Hour of the Lion, Cherise Sinclair [good story books to read TXT] 📗

'Oh God.' She held herself stiff for one second, then melted against him, all lush female.

Nuzzling the fine hair at her temple, he cupped her breast, so firm and soft at the same time, and rubbed his thumb over its tightly puckered nipple. When her breath hissed in, he nearly laid her down and took her right there in the grass.

Instead, he released her—although it felt as if he was ripping his insides out—and brushed his lips across hers. Teasing, light. Her mouth was tender, full, enticing as she opened to him.

Her hands slid up his chest, twined around his neck and she pulled him—the female had muscles—against her. His sex pressed against her stomach even as her breasts flattened on his chest, and the sensations shot through him like he‘d fallen full into Gathering time.

He ran his hands down her back and took one sweet ass-cheek in each palm. 'Herne, I‘ve been wanting my hands right here since I met you,' he whispered, squeezing gently, feeling a quiver course through her body. He angled the kiss—and bumped her cheek.

She winced, hissed in pain.

'Oh, hell.' His fingers did not want to relinquish their prey, but he let go and gripped her shoulders to move her away. 'You‘re hurt. And this is not the time.'

And not the person. Herne help him, he was charging straight for misery, no doubt about it.

She wasn‘t a shifter, dammit. Daonain weren‘t all that attracted to humans, so why now? This must not happen.

'When is a good time?' Her voice was throaty, like she‘d just woken up, just had sex, just—

He gritted out, 'Go. Now.'

'Oh, fine.'

If she stuck out that delectable bottom lip, he‘d have to bite it.

She merely huffed and turned away. But then, as she moved past him, she stroked one hand up the front of his jeans.

Vicious, evil female. He tightened so hard he almost groaned. Gritting his teeth, he watched her waltz up the steps and into her house.

And then, somehow, he managed to walk back to the jail.

Chapter Seven

The following Monday, Vic watched a black-tail deer spring up the winding mountain trail to disappear into the pines. She yawned and shook her head. Not much sleep, thanks to how the sexy sheriff had said good night. The way he kissed, the feel of his hard hands, even his smell—

God, she‘d wanted him. Good thing he‘d kept his head. Not smart, Sergeant, wanting to have sex with someone in the target population.

What bothered her now was that this afternoon, she‘d see Calum. Over the past few weeks, she‘d come to know him. He had a dry humor that didn‘t come close to masking that lethal aura of power and authority and intimidating self-confidence. The way he studied her, seeing more than she wanted to show. He was as honorable—and protective—as Alec. In an entirely different, but frightening way, he turned her on just as much. That was against the unwritten code—lusting after brothers, and so not like her. It was unreal.

Almost as unreal as her stroll through the woods. Sighing, she watched a little tree-person run along a pine branch, pause to stare down at her, and disappear.

Vic planted her butt on a convenient log and frowned. She‘d seen four tree-things on her walk. Or, maybe three—would a tree-thingie be considered the same as a bush-thingie? The bush one had looked smaller, its long fingers tipped with claws that had snagged her hair as she‘d pushed past some blackberry bushes.

Her eyes widened. No damn way—as a youngster, when blackberry thorns had caught her hair and clothing—had it really been a bizarre bush-person?

Nah. Even as a child, she‘d have spotted any bush-thingie grabbing her clothes. They seemed to live just in this area. Why this mountain was so populated with strange creatures she didn‘t know, but dammit, she‘d figure it out...starting with the shifters.

Damn shifters. It would be convenient if one would obligingly pop out and say, “Hi” . She glanced around hopefully.

No luck. Then again, she hadn‘t really expected to find a fuzzy werebeast slinking past.

She‘d just needed to get out of town for a while. Those two guys who‘d attacked her. She had to wonder if they‘d done it because of her...would it be her species? Would shifters be considered a separate race or species?

Yeah, she bet the two drunks were shifters. They‘d been too fast and strong, especially the old guy who should be in a wheelchair instead of trying to put his boot in her gut. Rising, she headed toward the sound of trickling water. After two sunny days, the drying pine needles underfoot crackled slightly as they released a tangy scent. It was so quiet she could hear the branches overhead rustle in the wind.

The desert seemed a long way away. But there were some nasty similarities. In Iraq, the question was: is that person a terrorist? Do they have a bomb underneath their clothing? Here, she had to ask: does this person turn into something with claws and whiskers in their spare time?

Alec had scratch scars across his face. Did that mean he‘d met a shifter…or was one? What would he do if she asked him about Lachlan‘s grandfather?

She shook her head. No, don"t bring it up with him for now. She already had suspects to stake out. Yeah, a couple of human-hating...things who in animal form would probably devour her for breakfast. After biting her into tiny pieces.

God, Lachlan‘s request was so not fair.

Thinking of fairness, what was all this ‗ owing‘ business anyway? These people sure had weird customs. She‘d have to ask Calum before they met her two attackers today. Breathing in a moist green scent, she discovered a tiny stream almost hidden by underbrush. She knelt and dipped her hand in the icy cold water. Such a pretty place, maybe she should— Wait. She stared at her knees. I knelt? When had the pain in her knee disappeared?

Slowly, she rose to her feet