perfect idea for how she could use it.

Chapter One

Present day—Great Oaks, Virginia

Grant laid out spreadsheets around the empty conference table, then set up the computer display screen. In a minute or two, Shayla Patrick, the owner of Brass Cat Advertising, would be sitting around the table along with the rest of the management team, and Grant would talk numbers and statistics, trends, probabilities, and viability. Fuck his personal life. His shitty mood had carried over from breakfast when his girlfriend, Zoe, had dumped him. Grant had made the mistake of ordering his favorite breakfast, shrimp and grits, right before Zoe thanked him for the “wonderful time” they’d had together over the past three months.

“I’ll miss you.” She’d smiled sadly and fondly but without any hint of tears.

When Grant had suggested trying things long-distance, Zoe had shaken her head and sighed.

“Come on, Grant. You know that never works. I’m leaving this Saturday. I’m going back a week early to get the jump on a new project. Let’s just enjoy our last two days together without it getting all weird.”

Grant hadn’t thrown a fit or cried or pleaded in the middle of a crowded restaurant. The anger and blown-out temper were contained inside his head while he prepared for the upcoming meeting and tried to figure out what had gone wrong with Zoe. Numbers made more sense than people, the reason he worked in financial management. He could create probability scenarios and give financial advice with ease. Trends and research, he could analyze.

Grant liked dealing with numbers. The basic formulas were always the same, and the numbers didn’t care how he reworked them. People? Not so much.

Apparently Grant was the perfect casual lay or light social relationship, but did it ever occur to the women he dated that he might get attached? That he might want something more than a “thanks, see ya later”? Grant sighed. Nobody’s fault but his. Casual relationships were what he sought in the first place. Any feeling other than that he made sure he kept to himself. He just couldn’t put himself on the line, and the women he dated didn’t ask for it. And so it went. Fuck all that shit anyway.

He flipped the switch for the light above the projection screen only to find it was out. The handle to the supply closet in the back of the conference room broke off when he tried to turn it. Damn the bear. Too strong.

You did it, asshole, the bear growled in his mind.

Grant shook his head. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Grant?” Not even the bear had heard Shayla’s soft voice or scented her lovely perfume until she stood right next to him. Her dark golden-blonde hair looked elegant pulled back into a braided bun, and her dress was a slightly darker color of rose than her lips. Even in heels, Shayla was petite, but Grant could always see power in the way she carried herself. Sometimes, he could feel her strength.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Shayla laid her hand against his arm and looked up at him. Oh man, had he been wondering out loud what the hell was wrong with him? Most likely. The bear snorted in laughter while Grant tried to set his features back into the relaxed, aloof expression he usually wore. He ordered the bear, his companion, his brother, his alter-ego, his…whatever—he couldn’t figure out the right word—to hush and concentrated on keeping the blood flow away from his dick, where it always tried to go when Shayla got too close to him.

She rubbed Grant’s arm. “It’s all right. We all have our bad days.” Shayla had only meant her touch to be a gesture of sympathy—of that Grant had no doubt—but to him… He ground his teeth against the instinct to move closer to her.

“Yeah, well, I just got dumped. Over breakfast.” And since it was confession time, he added, “At my favorite diner while eating my favorite meal.” He laughed. His attempt at humor sounded short and bitter. Did he still get points for trying? An A for effort, as his friend Sydney would say?

“Was it serious?” Shayla asked after they sat. She managed to guide Grant to the table and, with a flick of her hand, made his incoming colleagues walk right back out.

“No. Well, it wasn’t intended to be.” Grant hadn’t wanted Zoe to move in or anything, but she should have at least been properly sad about leaving him behind. Was he so easy to forget?

“You’re coming to lunch with me today.” She must have seen the look of panic he tried to erase, because she smiled. “We’ll bring Sydney too.”

Grant shook his head. “I think I’d rather just be alone for a little while.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Now is not the time to be alone with your thoughts. Who knows what else you might break?” She playfully swatted his arm.

“All right. Fine.” Grant finished setting up for the presentation on quarterly standing and new project viability, still in disbelief that Shayla had gotten him to sit down, talk, and agree to lunch with her and their friend Sydney. Sydney was one of the few people Grant had allowed himself to befriend since, well, since life had ended for him. Shayla’s presence had calmed Grant, and he’d agreed to lunch because he wanted to be near her. A little too much lately. He needed to dial that back some before he started fantasizing again about laying her out across his desk and eating her pussy.

Her, the bear said. She’s the one we need.

She’s my boss, he reminded the bear.

Don’t care, the bear growled. Grant groaned inwardly. The bear wasn’t very logical. Besides, shouldn’t Grant be thoroughly missing Zoe right then instead of just being pissed that he’d been so forgettable to her? He considered the option of becoming a lonely old hermit who sat on his front porch with a shotgun and a bottle of whiskey, talking to the sleepy dog at his feet. No, forget the dog. He didn’t want to get too attached to even the idea of it.

He finished his presentation, answered questions, tried to be patient with the two interns from business school, and went back to his office-cave to work on his part of a project. He stroked his beautiful polished-to-a-smooth-gleam cherrywood desk. The wood might feel cool under Shayla’s naked back, and if he laid her out there, he would take her hair down, so it spilled all around her. Next she’d let him take her clothes off, piece by piece, and kiss her bare skin, especially her breasts. She never wore anything too low-cut or revealing. Didn’t matter. His own imagination filled in the details.

He’d suck hard on her cherry-tipped nipples until she cried his name and begged for his cock. The desk was the perfect height to allow Grant to either kneel down and lick her pussy or pull Shayla’s ass to the very edge of the desk and push his iron hardness inside her plush, wet heat and take her just to the brink, over and over until she got so crazy for him she didn’t notice how forcefully he rammed into her and how tight he held her. His dick jumped at the thought, and Grant wrapped a fist around himself over his clothes and squeezed, in an attempt to ease the ache for a moment.

The fantasies about Shayla needed to stop. He couldn’t be rough with a woman he towered over by a foot. Also, he couldn’t date his boss. Grant was grateful for that technicality, because if Shayla wasn’t his boss, he’d be wanting something from her that he shouldn’t. And he didn’t need that kind of complication in his life. He had a feeling he’d go way too crazy over her, and she’d probably just feel sorry for him. Or if something terrible happened to her, Grant might lose his mind. He’d already lost Maya, the love of his life. The bear might not be able to help him stay sane if the unthinkable happened this time.

Grant was fucked-up, to be sure. He knew that, but after having lost in a senseless fire everybody he gave a shit about, he hadn’t been too interested in living or getting attached to anyone or anything. Greg and Aiden, bear-shifter brothers who’d happened to be nearby running a search-and-rescue mission for a missing hiker, had saved Grant from his injuries by initiating him into a bear shifter. Grant still kind of hated Greg for that.

He’d asked to die once he realized Brian, Freddy, Joe, and Maya had all been either killed by the fire or the explosion of propane tanks the groundskeeper had stored in the utility closet of their cabin. That weekend trip to Lost Arrowhead Campground had been the biggest mistake imaginable. Grant had left the place forever changed, the sole survivor of the tragic mess, and at first all he’d wanted to do was find a way to join his friends in the afterlife.

Thanks to the goddamn bear, Grant didn’t have a choice about whether he lived or died. Whether Grant stopped eating or took a bottle of pills—or worse—the bear took over and healed him and fed him. The bear had also made a wreck of Grant’s old apartment and had torn up the courtyard at the apartment complex on more than one occasion. Finally, Grant had decided if he couldn’t kill himself and the bear, he might as well make the bear more comfortable.

After a few months of searching, Grant had managed to find a job with a brand-new company in Great Oaks, Virginia, and he now took his fury of emotions out on the weight bench and kettlebells. Yeah, high-intensity classes lifting heavy weights, pushing truck tires, and performing endless running drills helped keep him from exploding and keep his shit together. For the most part, Grant lived his life and tried to stay out of other people’s. He didn’t need the drama or the anxiety. He had a job, and a house to work on, and that kept him plenty busy.

The home-improvements projects were his Zen. The sawing, the hammering, the measuring and sanding—it kept him focused, like a hellacious workout at the gym. Unlike Grant’s childhood home, the house he now lived in belonged to him, not to some fat, crooked-ass landlord with a comb-over. No one could take Grant’s home or trash it. Coming home to past-due notices and cigarette butts on the front porch was a not distant enough memory of why he’d worked his ass off in college and at the office to make sure it never happened again.

His big backyard that led to woods and a gushing stream full of fish was for the bear, with whom Grant had come to an understanding. Grant shifted into bear form and let the bear run free when the bear needed to, and the bear showed his appreciation for this by not ruining Grant’s house. Much. The bear loved camping trips with Aiden, Greg, and the other bear shifters of Bears’ Creek. Grant didn’t altogether hate those times. The urge to murder Greg had diminished over time. The stupid bear liked Greg, so Grant had learned not to give in to the occasional desire to slit Greg’s throat with a rusty knife. A guy had to compromise when a bear shifter shared space in his head.

As he closed out his computer files, his balls got tight and achy at the sound of Shayla’s voice in the hallway.

Come on, bear, stop making my dick hard over Shayla. Leave that whole scenario along. Not gonna happen.

Don’t ruin my fun, asshole.

Grant chose to ignore the bear’s reply. He greeted Shayla and Sydney, sitting in the lobby of Brass Cat waiting for him. Sydney would be a good buffer. She would keep Grant from feeling shy and awkward in front of Shayla, the way he’d kept getting lately. Soon he’d forget about his crush on Shayla and find someone to have some fun with for a while. Life would keep going. Time was all he needed.

Grant held up his keys to let the ladies know he would be driving. They would all fit in his extended-cab truck—even the bear could fit in Grant’s truck, although the bear had been warned not to sink his claws into the leather seats again, no matter how good it felt. Shayla and Sydney talked and joked with him as he drove down the road, and some of his pain and frustration eased. Two beautiful ladies wanted to take him to lunch—even if it was out of pity. I can’t be that much of a loser.

Chapter Two

What is it about Grant? Looking at the man sitting across the table from her was no hardship; that was for damn sure. He had the tall, broad body of a heavyweight UFC fighter, but he never used his size to intimidate the people around him. She wanted to sweep his wavy, slightly shaggy dark hair out of his gorgeous deep-brown eyes. His dark hair and eyes complemented his bronze skin. He was hot, in a serious, dangerous kind of way. But in the two and a half years Grant had worked for her, Shayla had hardly learned anything about him.

The waitress at the popular nature-themed restaurant, the Greenhouse Effect, showed them to their table. The plants growing around all the walls and columns made the place look like a wild garden, and the smell of lavender and jasmine mixed with the delicious scents drifting from the kitchen. She tried not to drool, but breakfast seemed like eons ago. Shayla sat next to Sydney and across from Grant. A too-tall centerpiece of yellow-and-purple flowers blocked most of her view of him. Grant moved the centerpiece to the side and gave her a shy smile. His smile made her want answers, among other things.

She knew he was from New Jersey and had gone to school in Wisconsin before moving to Richmond, Virginia, to work with Brook’s Comprehensive, a huge company that did everything from urban development projects to financial management for celebrities and politicians.

“Why do you want to make such a big change from a large corporation to a simple start-up company?” she’d asked him in the interview.

“Honestly?” Grant had paused then, the question hanging.

Shayla had nodded. She’d take honesty over smooth-faced, calculated interview answers any day.

“I want to live somewhere I can have a house and some land. Maybe spend more time outside. Also, I want a job where I can do more than just run numbers for projects where I never see the outcome.”

The last part had seemed to come as a surprise to Grant. Maybe he hadn’t really known he wanted something more than a change of scenery until he had said it out loud.

His answer had been simple and honest instead of a long, drawn-out elaboration about the projected success of new companies in the area or an extensive list of projects he had helped to fruition. She could look at his résumé for all that stuff. Grant had wanted to be there, so she’d hired him. Simple as that—after a clean background check and drug screening, of course.

Grant the mystery man—a delicious mystery Shayla would like to unravel, piece by piece, layer by layer. Ah, but I can’t. I’m his boss. In a different lifetime, if we didn’t have the whole boss-employee obstacle going on… No harm in looking, though, just a little, since he sat so close. She promised herself to keep her thoughts G-rated—okay, maybe PG-13. Grant had a talent with numbers and paid attention to detail. Also, he was a little shy and standoffish to a lot of people when it came to anything other than work. Shayla wondered where he sometimes went in his head, because, every now and then, his smile wiped from his face, just for a second, before being replaced with one a little harder. None of my business, she reminded herself.

Shayla had really wanted to hug Grant that morning after seeing him look so frustrated but decided that it might be wiser and more appropriate to show him that there were a few people on his side. Watching him break things and try to be all strong and humorous about it made Shayla want to unravel the Grant mystery even more. It kind of hurt to watch Grant pretending to be fine, but all Shayla could offer him was lunch and good conversation. Hopefully Mr. Strong and Silent—Sydney called him that sometimes, although never to his face—knew Shayla and Sydney cared. Shayla cared. Because he’s a friend. Just a friend.

Grant raised his soda in a toast. “To things not being worse,” he announced with a rueful half smile. “And, uh”—he cleared his throat—“to good company.” He nodded at Sydney, and when he met Shayla’s gaze, he held it. In Grant’s dark eyes she saw hunger, wide-open desire, and about a million other things she couldn’t puzzle out. They both looked away. Grant looked at her that way sometimes, and Shayla did her best to ignore it. Grant might have a small crush on her, or he could have a thing for petite, small-breasted girls possessing a great fashion sense.

Sydney broke the silence. “To good food and even better friends.” She clinked Grant’s glass, and Shayla came back to reality and smiled, pretending she wasn’t experiencing several different kinds of inappropriate thoughts and feelings for a sexy, complicated man who was her employee and also her friend. She needed to remember that things could never go any further than a panty-melting look, and behave.

Her phone buzzed. Grateful for the distraction, she dug it out of her purse to see a text message and call-back number from that pest of a reporter back in Maryland. That pain in the ass wanted another interview with Shayla. Like once in the hospital and once for a “where are the survivors now” follow-up a few months later hadn’t been enough. May as well take care of this before it becomes twenty voice mails piled in my in-box.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she promised Sydney and Grant. If that harpy journalist wanted an interview, it would be her last one with Shayla, and it would cost the reporter. Big-time. She walked outside into the cold and wind.

Kendall Baron, obnoxious reporter, answered her phone rather quickly. No polite niceties, no how have you been?, no what’s new?, blah-blah-blah, for Baron—she cut to the chase.

“Listen, Ms. Patrick, I know you’ve done two interviews with me for SCA news in Maryland, but I’ve joined an entertainment news show, and I have a human-interest story on survivors of disasters that I’m trying to put together. You’d be a perfect fit for the story.”

“Can you tell me a little more about the piece? Because last time your questions went a little off on a tangent, what with you being way too convinced I must have had some type of top-secret life-saving surgery or—no, what was it?—that I survived the bombs because I’m a little more than just human?” Jeez. Shayla had some talents, for sure, but being indestructible wasn’t one of them.

“We’ll do the basics about the accident and how you’re adjusting to life afterward. Plus, there’s the shock-and-awe factor of how amazing it is to survive such a destructive act, so we’ll put together a computer reconstruction of the accident for the viewers. So a few questions, maybe thirty minutes of your time, is all I’m asking,” Baron assured her. “I want you for this story, Ms. Patrick. What’s your price?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“What? That’s—”

“I don’t want the money. I want the check donated directly to Hope and Healing, a charity that helps fund plastic surgery, prosthetic limbs, and burn treatments for disaster survivors around the world.”

“Fine. I’ll send proof of payment of two thousand dollars to Hope and Healing after the interview’s over.”

“My other condition is that this is the last time you contact me for an interview. Or for any reason in general.”

“You have my word. I’ll text you a couple of dates I have available in a minute, and you can just send me back which one works for you. I’ll even come to Brass Cat so you don’t have to travel.”

Baron didn’t seem like the most honorable woman, but Hope and Healing would get two grand, and Shayla wouldn’t be harassed to do any more interviews.

WHEN SHAYLA STEPPED outside to deal with a text that had her looking all kinds of irritated, Grant found himself under Sydney’s microscope. She asked him the same question she always asked him. “When are you gonna make a move?” Only this time, the girl wasn’t joking. “Next Saturday at the Saint Patrick’s Day Festival would be a good opportunity.”

He’d forgotten about agreeing to go to the festival with Sydney and her husband, Derrick. Sydney always invited Grant to different events, and like an idiot, he usually agreed.

“She’s my boss.” Didn’t Sydney and the bear get that? “That’s a pretty big obstacle. For Shayla and for me.”

Sydney sighed. “I know. I just think you guys would be good together is all. Well, not just good, amazing. Awesome. Phenomenal—”

“Shut up. I get it.”

More likely is that he would lose his shit for Shayla, and then, because life wasn’t warm and fuzzy with a guaranteed happy ending for all, she’d be gone, and Grant would be in a world of hurt and misery, so much worse than simply going all Hulk and breaking a door handle. The bear made a rude comment about Grant’s lack of balls. The bear would get over it. Grant wasn’t ready to fall down a rabbit hole and find himself crazy in love with an adorable, clever, gorgeous, smart, sweet woman who would probably get bored with his silent, antisocial behavior in about five minutes. She was his boss, and that made it all impossible anyway. The bear muttered something about Grant being dumb for a math geek.

I’d be an idiot to think I have a chance with her. We’re too different. Plus, she’s my fucking boss! He hoped the bear was listening.

Chapter Three

The Great Oaks Saint Patrick’s Day Festival had food kiosks from restaurants all over town, and Grant’s stomach rumbled. He’d been fixing his dishwasher all morning and forgotten about breakfast. Then, when Sydney reminded him Shayla would be joining their little group at the festival, Grant had been too caught up in his own head to remember to do stupid stuff like make a sandwich so he didn’t die of starvation. Chili and cornbread in a plastic container warmed Grant’s hands. Now he needed something sweet to go with it all. Brownies from Rose’s Bakery would do the trick. Grant ordered one for himself and one for Shayla. The girl behind the counter gave him a huge smile and topped his plate with extra whipped cream and strawberries and blueberries. Bear shifter bears ate a lot. Especially fruit.

The Saint Patrick’s Day Festival had wine and beer stations, live shows, and games like cornhole, log throwing, and target archery. The event was being held outside on a particularly cold day in March, a frigid throwback to dead-of-winter cold, which meant people were drinking to stay warm while looking stupid trying to win games, and taking lots of selfies of themselves with pink noses and snotcicles.

Watching drunk people play games was way more entertaining for Grant than the mildly talented band or lame dance shows. He stayed a good distance away from the archery range, though. Alcohol and arrows—not a great combo. Never a great day to get shot with an arrow. Greg had shot him once, to teach him how to shift efficiently during an injury. Grant had shot him back later that night. Just because.

After Grant; Sydney; her husband, Derrick; their adopted daughter, Angel, and Shayla had gone around to a few more booths to stock up on cookies, coffee, wine, apple cider, and some hot chocolate for Angel, Derrick spread a huge quilt on the ground. Grant wound up sitting next to Shayla, who looked appetizing in her tall black boots and formfitting jeans. Her hair was loose that day. She usually wore it up in a bun or ponytail or some complicated braid thing. Today, dark-blonde waves framed her face, and Grant wondered what her thick hair would feel like tickling his neck or spilling against his thighs.

Locks of her hair escaped her coat’s hood and moved in the wind. “My stupid clip broke,” she explained, scowling at the inconvenience. Grant chuckled. Shayla’s knees brushed his, and he didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

The festival was all very normal, all very fun, with families of all sizes, shapes, and colors sitting on blankets across the clearing in the park. Grant hadn’t had a Sunday-dinner and family-fun-at-festivals kind of childhood. Grant had played games like “pick up the empty beer bottles and hide from mom’s drunk boyfriends,” or “swipe shit out of unlocked cars to pawn for rent or groceries,” or, his personal favorite, “hope to see Mom in the audience at a school award ceremony or play.” The last game had the most diminishing returns, objectively speaking, but he’d played that game the longest.

The heart and soul begged for fuel the same as the body did. Another one of those illogical things about humanity that just confused Grant but was best accepted as a necessary factor in the human equation. When he’d been at his weakest—bloody, alone, hungry, and scared—Brian, Freddy, Joe, and Maya had come along and taken him into their world. Years later, Grant had been ready to propose to Maya and make Brian, Freddy, and Joe his best men at the wedding.

Brian’s family had been so much fun to hang around, telling Grant many times they considered him a part of the family. Grant was Brian’s “brother from another mother,” they all used to say. Families did seemingly normal everyday things like go on picnics and shit, only Grant didn’t have a family, couldn’t revel in the joy of being a part of Brian’s because, just because, and Grant fucking refused to entertain the idea of having his own. What, so I can lose that too?

Yet there he was, sitting with friends who just kept inviting him out, kept talking to him despite his frequent lack of significant contribution to the conversation. They kept insisting on his presence despite the fact that he rarely reciprocated the requests. Being an asshole would ensure they left him alone, but he couldn’t force himself to do that.

Grant found himself looking among the crowd, at the stands and the games for possible hazards or anything around them that could go wrong. A lot of people were drinking. That in itself set him on edge, though he tried to keep in mind that these people weren’t doing the same heavy drinking that had gone on around him during childhood. Some people were being loud. Some people were being stupid. Each idiot had disaster potential. Risk assessment, a security professional would call it, except that risk assessment wasn’t Grant’s job.

Maybe it’s time to leave for the day. Get my head together. The overwhelming feelings of fear and acknowledgment had crept into him. He cared about the people near him and not just because they were nice to him and he didn’t want to hurt their feelings. He knew things about them, things they liked, things that made them sad, things they had been through. Little by little, it had chipped away at Grant’s armor, and his unprotected self protested. The bear huffed and stirred against his mind to try to soothe him. Stupid bear. Grant hated the bear.

Liar, said the bear.

Grant bowed his head, saying nothing to the bear. Shayla was shivering and holding her chocolate-caramel coffee in her hands but not sipping.

“Trying to stay warm,” she said through slightly chattering teeth. Because he was obviously stupid and weak willed, Grant took his jacket off to wrap around her, then pulled her against his side. She cuddled up against him, and in seconds her shivering stopped.

“Wow, Grant, you’re like a furnace!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry.” He started to move away.

“No way. Don’t you dare move! This is the first time I’ve been warm since we got here!” As if Mother Nature took her cue from her children’s complaints, it began to snow, just tiny little flakes, but Grant took his chance and pulled her closer. Shayla sighed, actually sighed, and closed her eyes. Angel giggled, and it snowed a little harder, just for a moment. Then the snow stopped.

Grant had forgotten for a moment that Angel was a rare weather shifter. She could use her gift to cause rain, sleet, and snow. She could make the air around her swirl, and she could make it still and humid. He winked at Angel in thanks for the snowflakes. Sydney and Derrick were both wolf shifters, but Sydney had mentioned before to Grant that she doubted Shayla knew anything of the strange abilities some people had.

He had soft, petite Shayla in his arms again. Now it was Grant who closed his eyes. Sure, he and Shayla had hugged before, in a friendly way. Well, she probably considered it a friendly gesture. He, on the other hand, felt he had done a very good job of denying his overwhelming urge to press her up against a wall and kiss her beautiful mouth.

The bear within Grant kept him hot to the touch, but Grant was a big guy anyway at six feet five, so he his body temperature ran warmer than most other people. Great in winter but kind of sucked in summer. Shayla would probably not want to be anywhere near his burning body furnace then. Every passing second that he held her against him, felt her breathing, and her hair blowing gently against his neck, was precious, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. He opened his eyes to see Sydney smiling a wicked Cheshire-cat grin that said, “ha, fight that.” And he couldn’t. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.

* * * *

Shayla pulled her hair up in a bun and stepped out of her robe. A warm bath after a cold day outside at the Saint Patrick’s Day Festival would be perfect. Actually, during part of the festival, she’d stayed pretty warm, all cuddled up next to Grant, the mystery man, but she liked her old-fashioned bathtub and didn’t mind finding any excuse to use it. Besides, having overdone it in Pilates the day before meant some overstretched muscles could use the heat of the bath. Shayla stepped into the tub, stuck her new e-reader in its waterproof case—she’d never make that mistake again—and laid her head back against the towel rolled up at the rim of the tub.

A few moments of soaking, and her sore muscles were uncoiling, and her book had gotten steamier than the foggy air in her bathroom. A particularly juicy scene unfolded in the story, and her mind drew salacious pictures that sent surges of energy sparking from her belly out to her breasts and between her thighs. She shouldn’t be picturing him, especially not naked, but she couldn’t stop. The scorching image made her press her fingers to her clit to ease the ache, stroking while she read.

“Oh, not even!” She snapped the cover over the front of her e-reader and set it down on the nearby counter. Due to her lack of mental discipline, she had been picturing the sexy vampire hero looking like Grant—with fangs. Worse than just picturing Grant as the sexy hero, Shayla’s imagination had plugged in her own face and body in the role of the heroine receiving Grant the vampire’s bold, masterful skills in the bedroom.

Shayla let out a shaky breath, unplugged the tub’s drain, and stepped out onto the soft, plushy bath mat. Her legs were jelly, and not because of yesterday’s Pilates. Grant the imaginary masterful vampire lover had possessed skillful hands and a hard, hungry body. She had forgotten the scene in the book, and her imagination had created her very own wild scene. Yes, she was so done reading for the evening. Both the book she had refused to finish reading and her bath-time fantasy scene absolutely paled in comparison to the dreams that found her later that night.

The next morning, during a staff meeting, her mind kept flashing back to her steamy visions. She glanced at Grant and tried her hardest to get a handle on those dream memories. One scene in particular, where she’d been naked in a rocky cave, riding a wild and completely out-of-control Grant. She sucked in a breath and bit her lip. Grant stopped midsentence and glanced straight at her. The look on his face reminded her of the wild, passionate Grant in her dream. Shit! No way! No way on earth can he read my mind! When he turned his focus back to his presentation, she sagged against her seat in relief. He’d probably caught her looking a little longingly at him. He wanted her too. Desire acknowledged. Moment over. There would be no more moments.

As they left the meeting room, Grant brushed past her and paused. He started to speak, stopped, and then gave her a simple “see ya later.” She wished then that she could read his mind, but no, that would be a bad idea. She had to remember that she was his boss. She vowed to get Grant off her mind any way she could—maybe go on a few dates, undergo hypnosis, have a lobotomy, whatever it took. In the meantime, she planned on giving Mr. Ever-ready, the greatest battery-powered lover on the planet, a workout when she got home that evening.

Chapter Four

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Grant reminded Shayla. Even though she looked tough and prepared, Grant scented a bit of fear coming off her. A few days before, during a meeting, he’d scented desire on her. For a brief moment, she’d looked at him as if she wanted to ride his cock into oblivion, and he’d wanted to kick everybody out of the room and make it happen. He’d forced himself to walk away, refusing to ask her if it really mattered that she was his boss. It would matter to her, and he knew nothing would work out between them anyway. The fact that he wanted inside her didn’t matter at the moment. He needed to put a stop to her having to be afraid. Too bad he couldn’t cancel the whole interview.

“I know I don’t have to do the interview,” she assured him. “But I’m doing it for the money the show will donate to Hope and Healing. And to make Kendall Baron leave me alone for good.”

“I’ll make her leave you alone,” he grumbled.

Shayla snickered. “This reporter is the same one who forced me into an interview when I was in the hospital, and then she bugged the crap out of me until I did a follow-up talk months later. She’s irritating and persistent and also kind of a conspiracy-theory nut, but come on, one interview can’t last forever, right?” The slight hitch in her voice gave her away. She didn’t want to do this. “Plus, free publicity for Brass Cat Advertising, so win-win.” The fear scent got stronger in the air.

Grant laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m here if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine, but thanks.” Her smile was sweet and sad. Shayla headed for the conference room and Grant for the security room so he could watch the interview over the camera feed without being intrusive.

The woman interviewing Shayla had the illusion of strength with her dark power suit and her hair in a sleek bun. Her black-framed glasses looked like a slutty librarian costume prop. Kendall Baron was posturing, working hard to come across as a sexy, smart interviewer. Grant watched the woman with too much makeup and too little humanity steer the interview none too gently away from talk of Shayla’s favorite charity and her work at Brass Cat Advertising to the details of the commuter-van bombing Shayla had survived. That fucking hag even pushed pictures in front of Shayla, forcing her to look at images that probably haunted her. Shayla was prepared, Grant knew, but still, that shit couldn’t be easy to talk about. He had outright refused to talk about what he’d survived.

Then, Baron played a video of footage from the van’s surveillance camera that had downloaded to a security company’s main server before the camera had been destroyed. Horrified, Grant watched a clip of Shayla being thrown sideways at the initial explosion. She tried to stand, but there came a bigger blast. The van crumpled, the awful screaming making him bite his cheek, and a blood-covered Shayla was thrown to the ground. Bodies—incomplete bodies—landed on top of her. The screaming on the video made Grant sick to his stomach. He wanted to get to her and fast, but he stayed put.

The video made Shayla pale and her eyes glisten. She looked down for a moment, but then she picked her head up and looked defiantly at the reporter. A silent “fuck you.” True, Shayla was beautiful, but her strength had made Grant truly take notice of her when they’d first met.

Baron stopped the video and stood over Shayla. “I ask you, Ms. Patrick, how are you not dead? What are you hiding? Did you have some type of revolutionary surgery?”

“This again? No. I went to the same hospital as the two other victims.”

“Yes, but you are one of only three survivors, and since the other two are basically comatose—”

Shayla gave her an impatient huff. “As I stated before, the photos and videos make my injuries appear worse than they actually were. There was a lot of blood.” Shayla looked calm, but Grant heard a break in her voice.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Ms. Patrick. I’ve spoken to your ex-boyfriend, Hunter Knowles, and he shared a story with us all about you surviving a brutal robbery and attack during college that left you both beaten, bloody, and unconscious. Only, when Mr. Knowles regained consciousness, you were somehow fine. Now, here’s your chance to tell us. Tell us what we all want to know. The world is changing. Surely you can’t expect to keep your secret forever.”

Grant hit the Record button on the security camera in the conference room. If the interview got too out of hand, he’d have Baron’s lack of professionalism on tape.

Shayla looked right at the flannel-wearing, man-bun-sporting cameraman and asked, “Is she crazy? Hunter got hurt in the attack because he tried to fight back. I just gave up my purse to the guys who stopped us on the street, but Hunter went ballistic, and the three guys beat the hell out of him and stabbed him. I didn’t pose a threat to any of them. One guy roughed me up a little, but nothing major.”

That detail alone made Grant want to track those assholes down. The bear offered to spill guts with his thick, sharp claws, and Grant considered it a viable option. Jesus, he shouldn’t want to hurt somebody so bad, but he did.

“Hunter suffered a traumatic brain injury as a result of the fight, and there were some…” She paused, biting her lip and looking so incredibly sad Grant went from wanting to commit murder to wanting to take her in his arms. Neither of those plans were good plans.

“Well, there were some lasting effects. The paranoia and other mental health issues caused him to behave irrationally more than once.”

Baron looked surprised at Shayla’s statement.

“He remained convinced I only survived the incident because I’m some type of vampire or superhuman freak.” She shook her head. “He went on to face a painkiller addiction. He became violent toward me, and then he spent some time in a mental institution. I don’t think that makes Hunter a reliable witness. Do you?”

Grant’s incisors broke through, and he had the urge to make Shayla his right then and there, on film, letting Hunter know Shayla was safe and protected. He dug his bear claws into the desk instead. Shayla walked over to Baron, and even though Shayla wore heels, Baron still had a few inches on her. With her shoulders back and her hands on her hips, Shayla wasn’t about to cower.

“And as you can see by the scars on my face, I didn’t make it out of the bombing without injuries. I witnessed the deaths of dozens of people around me and spent months recovering from lacerations, a punctured lung, and broken ribs. Whatever you guys are looking for, I’m not your answer. I tell you this every time you ask!”

Grant needed everybody to leave his woman the fuck alone. Not mine. My friend. My boss. Not my mate. The bear called Grant a dumbass. Grant made it to the conference room in time to hear Baron say, “Tell me what I want to know, or I’ll start haunting you, turning up things on your business, your clients, looking for anything I can find on you. I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Shayla just turned her head and smiled sadly at Grant walking toward her. Shayla’s hands were balled into fists by her sides. He stepped between the two women and held out his hand to the reporter.

“Hi, I’m Grant Mitchell, the financial director of Brass Cat Advertising.”

“Kendall Baron, reporter for Simply Entertainment.” She shook his hand and looked him up and down. The look of lust on her face made him want to spew chunks.

“Ms. Baron, you should know that I’ve been filming your little tirade on our security camera. If you come back here or bother Ms. Patrick again, I’ll send the tape to your boss and every other news station in the country. Back the fuck off, or you’ll be lucky to get a job at McDonald’s when I’m through with you,” he growled. Grant was a living, breathing example of the kind of weird Baron was looking to expose, and she was focusing on the wrong person.

Bigfoot hunters only wanted to make themselves look great. They wanted to shout out to the world, “Look what I did, look what I found!” But then what? Hunt or kill or study it because they had to understand it and wanted to replicate it? Or just kill a strange creation and everything like it?

Aside from the animal shifters and the weather shifters, there were the psy, who were mostly regular humans with freaky abilities like being able to move shit with their minds or read other people’s emotions or weirder stuff that he hadn’t wanted to know about. Mindbenders, some people called them, though the man who had initiated Grant had warned him that the term was the equivalent of a racial slur. However undecided he felt about the psy, he refused to call them by a name that would sting the way some of the names people had called him had stung. No fucking way.

By some stroke of luck, Shayla had survived something horrendous. Why the fuck couldn’t this damn reporter just let her be? Grant refused to let the poser journalist put Shayla on the radar of every asshole looking to catch a legend. He lost his head for a quick minute, taking the cameraman’s video camera and throwing it against the wall.

“Goddammit! That was worth a small fortune!” the cameraman yelled. Grant smiled at the man’s minitragedy. “You think throwing my camera’s gonna get rid of the interview? Hell no. The data’s automatically uploaded to an online storage account.” That sounded pretty feasible, but throwing the camera had felt so good.

“Get the fuck out of here, or you’ll be the next thing to hit that wall, you little prick.”

Instead of throwing punches and morphing into a bear like he wanted to do, Grant roughly escorted Baron and her crew the hell out of Brass Cat. He warned Sue the receptionist to call the cops if any of those worthless shits dared to show up again.

Grant spent the walk back to Shayla’s office repeatedly counting to ten and working on his apology. He fully expected a lecture from her about how she could handle her personal life without his assistance, but he couldn’t change what he’d done. He hadn’t wanted that reporter up in Shayla’s face for one more second.

Instead of the indignant lecture he probably deserved from her, Shayla laid her hand against his cheek. “You’re sweet, Grant. Thanks for getting rid of Baron and her crew.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Not at you. I was prepared to take some heat from her, but—” She looked down. “Anyway, thanks for looking out for me. Thanks for coming in so I didn’t have to take any more crap. I had kind of hit my crap-taking limit.”

He shrugged. “Anytime. I’m here if you need me. I’ve always got your back.” He gave her a shy smile.

“Same,” she told him. And her smile wasn’t the innocent kind of sweet of someone who didn’t understand what they were offering, nor was it the fake, careless kind of sweet that people used when what they really meant was “I’ll help you, but only if it’s a small task that doesn’t take up much time.”

Though she probably meant that she’d have his back in a friendship kind of way, her sincerity hit him in all the places it shouldn’t. He nodded and left her office before he started composing love poems and sappy songs in his head. Romantic feelings for his boss was not what he needed in his life at the moment. Or ever.

* * * *

The next day he avoided Shayla. The day after that, he spoke with her briefly about an account and then left her office without so much as a “bye, see ya later.” No doubt he’d been rude to her, but he needed some distance. What the fuck else can I do until I get over her?

The bear sighed. Maybe if you didn’t act like a dick and get all nonverbal and shit, you might be able to convince her she needs to have you.

“Hey, Grant,” called a familiar voice.

He smiled. “Hey, Sydney. What’s up? What are you doing here?”

Sydney had been at Brass Cat less and less lately because she’d made her artwork her top career priority. She did only a few graphic design jobs for Brass Cat here and there. Grant kind of missed her.

“Hey!” She shifted the folders in her arms and gave him a quick hug. “Shayla had a couple of clients that wanted something in the more artistic range, so she convinced me to pick up a couple extra jobs. So…” She looked at him with her big hazel eyes. “I need a favor.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. The favor could be something easy or something hard. He’d probably say yes anyway, but she didn’t need to know he was so easy to persuade.

“You’re still coming to see my art exhibition tonight at the Leo Yuki Gallery, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, I just talked to Shay, and her car is in the shop. She’s got a ride home from work tonight, and Derrick and I were going to give her a ride to the gallery later on tonight, but I need to get there a lot earlier than I’d thought to finish setting up. I was supposed to do that this morning, but I think I have more going on right now than I can handle, with everything.” She patted her rounded belly, which seemed to be getting bigger every week. “Anyway…” She blew a lock of wavy red hair off her forehead. “Can you take her?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Great, thanks. See you tonight.” Sydney gave him another quick hug, wearing a sly grin when she turned back with a little wave good-bye. Sydney needed to give up hope he’d get together with Shayla. He’d give Shayla a ride to the art gallery, though, and he’d pretend being next to her didn’t make him want to strip her naked every night and wake up beside her every morning.

* * * *

Shayla opened her front door, looking beautiful and confused.

“Hey, Grant. I thought Sydney and Derrick were picking me up.” She didn’t seem upset about seeing him at her door, so that was a positive.

“Sydney said something about getting to the gallery early to help set up and to check on a few things for one of her pieces in the show.”

Sydney had neglected to mention to Grant that his showing up at Shayla’s door would be a surprise to Shayla. He mentally cursed Sydney for the surprise-element twist in her devious plan. He would get her back for that later.

“Well, anyway, thanks for coming to get me. My car died this morning. It needs a starter, among other things.”

“I heard about your car. Sorry they didn’t fix it in time for the weekend. So, ah, are you ready, or do you need a few minutes?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You look nice tonight, Shay.” Nice was an understatement. But he couldn’t say what he really thought.

She smiled. “Thanks. You’re looking pretty fine yourself.”

The appraisal he heard in her voice was totally unexpected. Probably totally accidental too, and hell, it made him nervous. He felt like a shy, dorky teenager for a moment, not sure what to do.

One foot in front of the other, he reminded himself. Grant opened the passenger door of his truck and held her hand to help her up the step and into the passenger seat.

She laughed. “Thanks. Your truck is huge.”

“And you are anything but,” he teased.

“My dad used to tell me to eat more vegetables so I could grow up nice and tall, but that didn’t work out.”

“You’re perfect just the way you are.” Oh jeez, did that dopey line just come out of my mouth?

“I agree,” she said with a grin.

Grant stepped into the truck and turned on the heater for Shayla. He plugged the address of the art gallery into the GPS and found something on the radio with a softer rhythm than the loud, wailing-guitar, drum-pounding music he usually listened to. Virginia nights were still cool in the spring, but the heater must have kicked in enough for Shayla, because she took off her wrap and opened up her purse to search for something. Women’s purses might look small, but Grant had learned from Maya that they could be filled with a million useful things. Or junk and trash, depending on the woman.

He stole a glance at Shayla’s profile. They weren’t headed to a strictly suit-and-tie event, so her dress was more casual than fancy, a sleeveless cottony blue material that didn’t cling but hit her curves just right. Her toned arms and bare shoulders looked both strong and soft. Then his gaze wandered. He couldn’t help it. Shayla had piled her honey-colored hair into an intricate bun that left her neck bare. Grant loved her graceful neck and her delicate ears. The piercings that went all the way up her left ear featured small gold hoops for the evening. Sexy but classy. He always wondered if she was pierced anywhere else. A dark blue stone hung down on a thin gold chain between her breasts. Only a tiny hint of cleavage was visible with the design of her dress, but it revealed enough for Grant’s greedy mind to turn the image into a fantasy where he ripped off her dress and fucked her in his truck on the side of the road somewhere. The bear highly approved of that idea.

“Oh, I found it! Do you want some?” Shayla suddenly exclaimed.

Fuck, yeah, I want whatever you’re offering.

Shayla pulled a square of chocolate out of her purse. “It’s German chocolate, with marzipan inside and salted nuts on top.”

If it were any other girl, he’d be a smart-ass and say something like “You like nuts?” and then they’d both laugh. Joking like that with Shayla would be a bad idea. There were lines between them he couldn’t cross.

“Sure. I’ll take a piece.” He popped a square of the chocolate into his mouth, and damn, it was good—sweet with a little bit of bite.

We need a piece of her, the bear growled. She’ll taste even sweeter.

Off-limits, bear, and you goddamn know it! Grant wanted to change the off-limits status. He’d never heard her mention a boyfriend or love interest before, but he’d seen some guy pick her up from work a couple of times lately. After talking to the guy for a minute, Grant decided Melvin or Marco or whatever was a cocky shit who needed to be punched in the face a few times. Grant wanted to put a stop to that relationship before it got serious, but what right did he have?

Then fix it. Tell her what you want, the bear begged him.

Can’t. He needed to just get rid of whatever feelings he had for Shayla.

You’re not stupid. Fix it. Find a way.

Fuck off, bear.

Coward.

Grant sighed. The bear could be a stubborn asshole. But he might be right.

SHAYLA WATCHED GRANT’S hands on the steering wheel and tried not to imagine those big hands all over her, maybe gripping her ass or… Shut up! Stop it, stop it, stop it. She ate a piece of chocolate and forced herself to focus on the sweet, salty taste of perfection for a moment. For the rest of the ride, she and Grant chatted about silly things, funny things, everyday things, and then faced awkward silences. She felt guilty about wanting him and then irritated with herself for feeling guilty because he would ever know her thoughts on the matter anyway.

After they arrived at the art gallery, Grant followed the arrows on the signs placed out front that sent them to a parking garage across the street. Once he found a spot big enough for his house on wheels, he told her, “hang on,” and then hopped out of the driver’s seat. He opened the passenger door for her and helped her down to the ground. He even held the door for her when they walked inside the old fire station the gallery now inhabited. Grant always seemed to remember to do stuff like that—opening doors for the ladies, waiting until they were seated before taking his own chair.

“Thanks. You’re such a gentleman.”

Grant just shrugged off her compliment. Big, tall, cocky, and silent—Grant was all of those things yet so much more than what he seemed. He was sweet, shy, and considerate and also most likely a genius, especially with numbers, but he wasn’t conceited about it, at least not that she could tell, anyway.

Though the exhibits were still cordoned off, a display of abstract sculptures and strange paintings adorned the entryway of the reception room. Shayla zeroed in on one metal piece about three feet tall in which delicate rounded shapes were surrounded by a twisting labyrinth of sharp, spiky-looking claws. Scary but beautiful. She looked at Grant, who seemed deep in concentration. She gave him a moment before asking if he liked the design.

“Honestly?”

Shayla nodded. “I like honesty so much better than bullshit,” she whispered.

Grant snickered, and his shoulders relaxed. “I have a hard time appreciating the more abstract work. In my head, I take everything apart and put it back together in a slightly different way, and with an actual function. Then it makes more sense to me.” He grinned sheepishly.

“That’s pretty impressive.”

He shrugged. Getting Grant to talk, especially about himself, was a challenge. Getting him to accept a compliment was even more of a challenge. I wonder what his parents told him instead.

“So why isn’t your new boyfriend here tonight with you, instead of me?”

His hard, accusatory tone surprised her. “Boyfriend?” She hadn’t even been on a date recently. What the hell?

“The guy with the Porsche who’s been picking you up from work lately.”

“That’s Marcus. He’s just a friend.”

“A special kind of friend?” Grant’s usual sarcastic attitude was back in full swing, and for whatever reason, he’d directed that attitude at her. Was he judging her? Hell no, she wasn’t having that.

“Even if he was, does it matter? No one criticizes men when they have friends with benefits. I’m sure you’ve had a couple.”

Grant looked properly shamed. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s just…I talked to the dude for a few minutes in the lobby the other night, and he seems like a pretentious ass. Be careful, okay?”

“Marcus and I go to our workaholics support group meetings together sometimes and then catch a movie or dinner after. He is a friend. No benefits involved. In fact, if Marcus wanted to share benefits with anyone, he would go for you, not me.”

“Oh. Damn. I’m sorry I sounded like a sexist jerk. I just…” Grant swore under his breath. “Never mind. Not important.” He guided her down the red-tiled hallway through the steadily growing crowd to the bar near the stage where he ordered a Long Island iced tea. Just a little alcohol went a long way on Shayla, so she ordered a simple glass of champagne.

She took a little sip and let the bubbles slide across her tongue. Not too sweet and not too fizzy—perfect. Maybe she’d order another. She wasn’t driving.

Sydney caught her attention from near the stage and waved. Shayla waved back. She really wanted to ask Sydney for some type of road map to Grant. She couldn’t quite figure out why he’d seemed so close, then so distant lately. She had her hopes, but… Syd and Derrick stopped by the bar. Shayla gave Sydney a look, then glanced at Grant.

Sydney grinned and shrugged. She and Syd would most definitely be texting later.

“Good luck, Syd.” Grant gave a lock of Sydney’s red hair a tug.

“Thanks.” Sydney gave him a little shove and whispered something in his ear that made him look frustrated. Shayla didn’t quite catch Grant’s response, but it sounded an awful lot like “scheming, evil brat.” Sydney just laughed and patted Grant on the back.

“Bye, guys. I’m going to check my exhibit one last time before the official opening.” She leaned toward Shayla and whispered, “I’m kind of freaking out. Thanks to you convincing Leo Yuki to let you publicize the new gallery and the art exhibit for free if the gallery in exchange for donating a portion of the ticket sales to Hope and Healing, the publicity brought in some important critics. I heard from another artist that there are at least three art magazine columnists here tonight. And a bunch of entertainment bloggers too.” Sydney’s eyes were bright, and she looked scared and excited. Derrick took her hand in his.

Shayla wasn’t creative like an artist, nor was she able to construct a sculpture or deconstruct an innovation using a mental calculator, but she did know how to trade deals. Those deals helped her company, but they also helped people she cared about. “I couldn’t have done it without Grant’s help.”

The two of them had put in some long hours scouring every possible interest group and target market within a hundred-mile radius. Their efforts had paid off. People filled the gallery. “Now go show everybody how awesome your work is. We have some things to talk about later.”

Shayla gave Grant a sideways glance. Sydney smiled a not-sorry kind of smile, and she and Derrick walked hand in hand down the hallway toward the exhibits.

And…things were back to silent and awkward between Shayla and Grant again. Things never used to be that way between them. Sure, Grant didn’t talk a lot, and sometimes having a conversation with him took effort, but things had felt…different lately. They sat at the bar, probably looking as uncomfortable as they both felt.

Could Grant have feelings for her—something more than just a passing attraction? Was that why he didn’t like Marcus? Or was he just a caring friend who didn’t want to see her get hurt? Even if Grant truly had a thing for her, someday, probably sooner rather than later, a beautiful woman, one he could actually date, one who wasn’t his boss, would catch his eye, and Shayla would fall back into his “friends” category.

The announcer arrived onstage, looking steampunk smooth and sexy. With a world full of more than seven billion people, certainly there would be somebody she could crush on instead of the sweet, hot-as-sin, complicated man sitting next to her. She decided to focus on the sexy announcer and use him in her evening fantasies.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the opening of the Leo Yuki Gallery’s exposition of After the Apocalypse. This month we will have several exhibits displayed by professional artists. In addition, there will be a display by the Great Oaks Community Center Arts Department and robotics demonstrations from the Charlottesville Youth Robotics Team. To make this event even more spectacular, a portion of all admissions tonight and for the duration of this month’s After the Apocalypse exposition will go to Hope and Healing, a charity that helps to fund plastic surgery, prosthetic equipment, and other services for disaster survivors around the world.”

A big cheer rose from the crowd.

As the announcer continued with his speech, a huge group of people filed in. A bus tour, maybe? Her little space at the bar got smaller. The reception room got smaller.

Not now. Please not now. The press of people against her safe bubble of space took Shayla back to a time when she couldn’t move, when she’d been trapped under the unyielding weight of bodies and surrounded by smoke and fire. Life could change in an instant. She’d watched her boyfriend in college get stabbed in a robbery. He’d lived, but he was never the same. She didn’t want to lose anyone else. She didn’t want to be hurt again—she might not survive another disaster. No magic formula existed to tell her where to avoid, who to avoid, just that she couldn’t predict the future and nowhere was safe. The roaring in her ears became deafening. She sucked in a breath. I’m not trapped. I’m not helpless. Shayla felt a big, warm hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Shay?”

How the fuck did Grant know? She was stone-still and wore a pleasant smile. So how? The weight of his hand on her shoulder kept her tethered to the present as bodies from the crowd pressed in against them. She might be fooling everybody else, but she wasn’t fooling him, apparently.

May as well share, she decided, especially since she’d just talked about how she preferred the truth over bullshit. “I’m not a big fan of crowds. Not since the…” She struggled for the right word. One didn’t speak the words “bomb” or “explosion” in a crowded public place. Memories of being stuck under the weight of dead bodies sometimes came back to screw with her in the push and pull of a large crowd.

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of crowds either. We’ll hang back. Stay with me, and we’ll both be fine.”

Shayla knew she’d be fine on her own without Grant’s help. She knew what tricks to use, to breathe deeply and find the facts—what sounds did she hear, what could she smell, what did she see, what things were true—no matter where she was. While they waited for the crowd to thin out, her subtle deep breaths helped the senseless panic to fade and curiosity began to take the place of anxiety.

“I’m sure you know why crowds freak me out a little. Any particular reason you don’t like crowds, or are they just not your thing?”

Grant looked down and raked his hand through his shaggy dark hair. “It’s kind of stupid, but when I was a kid, my mother would throw these huge parties. Things got wild. People got crazy, sometimes mean. I just tried to stay out of the way.”

“But you weren’t always fast enough?”

“No.”

His short answer made Shayla think the parties he’d endured weren’t like the cocktail parties her parents threw, and Grant hadn’t simply been running from a bunch of adoring, slightly drunk grown-ups who wanted to give him hugs and pinch his cheeks. A strange kind of rage bubbled up inside her at whoever had hurt Grant.

His lips were warm at her ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “It’s all right, baby doll. I made it out alive.” Grant’s hand, warm over hers, was a welcome surprise, and he kept her hand in his while they made their way through the corridor to a room full of some remarkable artwork. He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

Shayla spoke with artists, bloggers, feature writers, critics, and even buyers. Leo Yuki, the gallery owner, introduced Shayla to a local newspaper columnist who wanted to do a feature on the After the Apocalypse exposition.

“Rochelle Appel with Camden Star.” A tall, curvy woman with blue-streaked hair held out her hand, and Shayla shook it. “I hear you organized the effort to have Mr. Yuki donate part of the proceeds of ticket sales and art sales to the Hope and Healing charity.”

“That’s right. Hope and Healing has made extensive efforts to donate prosthetic limbs and other services to disaster victims. They also fund research on mechanical limbs and treatment of burn victims.”

“I also wanted to meet you, Ms. Patrick, because I read your story about the commuter van bombing while I was doing background research for my story.”

Shayla cringed. Would this lady be another hack like Kendall Baron?

Ms. Appel went on. “I assume living through such an experience had something to do with your efforts to raise money for Hope and Healing?”

“It did. Very much so. So many people have not been fortunate enough to survive terrible things and come out as…intact as I did. If someone’s lucky enough to survive something horrible, then worrying about the cost of healing shouldn’t be their main concern.” Grant was close by, and that made her feel better, for whatever reason. He glanced her way. She got the message—he was there if she needed him. Turned out, she didn’t. The reporter had her own story to tell.

“A decade ago, I couldn’t afford a prosthetic arm. I had recently graduated from college when I lost my arm in a rock-climbing accident. I couldn’t afford a good prosthetic with my crappy health insurance. It took me years of hard work before I was in a position to be able to buy the kind of prosthetic arm I wanted.”

She shrugged. “Then I sort went all out.” She pulled up her left sleeve and showed Shayla a futuristic-looking arm with a complex system of gears and pulleys. The hand was a light silvery color with a pattern of black thorny flowers and vines running down the fingers. “This arm does more than fill out a shirtsleeve.” Ms. Appel wiggled her fingers and closed and opened her hand.

“Fantastic! The design is beautiful too.”

“Thanks. These exhibits are all pretty amazing, and I guess I’d better get a few more photos for my article, but thanks for talking with me.”

“No problem.” Shayla smiled at the woman who had turned an injury into something beautiful. There was nothing creative Shayla could really do with her scars from the bombing unless she wanted facial tattoos, but she would make sure Hope and Healing had donations coming in on a consistent basis. While Shayla explored the last exhibit, Living Machines, which consisted of glass-and-iron animal sculptures with movable joints, Grant studied one particular piece. His fingers traced the spaces near the angles.

“You’re building something else entirely in your head aren’t you?” she asked.

“Guilty.” He gave her an embarrassed grin. “It’s relaxing.”

Shayla waved to Sydney, who was deep in conversation with an art blogger Shayla had met earlier in the evening, and she and Grant made their way to the door.

“I think yoga and funny movies are relaxing, but hey, whatever works for you. I don’t even like building things that come in a box with directions and the proper amount of screws and bolts. I’ve got an unassembled bookcase mostly still in the box because the screwed-up directions made me want to take up chain-smoking and start throwing things.” She laughed.

“I’m good with stuff like that and fixing things around the house. Anything you need doing, just let me know.”

“Those might be the most magical words a girl with no assembly and appliance-fixing skills can hope to hear. Be careful, or I’ll take you up on that offer,” she teased. Grant put his arm around her shoulders after they stepped outside. Maybe he was just trying to keep her warm in the chilly night air?

“Call me anytime. I don’t mind fixing things. Besides, I like your company.”

Shayla’s breath caught at the sincerity of his voice. When Grant pulled her closer to him, she was caught without her usual charm and skills to steer a conversation wherever she wanted it to go. When he leaned in, she didn’t back away. When he brushed his lips against hers, she returned the kiss. When she wrapped her arms around him, the kiss intensified.

His lips against hers were perfect, and she wanted so much more, but she shouldn’t. An instant later, she and Grant pulled apart. Grant started to speak, then shook his head and opened the car door for her. Yes, they were both going to forget that kiss had happened, or pretend to, anyway. Light conversation and strange pauses filled the ride home. The journey wasn’t awkward because they had nothing to say, but awkward because there were things that couldn’t be said. Seven billion people in the world, and she was crushing harder by the minute on a guy she couldn’t have.

Chapter Five

Two weeks after the art exhibition, Shayla sent out one last e-mail for the day and shut off her light. Everything else could wait until Monday, and not just because she didn’t want to stay until all hours of the night and succumb to her former workaholic ways. This particular Friday she needed to haul ass home and finish cleaning up her house before her guests arrived. Her cleaning lady had called earlier, very sorry that she couldn’t make it to her once-weekly cleaning appointment at Shayla’s house, which sucked because Shayla had been so busy all week long that her house was a wreck.

Everyone at Brass Cat was leaving early to go get ready to attend her birthday party, and also attending were a few other friends she had made since moving to Great Oaks almost three years ago. Shayla had a lot to celebrate. She made less money now than she had three years ago—hence, a party at her house and not at some venue—but had her own business to grow however fast or slow she wished. Not to mention that she actually had a personal life outside work, and that in itself was huge progress. She could only regret that it had taken her almost getting blown up and crushed to death to start that process.

The upcoming party was more about celebrating all she had endured and how much she had changed than about turning a specific number. She just didn’t want to go around spouting off a bunch of philosophical mess about it, and “I have scars and PTSD, but I’m not an asshole anymore, so let’s celebrate” didn’t make for a great invitation headline. Nope, Shayla’s Thirtieth Birthday Celebration looked much better on the invites.

She locked her office door and made her way to the front to give Sue, the front-desk receptionist-office manager, a couple of quick details about the Monday-morning staff meeting. Grant walked into the lobby and sat in one of the leather chairs in the waiting area. Two weeks had gone by since their kiss outside the art gallery. They should probably talk about it, but she didn’t want to speak the words that would put an end to whatever was beginning. He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. She nodded, noting his serious expression. Grant picked up a copy of Time magazine but was clearly waiting for her. Patiently but urgently. The patience part she could see. The urgency she could feel.

Shayla prided herself on being a logical woman. She had a talent for reading nonverbal cues, and the manner in which Grant sat—a relaxed pose with tense muscles, jaw set in determination, his brow slightly furrowed—gave her the clues she needed. She could feel the intensity of it when she looked at him and because she cared about him as a friend. A friend you want to see naked.

Sue smiled and patted her on the arm. “I’ll see you tonight, Shay.” Sue lowered her voice to a fake whisper. “Now go see what that gorgeous man over there wants.” She and Sue both glanced over at Grant, then giggled. Grant gave them a theatrical scowl.

“Don’t frown, sweetheart.” Sue teased Grant. “I’m going home to make some blueberry muffins with fresh blueberries and brown sugar, just like you like them. I’ll bring them to the party tonight.”

“Thanks, Sue.” Grant stood and escorted her to the door. “You need me to walk you to your car tonight?”

“No thanks, sweetie. I’m parked right out front. It’s still light outside, anyway. I’ll see you kids in a little while.”

Shayla and Grant were now face-to-face, and for once she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Oh, good grief, how on earth can his cologne smell so freaking fantastic? Finding that polite, professional attitude where a boss and employee chatted about superficial things and went on about their business might be the only way Shayla could survive and overcome her attraction to the smart, sexy man so close to her every day. She wanted to find that attitude, but she needed a minute to get herself together. She started to step back.

Grant looked down for a second. “Would you mind if I stopped by a little early tonight, before the party starts? I need to talk to you.”

Responses such as, What is it already?, Can’t we just talk now?, or Is it really that important? all fizzled in her head because he looked so serious and he stood so close, and of course she still couldn’t ignore the fact that he smelled amazing, like the faintest hint of oceans and pine trees. Grant had probably gone to lunch at the Greenhouse Effect and sat by the lake, or maybe he had on some outrageous black-market type of cologne designed to bring women to their knees with promises of ecstasy. Shayla was glad for lightly padded bras when she felt her nipples tingle and harden, as if he had run his fingers over her skin. Make it stop, she pleaded with her body.

“Shay?”

“Um, yes. That’s fine, but are you sure we can’t just—”

“Not here.”

What does that even mean? “Okay. Sure.” She took a little step back, to get some distance, and he exhaled. Was he holding his breath?

“See you at six.” And then…he smiled a shy, sweet smile, the kind that she so rarely saw from him. Her heart melted into a syrup puddle. No time to dwell on it, though. She had to go home, clean her house, and get ready. And she had to do it a whole lot quicker than she had expected.

* * * *

Is he going to quit? Is he going to ask me out? Is it something bad about the business? Did stupid Kendall Baron decide to mess with Brass Cat after all? What does he need to tell me? Shayla worried along, going from room to room, vacuuming and hiding messes in closets and under beds. Nobody would look under the beds. Dirty dishes got loaded in the dishwasher, and dirty laundry got thrown into the wash.

Now her house was ready, but Shayla still wasn’t. She did her best to focus on getting gorgeous and not worry about problems that might or might not exist. She had already chosen one of her favorite dresses, a simple black almost knee-length, not-too-dressy dress, made remarkable by the wide cherry-red belt and the red velvet trim. The lining of the dress was so soft, almost cotton, but better. Sleek black ankle boots and ruby earrings completed the outfit. Shayla put a few curls in her hair with the curling iron and let them set before pulling the top part of her hair back and into a clip. She rarely wore her hair completely down. It was kind of a “fuck you; deal with my scars” message to the world.

A look in the mirror revealed that despite her hurried preparations, she still looked pretty good. If Grant was leaving Brass Cat, she wanted to tempt him to stay. Shayla sank down onto her bed with a heavy sigh. She was Grant’s boss. She couldn’t think of him like that, but damn it, he had been there since Brass Cat Advertising opened, so he was a part of the business. He had become a friend, and Shayla knew what part of her life she would like him to fit into. It wouldn’t be the first time she had thought someone at work was fantasy-worthy, but this time she was the boss. She repeated that little fact over and over in her head.

All those thoughts about possibilities would have to be kept to herself, despite her feeling that there was something indescribably good growing between them, however unspoken it was. Too many times to count, Shayla had felt Grant’s gaze on her, and not just lately. At first, it had been a simple ego boost for her, especially since she hadn’t yet undergone the scar-reduction surgery when she’d hired Grant and officially opened her company for business.

The accident had not left Shayla completely unattractive, nor did she appear frightening to small children, but the scars were clearly there on her face where everyone could see. After her scar-reduction surgery a few months before, she had come home and looked in the mirror. Really stood there in the bathroom and looked. The image did not reflect perfection, but she saw improvement. When she’d returned to work that Monday, on her desk had been a bottle of champagne, a big chocolate bear—everybody knew she loved bears—and a vase of pretty pink roses. In front of everything lay a note from Grant with a simple message: Welcome Back.

When Shayla had found Grant, she’d given him a huge hug to thank him for the gifts. She’d had to stand on her tiptoes to reach. When he’d wrapped his arms around her and hugged back, it felt as though he was welcoming her home, like maybe he had really missed her. The thought had seemed silly at the time, but…

Grant had pulled back then and looked her straight in the eye. “You look beautiful,” he’d told her before turning abruptly and walking away. “You always look beautiful.” He had said it just under his breath, but Shayla had caught it. She had hearing like a bat.

Things between them had never gone further than hugs, intense looks, sharing body heat at a freezing winter festival, and yeah, that one kiss, but would she stop him if he tried? She would have to put a stop to anything physical between them because I’m his boss. Yes, back to that. What else could she do but endure her little crush until it fizzled? She vowed to work on meeting a few nice men. She hadn’t really been trying. She no longer let work consume her entire life. The frenzy of starting a new business from nothing—except for a few clients she had figured out how to legally swipe from her old job thanks to the legal genius of her friend Derrick Porter—had calmed in the past few months. It was time.

Shayla had spent the past few years of her life healing from her injuries and trying to really get to know herself again, trying to see herself as more than what she did for a living. When she’d begun to work on finding hobbies and friends outside her career, she’d gradually become a part of her new community in Great Oaks. The town, once full of empty textile plants, boarded-up grocery stores, and other deserted businesses, had started growing and thriving when creative new architecture replaced desolate buildings. Businesses attracted more commerce and trade, and people flocked to the fresh air and good real estate prices. Brass Cat Advertising had made its home in a renovated convenience-store building.

While she had been busy putting herself back together and finding a good place in life and, oh yeah, running a business, Shayla hadn’t thought much about dating, except that for the past couple of months she’d been thinking way too much about Grant. Why did the train in her head keep insisting on going around the Grant track? She wanted him, and she couldn’t date him. The end.

Back to the plan of looking for a nice, handsome stranger to get to know, maybe go out on a few dates with. No more friends with benefits like she used to have. Seriously, what was the point anyway? She got more satisfaction out of a good workout session followed by a bowl of peanut-butter-chocolate-chunk ice cream. And ice cream and fitness instructors didn’t require awkward conversation or faked orgasms. The whole concept of fuck buddies no longer appealed to her, but the idea of dating with a purpose was a little daunting.

The last serious boyfriend she’d had had been Hunter, nearly ten years ago. Shayla hadn’t cared much for the relationship thing after that. She much preferred romance novels and sappy movies to get her passion fix. Movies and books were a lot less demanding and a lot less disappointing than regular people. Not to mention there was a guaranteed happy ending in a love story. The doorbell chimed, and Shayla’s heart sped up. She was dying to know what Grant wanted to talk to her about.

Imagine a happily ever after with Grant. Like it or not, there was something between them. But there couldn’t be anything other than that indescribable hint of something. What a shame. She sighed and opened the door. Inviting Grant inside would give her a few answers, but they might not be the ones she wanted.

“I CAN’T WORK for you anymore,” Grant informed Shayla. She sat on her sofa and looked up at him.

“Why?” was the only word that fell from her lips.

Grant started to choke on the answer, to shut the whole fucking thing down, but he’d come this far.

“Do you want more money, more vacation time, what?” She asked him this like any of that mattered to him right now.

He shook his head. “No. That’s not it. That’s not what—”

“I didn’t even know you were unhappy at Brass Cat.”

Her eyes, that was what did him in. He saw her tear up. Fuck, just to be wanted and her wanting him to stay put a knot in his chest. Grant dropped to his knees to face her. “I wasn’t unhappy, Shay. I needed to find a way to do something, and this was my solution.”

She looked at him in frustration. The muscles in her jaw tightened, and her lips pursed somewhere between mad and upset. Shayla’s big blue eyes brimmed with tears, making the brown flecks scattered within the blue irises glitter and shine. She took his breath away. Jesus, his heart was racing, and there were feelings going on he couldn’t even name.

Time to get on with it. “I’ll still be at Brass Cat for a little while, but I won’t technically be your employee. I had Derrick help me with the legal part of creating my own financial management company. One of my main goals right now is to focus on hiring employees and interns, then send them to work for different companies who need their services. So, I would appreciate it if you would contract with G. Mitchell Financial Solutions and use me for your financial management services, for now anyway. That way I wouldn’t technically be your employee, more of an independent contractor.”

“Okay, well, yeah, of course, but—”

Grant put his hand over hers and hoped he wasn’t making an idiot out of himself, and if he was, well, he had a new company and a chance to make extra money. And the bear would know that at least Grant had sacked up and tried. “I did it because it was the only way to ask you out. I tried not to think about it, to ignore the way I felt, but I couldn’t. Not anymore. So it was either this or just pick up and leave.”

Shay laced her fingers through his. “So you’re not leaving me?”

Not leaving her? She didn’t even mention Brass Cat. The kind of hope of what could be, might someday be, nearly ran rampant through his body. He needed to step cautiously—shitty luck and rejection could trip him up at any time, but he still needed to take a step.

“Not until you want me to.”

Shayla nodded and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “You made me cry on my birthday.” She laughed through the tears. They just kept spilling down her cheeks. Grant helped her to her feet.

“I’m sorry, baby doll. I hoped like hell you would say yes.”

Grant’s hands on her shoulders shook, ever so slightly. He prayed she didn’t notice. Shayla looked up, and through the shine of her tears, he saw the moment she realized what he really wanted.

“You want more than just a casual thing, don’t you?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded low and thick, not even close to the cool, laid-back tone he’d tried for. “I want to be the only one you date.”

“Grant, I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Shayla rose on her tiptoes, but she was still a little too short. Grant leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, gently. He was huge and ungraceful, forever forgetting his strength. He broke stuff like a bull in a china shop, but he vowed to be extra gentle with Shayla. Shayla licked his bottom lip and sighed. He couldn’t get enough of her soft lips, so he pulled her closer.

She stroked her hands down his back, and he tensed up when she passed her palms over raised tissue and indentations he knew she’d be able to feel through the fabric of his T-shirt. She wrapped her arms around his back, and he relaxed under her touch.

Each swipe of her tongue against his sent a shock of electrifying heat through his body. Grant came ridiculously close to slipping his fingers under Shayla’s skirt. He wanted to feel her silky skin, to touch her and taste her. He wanted it all so badly moisture seeped from the head of his cock. Shayla wanted him too. Being a bear shifter meant his senses, even while in human form, were incredible. He could smell her sweet desire, not just the barely there scent he’d sometimes caught from her before, but strong and sweet and very clearly for him. Knowing she wanted him so badly made his balls tighten and his chest ache.

When Shayla moved her hands from his hips to his ass to pull him closer, Grant’s control slipped, and he grabbed a fistful of her dress and pushed it up her thigh. The daring look she gave him caused him to pull them both down to the sofa. He lay back and tugged Shayla on top of him.

She moved to straddle him, and Grant slid his fingers up the smooth, warm skin of her exposed thigh. He needed more. He cupped her pussy and used his thumb to trace her clit over her soaked panties. The whimper she gave made Grant kiss her harder. Before, when he’d kissed a woman, he’d felt that he was somehow betraying Maya’s memory. There were no feelings of betrayal nagging at him anymore. He tried and repeatedly failed to keep his kiss with Shayla from becoming hard and needy.

When Shayla gripped his arousal through his jeans and his cock jerked in her hand, he knew he had to put a stop to her touch before he came two strokes after she pulled out his dick. Her grip on his heart was even tighter than her grip on his cock. The desire burning in his chest was something more dangerous than just wanting to be inside her. So much more. Memories of Maya usually hurt like hell, but he should try to go back to surviving on memories before he went too far with Shayla, before things got too real.

Shayla was flesh and bone, real and right now, a living tornado force of a woman. She could hurt him. She could leave him. She could die. He had a solution to that last fear, though. If his being a bear shifter didn’t make her want to immediately jump ship, he could initiate her, make her a shifter too. She’d be even stronger in that form, but she still might never want forever with him.

Grant wanted more from Shayla than he should right then, and he needed to want less, or at least not so much at once. He needed to pull back from the edge and get himself under control, but he couldn’t do that with her touching him. He had the perfect distraction for her. He ripped her lacy panties off because they were in his way.

Shayla’s heartbeat quickened against his chest, and she whispered his name when he pushed two thick fingers inside her drenched pussy. He’d meant to go slower, start with one and work up to two, but she gripped the back of his neck, and her voice was so sexy in his ear when she said, “Don’t stop.”

He twisted and worked his fingers inside her tight core, and she rode his hand. With his free hand, he worked the tiny buttons at the top of her dress to reveal her satiny bra. He pulled the cups downward, but it wasn’t enough.

“Take it off,” he ordered her. She grinned and pulled the lacy thing off so slowly he nearly lost his mind.

Her nipples were tight, and she gave a little moan when he rolled the sensitive tip of one between his fingers. He wanted to pinch down on the tight buds, to make her yelp. And goddamn, he wanted to come on her tits one day. Right now he needed to focus on her, so she’d forget about him.

Shayla unbuttoned his pants and started to lower his fly. Grant caught her hand.

“If your hand goes around my cock, I’m gonna take that dress off you and come all over your stomach. Don’t touch me unless you want that to happen.” The warning came out sounding harsh.

“Do it, then,” Shayla whispered in his ear. Such a sexy command. Grant couldn’t ignore it. He grabbed her shoulders and shifted their position so he straddled her, then found the zipper at the back of her dress and lowered it. He knew better than to mess up a woman’s clothes, so he tossed the black-and-red dress onto a chair near the fireplace. Shayla lay beneath him, naked and beautiful, her fair skin not a snowy white but glowing warm and rosy, and her cheeks and chest flushed a deep pink. A bikini wax had left her with a small strip of honey-blonde fur he wanted to stroke. A red jewel glittered at her belly.

“So sexy,” he murmured, fingering the ruby stud in her pierced belly button. “I used to wonder if you had any more piercings besides your ears.”

“There’s one more piercing I’m debating on getting.” She pressed her finger against her clit.

“Fuck, yes.” He didn’t even try to backtrack his enthusiasm for her possible future clit piercing. He pressed his thumb to her and drew circles, teasing and soft, then harder and more calculated.

When he pushed his fingers back inside her pussy, Shayla bit her lip and let out the sexiest sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh. She unzipped his pants, and he corkscrewed his fingers inside her, intending to distract her some more. Her shoulders went tight, her breathing quickened, and she gasped out a breath before telling him to slow down.

“It’s okay to come, baby doll. Don’t be shy. I’ll take care of you.”

And her reply to him did things to his brain he couldn’t identify. “I want you to come with me.” She pulled out his cock and wrapped her hand around it. She gasped, and her eyes were wide. “God, Grant, do they even make condoms in your size?”

“Extra-large ones.” He chuckled at her delight in his size but groaned when she tightened her grip around his length and stroked him from root to tip. She swirled her thumb around the juices easing from the head of his cock for a moment before stroking his length again. He worked her faster with his fingers.

Shayla tilted her head back and let out a shaky moan before her whole body tensed, then bowed. He kept his thumb over her clit and pinched hard, rolling it between his fingers. “God, Grant!” She met his gaze, and he couldn’t look away from her as she broke apart. Watching pleasure take over her features pushed Grant over the edge that he’d been trying to ease back from. He couldn’t hold out any longer so closed his fist over hers, and the pressure gliding up and down his shaft built into something he couldn’t contain. After a few more strokes, a river of pent-up need flooded from him in waves across her breasts and stomach.

Grant took in some ragged breaths as he and Shayla sat up and leaned against each other. They stayed that way for a moment until Shayla kissed his cheek.

“I need to go clean up.”

“Better grab your underwear.” Grant gestured toward the sexy panties he’d ripped apart. He shouldn’t have lost his cool like that, tearing her clothes from her. Shayla just giggled and grabbed the torn scraps. Grant zipped his pants, then smoothed his hair back into some sort of order. His brain had scrambled, and he spent a few minutes trying to get his head together. When Shayla came back into the living room all dressed and smoothed out again, he stalked over to her and kissed her. He couldn’t get enough, but she wasn’t pulling away.

What if she’s as crazy for me as I am for her?

That’s pretty fucking likely. The bear’s smirking tone rang out in Grant’s head. What the fuck did the bear know about it, anyway?

Shayla sucked on his tongue and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. He groaned and had to pull away before his descending incisors could cut her lip. Shit! He usually had better control over that kind of thing. He forced his incisors back into his mouth and caught her up in another spectacular, near-orgasm-inducing kiss. Before things could hit out-of-control speed again, he pulled back and held Shayla against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’m glad I don’t have to pretend our first kiss didn’t happen,” she confessed. He hugged her tighter, and the doorbell put an end to their sweet moment.

“The catering service,” Shayla said. She moved from his embrace and let the caterers in to start setting up. Then she sat back down next to him, looking flushed and happy, with no idea that she already owned a piece of his heart. Grant handed her the box he had left on the end table after arriving earlier, all nervous and scared that he was going to make a fool of himself.

“Happy birthday, Shay.”

She opened the flowery wrapping paper to find a box with an even smaller box inside. The small box revealed a diamond heart pendant with a little gold bear sitting inside the heart. A round diamond filled the center of the bear’s chest. The pendant was intricate and beautiful, like Shayla. The bear inside the heart said it all without saying anything out loud.

“Grant, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed and kissed his cheek. “You know how much I love bears.”

He smiled and wondered if she would like the bear inside him. He could hope, but hope could wrap around his heart like barbed wire and shred him with its metal claws if he wasn’t careful.

Chapter Six

The next morning, Grant found himself in panic mode about out about how fast he was falling for Shayla. Her sweet, hot mouth against his had turned him into a panty-ripping beast. If he couldn’t keep himself in check, he might get too intense, scare her off. Shayla kissed like a goddess and made him want to worship her. His past, the depth of his feelings for her might make her drop him like a bad one-night stand if he laid out all his cards on the table at once. The bear knew what he needed to distract him. The prickling feeling that went from the base of Grant’s skull and down his spine meant he better move his ass out the back door and shift before the bear made a mess of his living room.

Grant’s enormous backyard made a good place for the bear to be free. A long, mindless run through the woods in gigantic bear form left Grant’s mind a little more centered, less worried. Since clothes didn’t magically shift with a shifter, the trees were good cover to hide a bear or a naked man. The big sturdy oak was his favorite, and he leaned his back against the thick trunk, naked after a shift back to human form, enjoying the quiet of the morning. Grant’s house in Great Oaks was a far cry from the rundown little house in south Jersey he’d lived in as a kid. The yard in the sketchy neighborhood of Bentwood had been about the size of a living room and always contained cigarette butts and glass, no matter how hard he had worked to keep it nice.

The rented house there had been shelter but never anything more, though Grant had tried. He’d painted the walls himself when he was twelve, using money he’d gotten from doing odd jobs around the neighborhood. The fresh coat of paint helped, but it couldn’t hide the truth. The shabby house usually held very little real food but plenty of yelling and ass kicking from his mom, from one of his mom’s many boyfriends, and from his mom’s drunk-ass friends. His mind drifted back to a day that had changed his hungry, sad existence to something else entirely.

* * * *

On one particular Friday after school, the change jar hidden in the back of his closet stood empty. His funds from his summer jobs of cutting grass and fixing things around neighbors’ houses were depleted, and he hadn’t seen his mom for days. Who knew if she had been working? Who knew if she’d share her paycheck? He knew he needed to figure out how to get something to eat, however he had to do it, before he started drooling when he daydreamed of cheeseburgers.

Green Market Square was a few miles away. The shopping center had a pizza place, skating rink, arcade, and small grocery store. Anderson Farm Market was usually pretty quiet in the afternoon. He had stolen from there before, but he had paid for things there too. At fifteen, Grant had just enough pride left to know he would only steal when necessary.

The situation looked optimal, with almost nobody in the store. Grant grabbed a few things, stuffed them under his oversize shirt, and was planning to walk out of the door when two guys caught him and dragged him outside. One punch to the temple sent him to the ground, dizzy. He tried to stand and instead found himself being dragged by the collar through the alley, over gravel and some other sharp stuff. The next punch landed so hard in his gut that he puked—just liquid; there wasn’t enough food in his belly for anything else. He was so tired, hungry, and dizzy it only took a shove to send him to the ground.

“Shit, look at his back.” The dark-haired guy with a douchebag frat-boy haircut sounded freaked.

“Lots of blood. Yeah, we fucked him up pretty good.” The dude with the shaved head sounded scared even under his prideful tone. Fear didn’t stop the dickwad from calling Grant a racist name and telling him he shouldn’t have been stealing in the first place. The racist name? Grant really had no idea, still didn’t, what racist term would even apply to him. His mother had fair skin and green eyes, and Grant had never known his father. His mother would only tell him that his father was a terrible man, mean and rough with women.

The dark-haired guy gave Grant one last halfhearted kick to the side before commenting to his neo-Nazi-looking friend, “Let’s get back to the store. We’ve got shit to unload.”

After the need to puke again had finally left him, Grant forced his body up, took a few steps, got dizzy, and sat back down, shoulder against the brick wall, waiting, breathing, trying to be older, harder, and stronger, not a scared, hungry kid in pain.

“Grant!”

The voice calling his name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Three guys and a girl, a beautiful dark-skinned, dark-haired girl in a track uniform, were walking toward him. Shit!

“Grant, what the hell happened?”

Brian, from world history class, third period. That was who the voice belonged to. They traded sick jokes back and forth, but Grant didn’t know Brian outside class.

“I’m all right,” Grant assured him, shakily getting up, keeping his back to Brian. He waved the guy off. “Just a minor ass whipping. I’m headed home now.” And Grant did his best to keep walking.

“The fuck you are! Freddy, Joe, a little help,” Brian called out to the other two guys with him who hung back, like they knew not to swarm in all at once. Freddy and Joe approached, and Grant panicked and told them to get lost, that he was fine, but Freddy and Joe and Brian were next to him faster than he could get away. Freddy sent the gorgeous girl, Maya, home, telling her to let Aunt Grace know he’d be late for dinner.

Grant wanted to get the hell home, to leave in peace. Instead, his shitty day got worse, and he couldn’t do jack about it.

“Come on, man, we’re not here to hurt you.”

Grant stiffened when Brian laid a hand on his shoulder, because nobody ever touched Grant except to hurt him or push him out of the way. Freddy stood in front of him, nothing but kindness in his eyes.

“We’re gonna take you to Brian’s mom. She’ll help you. She’s a nurse.” No wicked grin or look of disdain distorted Freddy’s face. Freddy on one side and Joe on the other, the two helped hold him up. Brian, his left arm still in a cast from a winter sledding misadventure, led the way home.

Brian’s mom figured out Grant’s sucky life situation after a few questions, and a doctor made a house call. Brian’s dad came home from work early and helped the doctor take the glass and gravel out of Grant’s back. Grant did his best to be stoic, to not cry out in pain. He only lost it once.

After dinner, Grant thanked Brian’s parents for the food and everything else. He started to leave and head back to his most likely empty house.

“Son, you aren’t going anywhere tonight. You stay here and come back anytime you need to,” J. D. assured him. Brian’s dad had powerful dark eyes, and his words were kind of like an order but also a promise. That was the first night of many nights that Grant had a safe place to go.

* * * *

The oak tree felt good against Grant’s back and the memories, always bittersweet, were a hollow echo of what he’d once had. Losing the people he loved had been brutal, and there were still hard days when the grief sneaked up on him and sent him spiraling. He shouldn’t be taking more chances. He should have had the willpower to just forget about Shayla and the way she made him feel and want and need again. The light spring rain turned to pelting sleet, and he made a dash to grab his clothes off the back porch and head inside.

He turned on the coffeepot and looked for a clean cup. He poured a cupful and wrapped his hands around the mug, needing something to do with his hands since he wanted them on Shayla. All over her.

Need her. Just her, the bear growled. She’s meant to be ours.

Grant ignored the bear.

He made himself go get dressed, intending to head to the home-improvement store to grab a few things, maybe some paint for the bathroom and a new ceiling fan to install in the kitchen—things to keep his mind occupied and off Shayla. They had a date that evening, and he’d be able to take her in his arms again, pull her flush with his body, and kiss her soft, delicious lips. One day, if she didn’t get sick of him first, she’d be there with him, in the flesh, with his cock deep inside her. He’d just have to keep himself under control.

He’d managed to stay in control with Maya, to keep things sweet, and kind of hot, but not over the top. Grant hadn’t been a bear shifter back then, though. The bear made it harder for Grant to stay in control. The bear wanted to be just as wild as Grant and then some. Grant always struggled to rein that wildness in. Shayla and this situation with her was different—not temporary—and she was so small and he was so big that he had to be careful. What if he asked for what he wanted and she just wanted slow and easy or “normal,” and he couldn’t keep it that way?

She’ll like what you have in mind. She wants more than vanilla sex. The bear sounded way too sure of himself.

Doubt it. Instead of arguing with Grant, the bear flashed him a porn-style image of Shayla on her knees on Grant’s king-size bed, clamps tight on her nipples and beads in her ass while Grant slammed his cock into her, his balls slapping against her thighs. She let out a sob of delight when he used his free hand to rub her clit with relentless pressure. Goddammit, bear, I can’t do that to her!

Grant had been smacked around as a kid, had the shit beaten out of him a time or two as a teenager, and never once had that pain given him a hard-on. He’d never gotten crazy happy about having to punch someone to defend himself either, but thinking about fucking a woman hard, giving her a little pain if she was willing, taking some pain himself—goddamn, it got him off, and he tried not to ever let it.

A few spanks against a woman’s tight, round ass didn’t sound so bad now that he wasn’t completely inexperienced. The last woman he’d dated had even requested it, though Grant had not dared go any further. Knowing what little he did about his father, Grant couldn’t let himself get too carried away. He refused to be the type of man women referred to as rough and mean.

What if he was more fucked-up and depraved than he realized? What if he went over the edge and lost his mind and his decency? Shayla might be okay with a few things that tested the boundaries of average, but things he wanted to do were darker than a few swats on the butt. He shouldn’t want to do that to someone he cared about. Or what if she wanted it too? Frustration brewed up inside him. Pain should be a boundary he never wanted to cross. Why wasn’t it? Love was supposed to be gentle. Love shouldn’t involve cuffs and whips. Why couldn’t he imagine gentle things instead of roughness?

Shayla wasn’t a hookup, and he dwarfed her in size, but if he initiated her, turned her into a bear shifter, she could take it. Just for a moment, he entertained the thought that it would be that easy. He could initiate her and trust that she wanted the same kind of pain that could also bring him pleasure. Shayla as a bear would beg for hard, buried-to-the-hilt thrusts, and she would be able to withstand them.

Grant undid his fly, and precum gleamed slick on his heavy cock. He tried to focus on just the pleasure, just the idea of being inside her after having wanted her and cared for her for so long, but it all went sideways, somehow, with thoughts of Shayla making promises that it would only ever be Grant. And that she’d always, always be there.

A vision stormed through his mind of Shayla’s naked body under him. He wouldn’t tie her hands, because he wanted her to touch him and make him crazy any way she could. She’d part her legs for him and take his bare heat inside her snug, wet pussy. Then she’d wrap her legs around his waist, and he would bury himself inside her. Her screams of pleasure would echo off the walls, making him fuck her harder to make her scream some more. Next, after he’d worked her up, he’d smack her thigh until her skin turned pink, and she’d wrap her hand around his balls, tight, until it hurt. She’d moan, and he wouldn’t have to fear that what he wanted wasn’t right, somehow, that he’d be a guy a woman described as mean and rough on women.

The Shayla in his mind wouldn’t ask him to slow down or be easy. She’d dig her nails into the skin of his back. Not just a stinging bite—she’d draw blood and leave marks over his old scars. While he pounded inside her, she’d tell him she wanted him just the way he was, scars, fucked-up mind and all, and then she’d come for him. Her pussy would grip his throbbing cock in hard, pure possession, and he wouldn’t hold back.

His back arched against the wall, and his body jerked. Streams of white-hot cum shot onto his abdomen. The sound of Shayla’s name rang out in his quiet house. Grant shuddered, shaken by the aftershocks of pleasure. Jesus, he was in too deep already. He laid his head back against the wall and groaned, acknowledging that he was screwed.

Chapter Seven

Grant’s phone rang just as he was entering a new level of Build and Destroy, his new favorite interactive video game that let users work together to build a structure with only a few algorithmically designated materials, then use other selected materials to devise a way to blow up their inventions. There were points for biggest structure and points for biggest explosion. An MIT grad student and two Virginia Tech professors were on his team. This was a guaranteed win.

Shayla’s number popped up on his caller ID. Three weeks dating, and he still lit up like a dork at the sound of her voice. He’d take any chance he could get to talk to her or see her. The game would have to go on without him.

“Hi, Shay. What’s up, baby doll?” She probably hated that he called her baby doll, but he said it before he could stop himself.

“So, I know you’re not supposed to pick me up until this evening for the show, but”—she paused—“remember how you mentioned you were good at fixing things?”

“Whatever’s broken, I can probably fix it.” Even if he had no clue how to fix it, he’d figure it out. He wanted to spend every second he could with her but tried his best not to take up all of her time and look pathetic since everything was so new between them. He didn’t mind her knowing he wanted to see her, but she didn’t need to know how badly he wanted to be with her. All. The. Fucking. Time.

“It’s my back door. It came off at the hinges a few minutes ago, then fell in the floor and splintered. Nearly hit my feet. I think I can put a new one on, but I’ll need some help. Actually, a lot of help, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. I missed you.” Why? Why does she make me so honest? They’d gone out after work the night before, so he shouldn’t be missing her so bad, so soon. Saturday was a whole new day, though, and he was addicted.

“I missed you too.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes to see what kind of parts you’ll need. Do you have a screen door in the meantime, you know, to keep the animals and people who don’t belong out?”

“Oh. No. That broke last month.”

Grant swore under his breath, but she just laughed. “Don’t worry, I sprayed some spider- and bug-killing spray around the door frame so nothing would crawl in except the stray cat I’ve been trying to feed.”

“Well, that’s good, at least. I’ve seen that feral cat hanging around your porch. It’ll probably eat any mice and rats that want to get inside.”

“Yuck! Jeez, I didn’t even think about mice! Hurry up and get here!” She sounded adorable disgusted and mildly panicked.

“See you in a little while, baby doll.” He tried to remind himself that Shayla’s missing back door didn’t pose a real threat in the middle of the day in a nice area. Still, he couldn’t shake the worry that held tight to him. He grabbed some decent clothes to take to Shayla’s place so he could change later for their evening out and hauled ass to her house.

TWENTY MINUTES AFTER she’d called him, Grant stood at her front door holding a big toolbox. Having a tall, brawny dude show up on her doorstep ready to flex muscles and fix things with a box of tools made her all kinds of hot. Shayla smiled and hoped it wasn’t obvious that her handyman fantasy had hit the real-world level. He grinned back and winked. Grant was shy, not oblivious.

After taking some measurements of the back door, Grant tacked up a heavy plastic sheet to the door frame so no squirrels or rats or any other furry or creepy creature that lived in her yard could come inside. Stray Kitty sat on the back porch, eating a bird instead of the cat food Shayla had set out in a bowl the night before. A short while later, she and Grant returned from the DIY store with all the supplies, and Shayla followed Grant to the laundry room where the broken back door had nearly fallen on her earlier. Good reflexes had made her jump back just in time to avoid having a really shitty ice-pack-and-stitches kind of day.

They steadied the storm door and the regular door together, and then he drilled screws into brackets. The central-air system didn’t really do anything for her laundry room, and the ceiling fan in there had never worked. Sweat dotted Grant’s T-shirt as he installed the dead bolt and doorknob. He didn’t take off his shirt, though. Disappointing. She hadn’t seen him fully naked yet. Through unspoken agreement, they’d been taking things slow, or at least not at breakneck headfirst-into-the-rushing-river pace. After Grant turned the last screw into the door frame, she swept up the mess.

“Do you mind if I borrow your shower? I brought clothes to change into for later tonight.”

“Oh good. Then you don’t have to leave.” Oh Lord, she sounded way too overeager to be hanging out with him. She bit the inside of her lip to keep quiet. What had happened to calm, cool Shayla who always sized up a situation before speaking and who always made sure she had the upper hand? “The shower’s down the hall, second door on the right. Just go through my bedroom. There’s a cool old-fashioned tub in the bathroom too, and you’re welcome to use that if you’d rather.”

Grant smirked. “Think I’ll fit?”

Shayla looked him up and down and laughed. “Probably not.” Not in her tub, anyway. “I’ll make us something to eat. Take your time,” she offered, then headed to the kitchen in an effort not to offer to join him. He hadn’t asked, and she wouldn’t push.

Thank goodness she’d been to the store the previous day, so her kitchen held plenty of food choices to distract her from her wish to find out if Grant had tried to fit into the bathtub or if he was standing in her shower soaping up his sweaty body with her oatmeal-and-coconut soap. She set out cheese and crackers, cut sandwiches into fourths to give her hands something to do, and placed apple slices and grapes in a bowl. She set out a pitcher of water and one of iced tea with fresh-cut chunks of lemon at the bottom. The banana bread she’d made that morning would be a nice dessert. There would be dinner at the comedy show, but she wanted a snack now anyway. Sydney sometimes joked that Shayla had the metabolism of a rabbit on crack.

Grant walked into the kitchen looking drop-dead sexy with damp hair, wearing faded charcoal-colored jeans and a white button-up shirt. The white shirt contrasted beautifully with his bronze skin. And oh sweet Jesus, the jeans he wore were just the right amount of worn-out and snug without being too tight. He joined her at the table, and she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek followed by a short, sweet kiss on the lips. “Thanks for fixing my door.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” He kissed her a little harder, a little rougher than she’d kissed him. His tongue opened the seam of her lips, and she greedily took it into her mouth, tasting him. A needy sound left her lips, and Grant responded by threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeper. Then he pulled away and kissed her softly before resting his forehead against hers.

“Iced tea or water?” she asked him after they’d caught their breath.

“Tea, please.”

She filled his glass and handed him a plate. He went for the fruit first. He always did. She decided she would plant some fruit trees in her backyard for him. They sat side by side, and Shayla had a whole lot of questions for the man who didn’t ever talk about his past.

“You weren’t exaggerating the other night when you said you were good at making repairs around the house.” Grant had known exactly what to look for at the hardware store, and he knew some of the clerks too. He was no amateur.

“I’ve done a lot of work to my own house. Replaced everything in the bathroom and all the floors in the kitchen. Installed new appliances, redid the kitchen cabinets. Stuff like that.” He shrugged.

“Did your dad teach you how to do all that?”

Grant looked down. “No. I, uh, never met my father. My friend Brian’s dad, J. D., taught me. Brian, Freddy, Joe, and I used to follow J. D. around and help him fix things. He was really patient with us.” Grant smiled, but his dark eyes were so sad.

“Wait, you never met your dad? Did he die before you were born?” Shayla didn’t want to push, but she wanted to know at least the basics of Grant’s past.

“Honestly? All know is that my mother refuses to talk much about him, and what I’ve heard doesn’t sound great. I don’t think he knows I exist. I don’t know his name or even what he looks like.”

“Oh Grant. I’m sorry.” She felt so bad about looking for answers to his past. But this was all part of getting to know each other, right? “Are you and your mom close?”

“No.” He shifted in his seat. “She had some…problems. Things weren’t great when she was around. She wasn’t around much, though, so that worked out all right.”

“How did you turn out so wonderful without anyone there to help you?”

“I don’t know about wonderful, but I guess I’m no deadbeat or serial killer.”

“And you fix things.”

“I’m also a pretty good kisser. Don’t forget that part.” His cocky grin made her smile.

“Come here and show me,” she dared him. Grant picked her up out of her chair and had her backed up against the kitchen wall faster than a man built like a brick house should have been able to move. Shayla wrapped her legs around his waist, and Grant grasped her lower back and pulled her hard against his arousal. He brushed her forehead, her unmarred cheek, and then her scarred cheek with his lips. His tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue sent a shiver down her back, and when he pressed his full lips against her neck, she sighed. He bit down. Just a nip, but she demanded he do it again. He bit her more forcefully this time. Shayla circled her hips in a slow grinding motion against him. The pressure from Grant’s jeans-covered hard-on ground against her core just right. He nipped at her neck again, and she almost came.

Grant made her feel out of control in a way she hadn’t felt before. Could she find a way to enjoy everything happening between them without letting herself get too carried away by the fire starting to burn her from the inside? Grant was huge, extra-large-condom-size huge, and she trusted him to make it feel right, to make her come with his big dick and not just get off and then forget about her. She wasn’t supposed to want him this much, or trust him this much, not so soon. She smiled and took his hand. He followed her to the bedroom, and she turned on the light. When they faced each other, her breath caught.

“YOU SURE YOU’RE ready?” Grant wouldn’t push. He wanted inside her so bad his balls had practically been blue since their first kiss. Maybe taking the next step wouldn’t be such a big deal or mean so much if he didn’t care for her so deeply. Nothing he could do about that, though.

Shay rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, drawing his tongue deep into her mouth. Grant felt his shirt being unbuttoned. He hated to stop kissing her, even for a moment, but he needed to remove all the barriers that prevented skin-to-skin contact. He took off his shirt and set it to the side. The next part would be tricky. He pulled his cotton undershirt over his head, making sure to stay facing her so she couldn’t see his scarred back, as if she’d be able to read his past and all his secrets in the lines and indentions that marked his skin. He couldn’t give her the same old tired lie he gave everyone else when they asked about his scars. Shay whispered his name, calling him back to the present.

“My turn,” he murmured against her neck. Grant pulled her soft, lace-trimmed shirt over her head. Shayla’s creamy skin spilled from the cups of her aqua bra, and he took that off too. She pulled back the covers of her bed and sat on a soft pale-blue cotton sheet a few shades lighter than the walls of her bedroom. Her favorite color was undoubtedly blue. Did blue diamonds exist? He could… Don’t go there, he warned himself.

Silently, he watched her undress. Good thing Shayla wasn’t the type to ask him what he was thinking—she’d probably send him out the door if she knew he was having down-on-one-knee, diamond-ring-in-a-little-box-type thoughts. They hadn’t been together long enough for that. But he’d been falling for her since the day he’d met her. He couldn’t stop. And if he wanted her to want him, he needed to focus on her body and giving her so much pleasure their first time together that she’d ask for more and more. He came down over her, the heat and silk of her hips between his thighs making him growl, and he had to force himself to breathe, to calm the fuck down.

Such pleasure and anticipation filled him that he nearly let go of all restraint. He eased his body down hers and ran the tip of his tongue around the smooth pale skin on the underside of her breast, basking in her hands stroking his hair. Grant licked all around her cherry-sweet nipple, teasing, enjoying, until Shay got impatient and pulled tight on his hair, forcing him closer. Grant fought himself and the bear to just hold on.

“Oh, Grant, that’s incredible.” Shay sighed while he kissed and sucked and savored first one breast, then the other. She tilted her head back and cried out. He grinned, and she met his gaze, looking at him as though he were the answer. The only answer he could give her at the moment was to slide his hand between her sexy legs.

Grant remembered overhearing a dirty little conversation between Shay and a couple of her girlfriends at her birthday party after she’d let the word spread that Grant had started his own company so he and Shayla could be together. One of Shayla’s friends had joked about Grant’s height, and the ladies had all giggled at the possibility of Shay needing stitches after a sweat session with Grant. She’d confided in her friends that it had been three years since she’d had sex with anybody. Three years. He had to be gentle. Gentle or she won’t want us anymore, he warned the bear.

Grant pressed one finger inside her waiting pussy and let her adjust, working her slowly, pressing farther and farther, until she whispered his name. Grant pushed in another finger, loving how her warmth squeezed him. Shay made small, soft sounds and thrashed against the bed. Knowing he wouldn’t be stopping with just his fingers inside her made Grant’s dick jerk and pulse in anticipation. He choked back a moan. Shay’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes closed, and her head angled back. Grant’s whole body ached and shook with the need to take her, but he had to make sure she was ready.

If he didn’t enter her just right, or if he moved too forcefully, he would hurt her. He was a big man, and that meant he needed to be careful. The bear scoffed at him, telling him he wasn’t a virgin, that he had been with a few ladies and he knew how to work his big dick into a small place. Fine—Grant was probably being stupid or worrying too much, but he still wanted everything to be not just right but perfect for their first time.

The bear pendant around Shay’s neck caught Grant’s gaze, the light glinting off the bear-and-heart charm. She wore his heart. Reassured, Grant kissed her belly and the ruby stone at her belly button.

“I want to taste you, baby doll.”

“Yes. Please.” She drew out the word in an adorable, begging whimper. Grant sucked her clit, flicking his tongue across the tip until she cried his name, then pushed his tongue inside her, and she cried his name louder. He fucking loved that she wasn’t shy about letting him know what felt good to her. The pulse at her neck was wild and her breaths quick and shallow. She was close. Good. He needed her crazy for him.

GRANT LOOKED READY to devour her as he stood and faced her. Shayla unzipped his pants and pushed them to the floor. Those sheet-crumpling orgasms from imaginary Grant and Mr. Ever-ready, the world’s best vibrator, would be nothing compared to what flesh-and-blood, sweet-and-sincere Grant could do to her. She’d already experienced one climax from him, from just his long, thick fingers. She still got wet at the mere thought that he’d torn off her panties and come across her chest. Having his extra-large cock inside her might push her to a whole new level of need and want. Should I enjoy the fall or fight it?

She took a minute to admire Grant in nothing but his tight black briefs that he filled out so nicely. Broad shoulders, rock-solid chest and abs, and oh my God, she was nearly panting with lust at the thick muscles of his arms and legs. He was huge. Everywhere. The man could do underwear commercials. He probably wouldn’t, though. He was shy. She liked that about him.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t know every little detail of his past or what could bring a shadow to his eyes out of nowhere—Shayla knew him. She knew Grant was a good man, that he’d never be cruel or careless with her. She decided to enjoy the fall and have faith that he would catch her. In a frenzy, she pushed his underwear to the floor. His socks and shoes were abandoned on her flowery carpet, and Grant climbed into her bed, naked and waiting. She sat next to him and stared some more. Dark hair, trimmed and neat, surrounded his gorgeous package. Beads of slickness covered the thick head of his huge cock, making her reach out to touch him.

His sharp intake of breath showed her he needed more than her light caress and he needed it badly. Gliding a hand along his hard length, she looked at him. His lids, half-open, showed his dark, dark eyes looking back at her so full of desire and something else, something deeper, that she nearly came right then. The tight fists at his sides revealed a man trying not to lose control, which kind of made Shayla want to push him, to see what happened when he did.

Grant caught his lush bottom lip between his teeth, so she reached over and traced the line of his mouth before pulling his whole naked body against hers for a mind-blowing kiss. He tensed up when she pressed her palms against the scarred flesh of his back.

He’s ashamed of those scars! And that thought hurt.

She stroked his back and whispered, “Whatever happened, I’m glad you made it out alive.”

He jerked in a breath. “I love…I love the way you touch me.” The deep, raspy groan of his voice made the hair on her arms stand up. Things had changed. A storm was coming, and she wanted to be right in the eye of it.

GRANT WAS NERVOUS as hell as he opened the foil packet and rolled the latex over his shaft. He hadn’t expected the sweet, needy sounds Shay made as he slid inside her. He tried to go slowly, but damn, the way her pussy gripped his cock, as though it was just as possessive as he was… That tight feeling had Grant hanging on for dear life. Slow and easy. Slow and easy.

He kissed her soft mouth and groaned out a curse when she grabbed his hips, pulling him farther inside her. She shouldn’t push him. Didn’t she understand what would happen if he couldn’t keep himself under control? He wasn’t even all the way in yet and could barely keep from unleashing every dirty thought, wish, and fantasy he’d ever had about her. Her kiss was wild, no hesitation or uncertainty. Shay wanted him, and knowing this for sure drove his desire higher. She was here, and she was real, and he needed her so fucking badly. Grant drove into her all the way before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You feel good inside me, like you belong there.”

The bite of her nails sinking into his hips wasn’t helping him to be the chill, gentle Grant that he needed to be for their first time together. He was too close already, his muscles taut to the point of snapping. He pulled Shayla over on top of him, then imprisoned her wrists and trapped them behind her back. Her eyes lit up.

Could she actually enjoy me holding her arms behind her back? He gripped her wrists tighter, and she moaned. Her excitement must just be the heat of the moment, not me holding her wrists, he rationalized. Regardless, he couldn’t let her go. Her gentle touch, her sighs, her nails raking his back—it had all been too fucking good, and he needed to stop her before he lost his mind and all control. Grant seized one of her hips with his free hand, trying to slow the pace and rhythm. Shayla nipped his neck and angled her hips to take more of him.

The sound of his name at her lips, as if he had what she needed—damn; it pushed him further than he meant to go, and he rammed into her. She cried out, and he let go of her wrists. Grant couldn’t get deep enough and wanted to go faster, so he did the only logical thing he could think of—he held back and on to his sanity with every shred of control he had. He even promised the bear he would let him tear up the whole interior of his truck later if he could just help Grant keep himself under control. The bear grunted something that didn’t sound like a yes or a no.

Shayla held on to him as her back bowed and her pussy clamped around his throbbing flesh, tight and tighter. The look of absolute pleasure on her face when she came was more than beautiful. Grant jerked in a breath when the pressure coiling in the base of his spine built into something he couldn’t contain. A rush of something indescribable blew through him, and he exploded inside her. Each pulse of his cock took him higher until he nearly went insane.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” Shayla confessed in a breathless, sexy voice.

“Nobody ever made you come?”

“Not like that. Not even close.”

Grant pulled her down for a kiss before he got up to dispose of the condom. He lay back down and tucked her against him. He wasn’t much of a talker, not even on a good day, but right then, when he knew he needed to say something sweet, something nice, or just…something, he couldn’t speak. He settled for kissing her cheek and holding on to her. If he were just a normal, everyday guy who’d grown up middle income or better with no screwed-up past and no screwed-up desires, not to mention being a bear shifter, he could fall asleep knowing he was good enough for her. He could only hope that she would want him anyway.

“Just don’t give up on me if I’m not exactly what you wanted,” he whispered against her ear.

“I want you the way you are,” she answered.

Grant pretended for a moment she might mean that, and he surrendered to the exhaustion that had worn him thin over the last week.

Chapter Eight

So it seemed Baron, aka Ms. Bat-Shit-Crazy-Pants reporter, had found a way to screw with Shayla’s life after all. On Sunday morning when Shayla had woken up deliciously sore and relaxed with Grant sound asleep in her bed, she’d just known her day was going to be a great one. Their first time together had blown her mind, but an e-mail that morning from Baron had stolen some of her euphoria and replaced it with dread. Baron had informed Shayla that the human-interest story on disaster survivors had been edited and would air a week ahead of schedule, during the nine p.m. showing of Simply Entertainment that evening. Weird didn’t even begin to cover what Shayla and Grant were watching.

The story wasn’t about disaster survivors putting their lives back together after tragedy, loss, and injury with a little bit of Baron’s conspiracy crap mixed in. Baron went from weird theories to blatant unsupported, unproven accusations that the survivors she interviewed were superhuman or that they had received revolutionary, top-secret medical care. Before Shayla’s interview played, four other disaster survivors were shown being interrogated and forced to look at pictures of horrific scenes of the death and destruction they had managed to escape.

A clip of Baron interviewing Hunter got Shayla simmering mad. He was adamant that Shayla had also been severely injured in the robbery they had experienced ten years ago. She rolled her eyes, caught somewhere between feeling sorry for Hunter because he remained confused and delusional about the events of the crime and exasperated that he couldn’t leave it behind and realize the trauma had messed with his mind. Grant held her hand tightly while they watched Hunter, sharing his delusions on-screen with Baron. Shayla sniffed back tears, and Grant tensed.

“Do you still love him?” He sat motionless, expressionless.

She took his hand in hers. “No. I promise you I don’t have any kind of romantic feelings left for Hunter. I just feel sorry for him and so sad that he hasn’t gotten better.”

Grant pulled her up against his chest. His heartbeat hammered against her back, but his lips were soft and soothing at her neck.

For too long Shayla had fooled herself into believing Hunter had gotten help, that his brain and mind had continued to heal and he now lived a normal life. But no. Hunter remained adamantly delusional. That story didn’t have a happy ending.

Next, Grant’s image flashed on the screen, in all his tall sexiness. The cameraman had managed to capture footage of Grant yelling at Baron and telling the crew to get the hell out of Brass Cat before he broke more of their equipment. On screen, his eyes shone that black-as-onyx color she’d seen them turn sometimes, usually when things got hot or intense between them, but the film editor had used special effects to make his onyx eyes look glowy, and they’d made his incisors become sort of vampirish-looking when he stared the cameraman down. Okay, so he did look that way sometimes, but the camera was just taking it out of context, making it worse, or stranger. Or something other than what it was.

Baron next asked the question, “What does this scary, Incredible Hulk-looking hottie not want you to know about the town of Great Oaks where Shayla Patrick now resides?” Baron finished her pathetic, cheesy fake-news story by saying, “I’ll leave it to your imagination, viewers.” She gave the audience a wink. “But if you want a little more information, visit the Weird World website.”

On an impulse, Shayla grabbed her computer tablet off the coffee table and typed in that website address, expecting to find a hokey, bologna-filled site full of Loch Ness monster and Yeti sightings, which she mostly did. A couple of mentions of shape-shifters and how to kill a wolf with silver made her laugh. Grant seemed less amused.

“That’s some messed-up shit the Weird World crew’s trying to find. They better hope it doesn’t find them first.” The low growl of Grant’s voice sounded kind of homicidal. That should not make her panties wet. But it did.

At the bottom of the home page, she saw the words This site powered by HJK Webmasters.

“HJK. Hunter Jacob Knowles,” she gasped. Could it be? A web search showed that HJK Webmasters was indeed Hunter’s company.

His business-page profile picture showed an incredibly handsome man, but the puppy-dog sweetness of his eyes and thoughtful expression she’d fallen in love with were long gone. Gone also was the pained, fearful expression of the Hunter he’d become after being stabbed, beaten unconscious, and waking up angry and traumatized. In the photo he looked hard, confident, and…cold. In the interview with Baron, he’d looked confident, certain, but the still shot of him showed such an ugly coldness it gave her chills.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I will never let him get close enough to hurt you,” he promised. She nodded. She tried for a moment to convince herself that she and Grant were overreacting, and that she saw on Hunter’s website nothing more than a simple posed business-profile picture of a man who ran a company. Maybe he looked so cold because there’d been no one to smile at except the photographer. Creating the website for Baron could have simply been a job opportunity for Hunter. Maybe she’d paid him for his interview too. He might have thought Baron hot and wanted to do whatever she asked.

Shayla wanted to believe those possibilities, but she needed to do a little more digging before she could write the whole thing off to Hunter being a harmless, angry conspiracy theorist who used an opportunity of convenience to work with Baron. A few more keystrokes took her to Hunter’s personal blog.

Finding Hidden Truths was the blog’s title. Not very creative, but she supposed it got the point across. She scrolled down to read some of the older posts. What she found were some strange and interesting theories about government experiments on humans. One post titled Peculiar creatures and how they got that way had two hundred thousand replies, several of them including attached articles and links to writings that suggested everything from divine intervention and government experiments to simple genetic mutation that could possibly be replicated. An icon at the top right of the page showed his blog had over five hundred thousand followers.

The newest post, dated just a couple days prior, was bad news. In it Hunter spoke of a partnership with Kendall Baron. They would be working together investigating phenomena for the Weird World segment of Simply Entertainment and for the sake of information itself. First investigation on their list? Whether scientists were actively building and creating superhumans. There was an updated link that took her to the Weird World disaster survivors’ story Shayla had just watched.

Hunter’s post ended with a promise to push his sources and anybody else he had to push until he found answers. Shayla could only hope that Hunter’s website and investigative efforts with Baron gave him something to channel his energy into. Maybe weird creatures did exist. Maybe the government did experiment on people, but whatever strangeness existed in the world, Shayla wasn’t part of it. Okay, that was not entirely true. She could do a few things she shouldn’t have been able to, but regenerating injured skin and body parts were not part of her skill set. She couldn’t turn into animals or set a building on fire the way some of the articles on Hunter’s page suggested some people could, while they walked around pretending to be ordinary. Shayla didn’t have the answers Hunter sought, and she hoped Hunter didn’t come to her looking for them. He belonged in her past.

She had no desire to go to bed now after looking at Hunter’s freaky website. Grant didn’t ask her if she wanted him to stay—he found the popcorn in her cabinet and put a bag in the microwave while she chose a funny movie for them to watch. They ate obscene amounts of popcorn, chocolate, and fruit while Grant held her close, as if he could keep all the bad in the world away if he didn’t let go.

* * * *

Never pick up the phone when you’re so busy you wish you could clone yourself. A basic rule for anybody with common sense, and Shayla had absentmindedly violated it. Monday mornings were usually nuts, and that day was no exception. A protein bar and coffee sufficed as lunch, which she was currently taking at her desk while promising herself that she would hire a personal assistant to pick up some slack.

Phone in hand, she finished her bite of a chewy peanut, granola, and dark chocolate bar and decided she would pretend to be the receptionist and transfer the call. If the caller wanted Shayla, she’d just hit the magic button to send the caller to her voice mail. Problem solved. Only not so because the caller recognized her voice, and it was the last person on earth Shayla wanted to talk to.

“Shayla, this is Hunter Knowles.”

“Hunter?” Crap! “Hey. What can I do for you?” And how soon can I get rid of you?

“I know it’s been a long time. I just wanted to talk to you and first, to apologize for what happened.”

Shayla huffed and pressed the Record button on her phone system. “What, for when you came after me with a knife screaming that you were going to prove I was immortal?” She hadn’t pressed charges. There’d been no witnesses. Hunter’s dad had found Shayla running from her dorm room after Hunter had tripped while trying to chase her. Hunter’s dad had believed Shayla’s story and had gotten Hunter admitted to a psychiatric facility for observation and agreed to make sure he transferred colleges and left her alone. She’d wanted Hunter to get better but couldn’t walk down that path with him, not after he’d run after her with a knife in his hand and crazy thoughts in his eyes.

“’Cause you owe me a huge apology for trying to kill me. Or were you apologizing for letting Kendall Baron interview you so you could tell the world your dumbass theories that I’m superhuman or some supermedical freak?”

Shayla was still irritated about the spin the whole thing had taken. Hope and Healing would benefit from the two-thousand-dollar donation that Baron had promised. Shayla had that part in writing, though she wondered what the interview would cost her in the long run. A few more minutes of talking to Hunter? Or worse?

“You have every right to be angry.” His calm, placating tone made Shayla want to shove a pencil into his throat. “Truly I’m sorry for what you think happened in your dorm room.” Damn. She’d hoped he would say something she could use against him. Was he being clever in his avoidance, or had he convinced himself she’d made up the knife-chasing accusation? She wasn’t sure which would be worse. “Can we get together and talk about it?” He seriously had the nerve to ask her to meet with him?

“No! Are you crazy?” Shit. Poor choice of words. She took a deep breath and reminded herself he was no longer her concern. “Sorry, Hunter, I didn’t mean that. I can forgive you for what happened when we were dating. I get that you had some problems, both mentally and physically, after you were beaten so badly. The brain injury, the drugs, the depression, and paranoia all made you do things you probably regret. I only wanted you to get help. That’s why I called your dad to come get when you started talking so strangely that night, and thank goodness he got there in time to keep you from killing me. The whole situation was cra—uh, messed up. But joining forces with the reporter who thinks I’m some kind of bionic medical mystery or mythical freak—Jesus, Hunter! You need help if you still believe that!”

“I can see you’re pissed, but I’ve seen a few things since we parted ways, and I’m so close to proving it. Help me prove it, Shay. Come clean. You owe me this.”

“I’ll tell you what, Hunter. I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’ve really seen a few things that made you wonder if nightmares and monsters are made from real stories, but I’m not part of that world. When we were robbed, they went after you because you fought back.”

That’s what had pissed off the guys who’d wanted a quick, easy grab of her and Hunter’s valuables. She couldn’t tell him she’d gotten up the courage to use her darker talents and had forced the men to leave before they killed Hunter. She’d been terrified she would start with one command and the power of her gift would overwhelm her until she went full-on psycho with it and started compelling people do whatever she wanted, however she wanted. No good could come of that.

“I survived the bombing on the commuter van because people fell over me.” She took a deep breath, determined not to scream at him and not to hyperventilate. “I nearly suffocated to death under a pile of dead bodies, and in case you didn’t see the scars on my face during my interview or even on my company website profile picture, I didn’t come out of the bombing uninjured.”

“The scars are for show. You know it, and I know it. There’s a group that has a type of drug that keeps your kind from healing. I bet you used some on your face to make your survival look legit, like you can really be hurt.”

Yeah, right, because her face would so be her first choice for where to leave a visible scar. What a fucking idiot he was. “Hunter, I don’t know what else to say to you, but—”

Her voice broke as she remembered the old Hunter—sweet, gentle, passionate, a little quirky, often forgetful, his brilliant mind often wandering away with plans and ideas. She had loved that Hunter, like a-house-and-babies-one-day kind of love, but that Hunter was gone forever. Or maybe this new Hunter had always been there, under the surface, waiting to be pushed. “Please honor what we had together by leaving me out of your conspiracy theories.”

“So that’s a no? You won’t meet with me? You won’t help me expose a potentially unparalleled secret? Because if there’s technology or some way out there to heal people, to make people capable of surviving disasters and illness, you’re the most selfish person I ever met for keeping your secret.”

Not the speech she’d been expecting. “You want to help people?” She’d thought he’d just started the monster hunt for the glory and for the answers.

“Damn right, and I plan to make sure everyone has access, not just spoiled little rich girls like you.”

She decided to let the “spoiled little rich girl” comment go. She hadn’t become a self-absorbed jerk until she’d gone out on her own and made her own money and her own career path. Shayla had changed for the better after putting her career-obsessed, workaholic ways behind her. She wasn’t perfect, but hey, she wasn’t stalking exes over the phone and trying to prove ridiculous conspiracy theories. She decided to let her own imperfections slide for the moment and just try to deal with Hunter so she could finish up all the shit she had to do to make it through her workday.

“I agree with you. Everybody should have equal opportunity when it comes to health care, regardless of their financial situation, but what you’re implying, that I’m superhuman or that my daddy bought my way into some medical-trial program, well, none of your theories are true. I wish you the best of luck in your…investigation, but I’m not meeting with you. I have no information to offer you.”

“Shay, do you know what I do for a living?”

“Design websites?” And sit around obsessing over fake news articles?

“Designing websites is only a small part of my work. I can do anything with computers, including messing up the operations of a website, and so much more. Give me a call when you want it to stop.”

The line went dead.

Chapter Nine

The weekend couldn’t arrive soon enough. Grant felt wrecked from trying to get as much work handled with his new business while training up a replacement for himself at Brass Cat. He had zero intentions of bringing work home with him over the weekend, and he’d asked Shayla to leave her work at the office too. Except, when he’d mentioned his desire for her not to bring any work home, it had come out sounding like an order. He’d been horrified at the bossy tone of his voice and how much the need to have her alone, all to himself, consumed him. She’d laughed and called him adorable. And agreed that he was right—no work on the weekends, just fun. Her sexy little smile had suggested she had exciting plans for their time together.

Progress on one last lingering finance project was going smoothly, so he’d started to close out a file on the computer and go to lunch when a call came in to his cell phone—a nurse from Ward Jackson hospital in New Jersey looking for Cora Mitchell’s son. Grant braced himself for the worst, assuming his mother had just started using again and needed a couple of days in the hospital. Turned out, his mother had suffered a major heart attack. The nurse explained to him that his mother’s body was weak from so many years of drug use, and the situation didn’t look good. He drove up to New Jersey in a daze.

At the hospital, he found his mother lying in a white-tiled, pink-walled hospital room, hooked up to several different beeping machines. She smiled weakly when she saw him. Grant opened the window and put the flowers he’d brought on the nightstand. There wasn’t much else he could do to chase the darkness from the room. He offered her a glass of water from the plastic pitcher by her bedside, and she drank a couple of sips while he held the cup for her.

“Sit down,” she whispered. She’d been out of her latest rehab for six months, and lately she had seemed happy when they talked on the phone. She was in a program and trying to stay clean. Grant sent any money meant for his mom to a case worker who managed it for her so it would go to rent and food, not pills and heroin and alcohol. Some stupid part of Grant had hoped beyond hope that one day his mother would be able to stay clean and build a stable, successful life for herself.

“I wasn’t using. I promise.” Her plea for him to believe her sounded so pitiful and weak, yet earnest.

“I know,” he reassured her. “It’s okay. The nurse said it was a heart attack that got you sent here.”

“Just in case I don’t have much time, there are a few things I need to say.” Her throat sounded raw, but she wouldn’t let him give her any more water. She shook her head when he tried to give her a spoonful of ice chips. Grant wasn’t sure if he should push the issue since her skin was dry and her lips were peeling.

The nurse stroked his mom’s hair. “That’s okay, Cora. I’ll bring you some juice later.”

His mom nodded. Before Grant could ask the nurse any questions, she slipped out of the room.

When his mother spoke next, tears glimmered in her eyes. “I tried to do right by you. I wanted to do right by you, but I couldn’t. I was too messed up in my head. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a good mother. I think about that all the time now.”

“Don’t worry about all that. Just rest. I turned out fine.” Well, close enough to fine. Sober, his mom didn’t miss much, including whatever minute expression he’d made while the disclaimer had played through his mind. “I really am all right, Mom. Maybe for a while I was kind of lost, but I found my way again. I just—I don’t know why it matters, but I need to know who my father is. It’s past time for me to find him.”

His mom nodded and took a shaky breath. “He was a client when I lived in Los Angeles.” She looked away. Grant knew what she meant by client since his mother was not a lawyer, not a businesswoman, not a hairstylist—not anyone who would have had a professional clientele. Her customers would have been of a sketchier nature.

“I moved to LA for the sun and the fun. I wanted to be a model and pay my way through college or buy a nice big house with all that modeling money. I got a couple commercials as an extra, but I got a job in a strip club and started making really good money there. There were some parties we could work, off the clock, to make extra money. I partied with the group one night and tried some things that made me forget about everything else I had planned for my life. Soon I wasn’t saving money for college. I was saving money for my new favorite things, heroin and coke.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes.

“I kept going to the private parties, which led to other parties and more questionable clients who wanted more for their money. I wanted the money. There were a few of us hooked on buying our escape of choice, so I did what my clients asked.” She motioned for the glass of water, and Grant helped her, then used the towel next to the pitcher to wipe her mouth. “Your father was a client. Not one of my favorites. A lot of times, he got rough and mean. He was part of a small gang, trying to throw around the money at parties and gain some credit.”

“So my father was some low-level loser in a gang?”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “A condom broke one night. He called me a bunch of names, then did a one-eighty and said maybe he ought to have a kid, that it could be his mini-assistant. After that, I refused to touch even a drop of alcohol or anything bad until I knew for sure that I wasn’t pregnant. Only, I was. He came to the club looking for me because apparently I had become one of his favorites, and I couldn’t take the chance that he would ever see me pregnant or see me walking down the street with you and put it together that you were his. I left LA because his gang started to gain some notoriety, and he moved up in the hierarchy. I had hoped he’d get caught and sent to jail or maybe killed. But neither of those things had happened by the time I left. I don’t know if they ever did. You look a lot like him. Always have.”

Great, I look like a member of an LA gang. Nice. His mother hacked up a lungful of junk, and he wiped her mouth with the towel.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I went back home to Ohio, but my parents kicked me out once my belly started to show, so I went as far away from LA as I could with only a little bit of money. That’s how I ended up in Jersey. My parents wouldn’t let me come back home when they saw you because you were…not fair-skinned like everybody else in their little town.”

Too bad his grandparents were assholes, because it sounded like his mom could have used some help when she was scared and alone.

“I know you don’t remember this, but for a while, things were good. We had a nice apartment, and I got a good job managing a restaurant. When the rent went up, I started stripping again, so I could keep a good life for us. People at the new club liked to party too, and I couldn’t say no. I tried. I stayed away from the hard stuff for a while, but then it found me. Over and over again.”

She was crying softly now, and Grant didn’t know what to do to fix it, so he held her hand and wiped up her tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she kept telling him over and over until the words blended into one barely audible whisper. Her eyes closed, and her ragged breathing evened out. Grant pulled the covers up to her shoulders to let her sleep, but the machines emitted a noise that brought the nurses running in. The nurse who’d been in the room when he arrived ordered him to wait outside.

Minutes later, the same nurse walked into the waiting room and motioned for him to step into the hallway. “Honey, I’m sorry, but your mom is gone.”

Grant nodded. He couldn’t speak, but the nurse seemed to understand he didn’t want a hug or platitudes.

“Your mother knew that she might not leave the hospital. She told me that she wanted to be cremated, that coffins and gravesites freaked her out.”

When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Wellby’s Funeral Home is about twenty minutes from here, and their reputation is solid. They can organize everything for you.”

Grant breathed out a small sigh of relief at that. He had no fucking clue how to organize a funeral, or any other ceremony, for that matter. He walked out of the hospital with a white plastic bag that contained his mother’s wallet, keys, and shoes. Nobody else tried to help him or give him empty words of comfort. They just cleared a path.

“Oh my gosh, that guy looks psychotic,” he overheard a woman in the waiting room comment to her friend.

“Hot but scary. I mean, kill-you-in-the-alleyway scary. But I bet he’s a beast in bed,” her friend muttered to her. Grant entertained the idea of turning around and telling them to whisper more softly while he gave them a glimpse of the bear’s incisors and luminescent black eyes. For once, the bear was the reasonable one and pushed Grant out the door and into the parking lot.

Grant sat in his truck, looking on his phone for a hotel room to book. He called Shayla instead. The sound of his rough, choked-up voice filled the truck. “Hey, baby doll.”

“Hey, how’s your mom doing?”

“She died.”

Shayla gasped.

He took a shaky breath. “I made it here in time to see her for a few minutes, and we got to talk before…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Oh, Grant, I’m so sorry.” He could hear in her voice that she hurt for him, and knowing that felt like having her arms wrapped around him.

“Thanks. Shit, this feels weird. I hardly knew her outside of her being drunk and gone most of the time. Lately she seemed to be doing better, but I guess it was just too late. Too many years of using messed up her heart.”

“You know I’m here if you need anything. I’ve got a bit of trouble with our website being hacked right now, but it should be fixed really soon, and I can come down to New Jersey if you need me.”

“Brass Cat got hacked?”

“It happens, apparently, or so they say. I’m getting the problem taken care of, so don’t worry about any of that. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

The sincerity in her voice choked him up, but he couldn’t handle seeing her after what he’d just learned about himself, about where he came from. The bear called him an idiot.

“I’ll be okay. Anyway, I’ve got to find a hotel room before it gets too late. I’ll call you soon.”

It was a dick move, getting off the phone with her like that when she’d been so sweet to him, even telling him she’d come all the way up to New Jersey to be with him. Memories of sitting in the back of the church at four different funerals, saying good-bye to Brian, Freddy, Joe, and Maya, tore into him. Anger that his mother had lost her chance to stay sober and build a new life for himself warred with shitty memories of growing up poor and neglected. He needed to shut down everything going on in the jumbled-up mess of his mind. If Shayla came to see him, she’d be seeing him at his worst. He couldn’t allow that.

Grant checked into a hotel that looked decent and locked himself in his room. He planned to raid the minibar shortly. His mother was gone. With what she’d revealed about his father, she’d taken his last hope of having a dad somewhere out there in the world, maybe a decent guy who might want to be found. He’d secretly held out this small, ridiculous hope that his mom’s anger at the guy, for whatever reason, had caused her to paint his father as a jerk. Instead, his father was a violent, career-ladder-climbing gang member who got off on roughing up women that he paid to screw. Also, his mother had screwed men for money, so she could purchase drugs. Grant’s DNA was fucked.

Nothing wrong with you, the bear tried to soothe him in a gentle growling voice. Grant scoffed. All right, fine, you’re a hardheaded motherfucker, but other than that, you’re pretty decent.

Thanks, bear. Grant promised himself Shayla would never know where he really came from. She’d never see him get out of control. No matter how much he wanted to put fingerprints on her ass and permanent teeth marks in her neck, he wouldn’t let that happen. Ever. He couldn’t bear to have her think of him as violent, the way his mother saw his father.

Not really the same thing. But was it close enough to the same thing? Confusion had Grant gripping the edge of the table and grinding his teeth. His head pounded a destructive metal-band rhythm, and he needed to do…something. Maybe hit something or tear apart everything around him.

Grant’s mother was gone. He could call the woman who had acted as his mother, and he could make the thirty-minute drive from the hospital to see her, but her son was dead, and Grant would be nothing but a reminder to her.

You don’t know that, the bear echoed in his mind.

Bullshit, bear. You don’t know anything about it.

The bear growled at him. I see your memories of her. Also, you’re a fucking idiot.

Maybe, but if I knock on her door and she wants to know why I couldn’t save Brian and why it had to be him and not me, I don’t think I can handle it. I can’t give up all my good memories of her and J. D.

The bear didn’t push him but stayed silent until demanding Grant shift in the woods behind the hotel. The bear tore up a bunch of tree trunks, let Grant take out his frustration by belting out horrific-sounding bear growls, and then ate an entire rabbit and part of a deer. Being in bear form felt good. It blunted some of his anger, and he would have stayed that way longer, but there were no marks to any of the large tree trunks at the mouth of the woods to indicate that those particular woods were in a shifter-friendly area. Grant hated getting re-dressed in public places. The bear thought it would be funny if a night photographer got a picture of Grant’s naked ass and put it on a porn site.

* * * *

A week after her strange phone conversation with her ex, Hunter, Shayla sat at her desk working with a rep from a computer firm she’d hired to fix a big, fat mess that seemed to be getting worse by the hour. If murder were legal, she’d chop Hunter and Baron into tiny little pieces and leave them to rot in a big black garbage bag until trash day. Grant was in New Jersey because his mother had suffered a heart attack and died shortly after. With that in mind, Shayla had filled him in on only the bare minimum of the hell being unleashed upon Brass Cat.

She refused to worry Grant and add to everything he must be going through by telling him that Brass Cat’s whole website had been hacked, their phone system was screwed up, and they’d somehow lost about twenty clients. Some claimed they had been threatened with the ruination of their own companies if they continued using Brass Cat’s services, while some new clients cited false data showing Brass Cat performing poorly in the advertising world. Shayla was close to the end of her rope, and probably the only thing keeping her from snapping was the monumental effort of performing damage control.

Since her bank account had been hacked, she’d sold off a lot of her jewelry to pay for her immediate expenses, such as the tech company working double-time to secure her website and ensure none of the financial data was hacked. She’d also reported the whole issue to the Great Oaks police department who didn’t seem that concerned about her problem. “That kind of stuff happens with bank accounts more often than you’d think,” the officer had informed her. He’d given her paperwork to fill out and instructed her to take up the rest of the issue with her bank.

The officer’s halfhearted promise to look into the problem didn’t reassure her that progress would happen quickly. He had seemed young, possibly too young to be interested in crimes that didn’t involve blood and dead bodies. She had wanted to yell at the officer that the longer it took to look into things, the longer Hunter had to screw with her life. Then she realized the best chance she had of fixing things was to take away Hunter’s greatest power. His computers skills were great? Fine, she’d find someone with even better skills, and they’d build security measures Hunter couldn’t hack, ones that would catch him hacking into where he didn’t belong. If he hit again, she’d hit back harder.

For the moment, the question of how to keep her existing clients from leaving weighed heavy on her mind. Hunter had apparently found the names of several of her clients through social media and other digital mentions and used the information to terrorize them and badmouth her. Brass Cat’s reputation could forever be damaged if she didn’t work quickly. To add to the misery, Brass Cat was now being audited. The replacement being trained to one day completely take over Grant’s position in the company had agreed to stay late and make sure all financial paperwork was in proper order before the accounting firm Shayla filed her business taxes with did the final check. Still, the replacement wasn’t Grant.

The fight to fix Hunter’s mess meant Shay needed to use whatever resources she had available and that implied calling in favors, promising favors, selling her jewelry at a cash-for-gold shop, and taking some of the designer clothes and handbags to a consignment store. She had some money in a trust fund, but that was a last resort. An only-in-the-event-of-a-disaster kind of thing. The situation wasn’t at absolute-disaster level yet. She couldn’t access her bank and credit cards at the moment anyway, so until she got that fixed, her only available cash flow came from selling her things.

Hunter had caused the whole mess; she absolutely knew it. Shayla didn’t feel sorry for poor delusional Hunter anymore. Baron had stirred the pot with her nonsense, and she’d gotten Hunter involved, so it wasn’t just the inconvenience of Baron’s pestering and the horrifying memories dredged up in a traumatic interview. No, her whole company was at stake. Shayla had a meeting for her former workaholics group scheduled for that night. Ironic that she would have to miss the meeting because she had too much work to do.

Chapter Ten

His first day back in Great Oaks since his mother’s funeral sucked, and though Grant wanted to see Shayla so badly it fucking hurt, he needed to get his head back together first. So he spent the whole morning getting caught up at G. Mitchell Financial Solutions, then headed to Brass Cat that afternoon and locked himself in his office to go over financial records. In the few days he’d been gone, the shit had hit the fan at Brass Cat, though Shayla had texted him everything was under control. Grant didn’t like being lied to.

Sydney had texted him that Detective Jackson, a mountain lion shifter, was now investigating Hunter Knowles as the possible hacker. The first officer Shayla had spoken to hadn’t seemed too interested in investigating anything in much of a hurry. Another fact that Shayla hadn’t shared with him. Sydney had been filling him in about the whole ordeal since she still did some freelance graphic design work for Shayla. Did Shayla not want to burden him, or did she not want him by her side in a crisis?

Being audited was a surprise but probably also part of Hunter’s attempt to get Shayla to admit to being whatever he thought she was. Maybe Hunter needed a visit from a bear with sharp teeth and sharper claws. He growled, and it took a few deep breaths before his claws would retract. He should probably have concrete evidence before tearing into the guy.

I’ll make him confess, the bear promised.

Pounding Hunter into the ground was a satisfying image to picture, but Grant had work to do, so he forced himself to concentrate on the numbers in front of him, double-checking what his replacement, Tessa, had already double-checked, before the CPA checked everything again. Running numbers helped distract him from the crazy shit going through his mind. All the important documentation seemed to be in order, so an impending visit from the IRS wouldn’t be bad, just a time suck.

Whether Shayla was a regular or hiding a secret ability in the same way Grant kept his shifter abilities a secret, he didn’t care. He loved her and he knew with certainty that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Hunter if he came near Shay. Grant also knew it was too soon to tell Shayla how he felt about her or to reassure her that Hunter would die a painful death if he ever hurt her. Thinking of Grant as a murderous, violent man might not be too reassuring for Shayla. She was probably better off without him, especially if she wanted kids, because no goddamn way did he want to pass on his DNA. He had no idea how to be a father either.

J. D. acted like a father to you. Greg and Aiden are your brothers.

J. D. was a good example. But is it enough? Greg initiated me. Greg and Aiden are not my brothers.

Greg saved your life. He took on your initiation and claimed you as family. They love you even though you’re a dick to them.

Enough, bear!

A knock on his office door had him wanting to yell “fuck off,” but he limited himself to a terse “What?”

SHAYLA WALKED INTO Grant’s office with a carryout box of crab cakes and fruit salad from the Greenhouse Effect. Rumor was, he hadn’t come out of the office since he’d been there and that he’d basically growled or fussed at anyone who came in with a question. He had barely texted her over the past week, and all their conversations had been brief. Hearing from her staff that his jerky behavior extended to everyone he came in contact with reassured her a little that he hadn’t gone to Jersey and changed his mind about dating her. He’d retreated, though, and that worried her.

“Hey,” she greeted him softly. The grief in his eyes gutted her, made her want to cry for him, but she offered him dinner instead. “Take a break,” she urged him. “Maybe call it a night. All the paperwork will be here tomorrow.”

He gave her a half smile. “Hi, baby doll. Thanks for dinner. I’ll be finished double-checking everything in another hour or so. I’ll lock up.”

She wouldn’t be a pest and force him to talk. Sometimes words weren’t the most important part of a conversation. She set the carryout box on his desk and laid her hand against his cheek. Softly, she kissed him, hoping that carried the message.

He looked up at her. “Baby doll, I missed you. I…” He pulled her onto his lap and engulfed her in his warm embrace. She had no desire to move.

“I missed you too. Things were so crazy around here. Still are, but you were on my mind a lot. I was worried about you. I wanted to see you for a minute and give you a hug and—”

He interrupted her with a kiss. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass, and he pulled her closer. She liked it when he lost his mind and the control he sought so hard to maintain over himself slipped. A shudder ran through her body as his hold got tighter on her ass and his tongue owned hers. Grant pulled away, cursing, and looked at her. His full lips, dark eyes, and stark expression made Shayla gasp. Her pussy was wet with desire and begging for him to fill her. She pleaded with her body to cool off, that they were in the wrong place for her to get so hot, but it wouldn’t listen.

Grant laid one hand on his desk. “Do you wanna know the first fantasy I had after you had this desk delivered to my office?”

“Tell me.” Her words came out breathless.

“I’m gonna show you.” He stood her up from his lap and locked his office door. Anticipation had her heart racing. Grant put all his papers in a drawer, pushed his computer to the side, and then…

“Oh!” she exclaimed as he lifted her up on top of his desk.

“Lie back for me.”

“What for?” she asked with a totally fake innocent blink of her eyes.

“I’m gonna lick your sweet pussy until you beg me not to stop.” His deep voice was a rumble against her ear.

At a loss for words, she simply nodded and lay back against the cool wooden surface. Her eagerness, or maybe her nakedness, brought a smile to his sexy mouth. He sent her skirt and panties to the floor and pulled her closer to the edge of the desk. He knelt down and kissed her thighs before making his way up to her belly.

“Open yourself up for me,” he commanded. She cupped the blonde strip of fur at her mound that she kept waxed and trimmed to perfection, hiding herself from him. He made an impatient noise that sounded like a growl.

“You want to see?”

“I want to see you.”

She parted her legs farther, slid her fingers over her clit, and parted the slick, wet folds of her pussy to show him exactly where she wanted him.

“Beautiful.” He flicked his tongue across her nub, then sucked. “You taste like heaven and honey and everything I’ve ever wanted.” He licked her again before pressing his tongue inside her. Her hips jerked—she wanted more. Deeper. He gave her what she wanted, then replaced his tongue with his fingers and licked her clit, slow, then fast and hard. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair.

“You’d better not even think about stopping.”

She hoped everyone else in the building had left for the day—his clit-licking skills had her calling his name, and not quietly. She’d never been a screamer, but his kisses were such sweet torture she spiraled higher by the second into overwhelming ecstasy. Ecstasy no other man had ever been able to give her. Not even close. She lay still for a moment, with her hands under her head, letting her body and mind wander back to earth.

When she’d regained enough energy, Shayla sat up. “So did you ever picture me doing this in your office?” She hopped down from the desk and took him by the tie, leading him to the chair. She turned the chair to the side and pushed down on his shoulder. “Sit,” she ordered him. When he sat in the leather office chair, Shayla smiled. She sank to her knees and undid his belt. Grant caught her hand.

“Take off your shirt first. I want to see your whole body while your mouth is on my cock.”

Shayla slipped her shirt over her head and then pretended she was done.

“Bra too,” he demanded.

She grinned and undid the back fastener, slowly. While she was busy teasing him, Grant unbuttoned his pants and undid his fly for her to ease his pants and briefs to the floor.

She had planned to tease him, to lightly glide her hands up and down his length and work in the generous amount of readiness dripping down his shaft, maybe give his heavy balls a few little licks until he insisted she suck him. She couldn’t do any of that, because she needed to taste him, right that very second. She swiped her tongue across the wide head of his cock, then took him into her mouth. His whole length was too big to fit, but she made sure she licked and sucked every part of his cock. Grant had a white-knuckle kind of grip on the arms of the chair. He always tried so hard to stay in control. One of these days she’d send him far over the edge, and she was so looking forward to it.

She used one hand to knead his balls while she slid her tongue around his hardened arousal. To drive him extra crazy, she wrapped her free hand around the base of his shaft and then sucked him while working her hand in time with her mouth. Her hair had fallen from her clip, and Shayla kept having to brush stubborn locks of it back. Grant stilled his body and pulled her hair back.

“I couldn’t see your face,” he explained. His words made her heart do weird things and pretty much vow itself to Grant.

She sucked him deeper into her mouth, and his cock got harder and bigger.

“Stop, baby. I’m gonna—” He shifted his body, trying to push her away. “You don’t have to…not here, if you don’t want…”

She knew she didn’t have to do anything, but she wanted what he needed to give her. She grabbed his hip with one hand and didn’t let up the pace.

“Shay, baby, your mouth feels so fucking good. I can’t hold out.”

On a shout, his hips jerked, and wave after wave of hot, salty cum pulsed into her mouth. She swallowed the creamy shot, then looked him straight in the eye to lick her lips.

He pulled her back into his lap and hugged her to him for a moment. When he traced a finger across her forehead, his blissed-out expression turned worried.

DARK CIRCLES SMUDGED Shayla’s beautiful eyes. She gave a little yawn and snuggled in closer to him. He tipped her chin to face him, and her expression wasn’t just tired. It was weary, worried. He needed to clear a few things up.

“I know you said you were handling everything with the website being hacked, but tell me the truth—how bad is it?”

She took a deep breath, and her shoulders slumped. She bit her lip before speaking. “Pretty bad. Worse than I let on when I texted you. Hunter called me and demanded I admit to being some magical mythical creature or some bionic Ghost-in-the-Shell type of superhuman. Hunter’s gone pretty nuts, and he said he wanted to share the information with the world to benefit humanity. He told me he could do anything with computers and to call him when I wanted it to stop. Unfortunately, he didn’t define ‘it,’ so there’s nothing on the recorded conversation to implicate him other than the fact that he sounds like a deranged fool. But you know, even if I was something other than just a normal woman, if I gave out my secrets to the world, do you really think something like that would be used to help everybody, or would it just be regulated and sold at the highest price to make the best profit, the way we already do with medicine and health care?”

“I honestly don’t know. I have never believed the best of people in general, although a few people along the way have shown me there are good people in the world. But there’s so much more bad than good.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I hate that I’m probably right. Even if he finds what he’s looking for, what if the monsters he’s seeking out aren’t really monsters at all, just different?”

The bear loved her for asking that question. Shayla had talked of a time in her life when she’d been shallow and self-absorbed, too focused on her career, but Grant knew she couldn’t have been that bad. The woman in his arms was smart and capable, but she was also kind and thoughtful.

“How badly did he screw with Brass Cat?”

“Bad enough that I could lose the business if I can’t stop him. We’ve lost a few clients because someone threatened them. We’ve lost most of our new clients because they were sent false information, and data that says we’re basically sucky, entry-level screwups. He’s screwed with my bank account and credit cards too. I can’t prove he did that yet, but I’m working on fixing the problem. What I’d really like to do is torture him into fixing everything, then leave him comatose on the steps of a hospital in a third-world country. And yes, I know that’s wrong, but I can still fantasize about it.”

Grant had to laugh at that. “Damn, baby, I thought the hacking situation might be worse than you were letting on. Your texts about it were vague, and nobody would tell me much of anything.”

“That’s my doing. I didn’t want to worry you when you were dealing with your mom’s death. It didn’t seem right.”

He kissed her forehead, blowing out a breath in relief. He could put to rest the fears that she didn’t think he was worth telling or that she didn’t trust him enough to be straight with him.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I need you to understand something.” Her eyes got round at the intensity of his voice. Fuck it, though; she needed to hear this. “I told you once before, I’ll always be there for you. It wasn’t just an empty promise. And it doesn’t matter if I’m four miles away or halfway around the world. When you need me, I will have your back. I won’t let Hunter get near you. I will always do what I can to keep you safe.”

And he would. Whatever it took. If that made him violent, so fucking what? Maybe he should be worried about that, but thoughts of crazy fucking Hunter hurting Shayla worried Grant far more.

Her body sagged into his, and she sniffled and nodded. They were both exhausted. The paperwork would still be on his desk in the morning. The hacker situation would be there in the morning. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She protested his move to get up, and Grant gave up the pretense that he was all right. “Come home with me. I missed you. I need you near me.”

“Okay, but let’s go to my place. I need to check up on Stray Kitty and feed her.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Whatever I want, huh?” The sexy flash in her eyes and the honeysuckle scent of her desire were pretty clear indicators that neither of them would be getting much sleep.

Chapter Eleven

“We can take my truck.” Grant preferred to ride in his vehicle since his head practically touched the ceiling in her two-door coupe. “I just need to make a quick stop on the way to your place unless you have protection there, ’cause I don’t have anything with me.”

“I didn’t really know what kind to buy. I wasn’t sure if all extra-large-size condoms were really the same, or if you needed something specific for your enormous package.” Shayla giggled and stroked him over his clothes. He caught her hand.

“Keep that up, and we’re not gonna make it to the pharmacy,” he growled.

“That could be fun too.”

“Don’t test me.” His words came out rough and strangled. She didn’t look a bit scared or put off. Instead, she cupped his balls as he drove. She shouldn’t tempt him when he was so close to the edge.

The clerk at the pharmacy scanned up four things: a can of cat food, two bottles of cherry soda, and an economy-sized box of extra-large condoms. No simple boxes of six packets on the shelf for his size, apparently. If he were by himself, buying the huge box would have been no big deal, just a guy stocking up on protection, but now Shayla was standing next to Grant while the clerk in an Atari T-shirt and knitted beanie smirked and put the box of extra-large rubbers in a bag. The gigantic box of condoms probably made it look like Grant planned to take Shayla hostage for a week of fucking. Poor Shay. He hoped she wasn’t too embarrassed.

“Have a nice night, y’all,” the hipster prick called out as Grant and Shayla made their way out the door.

“We will!” Shayla called back.

Grant nearly choked. So she wasn’t embarrassed, not about the giant box of rubbers or taking the chance on being seen by any random person in town while Grant paid for them. Every day he discovered something new to like about her. The drive to her place felt like an eternity. He needed to be inside her already. Finally they stood in her kitchen. He kissed the back of her neck and teased her nipples through her shirt while she used the can opener on the lid of the cat food.

“She won’t eat the other kind I’ve been giving her. Maybe this kind will be better.”

He nearly gagged at the stink of the food Shayla spooned into a dish. “I wouldn’t count on it. That stuff smells like death warmed over in gravy.” His bear senses were working overtime, and he took a step back to get away from the stink of the slimy slop heaped in a pink plastic bowl.

“Oh, knock it off. This stuff is not that bad.”

He loved her laugh. There was happiness in that light, airy sound, and he wanted to keep her happy. Grant intended to make Shay forget all the shit she was dealing with, even if only for a little while. He had felt better the second she’d come into his office offering a takeout box and a kiss to soothe his screwed-up state of mind. He heard her soft steps coming back into the kitchen.

SHAYLA SQUEALED IN delight when Grant picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He sat her in the middle of her bed and stripped off her clothes so fast she was surprised everything wasn’t torn. He started to unbutton his dress shirt, but she caught his hands in hers.

“Oh no, I get to undress you.”

The look he gave her was one of pure frustration and need, but he let her take off his shirt, button by button, then kiss his back and nip at his chest. When she commanded him to lie back, he complied, and she unbuckled his belt. One sharp pull tugged the leather belt from his pants, and she wondered what the thin black leather would feel like binding her wrists and holding her still. Her heart beat double time when he looked from the belt to her and cursed softly. Was he curious too, or had he already experienced things she’d only read about?

She unbuttoned his pants and freed the erect cock waiting for her touch. The cream dripping from the slit was for her, and she licked it up, then sucked the whole head into her mouth. She was too wet and needy to play for long. Grant reached for a foil packet and tore it open. She practically drooled when he slid the latex down his long shaft, then gave himself a few strokes. His big hand gliding down his arousal was a sexy sight. Later, she wanted to watch him take himself over the top. Maybe make a video, if he’d let her. But not right now.

He guided his cock into her pussy, and she sighed. “I need this. I need you inside me,” she breathed, her voice desperate. He pulled her down to him for a kiss that started out soft and turned full-on hot and hard, demanding and unyielding. The possessive slide of his tongue around hers made her cling tighter to him. “Deeper,” she begged, and he obliged, entering her all the way and cursing before thrusting back inside.

Shayla never imagined sex could feel this good, but with Grant, even a simple kiss could make her whimper and want and need. The way Grant made love to her forced her out of her head and into the present, and when he dug his fingers into her thighs, she wanted more. She wanted to try new things with him. Some of the things she’d been thinking about lately had her out of her mind with desire. Restraints, whipped cream, and nipple clamps—oh my!

Grant’s body was tense and controlled. His muscles were taut under her hands as he thrust into her at a slower pace than a moment before. Maybe she needed to get him out of his head too. He stopped moving, so she looked up at him.

“Shay, baby. Get ready.” His voice was a hoarse, commanding whisper at her ear. Her pussy got tighter.

“I’m ready. Fuck me, Grant. Let me feel how deep your cock can go.”

He cursed and pulled out of her, only to turn her over onto her stomach.

“Up on your knees,” he growled.

She was happy to comply. His gripped her thighs tight and hauled her against his chest. She moaned when he entered her from behind. His strong fingers working her clit and the thick ridge of his cock dragging furiously in and out against her most perfect spot drove her so high she didn’t even care if she made way too much noise.

His shoulders shook, and she knew he was still holding back. Did he want to go harder? Was he trying not to feel so much? She could understand that. There were feelings between them neither could voice just yet, and Shayla pressed her back against his chest and caught his hand in hers, trying to covey how she felt without saying it out loud.

“Goddamn, your ass is so fucking fine,” he groaned and smacked her right butt cheek. The sting was so light. Not enough.

“Again,” she begged.

“No.”

“Yes, and do it harder,” she commanded him.

He stopped, and his muscles tensed. “Don’t fucking tempt me, baby doll.”

“Do it. I’m stronger than I look.”

Grant slapped her other butt cheek, not a full-force smack, but harder than before, and then she knew Grant might indulge her in the things she wanted to try. Or maybe he’d think her secret wishes were too much? She brought his hands to her nipples, and when he pinched them, she moaned and shifted her body, searching…

“What do you need, baby doll? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

She bowed her head. “I need, I need…”

“Tell me, baby. If you need me to stop. I’ll stop. If you need something else, tell me. Any pleasure I can give you, I want to give you. I want to make you crazy for me.”

“Be rough with me.”

“Like this?” He pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers, then kneading the sensitive tip, tugging and finally squeezing.

“Yes. God, yes!”

Grant pulled out of her, and before she could even protest, he pushed her over onto her back and drove his huge dick inside her again, straight to the hilt. His kiss was crushing and brutal, and she loved it. She scored her nails down his back, making him hiss. His scars—she’d forgotten.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered as she smoothed her hand down over the flesh she’d torn. Tears formed in her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry. I fucking love it. I…” He stopped talking and kissed her again. She dug her nails into his thighs and begged him not to stop.

“Never,” he promised. His rhythm got faster, more out of control, and the heat of him inside her, pulsing and wild with need, drove her higher. When the pleasure blasted through her body, Grant shouted her name, and his body shook with the force of their shared moment. He held her to him, his breathing uneven, his gaze soft. She would never get enough of him. Grant took care of the condom, then came back to her.

After snuggling together for a few minutes and trying to find the energy to move, they did their duty to the water-conservation movement by taking a shower together. Grant washed her hair and soaped up her back, massaging along the way. She sighed in delight at his big hands kneading her butt cheeks, until he stopped.

“I was too rough with you. You’re gonna have my fingerprints on your ass for days. I don’t ever want to hurt you, baby.” The shame and tension in his voice hurt her heart.

“If I didn’t like what you were doing to me, I would have told you to stop. Besides, I like the idea of having your mark on me.”

Grant caught the back of her head and kissed her hard before washing the rest of her body with gentle hands. Shayla returned Grant’s favor of a foamy rubdown, but she couldn’t reach his gorgeous mop of shaggy dark hair, so he used her rose-scented shampoo to lather his locks. As the rest of the soap ran down his back, she rubbed his neck and shoulders. He let out a heavy sigh when she got to his biceps.

“Gosh, you’re tight,” she exclaimed at the bunched-up muscles.

“So are you.”

“I meant your muscles. But, um, thanks?” Shayla suddenly felt a little shy there under the shower, the water running down her hair, plastering it to her back, leaving her in front of Grant, naked. She touched her cheek. In the shower, she was stripped bare, with no cleverly applied makeup to distract, no soft curls or bun with jeweled bobby pins to say yeah, I have a couple of scars, but look at how stylish I am.

Would Grant look at her and think “what a shame, I bet she used to be beautiful before the bombing, before glass and metal and dead bodies piled up on her”? Quit it! She shut down that line of thought, trying to push it straight through the bottoms of her feet and down the drain. My scars are not that bad anymore. Still, though, she was beyond naked as she stood in front of him. Illusions didn’t stand up to soap and water and a naked body. Unless one had Jedi mind power, and she was not signed up for that class at the gym.

THE WATER RUNNING down Shayla’s breasts while he massaged her back had Grant feeling a little hungry. After taking each pink nipple tip into his mouth and sucking until she cried out, he dropped to his knees and started to kiss the neatly trimmed little blonde patch of hair at her mound. Shay whimpered a little and pushed at his shoulder.

“Sore?”

“A little.” She looked at him regretfully. “Give me a few hours?”

“Take all the time you need.” He stood and kissed her, not the smartest idea since her kiss made his dick stand at attention, the head already beading with slick, salty drops. He was so ready for her, and he couldn’t hide his need when it was sandwiched between them.

“Turn around and close your eyes,” she whispered into his ear.

Before he knew it, Shay had pressed herself against his backside and reached around from behind to grasp his rigid cock in her soapy hand. She brought him to the edge and stopped, twice, before he growled, wrapped his hand over hers, and tightened his grip. “Don’t tease.”

“Then put your hands against the wall and tell me exactly what you want.”

“Fuck,” he groaned out, pressing his hands to the shower tiles. “Grip me harder.” She tightened her grip. “Balls too. Don’t be gentle.” When she used her other hand to massage his balls in a tight grip, his breathing quickened.

“What else do you like?”

“I like your nails digging into me.” She dug her nails into his back, and his cock pulsed. He groaned. “I like smacking your sexy thighs and pinching your nipples. But what I want from you is maybe too much, and you don’t have to do any of it.”

“I want to hear it. Tell me. There are some things I want too, but you’re up first. You’re braver.”

He laughed at that. “You really want to know?”

“So badly,” she begged him in a criminally sexy voice.

“I want to tie you to the bed and torture you with my tongue and play with toys that make even the sex shop owners blush.” He heard her intake of breath and smelled the scent of her desire permeating the air—thick and sweet enough to make his mouth water. Her strokes got quicker. “And soon I want to fuck your ass while I pleasure your pussy with that big-ass dildo you keep in your nightstand.”

“You’ll be the first to have my ass.”

A curse and a growl rumbled from his chest. “Looking forward to it. Your turn.”

“I want to tie you up and torture you with kisses and suck you off so slowly you nearly go insane from wanting inside me. Then I’ll let you free and make you chase me down. When you catch me, I’ll tell you not to hold back anymore.”

Her words and her tight strokes down the length of his shaft, along with the bite of her nails against his chest, stoked his desire until the dam cracked open. Grant shuddered as bursts of white heat hit the shower wall. He turned to face her, and Shay wrapped her arms around him. He looked down into her blue eyes. “I’m so glad I met you.”

She laid her cheek against his chest. He kept an arm around her waist and stroked her back with the other arm. They stood just like that, in their own bubble, until she shivered. The water had finally run cold. They toweled off and lay in bed. Shayla didn’t even seem to care that her hair was still damp. She curled up into Grant’s warm body, and he held her there.

“In another week or two, when everything’s closer to being fixed at Brass Cat, let’s go somewhere together for a few days. Just you and me. There are some things I want to—” He stopped short. Since she hadn’t run screaming for the hills when he’d slapped her ass or admitted he wanted inside it, he needed to shut up while he was ahead. But if she’d liked what he’d done, the roughness, the little bit of pain, then was it really wrong? She seemed to have some fantasies of her own that were not so vanilla, and she’d been pretty shy about them at first too. He hadn’t badgered her or pushed her to do anything. Maybe that distinction made him different from his violent father. Shayla wanted a little of what he wanted. The bear’s snide told ya, motherfucker went unanswered.

One day soon, when Grant and Shayla were on vacation, relaxed and watching the waves crash on the sand, he’d tell her what he was, where he came from, how he felt about her. Soon enough for all that. She could make her decision then. “It’ll be nice to get away,” he said casually, as though he didn’t have big plans for their time away together. “We could both use a vacation. What do you think?”

She took his hand in hers. “That sounds nice. Maybe for Memorial Day we could head to the beach, make it a four-day weekend.”

“Think you can stand me for four days?”

“Yeah, you’re good company.”

“You too, baby doll.”

He held her as she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Twelve

Shayla slept. Grant didn’t. He sat at the computer doing research on security companies instead. The question of how to keep Shayla safe at home and at work had been eating at him lately since he spent less time at her company and more time working at his own business. He couldn’t be there at Brass Cat Agency every day to oversee the little things like sprinkler system maintenance and checking the outside motion sensors. Her dickhead ex hacking the website and screwing with her on a virtual level made Grant crazy worried. Hunter had made things personal. He might come after Shayla in real life once she’d figured out how keep him out of her virtual information. Maybe he’d gone overboard with his worrying, but why take chances?

In the morning, they went out to Divine’s Diner for breakfast. Grant went there a lot since he wasn’t much of a cook. The food at Divine’s was good and ready fast, not like at a greasy-spoon place, just simple stuff that didn’t take forever to cook. Poor Shay had been so busy all week she hadn’t gone shopping.

Nothing much edible in her house except bread and cornflakes, without the milk or butter. He refused to order his favorite breakfast of shrimp and grits, no matter how much he wanted it. He’d gotten dumped last time he had that meal at Divine’s Diner. Grant wasn’t superstitious, but he refused to take any stupid chances. Every day with Shayla was a gift, and he would do everything in his power to keep her safe, to have day after day with her. No, better security wasn’t too much vigilance.

He brought up the security idea casually while they ate, as though the issue hadn’t kept him awake last night. “It’ll be good to have a better security system with everything going on.” Apparently, a lot of people were calling Brass Cat, trying to find “the truth” or to try to reach Shayla for whatever bizarre fucking reason. He didn’t want to have to worry about people showing up where she worked, trying to determine if she was some circus oddity or reality-TV star.

“Increasing security is probably a good idea. If Brass Cat doesn’t go under, anyway.”

Grant took her hand in his. “It won’t.” He had faith in Shayla bringing her company back better and stronger than it had been before Hunter had messed with it. “I researched a couple of different companies this morning, and I’ve got a meeting today with the owner of Carter Security to see what options are available. Let me make sure the building is secure before Tessa is trained in for my old job and I’m gone from Brass Cat.”

“Thanks. I guess it’s probably time to upgrade security. I don’t want anything extravagant or complicated, though. I don’t want to deal with alarms going off all the time.”

”I’ll look into simpler plans that won’t be a nuisance.”

Only a handful of people were ever physically present at Brass Cat at any given time. Telecommuters, freelance workers, and online business developers made up a large portion of Brass Cat Advertising. Video chat programs allowed the staff and clients to communicate across distances. Shayla had acquired contracts from businesses in other countries, and Grant cringed at Shay’s newest group of clients, though this group hadn’t expressed any interest in discontinuing their work with Brass Cat. They were a bunch of off-the-grid types who liked to pay in Bitcoin.

Yeah, Grant knew how to make all the numbers show up legal and proper. Even when Shayla allowed a few local small businesses to pay in trade, he made it work, but damn, she dealt with so many people in so many different companies and countries, and that made Grant nervous. Even with the loss of business Shayla had suffered, she still had a lot of clients. Just one crazy, unsatisfied client or pissed-off employee was all it took, all it ever took, to walk into a business and cause damage.

Brass Cat’s existing alarm system was set every night for after hours, but that was not enough protection for him to feel okay about being away from her. A full-time security guard would be a good addition, but he wouldn’t push that issue with Shayla. She had said no once before.

* * * *

Aaron Carter from Carter Security and Surveillance welcomed Grant into his office and took a seat in a rather small wooden chair. Grant sat in a similar chair. If he rocked forward, the whole thing might break under his bulky six-foot-five frame.

Mr. Carter did a poor job at suppressing a laugh. “Sorry about the tiny furniture. Remodeling.” He pointed to the walls. Two were an old-looking beige and two a light coffee color. The smell of paint and freshly cut wood had burned Grant’s nose the second he’d walked in the door. Grant nearly offered to help. The thought of feeling a saw in his hands as he cut and measured and mapped-out details in his head relaxed him a little.

“What brings you to Carter Security today?” Mr. Carter looked at him with penetrating light brown eyes that suggested he might be analyzing everything while feigning mild interest.

“I need a better security system than the one in place at my girlfriend’s company, Brass Cat Advertising. I’m leaving soon to run my own business, and I need to be sure she’s safe at work. She doesn’t want a full-time security guard right now, though.” Grant was still not happy about that.

“We’ve got plenty of options that can enhance security without a physical guard. We have a simpler option of sending a security officer by once a week for a check of the company’s parking lot and front lobby and once monthly to check the inside security equipment.”

“That option sounds good.” It would have to do.

Mr. Carter pulled some brochures from his desk drawer, and they selected a security and equipment plan in the budget Shayla had specified. The hard part was watching out for Shayla herself. “So, ah, Mr. Carter…”

“Just call me Carter.”

“I want to take some extra measures to keep Shayla safe both at home and at work. What features do you recommend? Also, the bill for those extra features can be sent to me and not Brass Cat.”

“You want to keep her safe, right?” An edge sharpened Carter’s words.

“Yes, I want to keep her safe. I’m not some freaky stalker. I don’t want to spy on her or anything. I just want to make sure she’s all right and that if something happens, she can get help quickly. And a sprinkler system. That would be good.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he began to sweat. God, but Grant hated the thought of fire. A fire inside a fireplace, yeah, okay, fine, but the thought of an out-of-control stove fire, its flames tearing up the walls, reaching into every room, was sometimes enough to make him dizzy. He couldn’t lose anybody else. Damn the bear for making him live, anyway.

Cut the bullshit and focus, the bear growled at him.

“Then don’t be that guy. Don’t be the guy who worries so much he makes his girl feel like a prisoner. Don’t make her feel like she can’t trust you when she catches you keeping tabs on her because you’re being a controlling ass all while telling her it’s for her own safety.”

Carter had probably seen that kind of shit happen before, but dammit, the extra measures were for Shayla’s protection. Grant didn’t think she was the cheating type, and if she did decide to look elsewhere, he would pick up on the smell of another man on her and her things. Grant would get the message loud and clear.

“I’ve seen it happen,” Carter continued. “The guy squeezes too hard, and the girl runs.”

“I get it, man. Thing is, I lost some people once. They died in a fire. And Shayla, she somehow managed to survive a bombing. Plus, now this entertainment news reporter and Shay’s crazy-as-fuck ex have teamed up to try and prove some idiotic theory that Shay and a bunch of other people survived disasters because they’re bionic or immortal or some shit. She survived because she was lucky. Nothing more. I’m pretty sure her ex, who’s some type of computer genius, was behind the hacking of her business website and bank account. Though we don’t have proof yet, she’s certain he was the one who threatened some of her clients. She’s got a computer expert working on keeping things secure from a cyber level, but I can’t relax unless I know I did everything I could to keep her from getting hurt.” Grant looked down. He wanted Shay protected. That was the truth, plain and simple, but Carter’s words nagged at Grant.

Grant wouldn’t be that guy. He would look out for Shay, but he didn’t want to lose her by squeezing too tight either. So many ways to lose someone you love. Maybe he should just walk away. Be numb again. The bear growled at him and, with his freaky shifter skills, managed to make Grant’s brain feel like claws had scraped the side of it. Grant struggled to stay still and expressionless as Carter looked him over.

“Are the police looking into this guy and the hack job on her business?”

“Yeah. They gave her the runaround on it at first until a detective got involved. Nobody’s having any luck proving anything yet, though.”

“What’s her ex’s name?”

“Hunter Knowles. He runs a company called HJK Webmasters and a conspiracy theory blog called Finding Hidden Truths.” Grant watched Carter write that information down on a Post-it note and stick it to the side of his computer monitor.

He looked Grant over for another moment, then finally nodded. “So, compromise. Give Ms. Patrick my card, convince her to use my security company at home, just like she would at work, and I’ll add a few bonus features that she need never know about. I’m gonna look into Hunter Knowles and see what I can find on him as well. In exchange, since you’re a numbers man, you can help me with some financial advice and help me find a new bookkeeper. Mine gave notice yesterday. Her husband’s in the military, and he’s being transferred to Alaska. I need someone in three weeks’ time. I don’t do numbers and bookkeeping shit.” He scrubbed his hand through his short dark hair. “I suck at math. I have dyscalculia. Sort of like dyslexia, but with numbers. ”

“All right. Deal.”

They shook hands, and this time Grant was struck by the contact. Electricity like a mild static shock went through his palm and up his arm. Would that happen with a psy? He wasn’t sure. He’d never met one, not that he knew of anyway. Grant let his bear’s long incisors extend and his eyes became the bear’s eyes, black and glowing.

Carter just laughed. “Yeah, that’s right, shifter. I’m not normal either, but I’m one of the good guys. I help shifters as well as my kind.”

Grant was still trying to make sense of it, trying to determine if he had made a deal with an evil genie or just stumbled upon a strange psy when Carter continued.

“I’m not a shifter, not like you anyway. I’m a Voleur de Vie. In the states, people call us soul stealers, life wreckers, witches, soul eaters—and those are the nicer names.”

When Grant just looked at him, Carter went on, “My people have an alliance with your people. Part of my job is to protect all of us. And there’s some bad shit out there, even among our own kind. Although you already know that, I’m sure.”

Grant looked down. He didn’t know nearly as much as he should. He knew where to go for answers, though, and a talk with Aiden and Greg, one where Grant actually listened and didn’t act like a jerk, was long overdue.

* * * *

“So you’re interested in shifter culture and everything else in the world of strange now that shit affects you more directly? Now you’re ready to wake the fuck up and listen?” Aiden sounded more than a little pissed.

Grant sat on the picnic bench across from bear shifter brothers Greg and Aiden, ready to hear a lecture he definitely deserved. On the walk to their campsite at Bears’ Creek, he’d talked to the brothers about Kendall Baron, obsessive reporter, and Hunter, Shayla’s crazy ex, looking for proof of superhumans and medically enhanced indestructible people, who were terrorizing Shayla in their search. He’d asked about the Voleur de Vie since he thought it might be hella rude to ask Aaron Carter for the details. Also, no guarantees if the guy would have given Grant the truth or fuck with him a bit for shits and giggles.

Aiden and Greg were twins. Though they had the same tan skin and green eyes, Aiden’s dark hair was kept close-cropped, and his style was clean-cut, while Greg looked more like a mountain man with his wild, curly blond hair and scruffy beard. Greg dressed like a homeless surfer, but Aiden’s style was more business-casual. Though they weren’t physical carbon copies of each other, Greg and Aiden seemed to communicate on the same plane. Grant had no brothers or sisters. No close family. He could always start one of his own. The thought struck him out of left field, and he shut it down hard. Not gonna happen.

He would never pass down his DNA. Maybe Shayla could be his family—his wife, his mate. Maybe she’d agree. He pushed that thought aside. Why the fuck did he have to want that with her? He stood to lose so much if he asked for what he wanted. For now, he would worry about keeping her safe, and that meant listening to Greg and Aiden, who had most likely already given him a lot of the information he needed to know, and more than once. The details of shifter culture and the list of other stranger creatures? Grant had mostly ignored them. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t listened when he should have, because for years he hadn’t given two shits whether or not he saw another day. After moving to Great Oaks, he’d made a slow return to the land of people who cared whether or not they lived. Even after he’d stopped feeling supersuicidal, Grant had still been angry at Greg for initiating him instead of letting him die.

Every time Grant got together with the brothers for a camping trip or important shifter event, he resented being there. He went only to learn what he needed to do to keep the shifter community’s secret, himself, and by extension, the bear, safe. Spending occasional time with the bear pack kept the brothers off his case about participating in bear shifter culture and how it was necessary and all that other stuff he considered bullshit. Now Grant was awake and alive, ready to do whatever it took to keep Shayla safe, even if it meant learning more about shifter culture—even if it meant sorting through the anger and other unnamed emotions he had for both Aiden and Greg.

“So, now you wanna know about being a shifter and the whole world you’ve basically ignored for the past six years?” Greg shoved Grant.

He’d kind of had it coming, but he held his ground and stared right back at Greg. He thought he caught a hint of approval in Greg’s eyes, though the green had turned an inky black with shards of jade that seemed lit with anger. “Is this new interest in shifter culture temporary? We tell you what you want to know, you help some woman you’re into at the moment, and then the lights go out again? Is that how it’s gonna work, or are you finally gonna own your place in the shifter world?”

“I lost everybody in that fire!” Grant was yelling too and didn’t care who heard him. “Everybody, including the woman I was going to marry, so yeah, I did want to die. You took that choice from me. So fuck yes, I held a grudge. But what the hell would you have done in my place, if you’d woken up and everybody you cared about was dead?”

“The same goddamn thing!” Greg shouted as he sat on top of a picnic bench. “I’d ask to die and hope like hell I did. But when we found you, I was so fucking tired of having to end people’s lives when there were no other options that I saved yours because I could, and I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t.”

Grant nearly choked up at the sincerity of Greg’s voice. Greg, who always moved like a relaxed, controlled assassin in a video game, looked lost, as though he’d been defeated by the enemy after all. “I hoped that you’d wake up and realize the gift I gave you meant more than just keeping you alive. I claimed you as family. But it was selfish too on my part. I could only hope I did the right thing. And I wanted saving you to be the right thing to do.”

Family. That one word was a sore point for Grant. He hadn’t had one until Brian, Freddy, Joe, and Maya, and he had tried for as long as possible to avoid any attachments that could bring him pain again, but maybe Greg had wanted to give Grant something like what he’d lost? Nah, that thought was probably too deep, but… As Greg had dug his huge incisors into Grant’s shoulder six years ago, he’d said the words, “He is claimed as family.” Aiden has spoken the words, “So be it,” and Grant had assumed their words were a part of the tradition or process or whatever. Could those words have been more than a part of the tradition? Did he even want to know? “So, uh, about that crazy shit out there that I haven’t listened to you about in the past…”

Greg lit a cigarette and looked off into the distance. Aiden spoke. “Aside from some of the stranger creatures out there, and we’ll get to that in a minute, here’s what’s happening with the animal shifters. This is shit you need to pay attention to, first and foremost.” Aiden started out like it was gonna be a long-ass list of trouble and that Grant knew only the very basics, so this time, he planned to listen.

Should have listened before, the bear admonished Grant. Grant didn’t bother arguing the fact that the bear had probably heard some or all of it and could have filled Grant in. The bear was stubborn as hell. Kind of spiteful too.

“Shifters gone bad or gone crazy—that doesn’t end well for anyone involved. Poison is the main cause of shifters going berserk. Also, coyotes can lose their minds if betrayed by someone close to them. Grief can give any animal shifter a shove into insanity.”

All right, he did remember that part, since after he’d been initiated, he’d worried that he would go so off the rails from missing Maya and his friends, it would cause him to accidentally hurt somebody. He hadn’t.

You’re welcome, the bear said.

Thanks, bear.

Aiden took a long sip of beer before continuing. “Shifters initiating regulars into shifters to be used for their own purposes doesn’t work unless the initiated one wants to be a part of the initiator’s plans. We only get one or two chances to initiate someone, and then we’re responsible for the ones we initiate.”

Grant tried not to dwell on the fact that Greg had used a gift on him that shifters considered precious and limited.

“Then there are the Equalizers and the crazy spin-off groups and extremists. Those assholes want to do everything from stopping a shifter’s ability to heal to studying shifters in a lab like rats. There’s more than one group out there who would prefer to kill off all the stranger creatures in existence.”

Grant knew the basics of what Aiden was telling him, though he hadn’t thought much about it other than as a general reminder to himself to be careful about not exposing his shifter nature to just anybody. Keeping the secret of their nature was important, but it went so much deeper. He got that now. It was obvious from the barely controlled anger in Aiden’s tone that the term “studying shifters in a lab like rats” wasn’t an exaggeration. Aiden must have seen some of the hell he’d described. Grant had the strangest desire to tell him he understood the dark and to try to pull Aiden out of the shadows. Grant raked his hand through his hair. Surely it was just the beers and the miles of open air under the night sky playing with his imagination.

“I’ll report the situation with that reporter and your girl’s douchebag ex to Shifters United, so one of the threat managers can look into it. Hopefully the reporter and the ex don’t know anything more than they’ve revealed already. But if that’s not the case, things will have to be taken care of.”

Aiden probably didn’t mean that Baron and Hunter would get a polite warning to shut up and mind their business. “I’ll volunteer for that job,” Grant said with a growl. Was it wrong that he wanted to murder another person so badly?

“I take it your new woman is not temporary?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Aiden just nodded, as though he knew there were no guarantees.

Aiden spoke about some of the bizarre and different creatures Mother Nature had made, and all the while a group of younger bear shifters performed a crazy mix of break dancing and Parkour across the picnic tables and through the shelter ledges. Falling and getting back up, over and over.

“You know I specialized in the Shifter Enforcement Army, in the Search and Destroy unit, hunting down and eliminating shifters who’d gone bad or crazy? Aiden also served time in the SEA. He specialized in eliminating the radicals who went after shifters, so basically, he was a sniper, and also more,” Greg began.

“And we’re now part of Shifters United, which is something like a shifter government but much less bureaucratic and archaic,” Aiden continued. “You mentioned Voleur de Vie? They’re rare, but we’ve dealt with them as allies on a few occasions. Soul stealers, many in the stranger community refer to them. They aren’t cold, dead bloodsucking vampires, but something else entirely.”

The brothers filled him in that though soul stealers went by many names, none really described them to perfection. Voleur de Vie could make a regular or a shifter sick or crazy or both with just their touch, if they so chose. Though an animal shifter could usually change form to alleviate any damage, regulars, weather shifters, and psy weren’t so lucky. The soul stealers could cause sickness or insanity slowly over a period of time, or they could do it fast and hard. They weren’t zombies, but they could create a village full of diseased lunatics with so little brainpower left they walked the village looking depleted, lost, and psychotic.

A bite from an animal shifter could rob soul stealers of their abilities, for a while anyway. Aiden insisted that the soul stealers he had worked with in the past were decent; still, Grant decided to hold off on hanging out with anything that could turn him into a disease-infested, raving nutbag. Jesus, there was a lot of freaky shit out there.

“Aiden and I still get pulled into missions sometimes,” Greg said, his tone solemn.

Aiden and Greg not only knew about the crazy shit that went on unbeknownst to most, but they had obviously suffered like hell to keep shifters safe. Feeling humble and sorry and about a hundred other things, Grant stayed silent. Greg and Aiden had started their own search and rescue business in Bears’ Creek, helping shifters and humans alike who were lost or in need of help. After truly listening to the brothers speak about their pasts, he really got why they wanted to help people when they could. They were tired of having to end lives.

“Sometimes things overlap with Shifters United and the search and rescue unit, and we end up traveling to missions elsewhere. I don’t mind the rescue missions though. Finding someone alive, being able to help instead of having to kill because there’s no other humane choice—yeah, I’ll take a rescue anytime.” The sincerity on Greg’s face reminded Grant so much of his friend Joe—just the straight-up truth, no bending words to alter perception.

“Not all of them were so far gone they couldn’t be saved, if we just knew how to help them, how to keep it from getting worse.” Greg shook his head. Aiden put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“We still don’t have a lot of options. The drug epinephrine, the stuff they use for people with severe allergies, can, for whatever reason, help at the beginning if a shifter has been poisoned. It doesn’t even matter the poison—if we can get the epinephrine into the shifter quickly, there’s a chance. Not much chance of saving a shifter who has lost their mind, though,” Aiden said quietly. His words were calm, but the sadness bled through.

“There’s got to be a better way.” Greg shook his head, and the moonlight illuminated the grief and shadows that marred his face.

Grant just nodded and offered a grunt of support. In that unguarded moment, his heart hurt for Greg and he felt—felt—the grief, the caring, the love of a brother, but just the same, he felt that it was not his own, but coming from somewhere else. From Aiden.

How in the fuck? Grant gasped for breath and stood.

The strength of the bond between a shifter and their initiated is strong. You’ve blocked it out long enough. Also, It’s even stronger between mates, the bear informed him. And then Grant realized something and turned to Greg.

“So all this time, you felt my grief and my anger. My…hatred for you?”

“Aiden and I both did. I claimed you as family. If I could have taken some of your grief, I would have, to help you endure it, but that’s not the way things work.”

Grant’s shield of anger shattered, and in its place, something else tried to form, and it fucking hurt. Now he needed to take away some of Greg’s pain. “I don’t hate you for initiating me. I get why you did it. I mean, I really get it now.”

He turned away. Grant had meant what he said, but that was enough of that shit for one night. He walked off toward a tree, stripped naked, and lay down to sleep in bear form against a tree. He would not have to communicate in bear form. When his body started to feel weightless, caught somewhere in between the present and sleep, the damn bear’s voice rang loud and clear in the silence of his mind.

Greg and Aiden are your brothers now. You weren’t alone then, and you’re not alone now.

Goddammit! Do not start that shit again, bear.

“He is claimed as family,” Greg had said that after he had bitten Grant and started the initiation process.

“So be it,” Aiden had agreed.

But why Grant? They hadn’t known him. Grant hadn’t asked for a brother. He hadn’t asked to be part of a bear family. He had asked to die.

And yet they love you. The bear’s tone was gentle. And so does Shay. Great. The bear was gonna be all philosophical and mushy now.

What, you gonna sing me Adele songs now, bear? When the bear started in with a screechy, high-pitched warble, Grant cut him off.

Go to sleep, stupid bear.

Love you. The bear laughed, sounding like an eight-year-old taunting a sibling.

Fuck off, bear.

Chapter Thirteen

Early mornings, before saner people got out of bed, were the times when Shayla came up with her best ideas. At five thirty a.m., she dressed in a fluorescent-pink running shirt and shorts, then pulled on her well-worn running shoes. She grabbed a water bottle and put on a headlamp to guide her down her street in the last of the darkness. Not many people came down her long, winding road since she lived in an older neighborhood that was just beginning to see some revitalization and repopulation. Definitely not the traffic she’d dealt with near her old place in Towson, Maryland.

Just the same, she still strapped a knife to her waistband whenever she went for a run by herself. Safety and all. Really, though, the weirdest thing she’d ever seen on her neighborhood runs was a pack of wild turkeys screeching at one another as they crossed the road. The raccoons eating from garbage cans were so freaking precious, but she didn’t dare step too close to the furry little trash eaters.

After a few miles of her pounding the pavement, her running music playlist started to bore the hell out of her, so she turned the music app off. The silence wasn’t really silence. Birds chirping, frogs, random cars on different roads—all those sounds played in the background to remind her she wasn’t alone but still in her little slice of time and space. As she approached the halfway point of her run, her body wanted to slack off and give up, so she forced her mind away from the burning of her muscles and the tightness in her lungs. Of course Brass Cat and how to keep it up and running was the first place her mind went.

The day before, she’d refused to think about the mess Hunter and Baron had caused, because she needed to stop obsessing over what she couldn’t change. She’d already taken drastic measures to secure her website. Brass Cat stored customer credit-card information on a different server that had never been breached. At least she had that to be thankful for. She should let Hunter’s hacking and reputation smearing incident pass and the police do their job, but Shayla’s gut said she should go on the offensive. Grant had not been enthusiastic about that concept when she’d mentioned putting together a revenge plan. She had assured him the wishes for payback against Hunter was just her anger talking and that of course she’d leave handling Hunter to the experts. Because that was what she should do, right?

Shayla’s blood, sweat, and tears had gone into getting Brass Cat up and running successfully. She’d bargained, traded deals, made promises—which she’d kept—and scraped together the amount of money necessary to make it through the first hard year. Because of everything she’d put into Brass Cat, and some luck and love from the universe, her business had climbed out of the red and into the black, until she wasn’t only squeaking by after employees’ salaries and other expenses were met: she was prospering. Oh, not prospering like a millionaire. Not yet. But there was growth and possibilities, and the more she thought about Hunter sitting out there somewhere, plotting her ruin, she knew she needed to shut him down. Not just stop him from trying to find new ways to hack or have him endure an investigation that might never produce charges that would stick. Originally she’d wanted to hit his website and his business back with some cyber-voodoo shit that she paid someone else to do and force him to lose his credibility. Now she wanted to do more. She needed to shut him down for good.

So she wouldn’t go publicly accusing him of being a dickhead hacker or make public-service announcements about the importance of helping people with traumatic brain injuries to cope with difficulties during which she wouldn’t flash a picture of Hunter on-screen and tell her audience that sometimes people needed more help than their families and friends could provide. Also, she wouldn’t sneak into Hunter’s house and murder him in his sleep. All of those strategies would be ineffective in the long run, except killing Hunter. That would be totally effective, but a little wrong. Plus the fact that she didn’t know enough about cleaning up evidence. Jail would suck.

With each footfall on the quiet asphalt, Shayla was more certain that it was time to meet with Hunter. A face-to-face meeting had to be the first step. She had a way with people, and this was in large part because she could read body language, which helped her ask just the right questions and press the right buttons to learn more. In business, this skill enabled her to figure out what clients needed and wanted, even when the clients themselves weren’t always sure. In her personal life, she could tell when a friend was hurting or figure out what an attitude meant without having to ask a ton of personal questions.

The darker side of her talent gave her the ability to take the information gathering in the other direction, in an unnatural way. She had done this sometimes as a kid, when she’d wanted something from someone or gotten mad at her sister. The end result had been that she’d gotten what she wanted while making someone else feel horrible and vulnerable. Using that unkind talent always made her feel like a terrible person, but at the same time, she’d wanted to see how far she could take it, because the limit kept moving up. That is, until one time when things had gotten out of control and she’d made a girl start a habit of cutting herself.

Shayla hadn’t done this by physical force but had dug so deeply into the girl’s insecurities, knowing what to say to hurt the most. She’d heard the girl had needed therapy. Or maybe the girl had needed therapy all along and Shayla’s manipulation had sped things up. Either way, her proficiency with the darker side of her skills scared her. She’d decided long ago never to use them out of fear that she might lose her own humanity and end up a sociopath taking whatever she wanted and leaving a trail of broken, suicidal tragedies in her path. For Hunter and Baron, Shayla decided to make an exception. Just a small exception. She wouldn’t go over the top or anything. Unless she had to. The two had brought it upon themselves when they’d messed with her business.

The stopwatch function on her watch showed she’d finished her eight-mile run faster than she’d ever run that distance before. Shayla cooled down with a short walk around the yard and some stretches. Stray Kitty watched her from her perch on the rails of the front porch.

Stray Kitty looked rather regal now that she’d let Grant cut some mats out of her fur and brush her. The sight of Grant gently holding an enormous cat, sweet-talking the hairy beast into eating treats while he trimmed and brushed her snarled, tangled fur, had made Shayla weak at the knees. His sweetness and his patience would make him a good dad. Not that she wanted kids tomorrow or anything, but someday, and she knew damn well she wanted them with Grant. Only Grant.

Something furry on her front doorstep caught her gaze a split second before she stepped on it. She squealed and hopped back, only to realize the furry thing wouldn’t be coming after her. The dead chipmunk on the doormat was probably Stray Kitty’s thank-you gift for Grant freeing her from her hot, matted-up fur, since he’d spent the night. How long did she need to leave the nasty dead thing there to make sure Stray Kitty’s feelings weren’t hurt?

After a shower, a morning quickie with Grant that made her hungry for more, and a rehearsal in her head of what she would say to Hunter to give him just the right amount of hope that she might be caving, she arrived at work and headed to her office. She had a new cell phone number now, and she didn’t want it showing up on Hunter’s caller ID. She had his number though, so she used the company’s land line to call him.

“Hunter?”

“Shayla. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do. Let’s meet up.” She made herself sound as small and defeated as possible. He ate it up, and the meeting was on.

* * * *

Shayla made the long, boring drive to Richmond by herself to meet Hunter at the Carillon Tower, some landmark at an outdoor amphitheater called Dogwood Dell. She’d chosen that location because it was outside in a busy city—lots of witnesses if he tried to hurt her. If she tried to hurt him, nobody would ever see it. She hoped it wouldn’t come to her having to use her unnatural talents on Hunter. Much. God, she really wanted to ram her knee into his balls.

Thank goodness for GPS telling her where to go and the radio to keep her company on the three-hour drive, because she hadn’t wanted Grant or anybody else coming on this trip with her. She’d never breathed a word about her messed-up talents to anyone except her sister and had avoided using the abilities because she worried she’d do something horrible. The downside of avoiding her gift-curse was that she was rusty and feared it might have gotten stronger as she’d gotten older. She would force herself not to go too far, but she needed as few distractions as possible.

Since she was running ahead of schedule, she decided to stop off somewhere for lunch. Her navigation system found her a diner with good reviews in Amelia County, so she followed the tinny cyber voice’s directions and pulled into the diner’s parking lot ten minutes later. The cute brick building with flowers and ornamental trees didn’t appear to be a truck stop meant for sleazy travelers to pick up two-dollar hookers, so she stretched out her cramped muscles and headed inside. A waitress in a green-and-white-checkered uniform gave her a cheerful greeting.

“It’ll be a few minutes before a table’s ready. Is that okay?”

Shayla checked her watch. Yeah, she had a little time. And if she was a few minutes late, Hunter could just sit his sorry ass down and wait for her. “That’s fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Shayla.”

“Will anybody else be joining you?”

“No. Just me.”

“Why don’t you take a look around in the gift shop next door while you wait?” The waitress pointed to an adjoining shop, which bore the sign CANDLES AND CANDIES.

“Sounds good.” Candles and candy—two of her favorite things.

The gift shop had uniquely scented candles, the licorice and juniper ones smelling amazing. Displayed on a tall carved wooden bookcase were ornate candle holders and funky lighters. Then there was the candy. The shop had real candy with real ingredients, not the grocery-store-aisle stuff. So yeah, she planned on buying a few things and hoping the gift shop had a website she could order from for later too.

Her phone chimed in her back pocket as she stood in line with a basketful of items. A text had come in from Sue, Brass Cat’s receptionist, office manager, and minor equipment-malfunction repairwoman.

CLICK THIS LINK! SIMPLY ENTERTAINMENT BEING INVESTIGATED!!

The link she clicked showed footage of the producer of Simply Entertainment saying “no comment” over and over after being asked questions such as “Did you know you were supposed to report all moneys received from other countries?” and “Did you know that publicly slandering guests on your show with no proof would garner this many lawsuits?”

The reporter covering the investigation story informed the audience that Simply Entertainment was being shut down, effective immediately, due to several violations, many occurring from lawsuits and backlash from the Weird World segment.

Guess I’m not the only one they pissed off, she texted Sue.

Another text came in from Sue.

I just read this. Scary!

Shayla read a screenshot of Hunter’s Finding Hidden Truths blogsite. The tone was nothing short of pissed and vengeful. In his most recent post, he vowed to find the people responsible for making false claims against Simply Entertainment, specifically the Weird World segment.

There is proof that genetically altered humans exist, and I will get the proof one way or another. That was his enigmatic promise to his loser readers. The next sentence she read gave her chills. There’s a woman out there with answers to some of our greatest questions. Today, you’ll get your answers, readers, or she will be held accountable. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. She put her basket on the counter and told herself to pull it together and make sure she held on to her pepper-spray key chain when she sat next to Hunter.

How do I reason with the unreasonable?

“Girl, you look like you just saw a ghost,” the cashier said as she ran Shayla’s new debit card through the payment machine.

“An ex-boyfriend,” Shayla admitted in a strangled whisper.

“He’s here?” The cashier, her name tag saying Yvonne, Candles and Candy Shoppe: Owner, looked around the store at an elderly couple and teenage girl, then through the side opening of the diner. “In the diner? I’ll make a phone call. Just point him out.”

Shayla smiled at Yvonne’s kindness. “Thank you for that, but no, he’s not here. He, um, he and a business partner are being investigated for some shady business practices, and he… I think it’s an actual threat he’s made against me on his blog.”

Yvonne brow furrowed. ”Stay safe,” she urged Shayla.

Shayla gave her a reassuring nod. She’d do her best to stay safe, but she didn’t want to let Hunter terrorize her any more than he already had, otherwise she’d never feel safe.

Hunter wanted her held accountable. Not only was he crazy, but probably half the people who followed his stupid blog were nuts too. Was he going to live stream their meeting? Or maybe whip out a gun and pull her into a windowless van and try to beat the “truth” out of her? The Weird World interview had given her first and last name, the name of her business, and the town in which she lived. Various crazies wouldn’t have a hard time finding her, and they might go looking if Hunter kept up the weird shit.

“There’s a table ready for Shayla.” The waitress’s voice cut through her mental freak-out. She’d have some lunch, regroup, figure out what to do.

A gentleman stepped up to Shayla’s side. He was handsome in a lean, hungry-salesman kind of way. She stepped back because she didn’t want any of what he was selling. Not the slim-cut suit, not the black-rimmed glasses, jet-back hair, and short, well-groomed beard. He smiled at Shayla and advanced. She narrowed her eyes and went to follow the waitress, but he grabbed her arm.

“There’s been a change in our plans. We won’t be staying,” the man informed the waitress in a clear, friendly voice. He squeezed Shayla’s arm hard and whispered in her ear in a soft sweet tone as though she was a lover he’d missed, “Not a word, or the cashier gets splattered all over the candles. Walk with me.”

There was an SUV waiting outside. Don’t get in the car. The most important rule of surviving an abduction attempt. She turned to look back at Yvonne, to make sure she was okay. There was a burly man leaning against the counter with his back to her. He smiled at Shayla and opened his suit jacket to reveal a gun in a hip holster. So Shayla was trading one life for another.

A shot rang out seconds after the very hungry salesman had hustled her out the door of the gift shop and into the boxy-looking gray SUV.

The hungry salesman swore and shook his head. “Fucking Gary, you idiot.”

He seemed more irritated than upset over the senseless waste of life. She didn’t dare look in the shop. Why shoot Yvonne, though? Shayla had gone when he asked her, so the big guy inside the shop hadn’t needed to shoot the shop’s owner. But he had, and that changed things. Shayla fought the man trying to hold her down. He caught the punches she threw at his throat, but she did manage to tear into his cheek with her nails. The skin felt wrong. She had wanted to see blood, dammit, and there wasn’t any. She clawed at him again, but he got the upper hand and pinned her against the seat while he ran some type of scanner over her whole body.

“Good, no wires on ya. No sharp teeth either. Still don’t trust you.”

The door locks clicked, and he forced the safety belt across her waist. When the belt snapped in place, the strap tightened and held her plastered against the seat—apparently that model SUV had a kidnapping retrofit kit. He tore out of the parking lot, then opened the driver’s-side door a crack and tossed her purse out.

Shit! There goes my phone. Her only means of contacting help.

They made a couple of stomach-lurching turns, and then the drive got easier for a moment until he yelled out, “Goddammit, how do I have a truck on my tail?”

The SUV’s windows were tinted Hollywood-celebrity-affair dark, which meant nobody on the street could see her terrified face. The hungry salesman drove them over a curve, behind a convenience store and through a fire lane. His GPS navigation lady’s voice just kept saying, “Reconfiguring.” He must have gotten sick of hearing it too, because he hit a button, and navigation lady was silent.

Shayla didn’t have to fake her scared, shaky voice as she asked, “Do you work for Hunter Knowles?”

“I deliver to whoever pays me well.”

He paused at a light and grabbed her hands. He managed to handcuff her in a matter of seconds. He put a heavy, shiny blanket over her whole body. “The blanket’s got real silver in it,” he said, as though it was supposed to mean something. Were silver blankets a new abduction trend? Did he order it out of some ridiculous magazine, maybe something called Mercenaries Monthly or Killer Accessories, the Unnecessary Edition? He checked his rearview mirror and stopped at a corner before taking a syringe from a compartment in the console. He pulled the cap off with his teeth and jammed the syringe into her arm. “That’ll mess you up good if you try to heal. Or whatever.” He put the cap on it and dumped it in a small plastic box.

“What the hell did you give me?”

Hungry Salesman hit the gas and sped around another corner, narrowly missing a bike rider. “That shit keeps you from healing. A little thing like you can’t give me much trouble, but better safe than sorry.”

“You think I’m some sort of superfreak? I thought you just delivered to the crazies who believed. Don’t tell me you believe in that bullshit too.” He just shrugged at her question. “What are you planning to do with me?”

“Hush now, love. Gotta make a call.” He pressed a button on the phone and told whoever answered, “Hey, it’s me. I need a pickup. I’ll call you later with the location, but I’ve got to find a place to ditch the SUV.”

She couldn’t make out what was said on the other end, but the tone sounded loud and angry. His hand tightened on the phone. “Fuck you. Gary got sloppy, and some cashier shot him up, plus I had a truck tailing me for a few miles. The delivery’s gonna be late.” So Yvonne had been one step quicker than sloppy Gary, apparently. Shayla suppressed a grin. She hoped Yvonne had shot the big dude right in the head. Her captor hung up the phone but kept it out of Shayla’s reach.

Hungry Salesman pulled off a wig of dark hair to reveal a sandy-blond crew cut. He scrubbed his hands over his face a few times, and skin-colored latex peeled off, along with his beard. His nose, cheeks, and chin were fake. The man underneath the disguise looked like he belonged on a Midwestern dairy farm. Those eyes when he caught her gaze, though, were still freaky mean. And hungry for something. Hopefully just the money he’d earn from the “delivery.”

He must have seen her sizing him up, because he warned her, “Don’t give me any shit, or I’ll knock your ass out with some special K. That shit works on regular humans too.”

Something hot and weird flowed through her veins, the burning, tempting feeling of her gift, stranger than ever, just begging to be used. The power, the need—it nearly choked her. She could shut the feeling down, but she wanted to live. Her captor’s shoulders were tense as he moved through traffic and made a hard right down a narrow dirt road. Shayla needed to get him talking again.

“So, uh, is kidnapping lucrative?”

He grinned at that, so probably a yes.

“Do you have a big team, or is this a small business venture?” No answer to that, just a grunt. The next question would be a good one. “Are you interested in making a better deal than the one you’ve made for my delivery?”

“That’s bad for business. Looks unreliable.”

What a shame. A renegotiation would have bought her some time to think. Now she would have to mess with his head. She needed a little more information first.

“You don’t really believe all this fairy-tale creature, medically induced superhero stuff, do you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen some weird shit, girlie. But most of the time, it’s probably just people being paranoid, Salem-witch-hunt-style.”

“Yes, Hunter is paranoid. I’m just a woman trying to run a business, trying to keep my crazy-as-hell ex from hacking my business again and from, you know, killing me ’cause he’s brain damaged.” She gave a frustrated huff and sighed. Her captor’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed a little, but his smile was hard.

“I don’t care either way, but short, skinny girls with no superhuman traits are a hell of a lot easier to deliver alive and unharmed. Yeah, he wanted you alive. Don’t know how long he’ll keep you that way or who he’ll turn you over to. Not my problem.”

“So, by he, you mean Hunter Knowles? If so, I happen to know he can’t pay. He’s lost a ton of money. Foreclosures and lawsuits. Messy stuff.”

“Nice try, Goldilocks.”

Game on. Time to fuck with the guy’s head. It almost scared her how easy it was to trust her instincts and strike out. She imitated a tone that she knew, just knew, made this man scared, like, piss-your-pants scared. Maybe a parent or father figure? A pervy uncle?

“You should have planned this shit better, you lazy fuck. You’re not gonna be able to deliver. What’s gonna happen then, boy?”

He grabbed her by the hair. “Shut up, you little cunt.”

That voice scared him, all right. He turned back to the road and sped up, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Your business is done. You can’t deliver me. There’s no hope for you.” Shayla’s voice was a shove. That was the only way she could describe it. The words she used were the tool this time, but her thoughts were what went to him. Hopelessness, despair, pain—she delivered those miseries in her words. The ease with which she did that almost scared her stupid, but she needed to keep her head on straight no matter how good she was at something she shouldn’t be able to do.

He pulled his gun and aimed it at her head. “I don’t need to deliver you. I can fucking skip this job.”

He could kill her, but doing so would torch his reputation. Hunter or whoever had initiated the mission had asked for her to be delivered alive. For answers.

“You’re stuck with me,” she insisted. “You can’t shoot me. You can’t even aim. The gun is too heavy.” Sweat trickled down her neck, and she crossed her legs to hide the shaking. Putting enough strength behind her words to pull him down, to make him feel exhausted and scared and unsure about every move he made took a ton of energy. She didn’t know how long she could keep up the effort.

“You’re a fucking mindbender! I thought they were just a myth, like fucking unicorns and shit!”

Shayla smiled sweetly and used her gentlest tone. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let go.”

The tension leaked out of his shoulders, and he sighed. She grabbed for the gun as he came back to his senses. One shot fired somewhere inside the SUV as they struggled. He slammed on the brakes, and the SUV ran up a curb, stopping inches from the side of a building. The impact of the stop forced the gun from their hands, and it fell to the floor. She grabbed for it again. He got it first, so she swiped the keys from the ignition, and the seat belt released her when the engine cut off. She ducked low and ran from the passenger seat.

He caught up to her in seconds, so she faced him, hoping like crazy she could be every bit the badass “mindbender” as he’d called her.

“Give me the gun,” she commanded. The words were strong, and the effort behind them was stronger. She made him want to hand over the gun, but he fought himself and her compulsion. She had to step it up. “Now,” she said. “Before I throw you into the river inside a bag of concrete and let you choke and drown.”

“Shit.” His voice shook as he said it. The gun fell from his hand and hit the ground. The metal-on-concrete sound jarred him back to reality a little, but she moved faster than he could. She grabbed up the gun, jumped back from him, and squeezed the trigger point-blank at his head. Twice. After he hit the ground, she grabbed his phone.

Thank God the lock screen wasn’t engaged, or maybe the little burner-looking phone didn’t have one. She sat against the building they’d nearly crashed into minutes ago, fingers trembling as she keyed in a number she knew by heart. Grant answered on the first ring, his deep, strong voice comforting her.

“Grant, baby, I—”

“Shay? Where are you? We lost you a few roads after the diner. We’re probably not that far from you.”

“You followed me?”

“Yes, baby doll. That’s how we saw you leaving with some guy.”

“Not by choice.”

“I didn’t think so. Please, where are you? Are you safe?”

“Corner of Barret Road and Crater Street. Looks like some kind of storage facilities or something. The driver—I shot him. He’s dead, but…I think he shot me too.” She heard a whole string of curse words on the other end of the line. Blood spray and other questionable things from Hungry Salesman’s head covered her, but she hurt so fucking bad. The shot that had gone off inside the SUV? The bullet hadn’t vanished into thin air or been buried in a seat—it was in her chest.

Chapter Fourteen

Grant slammed on the brakes to his truck and threw the gear into park. Aaron Carter jumped out of the passenger’s side. Against the faded brick building was a glimmer of blonde hair and fair skin. Shayla sat with her knees pulled in and her hands pressed against her chest. She was covered in blood. She was alive, but that much blood could only mean one thing. Grant ran to her.

“Baby, Carter and I followed you. I’m sorry. We had to. We were gonna talk to Hunter after you were through with him. I planned on making sure he never messed with you again. However I needed to make that happen.” He hugged her to him. “I love you, baby. Please be okay.” Not that it was within her power to grant his wish.

“Most of the blood belongs to the driver.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I shot him. But before that, we fought for the gun, and I think…” She paused, and her breathing turned shallow, and tears streamed down her face. “I think there’s a bullet in my chest.”

Grant gently moved her hands away from her chest and pulled up her shirt. Blood was flowing from a small hole below her left breast. He pulled off his soft cotton undershirt and put pressure on the wound.

“The driver’s dead!” Carter yelled. “Don’t touch anything. The police and an ambulance should be here any minute.” The area was quiet and dead except for the chaos that their presence brought. If there were any people inside the storage facilities, they were most likely keeping themselves there and safe until the cops got there. If anybody else showed up and started shooting, Grant was going to have to go bear and tear out throats.

“Hey, Grant?”

“Yes, baby?”

“When this is all over, let’s take that beach trip. I need to tell you how…” Shayla sagged in his arms. “So tired.” She barely got the words out. Her teeth started chattering. Grant pulled her into the bed of his truck and laid her flat, all while keeping pressure on her wound.

He tried to stay calm. The bear wasn’t calm either. He was growling out in fury that Grant hadn’t initiated Shayla into a shifter sooner.

“Carter!” Grant hoped Carter knew the answer to his question, ’cause if he didn’t, Grant would have to take a shot in the dark.

Carter came running over to Grant’s truck. “How bad is she hurt?”

“A bullet to the chest. Left side, and she’s bleeding bad. Can I initiate her if the bullet’s still in?” That particular question had never come up in Aiden and Greg’s training. Bullets could kill shifters if death was immediate or a shifter lost consciousness and couldn’t change form. Initiating someone who had been shot hadn’t been covered. The bear indicated that he could try to heal many kinds of injuries during an initiation, but bullets were solid, and solid things were iffy.

“Yes, but you need to get the bullet as close to the surface as possible. Either that happens, or this wound will probably kill her. The risk is that it’s still in or near her heart every time she shifts, and she can’t heal.” Sirens wailed around the corner. Cops cars and ambulances were closing in.

“Give me your gun, quick. I’ve got a plan,” Grant told Carter.

Carter handed the gun over. “Fill me in. Talk fast.”

“First, I need to ask Shayla what she wants.”

Carter nodded at that.

“Shay.” Grant took her hand. “Baby, I love you, and I can save you, but you might come back a little different.” She looked confused, and he needed to explain it better, but time was limited. Fuck it. “Baby, do you trust me?” She nodded. That was enough to make his decision.

* * * *

Shayla screamed. What in hell had that woman just injected into her arm? It felt like liquid fire. Jesus Christ, she hurt all over. A woman in a uniform stood over Shayla holding some scary-looking tools. Whatever those freaky torture instruments were, Shayla wanted no part in getting torn apart by them. She knocked over a tray of stuff, but a huge lack of coordination kept her from landing any punches.

A man, also in uniform, commented to the woman, “She’s a fighter, so that’s a good sign.” He sounded cautiously optimistic. The uniforms were… She couldn’t figure out the uniforms.

Shayla kicked at the woman, who just pushed her leg back onto the bed-looking thing. The woman looked irritated and warned Shayla if she fought, they would have to tie her hands, so Shayla fought harder. She thought she’d already escaped. She had come out of the SUV away from the hungry, bloody salesman. Straps went around her arms and legs. She started to look for other ways to terrorize her attackers and was desperately trying to remember the other way she could strike out, but the knowledge was just out of reach. Cutting through her panic and desperation was the sound of Grant’s voice.

“They’re trying to help you, baby doll. Let them do their job.”

Shit! He’s right! I must have blacked out for a minute. A bullet inside her chest was killing her steadily. The man and woman really were trying to help her not die. She probably would anyway unless the ambulance could travel at the speed of light. I need to hang on a little longer. She didn’t fight back when the EMT she’d tried to kick earlier immobilized her arms and legs.

“All right, she’s restrained. Let’s go,” the woman yelled.

“Okay. Ready in a minute, Trina.” The man disappeared, and the ambulance started to move.

“Can you get the bullet closer to the surface?” Grant asked Trina.

“The doctors will be more qualified to do that,” Trina replied, then whispered, “I need you to be prepared. The blood loss is devastating, and the damage is severe. Her chances are…”

Though the EMT’s words weren’t meant for Shayla’s ears, she’d heard anyway. She wouldn’t get to the beach after all. Her energy rush faded, and sadness dragged her down, making her body a sinking stone. Maybe if she went to sleep again, she’d get it back. Or maybe these were her last few minutes with Grant, so she fought with everything she had to stay awake.

She looked at Grant, and he met her gaze, his smile filled with sorrow and grief. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was still so gorgeous, so real, so wonderful that it hurt to think of leaving him so soon. She should be saying good-bye, but she didn’t want to admit that defeat yet. He didn’t say it either, and she lay back, caught somewhere between sleep and pain, and then heard him agree to something.

“I need you to pull over,” he ordered Trina. “There’s another transport for my wife.”

“What? No. Are you kidding me? If you want another hospital instead of Mercy Ridge, let us drive you. Kevon up front is a speed demon. We’ll take you where you need to go.”

“Just tell your partner to stop in about a half mile. This is Shayla’s best chance. And when we stop, use what you can to pull the bullet closer to the surface while doing the least amount of damage. It doesn’t have to be all the way out, but I need it close. I can’t do it myself without causing more harm. Then you and your driver are going to go on your way and tell your boss stopping was part of a plan to get an abduction victim to safety. And it is. Understood?”

“Hell no. Not happening.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you what’s gonna happen. Keep your partner up front in the dark and leave your two-way radio alone. Press the Panic button, and you’ll need surgery.”

“Oh my God,” Trina whispered. “What are you?”

Shayla opened her eyes to see Grant holding a gun, pointing it at the EMT. The chocolate brown of his eyes was overtaken by onyx and his teeth bared in a snarling smile that showcased long, thick, pointy incisors. Okay, that part must have been a hallucination. The gun looked very real and deadly.

“Why, Grant?” Her voice was so weak.

Grant leaned over Shayla and whispered in her ear, “Do you trust me, baby doll?”

Despite the weirdness of everything, she nodded. “Trust you,” she whispered.

“Then hang on. Stay awake. I know it’s hard, but please.” His voice broke, and he scrubbed a hand across his face.

“Wherever you stop, the cops will swarm the spot in minutes. You won’t get very far,” the EMT warned him.

“I’m thinking I’ve got backup and we’ll be fine.”

Shayla had a little bit of energy left, and she knew what she needed to do. She grabbed the EMT’s hand as if she were scared and met her gaze. “Make sure the location we stop at isn’t given to your boss, and do whatever the man with the gun tells you to.” Finding the right balance of force to compel without tearing into the woman’s mind and doing damage was easier than she thought. ’ Cause I’m hemorrhaging blood, maybe?

Trina nodded and yelled to her partner. “Stop up here on the side. They’ve got another transport. They’re trying to keep her from being abducted again.”

“What the fuck?”

“Just do it!” Trina yelled.

“Fine. Whatever.”

The ambulance rolled to a stop, and Trina dug a pair of long, skinny metal tong-looking things into the source of all her pain. Grant pulled IVs out of Shayla’s arms, took off the restraints, and scooped her up. Her ears were ringing too loud to hear anything else, and black spots overtook her vision, but she tried to stay awake as Grant carried her toward the tree line off the highway. Grant’s truck pulled up right after the ambulance shot away.

A tall dark-haired man stepped out and yelled to Grant, “I’ll buy you time. Give me your phone and the gun. Stay gone for a few hours, overnight if you can.”

“Who is…” Her question came out in a raspy whisper.

“It’s all right,” Grant explained. “Aaron Carter is the owner of the security company I use for Brass Cat. He’s a good guy. I promise.”

Grant handed Aaron Carter the gun and his phone. Mr. Carter pulled off his shirt and tossed it to Grant. “She might want this later,” He nodded at Shayla. She looked down. Yeah, her blood-soaked shirt was gone. Not really the time to be embarrassed about semi-nudity, though.

“Thanks for everything, man.” Grant took off running into the woods with Shayla in his arms. “Hang on, Shay. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” he begged her as he ran. Each step jarred her chest until finally it didn’t hurt. When they stopped moving, she felt Grant’s lips at her ears telling her something was going to hurt, which she protested because she had gone numb. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m ready to sleep. I can’t fight it anymore.” She closed her eyes.

“Fight, baby. Fight it hard. Stay with me.” And next, something was ripping into the artery at her neck. She screamed but couldn’t move. The numb feeling in her body left, and she boiled from the inside out. Grant picked her up again and ran with her in his arms. He ran for what felt like hours and then stopped and sat against a thick tree trunk. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths against her back. After a moment, he turned her in his lap so they were facing each other.

“So there’s something pretty major I need to tell you, baby doll.”

“That you love me? I remember you telling me that earlier today.” Some of her strength was coming back. Maybe she would be okay.

He smiled, but his brow was marred by worry. “Yes, that too. But when you got shot, things didn’t look good. I had a way to save you. I asked you to trust me, and then I decided for you. I took your choice because I didn’t think you would survive long enough for me to explain. And I wanted you here with me. I made a selfish choice because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Grant, I hurt everywhere. Don’t the doctors need to finish getting the bullet out?”

“It’s close. I just need you to listen. And, uh, don’t freak out.” He started taking off his clothes. When he was naked, she started to tell him that now wasn’t the right time, but Grant morphed into a gigantic bear. Seconds later, he was a sexy naked man again. “That’s how I saved you. I bit you and started the initiation process. In a few minutes, you’ll make the transformation. Your body will change back and forth into a bear until the bullet is gone and your body is healed. Once you’re healed, you won’t stay a bear all the time. You decide when to change.”

Before she could give him a “what the fuck” and demand a deeper explanation, she was hit with an all-encompassing agony that started in her head and radiated to every nerve ending and limb. Grant stripped off the rest of Shayla’s clothes. She screamed and suddenly saw Grant through eyes that didn’t feel quite like hers.

Hang on. Don’t fight me. I think we’ll be okay. That voice didn’t sound like her voice, but it came from inside her head. Oh jeez, the pain was causing her mind to create an imaginary friend with motivational messages. Not a good sign. Blood poured from her nose and her bullet wound, and Shayla ended up on her hands and knees coughing and gagging on the ground. She threw up something that looked like liquid silver and a strawberry-banana slushy. That must have been what her kidnapper had mentioned—stuff to keep her from healing.

Guess the silver’s gone now, she thought, looking at the horrible mess on the ground.

Not quite, her imaginary friend answered, right before she choked on the bitter taste of silver puke and then threw up again.

THE INITIATION HAD to work. Grant didn’t want to face a life without Shayla. Her coughing stopped, and she looked at him for a moment. A split second later, he heard bones breaking and then Shayla’s sobbing. He closed his eyes. It killed him to see her suffering. He took in a ragged breath to get himself together, or as close as he could get. When he opened his eyes, there, on the ground next to him, stood a fox. The fox lifted a paw, puzzled, and looked at him as if he had answers.

He stared at Shayla the fox. She was larger, more muscular than the average fox, with a beautiful coat of sunset-orange fur. Though she made a lovely fox, he had no explanation for how a bear shifter could create anything other than a bear shifter. The bear explained that Shayla was more of a fox than a bear.

How the hell does that make any sense?

The bear gave him a mental shrug. In a flurry, the fox vanished, and Shayla lay on the ground in its place. She started to close her eyes. Under her left breast, the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and he could see the tip of the bullet hole. He kissed her lips and begged her to shift into the fox form again.

“Please, baby, I know it hurts, but the bullet’s still there. Let’s finish this. Come on. Get up. Get up.” He pushed her until she shifted again and showed him a mouth full of insanely sharp teeth. He shifted to bear form so she couldn’t tear his flesh open, just in case she wasn’t in her right mind.

The next time she shifted, the bullet fell to the ground. Grant morphed his bear body back into human form and grabbed Shayla, hugging her way too hard. He pulled away from her only long enough to put the bullet in the pocket of his pants, which lay on the dirt and leaves of the forest floor. He’d figure out what to do with it later, but he couldn’t leave it in the woods.

The adrenaline coursing through his system began to wear off, and the reality that Shay was alive and well began to set in. Because he had initiated her, they would have that bond for life. He was grateful the initiation had worked, sick with fear that she’d be angry with him, and so in love with her that he could barely breathe. He didn’t know how to say anything he needed to say and didn’t want to feel the fear that he would lose her ever again. He had to feel something else. Anything else. So he pulled her into a crushing kiss. She kissed him back, just as hard.

Deep in the woods, he didn’t have a spare condom, but it didn’t matter.

“I know we’ve always been careful, but this time, we don’t need to be. Shifters can’t get pregnant right after initiation or during the mate-bonding process. So we can skip protection. If you’d rather wait, we can—”

“Now, Grant!”

Without hesitation, he took her down to the ground and pushed her thighs apart. He yanked her body against his and thrust inside her in one rough stroke.

He searched her face for any sign that he needed to stop, that she didn’t want him after all. A lot had happened in a short amount of time. She might decide she needed some time to process everything. Her blue irises were now mostly brown with glittering blue sprinkles. Her lids were half-open, and she grabbed the back of his head.

“Don’t stop!” she growled in his ear. The sweet, raspy sound of her voice made his dick harder. He thrust deep and fast inside her welcoming body until her pussy tightened around his cock. “By the way, I love you too, Grant. I would have done the same for you, because I don’t want to live without you.”

Grant nearly lost his mind and sank his long incisors into her neck, this time in a bite that would mark Shayla as his shifter mate. He held on to whatever shred of control and sanity he had left to keep from marking her. He wouldn’t take that decision away from her. She needed to know a few things about him first, and while she was moaning his name and coming around his cock was not the time for a discussion. Her pussy squeezed his shaft in possessive pulses, and Grant gave up the fight to hold out and take it slow.

Each stroke into her tight, wet heat took him higher. Shayla’s sharp nails scored his back, and he held on tight to her sexy thighs. Nothing could compare to the feel of her bare pussy, wet and coming hard for him. Because of him. Grant came apart inside her, trying in vain to hold on to some of his heart just in case she decided later not to take that last final step with him, the step that would bind them together as mates.

Grant’s shifter hearing heard footsteps in the distance, leaving them no time for snuggling. The footsteps might belong to a couple of friendly hikers, but since he was most likely wanted for abducting Shayla from the ambulance and, oh yeah, for using a firearm to threaten the EMT, they would need to stay moving.

They’d have to stay gone a little while longer while Carter and anybody he recruited ran interference. They traveled in human form so they could take whatever was left of their clothes with them. He couldn’t chance losing the bullet in his pocket somewhere in the woods. The story would be that Shayla was not injured more than a nosebleed to account for her blood in the ambulance. He couldn’t have more crazy motherfuckers like Hunter looking for answers and scars if word got out Shay had managed to survive a bullet to the heart.

Shayla knew Grant was a bear shifter now, so that secret was out of the way, but she needed to know that he wasn’t daddy material, that he came from a criminal father and a stripper-turned-prostitute drug-addict mother, that his skills with numbers and building things were off the charts, but he wouldn’t ever be a people person. She needed to understand that he wasn’t like her. He had been prepared to kill Hunter if he hadn’t backed down from his threats to Shayla, because Grant was a harder, less kind version of the man Shayla thought he was. Fuck, he hoped she wanted him in spite of all that. But those truths had to wait.

Finally, after the sun set, they found a fort in the woods they’d been traveling for hours.

“I know you probably want to get home and rest, baby doll, but I think it’s better if we stay gone until morning.”

“Yeah, since you abducted me from an ambulance at gunpoint and all.” She laughed. “Thank you, by the way. For taking such a risk to save me. I wasn’t ready to leave this world behind yet. I’m sure I’ll have a lot of questions about being a shifter. Right now, I’m just happy to be alive and also trying to get used to the fact that a fox is sharing my mind and speaking English up in my head.”

“Yeah, I’m still not used to that kind of shit. I’ve only been a shifter for about six years. I was in an accident, and a couple of shifters on a search-and-rescue team found me when they were searching for a hiker who’d gotten lost. Greg, he initiated me, and I resented him for it. For a long time. But the bond between a shifter and the one he or she initiates, Shay—it’s a pretty big deal, and I hope you’re okay with that.”

“I love you, Grant. I’m okay with a bond between us.”

Grant just nodded and checked out the fort and the surrounding area. He hated to seem like a stereotypical mute caveman, but words would trip him up, have him sitting on the ground sobbing out his fears and begging for her to always be safe. Better to keep quiet for a while. No fresh scents permeated the air around the fort, and judging from the faint smell of gunpowder and animal blood, the fort was something used by hunters during season. A look inside revealed a metal rack for skinning deer, a big weathered wooden table that bore slice marks and smelled of fish, and a worn-out bench were the only things inside the fort. The space would have to work for the night. They’d walked through enough creeks and streams to mess up any dogs looking for their scent. That would have to do for now.

They sat on the bench inside the hunting fort, and Grant’s weary body sagged against the cool wooden wall. Shay cleared her throat.

“Can I tell you something strange?”

“Stranger than people shifting into predatory animals?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me, baby doll.” He took her hand in his. He wasn’t sure he could deal with more weirdness, but life didn’t always give a guy choices.

“You know how I’m really good at negotiation skills and with people in general?”

“More than just good.”

“Thanks, but um, there’s another aspect to that talent, and apparently it’s a bottomless-pit kind of talent.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“The guy in the SUV, the one who took me from the candy store? I screwed with his mind, and it was more than just an ordinary mind fuck. I try to never spend any time exploring that part of myself, but I didn’t have a choice today. I did things to him using nothing more than words and willpower. I made him scared and vulnerable, then dug deeper until he was so terrified he could barely move. It took so much effort I couldn’t keep it up forever, but I managed to get him to stop the SUV, and I got his gun. I used my skills in the ambulance too, to force the EMT to let us go without involving her partner.”

“You’re a psy. From what I understand, lot of people with psy talents don’t know there are others out there.” Grant smiled, trying to reassure her.

“The guy in the SUV called me a mindbender.”

“That’s kind of like a racial slur. Probably don’t want to use that term.”

“Noted.” She held the bear pendant between her finger and her thumb. The jeweler had been right. The necklace and charm had stayed with her during every shift she’d made. Shayla bit her lip and took a deep breath before going on. “I’ve never used these skills much before because I didn’t want to make a trip over to the dark side and end up all Darth Vader and stuff, but I thought you should know. I don’t know if it would freak you out to know what I can do, but I don’t think I’m ashamed of my talents, since they kept me alive. And, Grant?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I promise I’ve never used, nor will I ever use, my skills to force you to do anything or to hurt you or trick you into doing something. If it freaks you out, we can—” She shrugged, but he felt her worry, felt it like an initiator felt the pain of one he was bonded to, but she pushed ahead. “We can take a step back.”

He felt her fear at offering him that option, but she was offering anyway. He wasn’t the only one of them who was afraid to be left sometimes. Somehow, that made him feel better.

“I trust you, baby doll.”

She hugged him after he said that. Within minutes she was asleep in his arms. Grant didn’t sleep at first, convinced he’d wake and she’d be dead. He laid his hand against her chest so he could feel her breathing. Their little piece of solitude was kind of magical, but when morning came, they would need to get moving. Grant had to find out if Hunter had paid the men to find Shayla or if they’d been following the Finding Hidden Truths blog or the Weird World interviews and found her on their own.

Grant wasn’t above tearing into Hunter’s flesh or driving his fists into Hunter’s face to find the answers, though Carter had already assured Grant that Shifters United had threat managers who very much enjoyed employing brutal interrogation tactics. And apparently, Shayla was a psy and could do some interrogating of her own. That and the fact that she now had shifter strength, which came with the ability to also shift form to heal injuries, somewhat eased Grant’s fears that she’d be taken from him by another group of crazy Bigfoot hunters.

Grant wanted Shayla with him, as his wife and his mate. He would love her and protect her and do the absolute best he could to make her happy, but whether they ended up together in a forever kind of a situation was all up to her. He’d rent a beach house and take her on the vacation they’d talked about. Maybe she’d be so in love with him and so relaxed about getting away from work and everything else that she’d tell him yes to everything he asked in spite of everything he was.

The bear piped up in his mind. Shayla loves you. She loves you the way one mate loves another. Pay attention and you’ll see it. Stop fucking worrying. The bear might be right. Maybe his chances weren’t so bad—she was asleep next to him, wasn’t she? Sleep finally found Grant and took him under. He awoke to the sound of birds signifying sunrise, and the feel of Shayla lightly kissing his neck.

She smiled wickedly. “Before we face the day, I want you to taste how wet I am for you.”

He didn’t get a taste, because he bent her over the bench and took her from behind. He did make her scream, though.

Chapter Fifteen

Shayla munched on a doughnut from the police station vending machine. Coffee grounds floated in her foam coffee cup, and she decided the station needed an anonymous donation of a superdeluxe, guaranteed-not-shitty coffeemaker. Not that she planned on spending any more time in a police station after the detectives finished with her and Grant, but officers had to drink that foul coffee, and that was almost tragic. She politely sat the cup back on Detective Jackson’s desk and swallowed a mouthful of bitter grounds and grainy creamer.

Detective Jackson brushed her bangs out of her eyes and laughed. “Yeah, I try to stay away from the coffee here. Normally I just drink tea because I can heat the water in the microwave and it doesn’t taste like recycled garbage.”

Shayla really wanted a shower and a drink of something that didn’t taste like a trash can. Preferably something with alcohol and fruit in it. A long nap followed by a medium-rare steak would be really good too. Then she planned to really check out her fox claws and fox feet and try some running and jumping. Her claws came out in excitement, and she hid them quickly.

Jeez, foxy, not in public.

Her foxy alter ego, other half, whatever, laughed and dared her to smile. Shayla felt sharp fox teeth descending, and she bit into her doughnut to hide her fangs. Not funny, foxy.

Not for you. Foxy laughed again at her own joke. Shayla would have to ask Grant if her fox sister was supposed to be such a brat. He’d probably be in with Detective Levi for a little while longer. The detectives were using the divide-and-conquer strategy to test for holes in their stories; Shayla was certain of it. She and Grant planned to keep their stories mostly truthful, leaving out the parts where Shayla had gotten shot and Grant had pulled a gun on the EMTs. And of course there’d be no mention of Shayla’s dark and powerful psy talent’s role in her survival either.

Instead of going home and showering after returning to Great Oaks, she and Grant had headed directly to the police station to get the whole giving-a-statement ordeal over with, after a call to Mr. Carter, of course, since he’d bought them time to escape. She and Grant went to the station still dressed in their dirty clothes—in her case, Mr. Carter’s shirt, hanging down to her knees, and her favorite black pants, which just might be salvageable. Gotta love basic black. Though she felt gross, they had agreed their situation would look more authentic and traumatic if they came to the station as soon as possible.

“If you have no more questions for me, Detective Jackson, I’ve got some for you.”

“Go ahead.” The detective had a soft, melodic voice. With her black combat boots, wavy amber hair, long bangs, and glowy skin, she looked more like a rock singer or fashion model than a detective. Though that was probably because as a kid Shayla had seem too many old-school crime shows featuring salty old men with bad fashion sense.

“I want to know if you have any evidence on Kendall Baron and Hunter Knowles, especially Hunter. Do you have any definitive evidence to prove he hacked my business and my bank accounts?”

“Nothing really on Ms. Baron, but we have a few promising leads on Hunter in reference to hacks, and those leads point to the likelihood that he or someone in his business at HJK Webmasters was behind the whole thing, including stalking your clients through social media.”

“How about for my abduction? Any proof he orchestrated that?” How could she sleep if she didn’t know? If Hunter had done the unthinkable, and she was pretty sure he had, he could have her abducted again. He could hurt Grant. Losing her business would suck hard, but losing Grant would be unfathomable. Shayla needed answers. She needed someone to blame.

“We brought Hunter Knowles in last night after speaking with Mr. Carter regarding Mr. Knowles and the statements he made on his creepy little website. I don’t have any evidence right now to prove that he hired those two men to abduct you.”

Shayla sighed. She’d hoped to wrap this scary part of her life up and put an end to the worry.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Detective Jackson asked. Shayla nodded. “Besides trying to ruin your business, this guy is a threat. Maybe he wasn’t the one who had you taken from the gift shop in Amelia County or maybe he was. Either way, he is a threat to you. Please don’t try to meet with him again unless you have backup. He seems”—she paused—“unhinged. But not careless or stupid.”

“Is he still here, at the station?”

“We tracked him down yesterday night and brought him in for questioning since we were already looking into him as a suspect for the hacking issue with your business. He’s lawyered up, though, and will probably be leaving any moment. We’ll take care to make sure he doesn’t see you on his way out.”

“Actually, I’d like to see him, if possible.” It probably wasn’t protocol but…

“Are you sure you want to?” Detective Jackson looked worried, which in turn made Shayla a little edgy.

“Is he cuffed?”

“No. Considering current lack of evidence and all. Do you still want to see him?”

“Yes. Please. I’d like to see him. I have good, um, negotiation skills. I’m good at getting information without being all scary and intimidating. Let me see if I can get anything we can use.”

“Can’t hurt to try. Especially since the guy the candy-shop owner shot communicated only with an anonymous account on the dark web to get assignments like the one he and his partner accepted when they tried to get away with you. There’s a middleman or broker somewhere in between, but the guy knew nothing more, and he was questioned pretty hard for a man recovering from surgery to remove a bullet from his shoulder.” Detective Jackson sniffed the air and made a sour face. “Mr. Knowles just left a conference room, and he’s headed for the back exit. What do you want to do? Let me know.”

“I’ve got a few things to say to him. Lead the way.”

“Follow me. You know I can’t leave you two alone, right? If he’s found guilty, and that’s a big if, he won’t be able to bother you, but if you piss him off now—”

“I don’t like the word ‘if.’”

“Me neither, but as a detective, I do like proof. What I do know is he has a special kind of hate for you. I can feel the anger and the intent when he speaks.”

Shayla could morph into her fox form and tear Hunter apart until he gave her the answers she wanted, but there’d be no explaining that scene without giving away secrets. Plus, he might be innocent. Well, innocent of hiring two guys to abduct her, anyway. She’d talk to him, see where things led. When Hunter noticed her, he did a double take.

“Shayla! What the hell? Accusing me of having you abducted—really? I’m about to walk out of here, ’cause the cops have no proof. Nothing. My lawyer knows you’ve already held me and inconvenienced me for long enough. Too long, actually. I should file a complaint.”

Shayla smiled at Hunter and then at his lawyer. “But you won’t file a complaint, because your lawyer knows you’ve suffered from delusions, among other mental health issues, and you have a history of harassing me. He needs you to appear cooperative and not look like an angry conspiracy theorist with a grudge.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened, and his mouth flattened into a hard line.

The lawyer put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Don’t let her bait you. Let’s go.”

But Hunter couldn’t take good advice. He started to say something, and Shayla cut him off.

“Hunter, you need to let this go. Stop pursuing this idea that I’m some sort of unnatural, immortal freak. You’ve got to move on before this obsession ruins your life. Look at yourself right now, in a police station being questioned.”

“I can’t stop now. I know the truth. I won’t quit until I’ve exposed enough of your kind to make the world believe.”

“You will stop.” Her words sounded like a command, but she’d pulled her punches. Hunter’s brain had been scrambled enough, and a push might fry it or send it somewhere even darker than just believing in vampires and genetically altered superhumans.

“Let me know when you’re ready to talk. In the meantime, I’ve got some reviews to leave on social media about a certain advertising business. I’ve got lots of time to kill this weekend, just messing around on my computer.” His grin was twisted, almost sexy, but mostly mean and crazy.

Hunter needed to leave her alone, and right or wrong, she had the ability to make that happen.

“Your blog followers will get sick of all your stupid shit now that you have no proof, and then your business will fade into nothing. Just. Like. You.” She didn’t raise her voice but forced that idea deep into his head. Then she softened her tone. “Or you could stop.” She made the word stop sound like the hottest, sexiest, most comforting idea ever. “Stop while you’re ahead.” She left him a way out with that last part.

“Shut up! Don’t fuck with my head!”

He took a swing at her and barely missed. Hunter’s lawyer grabbed him by the shoulders, but Hunter shrugged him off. A few uniformed officers came running, but Detective Jackson waved them away. The detective flashed a brief smile at Shayla, displaying some sharp teeth. Shayla smiled back, showing a hint of foxy’s beastly teeth. She and detective Jackson had a new understanding.

“And Hunter?” Shayla’s voice rang out sweet as a siren’s, and Hunter looked back at her as if she were the loveliest, most enchanting woman. “One day, the monsters you’re looking for will find you, and they won’t think twice before they show their teeth, beat you bloody, and leave you for the bugs to eat. Don’t let them find you.”

Hunter let out a strangled, gurgling sound, then took a ragged gasp. He fixed her with a defiant glare. “I’ll use every resource I have to expose you for a freak.”

An officer rushed over and quickly restrained Hunter, who struggled pathetically while his lawyer kept telling him to be still and cool it. Detective Jackson made no move to intervene.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Hunter yelled at Shayla as the cop tried to walk him toward the exit.

“Shit!” His lawyer face palmed. “Just shut up, Hunter, before—”

“Too late,” the cop told Hunter’s lawyer. “The threat’s already been recorded.” He pointed toward the center of the room where a disco-ball-looking camera hung from the ceiling.

The lawyer went to grab Hunter’s arm, but Hunter kicked him before managing to break away from the cop restraining him. Shayla stood still. For her plan to work, she couldn’t run away and hide. Hunter punched her, right in the chest. She staggered backward but caught herself in time to keep from falling on her ass. The cop tackled Hunter to the ground. A whole lot of anger had been packed behind Hunter’s fist, but she could heal the injury later. Hunter, on the other hand, was about to get his mind irrevocably fucked up.

She waited for the cop to drag Hunter up off the ground and pin his arms behind his back before she approached him again.

“Miss, please be careful. We’ve got to take him to another room, maybe call someone from the mental health department in,” the cop cautioned.

“I won’t get too close, Officer. I just wanted to tell Hunter I hope he gets the help he needs. And Hunter?”

He jerked his head toward her. “What?”

“You’ll never be safe again.”

Every ounce of strength she had went into slamming those words into his mind with all the fear-inducing force she could muster. She ripped further into him, tearing apart threads of thoughts and memories, destroying his confidence until his mind felt like an angry two-year-old’s who didn’t get extra juice.

She turned away so she didn’t see his face as he started a screaming rant about monsters and selfish spoiled rich girls who ruined his plans. The he threw in some doomsday shit about how everybody was in danger of genetically enhanced humans taking over the world.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid, crazy cracker!” someone in the station yelled.

Shayla grasped Detective Jackson’s arm in an effort to stay upright as they walked back to the detective’s desk. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and she shook. The detective’s silence was most appreciated while Shayla worked on composing herself. The pack of cookies another officer brought her helped too. Grant joined them a few minutes later.

“Hey, baby doll. You okay? I heard a bunch of screaming.”

She felt his concern though their bond and stood to hug him and show him she was all right, despite being pale and sweaty, but nearly collapsed in his arms. She’d used up a lot an incredible amount of energy with Hunter.

“You’re both free to go home now. Mr. Knowles will be here for a little while getting booked on assault charges,” Detective Jackson informed them.

Grant’s head jerked up. “Who’d he hit?”

Detective Jackson nodded at Shayla.

“He’s dead,” Grant growled.

Shayla brought her hands to Grant’s face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “No. I took care of it.”

His eyes widened in comprehension, and he dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I’d choose you as my partner in a fight any day. Let’s get the hell out of here and go home.”

“Same. My place?” she asked Grant. “Stray Kitty might need some food and water.”

“I think Stray Kitty prefers mice and water from the bird bath to that smelly canned crap we got her, but I kind of missed the little fur ball, so yeah, your place it is.”

They left Hunter and their story full of omissions behind. Grant helped her up into his oversize truck and asked if she was hungry.

“God, yes! Let’s order one of everything from Divine’s Diner.”

“We could, but what are you going to eat?”

He grinned, and she smiled back. She’d worry later about whether her voodoo mind-melting talent had been enough to unravel Hunter until he was no longer a threat. Or whether he was even the one behind the kidnapping. She hoped he’d set it up. Thinking that another person out there wanted to deliver her to some creepy undisclosed location made her shiver. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and shut them in a nice little box where they would have to remain until she wasn’t bone-tired, hungry, and in need of some naked time with Grant.

There were things to worry over and things she needed to figure out about being a psy, but the most important thing she needed to do at the moment was devour epic portions of Divine’s chili and cornbread and get to know foxy, her shifter sister, a little better.

Worry lines marred Grant’s forehead as he drove. She laid her hand on his thigh, and he relaxed a little. The man by her side was a complex combination—sweet, shy, sarcastic, funny, genius-level smart, and sometimes dark and sad. He had been alone for a long time but would never walk alone again. Grant had no idea how much she truly loved him. She planned to show him. And also to screw him in every single room of her house. Outside too.

Chapter Sixteen

Shayla drove past a huge celebration going on under several pavilions of the beach’s boardwalk. She didn’t really care. Maybe they’d visit later. Grant had tried to convince her to let him drive and basically wait on her hand and foot since she’d been shot in the heart only three days ago, but really, she felt good. Better than good.

Her phone rang, and she pressed the Answer button on her steering wheel.

Detective Jackson’s voice filled the car. “Can you talk for a moment, Ms. Patrick?”

“Sure, but I’m driving, so you’re on speaker. Grant’s with me.”

“That’s fine. He should hear this too.”

Dread pulsed through her veins. “What is it?” Grant gripped her knee. She felt his worry too, mixing along with the other emotions that had been riding him throughout their time in the rental car.

“As you know, Hunter Knowles’s lawyer managed to get him through the mental-health hearing and out on bond pretty quickly, but I received word from another detective that Mr. Knowles had a rough night last night. He attacked a man in a bar in DC. Threatened to kill him. Witnesses said Mr. Knowles kept claiming the guy had plans to bite him and turn him into a werewolf.”

Detective Jackson snorted in laughter at the word werewolf. Shayla knew why. Grant had kindly informed Shayla that the mad, drooling, disease-infested werewolves depicted in old-school movies were a myth. Shifters could change whenever they wanted, and they very rarely shared their gifts.

“Anyway, the man restrained Hunter until the cops arrived. A psychiatric hospital admitted Hunter for inpatient treatment. He made a few confessions before being sedated. He also asked for protection from vampires and werewolves and people who controlled minds. So, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“And the confessions?”

“They’re now part of an ongoing investigation, and all I can really tell you is he wasn’t as clever as he thought at hiding evidence. I look forward to seeing you and Mr. Mitchell upon your return home.”

“Thanks, Detective Jackson.”

“No problem. Enjoy your vacation. You guys deserve it.”

God, did they ever. Since Hunter wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, she could cross him off her worry list for now. And if he did manage to come after her again, she’d take his ass down. Permanently.

She kept following the GPS instructions, which led the rental car down a few quieter, more suburban-style streets until she and Grant reached the driveway of the beach house. He’d rented an adorable two-story with siding that looked like driftwood. The frame was built high over wooden stilts to keep any floodwaters that rose from destroying the house. She wanted to feel the sand under her feet and sit in the sun.

The rental agent met them at the door. “Welcome to the Ocean Dream house. I’m Becky, by the way.” Becky extended her hand to Shayla, then to Grant.

“Nice to meet you, Becky,” Grant greeted her. “We’re happy to be here.” He looked at Shayla, and she could tell he meant so much more than just being happy to be at the beach. Shayla was happy to be alive. Grant looked stricken for a short moment, still freaked about almost losing her. She threaded her fingers through his. Becky must have seen what passed between Shayla and Grant, because her polite business smile softened. She handed Shayla a business card.

“There’s plenty of activities going on at the boardwalk with the music festival, and check out our new tourism website for some other, less crowded places to go.”

“Thanks.” Shayla glanced at the card. She was always up for discovering new places, maybe finding a new potential client or two, but at the moment, she needed to get Grant inside and quickly. Becky handed over the keys, wishing them a pleasant stay. Shayla and Grant bade her good-bye and brought their bags up the stairs into the bedroom.

Grant stood in front of her, looking shy all of a sudden. “You wanna check out the music festival? Maybe go for a swim?”

“Yes. Later, though.” She rose on her toes and gave him a small kiss on the lips. Through their bond as initiator and initiated, she’d felt anticipation, frustration, and nervousness from Grant during the entire car ride to the beach. The anticipation, she understood. She wanted him inside her as often as possible, but she didn’t know what was bugging him.

Foxy the brat continued to be no help in puzzling things out, proclaiming something about not being a mind reader, so Shayla kissed Grant again. She tried to make her touch sweet and soothing, but the feeling of his chest against her, his heart beating against her, drove her wild. Grant unbuttoned her shirt and undid her bra. She broke their kiss and pulled his shirt over his head before kissing the hard muscles of his chest. She nipped at a flat dark brown nipple, and he groaned. With a flick of her tongue, she licked the hurt away. She pressed her hands against the scarred flesh of his back.

“Will you tell me how it happened?” she asked. The only thing he’d ever said about his scars was that they were old.

Grant sat on the bed. Shay sat next to him.

“You really want to know?”

She nodded. “I want to know how you got hurt. I want to know where you go in your head that makes you look so sad and angry. I want to know why you never talk about your past except for a few stories about friends you never mention in the present. I want to know—”

“You want to know, Shay?” His tone was intense, harsh even, but she didn’t back away.

“Yes,” she answered softly, taking his hand in hers.

Grant pulled away and walked toward the bedroom door. He had one hand on the door frame and one hand fisted by his side. He looked so angry and so alone. She remained seated, waiting.

Finally, he spoke. “I was a kid nobody wanted. I grew up in a shitty neighborhood. I stole food from wherever I could because I could hardly ever find anything in the house except for vodka and beer. The white powder always on the coffee table sure as hell wasn’t sugar. The scars are from being beaten and dragged down an alley over broken glass and who knows what else when I was fifteen after I got caught trying to steal food from a grocery store. Oddly, that day turned out to be one of the best days of my life because I met some friends that day who would become family to me.

“Things were good for a while, but then everybody I loved—my friends, my girlfriend—they all died in a fire six years ago. I was hurt, dying, when a bear shifter found me. I asked to die that day so I could join the people who were family to me, and I spent such a long fucking time being pissed that Greg initiated me, until I started to hate life less. And then I met you.”

And his eyes. When he looked at her, she wanted to hug him, to fuck him, and to tell him how much she loved him, all at once, but she stayed still and listened because that was what he needed most from her at the moment.

“My past is shitty, and you need to know where I come from. My mom was a hard-core drug addict. She started out okay in life, but she got caught up with drugs and drinking too much, and that’s the road she went down. She did a lot of things to get whatever she needed at the time. Ignoring me was only one of them. I don’t know much about families, and I’ve only had one serious relationship. I have a feeling Maya was more patient with me than most women would have been.”

“Damn, no wonder you don’t talk about your past.” Thinking of someone hurting Grant or ignoring him made her want to tear people apart. “I’m sorry you had such a rough life. I’m sorry you lost so much.”

“It gets worse.” He laughed, a bitter, choked sound in the quiet room. “Like I said, my life was good for a while, but when I lost everyone, I kind of gave up. Maybe that makes me weak or just caught up in grief. I don’t know. When my mom had a heart attack, I asked her for information about my father. I still had this hope that I could find him, that even if he wasn’t perfect or all that great, he might like to meet me, and we might get along all right. Instead, I found out he was a client—”

Shayla raised an eyebrow at the word client, and Grant said, “Yeah, that kind of client. Anyway, he was rough and mean, and the condom broke, and that’s how I came to be. Because a condom broke. And if you ever want kids, it’s sure as fuck not gonna be with me, because my DNA is not getting passed down. Think about it, Shay. Do you really want someone like me? For more than just fun, for longer than a little while?”

GRANT HAD MANNED up and told Shayla pretty much everything. She said nothing for a moment. Would she think of him as not quite good enough? He felt her fury. Was disappointment underneath the fury?

“So you think I’ll leave you because I’m a spoiled little rich girl who doesn’t want to slum it with a man who grew up poor? Fuck you!” Her blue eyes were brown now with blue flecks of fiery light. She stalked over to Grant, and he expected her to push him out of the way. He expected her to walk away, down the stairs and out the door. The blue diamond set in a gold band waiting in a box in the top of his luggage would have to wait.

His confession hadn’t led to outright rejection, but he’d made her mad. He’d screwed it up. He sucked at communication, but he’d thought he was doing right by her, laying it out there, giving her a choice before he asked her for the things he wanted from her—for her to be his wife, to be his mate. She stared at him for a moment, her gaze piercing.

“You’re my man, and I don’t care where you came from. You are everything I want in a partner.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him toward the bed.

“I needed you to know, to decide if you’d still wanted me, baby doll.”

Shay jerked off his shorts and briefs and threw them to the floor. He toed off his shoes. Shay’s clothes hit the floor, and she straddled him. “Here’s your answer,” she said, grabbing his huge, heavy cock and positioning herself over him. He worked just the broad head inside her, and she bent her head to his ear. “I claim you,” she whispered, but before she could bite down against his neck, he pulled out and caught her upper body. In a flash, he turned them over so he was holding her down underneath him.

“Be sure, baby doll. Be fucking sure, because I want you, so fucking bad, and if you tell me yes, I’m not stopping until you’re wearing my mark on your neck and my cum is spilling out of your pussy.”

“Promise?”

He worked his cock inside her. “I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“I love you, Grant. You are mine. You will only ever be mine.”

The look of absolute certainty in her eyes made his heart stutter.

The bear’s voice in his mind rang out loud and clear. Those words you both spoke were your vows as shifter mates. Those vows will help bind you together as you claim each other.”

Knowing that gave Grant a thrill of joy and a little spark of terror. He meant what he said. She seemed to mean what she said, but… Grant didn’t bite first. He still needed her to be sure. He didn’t say it, but she must have understood. She fucking knew. When she sank her teeth into his neck, it wasn’t a little nip. The pain of sharp teeth clamping through muscle and bone turned to fiery ecstasy in an instant. The feeling didn’t dissipate when she let go.

His body throbbed for release, but each thrust made him more insane for her. “Ride me, Shay, or I’m gonna get out of control.”

“Whatever you want to give, I can take.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I’m stronger than you think. And Grant?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I won’t ever hurt you either.”

He felt the truth of her words. Everything he’d ever wanted was bound up in those words, and he fell over the edge of the cliff he’d been hanging on since he met her. When he sank his incisors deep into her neck, he knew he and she belonged together, that she loved him the way he loved her.

SHAYLA WRAPPED HER legs around Grant’s waist, opening herself up farther for him. The joy overwhelmed her when his teeth tore into her neck. Within seconds, she felt a connection growing between them, one even stronger than the bond they already shared. She cried out when she realized his pleasure was her pleasure. Grant closed his eyes and groaned before covering her mouth with his. Shayla broke the kiss and gave him a sly grin. Time to test her fox shifter strength. She managed to turn them so she was on top, and Grant reached up to cup her breasts. When he tugged her nipples and pinched them hard, she reached behind her to grasp his balls. His breathing hitched as she squeezed and rolled his big balls in her palm.

Suddenly, his thrusts were deeper, more powerful than before. His cock lengthened inside her, getting thicker. An undeniable heat built within her, making her cry his name and beg him to go deeper. Grant cursed and bit into the place in her neck where he’d already marked her. The pain was pleasure, and her pussy throbbed and constricted around his rigid cock. They both held on to each other as a bond between them grew so tight their hearts nearly split open.

Shayla reached the top and went free falling. Grant stilled and crushed her to him. Each burst of heat inside her made her shudder, until she came again. Grant’s kiss consumed her, and she let it. She would never again worry that his kiss affected her so greatly. She would never question why she trusted him so completely. They had been through hell and back, and she’d survived because she trusted him. He’d risked his career and shared a huge secret with her because he believed she was worth the risk. Out of breath and spent, they turned to face each other.

The dark onyx of Grant’s eyes glittered. “I love you, baby, so fucking much.” He rested his head against her chest as he spoke.

“I love you too,” she whispered, snuggling closer to him. Love was an understatement. Truly there were no words to explain how she felt for him. Like magic, his shaft stiffened, pressing against her clit. The need to have him inside her grew maddening. She gripped his cock in her hand and ended up riding him in reverse-cowgirl-style. They both came fast and hard. The next time was slow and sweet, and they fell back against the mattress, exhausted. For the moment anyway.

Shayla nudged Grant. “So, if there’s a few things you want to try later, I visited Sweet and Naughty and bought a whole bag of toys.”

Grant grinned. “I brought something along too. A gift, if you choose to accept.” He grabbed a tiny square from his suitcase. With a shy smile, he sat next to her and opened the velvet blue box.

A beautiful light blue diamond with an intricate braided mix of silver and gold rested inside. The man had incredible taste in jewelry. Before she could find the words, he set the box down and caught her face in his gentle hands.

“Say yes, baby. I want you with me in every way, as my mate, my wife. I want to speak our vows in front of everybody and then take off your white dress in a hotel room. I want it on paper that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“Yes. Yes! I want the white dress and the ceremony too. I want everybody to know that I’m yours in every way that matters. I will wear your ring and never take it off, and this mark”—she touched the place at her neck where he’d bitten her to claim her—“will never be hidden. Thanks to foxy I know a mating mark is more visible than a mark left from initiation into a shifter.”

Grant placed the gorgeous ring on her finger with a shaking hand. Her tears mixed with his when he kissed her, and his body entered hers in one rough thrust. She sighed in relief and delight as he pulled her arms over her head in a tight grip. He knew what she wanted.

Seven billion people in the world, and somehow she’d been lucky enough to find the one who was meant for her. He was shy. She was outgoing. She came from money and had grown up surrounded by people who loved her. He’d had precious little time with people who loved him, and he’d had to find ways to survive with a mother who hadn’t looked out for him. He could make numbers and math formulas his bitch, and she could cook for an army but couldn’t put together a bookcase that came in a box with nails, screws, and written instructions.

He was a bear shifter, she a fox. And their differences didn’t matter, because she’d have his back, and he’d have hers, whatever came their way.