Cree
“It gets cold in the mountains.” Cree’s strong, deft hands lit a fire in the bedroom hearth. “This will keep you warm.”
“You’re leaving?”
Cree closed his eyes against the need he heard in her voice. The cells in Cree’s body voted to stay with their mate, but his brain was afraid of further rejection. “I think it’s best if I do. It’s enough that you found me. The rest, we can take step by step. Besides, you’re going to look at properties with Hadley and Lacey tomorrow, right?”
Tamara nodded, mutely. Cree desperately wished he could read her mind as easily as he scented her emotions. Fear. Longing. Hurt.
But afraid of what? Longing for whom? Hurt by what?
“Lacey is a force.” Tamara’s hands knotted as she spoke, a sure sign of her anxiety. “She wants me to open a studio like, yesterday.”
Cree forced a smile. “She gets excited. And I don’t think there’s a lot here in the mountains for her to do. She’s a city girl. More at home with movie theaters and shopping malls.”
“She seems to have adjusted just fine.”
Oh, now that was a scent Cree knew blindfolded. Anger. His lips twitched with humor. “Did I say something wrong?”
“You shouldn’t assume that just because someone was raised in a city, they can’t adjust to the mountains.” Tamara’s voice was a little tart, and Cree smiled. His kitten had claws.
Another, darker thought occurred to him. Feeling those claws bite into the muscles of his shoulders. Back. Ass. Cree looked away so Tamara wouldn’t see the raw hunger in his eyes.
“Lacey named the cottage Little Yellow.”
“I noticed the rubber duckie themed bathroom.” Tamara looked out the window and sighed.
“Is everything okay?” Cree would give anything to know what she was thinking.
Tamara nodded slowly. “Are you angry with me? Disappointed?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Cree’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Disappointed in what? You? God, no. I’m blessed by you, Tams.” He approached her, making sure not to touch. Using the heat of his body to embrace her.
“I’m not a very good mate.”
“Look at me. Please?” Cree didn’t care if he was begging.
Tamara turned and lifted her brown eyes to meet his green ones. “Don’t beat yourself up. When you trust me, the touching will work itself out.”
“I do trust you.” Tamara’s voice was adamant.
Cree shook his head. “It’s okay. You look at me and see the monster that killed a monster.”
“That isn’t true, Cree. You saved me. It’s being held down. Not feeling free to move. I feel itchy and anxious. But look! We’re standing close together, and I’m fine!”
“Are you?” One finger raised to touch the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat.
Tamara closed her eyes, tears leaking out the corners. “Touching isn’t the only thing that makes me a bad mate. Are you mad at me for not testifying right away? For letting my mother have you locked up because I ran and hid?”
Cree stared at her in mute disbelief. “You were nine. Of course, I wanted you to tell the police what happened but I understood when you couldn’t.” He swallowed. As long as he lived, he would never forget the empty look in her eyes. The mute fear that clogged her throat and made her run away before the police were called.
“I was afraid it was the last time I’d get to see you again. That the government would order you put me down. Destroyed.” Tamara hid her face behind her hands. “I’m glad he’s dead,” she whispered.
Gently, oh, so cautiously, Cree used one finger to lift her chin. Bravely, she looked him in the eyes. “I have no shame for killing a man who deserved to die, Tams. The only thing I would have changed was to have you leave the room first. I hate that I scared you.”
Tamara ran her hand through his tawny hair. “Cat or man, I knew you would never hurt me.”
“Ever,” Cree vowed, closing his eyes and nearly purring as she pet him.
“Adele wouldn’t let them do a rape kit on me,” Tamara whispered. She lifted her gaze to his. “I think she used me. Like a high stakes chip in a poker game I never asked to join.”
Anger coursed through Cree’s bloodstream. “Adele has a lot to answer for. You were a child. I don’t blame you at all.”
“But when I saw you in the prison yard, I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”
Cree looked at her sharply. “Wait. What? You saw me? I never had any visitors.” His mind went back to that time. The time he never looked at. Wasn’t there that moment when he thought he’d caught her scent? “A week before they let me out, right?”
Tamara nodded. “You looked like one of those tigers in a cage. Pacing back and forth with anxiety. I had images of you being whipped to jump through fire for people’s amusement.”
“So, you testified?”
“Your attorney got it set up with just the judge present. I guess they do that when there’s a child victim involved. Mr. Elliot was already dead. You were looking at murder charges for something that was a clearly justifiable homicide.”
“I’m glad you weren’t there for the trial. It was ugly. Even I was horrified by the pictures.”
“You saved my life, Creole. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“I don’t want gratitude.”
One corner of Tamara’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “I’m working on it. But I need a little more time and patience from my mate.”
Her strength and resiliency humbled Cree. “It’s a good thing your mate is a cat. They’re well-known for their superior patience.”
“Cats like to be touched.”
“Cougars are pretty solitary animals. We don’t mind alone time.”
“Is that why you don’t want me to stay with you?”
“Not at all. I just thought you’d feel safer here. I’m close. About a mile as the cougar runs.”
“I want you closer.” Tamara pouted, and Cree was pretty sure he was never going to deny her a fucking thing. Ever.
But when his hands touched her, she gasped and cringed away from him. Guilt burned into his soul. Hope died like a balloon meeting a pin. Cree withdrew instantly, angry with himself for scaring her. Hurting her. Hurting them both.
The muscles in his jaw tightened with his anger.
Cree looked helplessly at Tamara’s exquisite skin and dark lashes. Lips shaped for smiling and kissing. Her pulse beating too quickly in her throat.
“Tams, don’t you know? I would do anything to have you in my arms. I want to hold you, comfort you. Make love to you. But I can’t. All I seem to be able to do remarkably well is hurt you.” He felt tears burn in the back of his eyes, and he blinked them away.
Cree wasn’t ashamed of his tears. They were shed for the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world. But he didn’t want her to feel manipulated. Used. Everything had to be on her terms. She deserved no less.
Cree’s hands became impotent fists. With a quick movement, he turned away from her, unable to stand the churning emotions he felt.
Tamara
The raw emotion in his voice called Tamara out of the depths of her own nightmare as nothing else could have. More than anyone, she knew what it was like to feel snarled in helpless. Hating yourself. Like being caught in a bramble patch. Everything she did made that tangle worse, not better.
The thought of her making him feel that way made her ache. They were survivors of a nightmare. Hers at the hands of Roger Elliot. His at the hands of the Department of Correction.
Cree gave her hope when she was afraid. And for that, she flinched away from him when he touched her.
“Creole,” Tamara murmured, touching his arm. Eyes closed, he didn’t respond.
She shifted against him. Tamara leaned over Cree’s shoulder, touching him from the fine silk of his hair down to the muscular width of his neck. Her hand slid lower as she attempted to loosen rigid shoulder muscles. Soothe tense emotions.
The well-washed cotton of his T-shirt felt like a warm velvet over supple muscle. Her fingers kneaded the hard flesh beneath. “You feel amazing under my hands,” she murmured. “Heat and smoothness. Suppleness and strength.”
Arousal thrummed within her, shocking her with its sweet intensity. She’d never wanted to touch a man the way she did Creole.
With a sigh, Tamara stood on her toes so she could put her lips just below his tawny hairline. Cree’s neck was warm and firm. Golden skin stretched hotly over tendons, tempting her tongue to taste and trace each subtle change in texture.
She kissed him lightly, lingeringly. Giving into temptation, she tasted him with the tip of her tongue. Flavor burst into her senses - salt and man and mate. A rough swath of whiskers that faded to the amazingly smooth skin on the back of his neck.
Tamara’s teeth closed delicately on his nape. Cautiously testing the resilience of his muscles. Creole moved his head and shoulders slowly. Arching into the pressure of her mouth. Making her hands slide over the muscles of his back.
“You like touching me.”
Tamara whimpered as she pressed against his back. “It seems so.”
Cree arched into her touch like a hungry cat. Soft, hungry growls burned in him.
The honesty of his response met the equal hunger sweeping through Tamara. She wanted to lie down next to him. Press her body along the length of his. Feel his passion surround her as she surrounded him.
She traced the outlines of his tattoos, marveling at the tribal markings on his body. Goosebumps broke out on her arms at his sheer, masculine perfection.
Even as fire licked through her, melting her, she knew that if Cree’s arms closed around her, she would freeze. And in freezing, she would hurt him cruelly. And then she would hate herself all over again.
“What are we going to do?” Tamara’s voice broke as she spoke.
“What we’re doing right now feels wonderful,” Creole purred.
“But I’m afraid I’ll freeze.” Tamara’s words trembled with fear and the beginning stages of self-directed anger.
“Does touching me frighten you?” Cree asked. He panted a little, still writhing as he sought further contact.
“Touching you makes me feel invincible.”
Creole’s breath caught in a tremor that shuddered through the length of his body. “Then touch me as much as you want.”
Neck down, exposed. Her mate was completely vulnerable to her.
The muscles of Creole’s back shifted beneath Tamara’s hands, urging her to explore him, telling her more clearly than words he wanted to be touched by her.
“Can we relax on the bed?”
“Anywhere.”
Tamara suppressed a giggle at the speed of his response. She suspected he would have agreed to anything at this stage.
Taking Creole’s hand, Tamara led him into the bedroom. “You don’t mind staying dressed?”
Cree shook his head. “Nothing else matters,” he assured her. With a smooth motion, Cree lay on his back and looked at her with stunning green eyes. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Then touch me. Anywhere. I’m yours.”
With a helpless whimper, Tamara bent her head and kissed Creole. She savored the texture and taste of him. His flavor. Every urgent moment of their mouths mating. Every changing pressure of tongue and lips and teeth.
She felt the shimmering heat and pleasure of his mouth as it joined and then yielded to her control. Tamara’s hands slid from his hair and caressed his jaw. His neck. The lines of his shoulders. Her fingers memorized each hill and valley. Each throb of his pulse beneath her touch.
One hand curved around Creole’s neck just beneath his ear, her palm fitting perfectly against the slide and play of powerful muscles as he moved his mouth across hers. Tamara’s other hand slid down his arm, only to return as her fingers sought the warmth of his skin beneath the short sleeve of his tee shirt. Then slipping under his shirt to find and caress heated muscles.
Cat-like, Cree arched into her caress. Telling her how much he liked having her hands on his bare skin. When Tamara’s mouth left his, she nibbled on his neck and finally, delicately, his ear. Cree made a sound deep in his throat, like a cougar calling his mate. The sound was so sweet, so poignant, it brought tears to Tamara’s eyes.
Tamara responded by tracing the outline of his ear with her mouth than caressing him with slow probing touches of her tongue that made both of their breaths quicken.
With a low, throbbing cry, Tamara caressed Creole’s neck down to his shoulder until her teeth closed on the hem of his T-shirt. Her hands massaged down the smooth muscles of his chest to the warm band of skin where his shirt had pulled free of his jeans.
The softly curling line of hair trailing down from his navel intrigued Tamara. When her fingers touched his naked skin, Cree’s breath came in sharply. His weight shifted as his arms moved.
Tamara waited, frozen, anticipating his embrace.
“It’s all right,” Creole said, his voice as soft as firelight. “See? No hands.”
With haunted eyes, Tamara watched him put his hands behind his head. Fingers tightly laced against his overwhelming temptation to touch her as she was touching him.
“Does this mean I still get to touch you?” Tamara hated the way the words trembled, but she needed to be sure.
“As much as you want.”
“This isn’t fair to you,” Tamara protested.
“Let me worry about that. It’s enough that you’re touching me. We’re both alive, and you’re here with me.”
Heat rose from his skin, tempting her to explore further. The silky treasure trail of hair curling below his navel, and the sharp involuntary movement of his body as her fingers slid beneath the soft T-shirt she traced the long muscles of his torso from his waist to the top of his ribcage.
Eyes closed with pleasure, Tamara let her hands savor his strength and stillness. The changing and compelling textures of his body beneath her palms. Her fingers searching among the crisp rair of his chest alive with the feel of him. The silk and the hardness and the heat of him.
And Cree watched her, his green eyes hot with a hunger that couldn’t be assuaged. At least not tonight.
Tamara brushed her lips across Cree’s mouth loving the feel of him. Firm and sweet with an answering heat all his own. “Can I?”
“Fuck, yes, anything,” Cree said, arching into her.
Tamara giggled shyly. “You don’t even know what I want.”
One side of Cree’s mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. “I have a pretty good idea of what you want, Tams.”
“Can I take off your shirt?”
Their gazes met. Hotly. Profoundly.
“What are you waiting for?” Creole asked. As he spoke, he unlocked his hands and stretched his arms above his head.
Tamara’s hands moved up his body, pushing the soft folds of his T-shirt over his chest. His head. His arms. Until finally the shirt fell aside, forgotten. Her breath came in and then out on a long sigh of shameless arousal. She ran her hands freely from his fingertips to his waist. Creole’s breath sounded more like a groan as he laced his hands behind his head once more.
For an instant, Tamara hesitated. She was going too far. Taking them off an unknown cliff. Then Creole’s body twisted sinuously beneath her hands begging to be touched. She whispered his name as she bent down and kissed him. Hungry for the feel of his tongue against hers.
Her palms rubbed slowly over his chest, stroking him. Absorbing his scent. When her nails scrape gently over his nipples, he shivered with pleasure. Tamara’s fingertips circled them lovingly then tugged at the small, hard nubs.
His tongue moved sensuously in her mouth, stealing her breath until she was dizzy.
“I think I could kiss you forever.”
“You will.” Creole fought to keep his voice even despite the waves of hunger hammering through him. His fingers twisted against each other until bone ground against bone.
Tamara gazed at him. A wild cat-like man wearing only firelight and jeans. She traced the line of skin just above his jeans with her tongue. Her hands smoothed his thighs and enjoyed the flex and shift of his muscles. Denim over heated steel.
He was her mountain lion mate. The eyes of a cougar with the soul of a poet.
“I don’t know how to end this,” she confessed shyly. Her cheek rubbed against the bulge in his jeans as uncertainty reared its ugly head.
Cree a shifted on the bed his erection firm against his pants. “I can take care of it.”
Curiosity lit up her face. “Can I watch?” her voice was husky and urgent.
Unable to deny her, Cree nodded. Slowly he unlocked his fingers. With shaking hands, he undid the snap of his jeans and lowered the fly. “Look at me,” he begged hoarsely. “Know that you’re the only woman I’ve ever been naked for. Will ever be naked with like this.”
Tamara licked her lips as she realized what he was saying. Cree was still a virgin. Hunger and ache rose in the wake of his words.
“I’ve never been naked for a man, either.”
Understanding blended between them, each lost in knowing that when they were finally together, they would meet on equal footing.
Jeans lowered, he pulled his cock out of his underwear, letting it jut against his flat, muscular belly. Tamara’s gaze flitted between his heated green eyes and the cock nestled between his hard fingers.
Creole swallowed as his hand stroked. Long ones. Short. Then long again. He groaned. His eyes dropped to half-mast as he jerked himself off.
Unable to resist, Tamara placed her hands over his. His cry was deep. Needful as his neck arched, teeth gritted. Creole gave himself up for her pleasure. Streams of cum splashed harmlessly on the flat plane of his abdomen.
“That’s beautiful,” Tamara whispered in the darkness.
Creole’s cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. “Let me clean up,” he said, slowly disengaging from her intertwined limbs.
Tamara nodded and then reached for him, suddenly afraid. “Come back to bed?” She hated the begging tone in her voice but she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.
Creole nodded and padded into the bathroom.
Several minutes later, he came back to the bed. He lay down, arms at his side while Tamara curled against him. A low purr started in his throat.
“That is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard,” Tamara mumbled before drifting off to a deep sleep.