Predator's Claim Page 2

  Not that Charlotte had ever been a paragon of communication. Expressing emotion wasn’t exactly a joy for her, either. In fact, she generally went out of her way to avoid it, and she had good reason. Still, she couldn’t help respecting it in others.

  Dylan proved different. A mountain lion shifter, he’d been brutally honest upon meeting her for the first time. He’d smiled, his blue eyes flashing in appreciation, and had said, “Sexy lady. You. Me. My bed. Now.”

  Okay, he erred on the cheesy side, but she’d fallen into bed with him, and hadn’t quite tumbled out yet. After all, a girl had needs. And shifter women’s urges were even harder to ignore. Their spirit animals tended to pester them if they didn’t get a regular little something-something. She knew what she was talking about. God only knew, she’d lectured Marci about the very same topic not so long ago.

  If you denied your animal what it wanted, it would make life hellish for you. Marci had experienced it firsthand, and Charlotte had decided long ago she’d never let herself suffer from a case of the metaphorical blue balls.

  However, ever since making the decision to head back to Gemini Island for the winter while she prepared for her new job, sleeping with Dylan had proved, well…icky. She’d found herself making excuses not to booty call the mountain lion man, and had depended on the talents of her own fingers lately, as well as the always-reliable orgasm-inducing abilities of her favorite vibrator. Or three.

  And yet, somehow he’d managed to invite himself along on her foray back to the island that had been her home and workplace for a few years. She hadn’t put up a fuss, figuring she could bounce some lecture topics off him. They’d helped each other with their research before. In fact, she had to admit, he took a surprising interest in her work, often peppering her with questions and seeming fascinated with her arguments. He’d decided to take a bit of time off from his own research, and they’d figured he could stay in her cabin on the resort and they could have some laughs.

  Only she wasn’t laughing now.

  “So remind me again,” Dylan said, swirling his fingertips over her inner thigh under the old blankets. “This Ursa place where you work is a resort for shifters?”

  She reached under the blanket and eased his hand from her leg. “Yup. My boss, Ryland Snow, is a bear shifter who mentors teens in the shifter community. He built the resort himself, taking it from a humble fishing lodge to a five-star rural resort. Now it’s really well-known in shifter circles. Lots of people like us vacation here, and lots of parents bring their troubled teens for the program. Ryland has helped a lot of people in our community. He’s a good man.”

  He leaned in and brushed against her shoulder. “I hear a lot of respect in your voice. Should I be jealous, sexy lady?”

  She inched away. “Fuck, no. Ryland’s mated and I’m friends with his wife, Lia. I don’t mess around with mated men. Even I have standards.”

  He laughed out loud, brushing a few flakes of snow off his pristine Kenneth Cole coat. “That’s what I like about you, Charlotte. You may have standards, but you lowered them to include me.” He looked around as Lex neared Gemini Island. “So what about the other dudes in this place? Surely your standards have allowed you to cavort with some of the local country bumpkins? Any sordid stories?”

  Lex threw him a look that said, Country bumpkin, my ass, you shit-for-brains city slicker. Charlotte winked at Lex and he winked back.

  “My people aren’t country bumpkins, asshole. Watch your mouth,” she grumbled.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. Just kidding. I won’t badmouth your people.”

  Why ask about her past hookups anyway? Sure, she’d had flings with some of the residents of Gemini Island. No one special, and never anything meaningful. She preferred it that way. No fuss, no muss, just show mama a good time. After all, she was only twenty-five. A marvelous sexual banquet lay before her and she planned to sample all the various dishes. To the point of pleasant exhaustion and numbness.

  Her older sister Danielle had given her a great piece of advice when they were teens. “Charlotte,” she’d said. “Listen to that Forrest Gump dude. Don’t go on a diet until you’ve eaten at least one of every chocolate in the damn box.” She’d lived by that philosophy ever since. No false expectations and no one got hurt.

  Even as she thought it, her inner wolf raised its head and uttered a low growl, but she ignored it. Darn wolf had been acting strange lately too, ever since she’d decided to return to the Ursa Lodge. Where the wolf was normally quite happy to play with her chosen partners, now it shied away from them. It seemed to scratch at some imaginary door, wanting out.

  Wanting…God only knew what.

  Dylan persisted. “Come on, isn’t there someone who broke little Charlotte’s cold, cold heart?”

  “Um, no. I don’t do broken hearts.” And cold? Why? Just because she wasn’t married and mated with a litter of pups by now? It didn’t qualify her for Snow Queen status. Even now she grew hot and uncomfortable, even with the chill stinging her cheeks.

  Lex turned to her as he steered the vessel toward the dock. “Bart asked about you yesterday.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.” Bart Cairo. Her stomach wobbled with strange sensation as his name echoed in her mind. She must be getting hungry. Reaching inside her pocket, hoping she had a snack stowed in there, she pulled out a granola bar. Grimacing, she shoved it back into her pocket. Damn bird food.

  Why did she suddenly feel like sinking her teeth into a piece of succulent, rare meat?

  Lex docked the boat and proceeded to tie it to the dock. Even as she scrambled out of it, grabbing her bags, Dylan followed, seizing on the topic. “Ooh, who’s this mysterious Bart? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

  That’s because she didn’t talk to anyone about Bart. Not even to Marci. There was nothing to talk about. Bartholomew Cairo was just some guy who worked at the resort with her, had for years. They’d socialized together, usually in groups, and had a few laughs, but their relationship went no further.

  Yes, he’d been at her side when she was attacked a few months back by a rogue shifter on the island. And yes, she’d been comforted having him there, if truth be told. Marci said Bart loved her, which had to be total rubbish. Bart didn’t know the meaning of love. He was out for Number One and always had been. His skirt-chasing record proved it.

  She’d seen him around the island, flirting with several women who worked at the resort. And she’d seen the way female guests responded to the big, bad security specialist. Can you walk me to the dock, Bart? Can you accompany me to my cabin, Bart? I’m so scared in the woods, even though I’m a shifter. Tee hee. Oh, your muscles are so big. Pardon me while I toss my hair.

  Her wolf snapped at her. You don’t sound bitter at all. And then it showed her its back.

  She stamped down the burn in the pit of her stomach. Anyway, she couldn’t really fault Bart for being a horny man with a working penis. In fact, in a weird way, she sort of admired him. And God only knew, her record matched his.

  Two people who preferred to sample life’s lusty bounty, they simply preferred not to sample each other. Some doors were best kept closed.

  And anyway, he wasn’t her type. Sure, he had the whole tall, dark and dangerous thing down pat. Especially with that sexy scar spanning half his devilish face. In fact, if she were totally honest with herself, she could admit to doing a little bit of dreaming about Bart’s dark brown eyes and muscled back. To say nothing of the intriguing line of brawn that comprised the bulges running from his shoulders to his forearms. But he could often be moody and childish, indulging in silly pranks and calling her dumb names like “Charles,” even though she’d told him how much she hated it. Bart displayed as much emotional intelligence as a nine-year-old boy tossing worms at the girls in the schoolyard.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re staring into space,” Dylan said, holding his own bags, making no attempt to take hers. “And n
ot moving. Shouldn’t we head to your cabin?”

  “Oh, right.” She hugged Lex, thanking him for the ride, and set off with Dylan following.

  “Once we get there,” he said, his hot breath puffing in the cold air, “I wanna make you naked. It’s been a while.”

  Her wolf poked its head up again and bared its teeth at him. She shooed away the suddenly-opinionated animal, but not before the foul canine manipulated her vocal cords, forcing her to fib. “Charlotte has cramps. Charlotte’s period’s coming. Now. Sucks to be you.” She turned her head and slapped a hand over her mouth, aghast.

  “Interesting use of the third person.” He gave her the side eye. “Shit. Do you seriously have your period?”

  She shrugged, mortified and relieved at the same time. “Can’t fuck with Mother Nature.”

  As Dylan mumbled his thoughts about fucking Mother Nature, she looked away, mystified. Her wolf had always shown its preferences for anything she did, but never had the brute taken over her voice in such a manner. She’d heard of it happening to other shifters, but so far she’d been lucky and had always maintained control. She could swear her parents had christened her Charlotte “Control” Moffatt.

  So, the dog really didn’t want her to sleep with Dylan. Oh well, neither did she.

  A shadow in the distant woods claimed her attention and a familiar scent invaded her keen senses. Its woodsy appeal called to her, and the tantalizing smell of snow-covered leaves and dry tree bark and manly man hammered against the back of her brain. She narrowed her piercing wolf eyes on the area behind a cluster of tall maples.

  A large, brown wolf stared back at her from the darkness, not blinking once as it observed her. Looking so majestic as it stood between the stark, winter-kissed trees, its luxurious coat shone under the late afternoon sun. His normally black eyes glowed with an amber hue as the animal trained its gaze on her. Then, it slowly turned its head toward Dylan, and its scarred brow furrowed.

  “Bart?” she whispered.

  “Did you say something?” Dylan asked.

  She turned quickly toward him and then back to the wolf, but the animal had disappeared. Keeping an eye on the trees around them, she trudged in the snow toward her cabin in silence.

  Which made the lonely howl of a wolf ring ever clearer in the clean, country air.

  Chapter 2

  A couple of days after Charlotte’s arrival, Bart hung back in the resort security office after his shift, staring out the window at the snow-covered ground. He knew he should go say hello to her. After all, they’d been colleagues for years. Colleagues would greet each other after an absence, right? And that’s exactly what he’d hoped to do the day she’d arrived. He’d headed down to the dock upon hearing the motor of Lex’s boat, ready to face the woman who, like it or not, had tormented his dreams for far too long.

  And had seen her with a man. Some good-looking, clean-cut, fresh-from-the-city man who probably had lots of fancy degrees and an even fancier wardrobe under his tailored coat. Bart had promptly shifted into his wolf and turned tail.

  He hadn’t gone looking for her since, and their paths hadn’t crossed yet. Clearly she hadn’t gone looking for him either, no doubt far too occupied with her city boyfriend. It hadn’t stopped him from feeling as if he were teetering on a very crumbly precipice.

  He stared out the window and scraped his fingernails up and down his thighs. “This is ridiculous. She’s a friend. Just say, ‘Hey, Charles. Wanna get a drink?’” They’d had plenty of drinks together before. No reason they couldn’t chat like normal people.

  Only they weren’t so normal, and neither was their friendship. From day one, it had been fraught with a sexual tension so bad it felt as if he had a spider inside his head, scratching, itching. Laying lusty eggs of avarice, just threatening to burst open his brain.

  “Oh, damn it to hell.” He yanked open the security office door and tramped outside, kicking the snow with his favorite Kodiak boots. He marched into the lodge and stopped inside the main entrance. Bart chose a quiet spot a few steps from the door, closed his eyes, and inhaled on a long breath.

  Her scent wafted on the air toward him, teasing from the hallway leading to the main floor suites. Clenching his fists, he fought the urge to fall to his knees. Her womanly perfume acted as a strong drug in his system, causing his pulse to jolt and stir and making his lips dry out from thirst. She still smelled the same: soft baby powder overlying her musky woman’s heat. Absolute decadence.

  He opened his eyes and his feet lead him down the hallway toward her. About six suites in, her perfume smacked him and he heard her softly humming as she tidied the suite. Moving quietly, he stopped outside the door and poked his head around the corner.

  Shit. How was it she looked cuter than the vision in his dreams? Wearing her sweet little maid ensemble of a black ruffled dress and a white apron and cap, she looked like a pretty doll. She’d tucked her ebony hair up under her cap, and a few strands wisped around her face. Encased in black tights, her shapely legs seemed to go on forever, despite her petite stature. She wore those lace-up granny booties she wore with so many of her outfits. For some strange reason, those Victorian booties never failed to give him a raging hard-on, and they did now.

  She wore headphones, oblivious to him as she listened to some music. With his superior hearing skills, Bart tuned into it. When he heard the song, he felt his face erupt in heat. Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”. He couldn’t mistake the driving beat for anything else. A couple of years ago, he’d made a mixed CD of his favorite 70s rock and she’d liked it so much he’d given it to her. It seemed she kept it. He smiled, and his wolf stood at attention inside him, sniffing madly, wanting her.

  He knocked on the door, loudly enough so she’d hear it over the music. She jumped and turned to face him.

  The dark pupils in her silvery eyes dilated and her lips curled up. She removed her headphones. “Bartholomew.”

  “Charles.” He grinned, his heart pounding. “How’s it hanging?”

  “If I’ve told you once, Bartholomew, I’ve told you a hundred times. It’s Charlotte, not Charles.” She smiled, her lids lowering. “Do I look like a boy?”

  Fuck, no, but he loved getting her to say that. He walked into the room and leaned against the doorjamb. “Some things never change. Even our banter.”

  “That’s because you persist in calling me stupid names, cumwad.”

  “Oh, and cumwad isn’t stupid? I would have expected better from such an educated woman.” He stepped closer, chuckling, bringing him fully into the realm of her trance-inducing perfume. “So, a lecturer. Congratulations. I guess you have a lot of initials after your name now, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. Such an impressive degree. A master’s in religious education. I’m only qualified to be two things: a lecturer and…hmm, let’s see. A fucking maid.” She giggled.

  He watched how her chest rose and fell with her laughs but met her gaze again quickly. After a quiet moment, he spoke. “It’s good to see you again, Charles.”

  “Yeah, you too,” she whispered, looking intently at the bottle of Windex in her hand, almost as if it were a life preserver in a stormy sea.

  “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being a maid, but I’m glad to hear you got something good in your field. You worked hard to get where you are. I’m proud of you. I guess all those late nights studying in the pub paid off?”

  “Yeah. Remember the time the bartender was called away for a family emergency and you and I filled in at the last minute? We didn’t know how to make any fancy drinks so everyone got beer, all night long. They asked for Cosmopolitans, we gave them beer. They asked for Tequila Sunrises, we gave them beer. I’ll never forget the look on that one prissy woman’s face. She said she only drank brandy as a tonic and you handed her a Heineken.”

  “Fun night.”

  “Right.” She fiddled with the screw top on the Windex, seemingly fascinated by it. She finally looked up. “Hey, I heard it’s
time for the annual Cairo family reunion. When does your pack descend?”

  “Any minute now.” Despite his best efforts, his gaze strayed to her lips, so naturally pouty they’d cause Angelina Jolie to holler for a plastic surgeon. Her pale lip stuff made them shimmer, and he could smell its fruit punch flavor, so tasty it made his head swim a little. He reached for the dresser and leaned on it to steady himself. “You should come to the welcome party tomorrow night. We’re taking over the resort pub. Ryland let us have it for the night. Maybe you and I could serve up some Heineken again. My mom would be happy to see you, too.”

  She grinned. “I like your mom. Sure, I’ll come.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle a little more in that moment. “But only if you research the recipe for a Long Island Iced Tea for me.”

  He bit his bottom lip as an unsavory memory hit him. “Are you sure you should be drinking those? They go right to your head. I’ve seen what they do to you.”

  Her laugh carried a slight bitterness to it. “Okay, Dad. Make it a milk on the rocks then. Boy, Bart, you still get off on playing fun police, don’t you?”

  “There’s a reason for it. Remember the last time you drank those things here? Marv and Jay in Facilities still aren’t talking to each other because each one thinks he’s your boy toy of choice.” As he frowned, his scar pained him. He gave the old blemish a rub. “You don’t realize the effect you have on men, Charles. You need to be more careful.”

  Her eyes widened. “So it’s my fault Marv and Jay suffer from delusional thinking?”

  “Yes. No. Okay, maybe. A little.”

  “Well, that logic is right out of the middle ages.” She touched her belly with a dramatic flourish. “Let me check to see if I brought my chastity belt with me. Fuck, you sure do love a lecture. Maybe you should do my job.” She glared at him but then took a deep breath, clearly to manage her ridiculous temper. “Anyway, do you mind if I bring someone to the party? I’ve got…a friend staying with me.”

  Oh, of course. The smarmy, don’t-get-dirt-on-my-designer-pants city dude. He’d been able to smell his attitude from miles away. “Who is he? How did you meet him? Because you know Ryland has rules about who comes to this resort.”