Wanted: Wild Thing

Chapter Eleven

I deliberately slept on top of the blankets, part of me hoping that I’d wake up and find Hugh touching me, unable to resist my allure. Instead, I woke up to find that Hugh had tucked a blanket around me as I’d slept. I wasn’t sure if I found that sweet . . . or utterly frustrating. Surely I hadn’t been stuck with the one man immune to my charms? Maybe I just wasn’t trying hard enough.

I resolved to try harder and brainstormed for ideas. I could prance around him naked, but he just wouldn’t look. I could rub myself up against him, but he’d just move away. Or forcibly move me away.

Seducing Hugh would require stealth and wiles. And since I was a virgin, I was low on these things. I could flirt with the best of them, but when it came to outright seduction? I had no ammo in my armory. Add that to the fact that Hugh was constantly at my side? I couldn’t even research a dirty movie or two without having him catch on.

I considered this as we went to work together a bit early the next day. I told Hugh I had a big, important project I was working on.

That wasn’t really true. I just wanted to talk to my friends and get some advice. But with Hugh hovering, I had few options. I could have texted, but Marie sucked at checking her phone, so I thought I’d use the office chat programs.

Sara was surprised to see me. She had on a pair of massive headphones and was typing frantically into her computer when we walked in. “Hey, Ryder,” she yelled, clearly unable to tell that she was shouting. She pointed at her headphones. “Give me two seconds and I’ll get to a safe spot in my game.”

“No rush. I just came to work on a project,” I yelled back and headed to my desk. I gestured for Hugh to take a seat anywhere. He went to the back and got his stool, and as he did, I craned my neck and peeked at Bath’s office. Not in. The only person in was Sara. Huh. I thumped into my seat and pulled up the chat program on my computer. We were linked to Beau’s office, and I frowned to see that Marie’s status was set to Away. Probably in a meeting of some kind. When Hugh sat down across from me, I gave him a tabloid magazine to “research” while I worked.

My mind still on the topic of advice, I decided to ping Sara first. Where’s your sister? I typed.

She’s scoping out locations for a sock party, Sara typed back. She just came up with the idea and was all excited. Wanted to get started. She was sitting across the room, so she could have just taken off her headphones and talked to me, but I preferred the chat program. Hugh wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on the conversation this way.

Sock party? I typed. Dare I ask?

It’s a match-up gig. You’re given a sock when you come in and you have to go around and meet other people while looking for the match to your sock. She thought it was brilliant.

It sounds kinda weird.

Across the room, Sara giggled at her monitor, then continued typing. I suggested a lock-and-key party, but she thought that was too suggestive.

Mmm, she might have a point. Say . . . since you’re in. I wanted to ask you something . . . about guys. Sara was mated to Ramsey, so she might be a good one to ask. Ramsey was big and surly and silent, but somehow Sara had wriggled her way into his heart. The were-bear was utterly devoted to her. I figured she had some sort of mojo going on that I could get pointers on.

ME? Really?

Yes, you.

Dude, okay, but I’m not sure I’m the expert. You’re the flirt around here! I should be asking you!

She had a point. Yeah, but the guy I’m interested in seems to be immune to my flirting. I’m baffled and not sure what to do. I’m not sure how to let him know that I’m interested.

How about telling him?

Tried that. Don’t want to take no for an answer.

I see. She drummed her fingers on her chin for a moment, thinking, and began to type furiously once more. How serious are we about this guy?

Let’s just say I’m trying to get him into bed and he’s ignoring all my attempts.

Uh-huh. Is he a shifter?

I frowned at my computer. Is that important? But yes. I’ll get it approved before we go anywhere with things.

You’re in the Alliance. Remember that hubbub with Marie’s turning? They changed the rules on the human thing. As long as you don’t suddenly start to grow a tail, no one will care.

I forced myself to type in an LOL in response, even though her remark was too close for comfort. I did grow a tail in my changeling form.

Here’s the thing with shifters, she sent back quickly. They’re super scent-attuned. Like right now, I can smell that you reek of that big kitty-cat sitting right next to you, which means you two are sharing close quarters. Not judging, just pointing it out.

I bit my lip, trying not to grin. We might be.

So I’m guessing he is the prey that keeps getting away. Yes?

He . . . might be.

Tease!

Okay, he is. And he sucks at tuning in to flirting.

I have experience with that. Again, I heard her giggle over at her computer, and I couldn’t resist smiling at mine. Ramsey wasn’t exactly forthcoming when we got together. Okay. Without delving into personal lives too much (because my Huggy Bear would kill me if I shared all our secrets), let me give you a tip. Remember what I said about shifters and sense of smell?

Yes? I resisted the urge to drum my fingers impatiently.

It’s very keen. They can smell everything. Fear, because it brings on a sour kind of sweat. And arousal, because it brings on . . . well, a different kind of wetness. Do you get me?

Oh wow. I had no idea! So if I want him to know I’m turned on . . .

Yeah. Pretty much just walking past him will do it. It’s very hard for them to resist. BUT I TOTALLY DID NOT TELL YOU THAT.

My lips are sealed.

I eyed Hugh speculatively, unable to stop smiling as he frowned down at the glossy pages of the magazine, trying to make heads or tails of a picture of a royal wedding.

My chat program pinged again. I glanced back to the computer.

So . . . Sara had typed. Since we are sharing secrets . . .

Oh, no. I felt a sick sort of dread in my stomach. Had she figured out what I was? I forced myself to reach for the keyboard. Yes?

Exactly what kind of shifter is he? He smells like cat, but . . . different. Earthy. It’s kind of hard to describe. Like . . . cat hair times ten. Normally the wolf nose isn’t a fan of cougars, and right now, I hate to say it, but your boyfriend there stinks.

I smothered a laugh.

Hugh glanced over at me sharply.

“Just . . . read something funny. That’s all.” I glanced over at Sara, but she was still typing away at her game, acting as if nothing was going on. “Go back to your magazine.”

He frowned at me, then turned another glossy page, his nose wrinkling up with distaste when he ran across a perfume sample. “This book smells foul.”

“It’s perfume,” I said, leaning across the desk toward him. The action pushed my breasts up and the neckline of my shirt down, and I made sure Hugh got an eyeful. “It’s supposed to smell nice.”

“It does not,” he said in a low voice. “It is putrid. My eyes are watering.”

“Grumpy,” I teased. I slid my wrist under his nose playfully. “Women rub it on their pulse points so they smell good. Like here.” I wiggled my wrist at him. “And then here.” I reached back and touched under my earlobe. “And . . . here.”

I brushed a finger between my breasts and gave him an arch smile.

He stared where I touched my breasts. Stared hard. Then turned back to the magazine and violently flipped to the next page.

The chat program pinged several times in a row. I slid back to my chair, still smiling, and glanced over at it. Sara had typed several lines.

Yeah.

That guy says he’s not interested?

TOTAL LIAR.

I saw the way he just looked at your boobs. I’m telling you. Scent. It always works in your favor.

Sara was awesome. I was totally going to use this information to my advantage. It’s good advice. Thanks, Sara.

You still didn’t tell me what kind of shifter he is.

I hesitated. It wasn’t exactly a secret, was it? It just raised a lot of questions that had no answers. Questions that I didn’t want asked at the moment, in case they pointed back to me. So I typed a vague answer. He’s a rare form of tiger. His family’s from some little third world country, and they don’t see a lot of outsiders. And I stared at the monitor, waiting to see if she’d accept that.

Her reply came a few seconds later. Gotcha. Tigers do have a unique stink to them.

He doesn’t smell, I chided her.

He does to the wolf nose.

I’m glad I’m human, then, I sent back playfully, testing to see how much she knew.

I’m glad you are, too!

I breathed a small sigh of relief at that. Sara hadn’t guessed what I was.

Just then, Marie popped on to chat. I immediately sent her a Hello and waited for her to respond.

Hey, girl! You’re finally talking to me! What happened at the café?

More pinky swear stuff. Can’t talk about it.

Merde!

I know. Sorry.

You’re lucky that we’re friends. So. What are you doing in so early?

Working on projects. The usual. Got a minute?

Of course. I’m between meetings, but I don’t have to dash for another fifteen, which is good. Beau’s a good boss but I’m not sure I’m a fan of conference calls, and we sure do have a lot of those. She typed in a smiley face sticking its tongue out.

Beats unemployment, you doofus, I sent back.

That it does.

So . . . let me ask you a question. Time to play it smooth; that way, Marie wouldn’t guess what was up. I’m seeing a guy, I began to type. Sorta. Except he thinks we’re just friends and I want to be more than friends. How can I ease into sexytimes without him freaking out?

There was a long pause.

Then, I am laughing over here, she wrote back. You’re asking ME for romantic advice? You’re the one that flirts with anything with a penis.

I was starting to get annoyed with the fact that everyone seemed shocked that I wanted romantic help. Yes. Just answer the question.

Okay, well. If it was Josh and I was in the mood and he wasn’t—which has never, ever happened, for the record—I guess I’d start by making it all about him. Like, oh you poor baby, did you have a hard day? Let me rub your shoulders and get you a beer. And then sexy rubdown turns into more. But for the record? Josh is never not in the mood. He—

Oversharing, I typed back quickly.

—seriously gets turned on by the sight of my oldest, rattiest pajamas. What? Oversharing? You asked!

Yeah, but now I’m picturing you and Josh in bed together. Actually, wait, this is good picturing. Josh is hot. Is he naked?

Back off, woman. He’s mine! Picture me raising my hands and pretending to claw your eyes out in jealousy.

I chuckled at my screen. Funny, funny.

I know. I crack me up. Now go be a good little office worker and drink your daily quart of Red Bull and get back to work, unless you want to tell me more about this mysterious man.

You can’t see it, I typed, but I have my pinky in the air.

Curse you and your inevitable pinky.

I grinned and looked over at Hugh thoughtfully. Would that work? Fawning all over him and offering to rub his shoulders? I admired his shoulders from afar. They were really nice ones. I wouldn’t mind getting to put my hands on those. And maybe I could lead him into giving me a massage, too.

I thought on this as I opened a work folder and began to type.

In the early, early hours of the morning after work, we stopped by my apartment again and checked things out. Still no signs of other fae or any unusual scents. Hugh seemed to be pleased but suspicious. I raided my apartment for more sexy underwear, a cute baby-doll nightie that had been on sale and I hadn’t been able to resist (despite having had no one to wear it for), and a bottle of unscented body oil, since I sometimes had dry skin in the winter and that worked better than lotion, given my scaly other-self.

We checked into a different hotel, and I rubbed at my shoulders and neck meaningfully as we got into the elevator. “Sure has been a long day, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Hugh agreed. “Your job is quite dull. You enter a square little room and stare at another square all day.”

I blinked at him. Well, that was one way of looking at it. I knew he was bored babysitting me, though. We’d headed out to the local bookstore a few minutes before they’d closed, and I’d bought him some picture books on medieval warfare and The Pop-Up Battle Book. He’d been fascinated by them and had paged through them for hours on end without bothering me, which had allowed me to work with customers and get my job done. I’d drawn up the schedules for the upcoming month and created flyers for the scheduled events—even the sock party. It had been a productive night. “I got a lot done,” I told him, then rubbed at my neck again. “Though it’s hard on the back and shoulders.”

He said nothing. Not disagreeing, simply not all that interested in small talk.

“What about you?” I asked as we got off the elevator and onto our floor. “How is your back? You sat in that stool all night, so it has to be aching you.”

He turned to frown down at me. “I am a warrior. Minor aches and pains do not bother me.”

“Well, it’s not a question of your warrior-ness,” I said smoothly and inserted the key card in the door. “I mean, you could always take a nice hot bath.”

We entered the room, and sure enough, the tub was in the middle of the bedroom again. I’d selected this particular kind of room on purpose.

“I think not,” Hugh said in a flat voice, clearly reaching the same conclusion.

“You sure? I won’t mind. I want you to be at your peak physical prowess for guarding me, and if you’re all stiff, I worry that you won’t be able to handle it.” I sidled past him into the room and sat down on the foot of the bed, watching as he shut the door and began to run the rune around the edge. When he was done, he turned to look at me, and I smiled brightly. “You know what I think?”

He gave me a wary look, as if not quite trusting my sunny expression. “What?”

“I think I should massage your shoulders for you.”

The wary look intensified. “I never said they ached.”

“Yes, but mine do, and therefore I’m sure yours do, too.” I patted the end of the bed. “Come. It’s a human custom to massage each other,” I lied. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“It is?” He said it so flatly that it sounded more like a statement.

I nodded and patted the corner of the bed again. “Come over here and strip that shirt off.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then approached and sat on the edge of the bed carefully. It sank down hard at his weight—Hugh was enormous and packed with muscle—and I shifted backward so I didn’t fall into his lap.

Not that I would have minded, but he’d probably have bolted.

A moment later, he rolled his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head, and I sucked in a breath at all that masculine beauty before me. Hugh sure was easy on the eyes. His shoulders were enormously broad and tanned, and as I peered closer, I saw small white lines of scars crisscrossing his skin here and there. For some reason, they only added to his attractiveness, perhaps because they spoke of danger. I admired his back without touching him for a long moment, then I reached for my pink backpack and pulled out the body oil. I warmed it up a bit between my hands and lightly laid them on his shoulders.

He jerked in response, bolting to his feet.

I tumbled forward, barely able to catch myself before I slammed to the floor. My oily hands went to the bedspread and I winced, knowing I’d have a dry cleaning charge on my hotel bill when I checked out.

Hugh had turned and was staring at me with feral, almost wild, eyes, the whites disappearing. “What are you doing, Ryder?”

“I’m trying to rub your shoulders,” I said with a grimace. “It’s a friendly gesture, nothing more.”

He hesitated. “Nothing . . . more?”

“Do I look like I’ve turned into my monster?” I gave him an impatient look. Truth was . . . I’d felt it shift under my skin the moment I’d laid my hands on him. I’d fought it back like I’d never fought back before, biting the inside of my cheek to concentrate. His subsequent retreat (and my near fall on my face) had shoved my changeling side back into its hiding place. “You’re safe with me.”

“Very well. I . . . apologize.” He thumped back down again, the look on his face a mixture of frustration and pained determination.

It was almost funny . . . except for the fact that I was trying to seduce him. “Are you going to stay put this time?”

“Yes.”

At least he sounded contrite. It was probably the sight of me nearly taking a header that had changed his mind. I waited a few moments to see if he was going to get up again. Two oily spots gleamed on his tanned shoulders where I had touched him before, and they called to me. “I’m going to put my hands on you again,” I warned him.

“Very well,” he said, and I watched his back lock up and tense, anticipating my touch.

I bit back my chuckle at that and leaned forward, lightly putting my hands on his shoulders again. He jerked under my touch but didn’t get up again.

“Okay,” I told him, feeling my changeling side flex and begin to beckon under my skin. I fought it back as best I could, concentrating on Hugh before me. “Now I’m going to rub your shoulders. Close your eyes and stay still, all right?”

I watched him for a moment, but he didn’t get up or tense, and I experimentally slid my oily hands over his broad shoulders. His skin was hot, like a furnace, and touching it was far more pleasurable than it should have been. Just the heat coming off him filled me with lust, and running my fingers over his skin? Massaging those thick cords of muscle and running my hands along them?

It was surely the best thing I’d ever felt.

My monster had fully arrived, my nails lengthening and my skin becoming scaly. I felt the wings burst out of my back, felt my tail slither forth from the small of my spine, and bit my lip to keep from groaning with pain at the sensation. It was quickly gone, though, and the hands that flexed and rubbed Hugh’s neck and shoulders were scaly, but not a muddy green. More of an iridescent green that seemed to shine from within. My fingernails were no longer talons but smooth, pretty claws with dull tips, slightly longer and more curved than normal fingernails. Not grotesque.

He was right; I was changing.

Would Hugh like my new form? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I just continued to massage his neck, rubbing my thumbs against the sides of his spine, then dragging my nails down his skin.

He gave a low groan, the first sound he’d made.

I froze in place, waiting for him to flick me away once more, but he didn’t. He simply remained in place. His head bent forward, and he seemed to be asking for . . . more.

Ooooh.

My pulse throbbed heavy in my veins with excitement, and I kneaded his shoulders, my movements soft and sensual. I explored the hard ridges of his neck muscles, fascinated by them, and rubbed my knuckles against the base of his skull, where his hair had been shaved short. The bristle of it was thick and almost wiry, and I loved the striping. It made him unique. Different. I liked that about him. I liked that his lower arms were thickly furred, and that the stripes continued there. I wanted to run my hands all over him, but I worried he’d shy away again.

And I wanted to keep touching him. I loved the feel of his skin. The feel of him. The way his muscles flexed, hard but giving, as I massaged.

I couldn’t help it, either—I became aroused. I didn’t know when I’d become turned on by touching Hugh; for all I knew, it could have been as soon as I’d laid my oiled hands on him. But right now? My body ached to be touched. My nipples were hard with need, and my pulse had settled somewhere south of my belly button and beat there, steadily. When I shifted on the bed, I felt the slickness between my legs.

In front of me, Hugh stiffened, and I knew he scented my desire.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and then another groan escaped his throat. As I watched, his hands fisted on his legs, and his nails elongated into sharp claws again.

He’d lost control of his own beast. The sight of that made my breathing quicken, made my pulse race even faster. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. “Hugh?”

“What?” The word was more groan than question.

“Now do me,” I whispered.