J a saare, p.1
J A Saare, page 1
Hunger Undone
J. A. Saare
Copyright © October 2010
Dedication
No one would be who they are without the people who lift them up. Bells, this one is for you.
Chapter One
“Can I get you anything else, cowboy?”
Marshall Mackenzie shook his head and waved away the waitress without averting his attention from the large circular stage situated in the center of the room. Although his Stetson was low on his head, obscuring his face, he could see just past the peak to the dancer working the pole and engaging the crowd. She was a thing of beauty, just as breathtaking as he remembered. Her long, pale limbs moved gracefully as the sinewy muscles stretched and flexed, the disco globe directly overhead creating a rainbow effect that reflected off of her nearly nude body in shimmering holographic squares.
Three months had passed since she’d split from California without a trace and hauled ass to a different location, leaving him a wreck in the process. Not that he was surprised. Being singled out by his employer, Wolfe McCoy, always carried serious repercussions—especially when those being questioned or held under lockdown weren’t of the human variety. The government wasn’t as lax with things that went bump in the night, changed forms, or had the ability to cast magic.
It was a part of the reason he had been brought into the case that included the ever-private and impossible-to-get-close-to witch, Mira Jones, in the first place.
He stretched languidly in his chair, forcing the jaguar within to simmer down as he inhaled the succulent scent of the female who had haunted his dreams for weeks. He’d known what Mira was to him in the moment he snared her, drawn to her presence as only mates could be. Unlike vampires, who could identify their mates through smell alone, Therians required skin-to-skin contact to make the connection. As it happened, she didn’t grant him the opportunity to touch her until it was far too late to stop what had been set into motion.
It was bad luck that had torn them apart before they’d even had a chance to start and forced him to remain behind on the preternatural case that involved Bad Boys Inc. when she’d fled. It was hard to recruit shifters, which meant when the shit hit the fan, Marshall was usually spread pretty thin. Thankfully, he was due a vacation. It was a good thing he’d saved up his time, too, because it had taken weeks to find the sultry female mesmerizing the audience with lithe twists and turns of her supple body.
The music slowly died down, the lights dimmed, and appreciative hoots, hollers, and clapping followed as she collected her bra. Unlike the dancers before her, she didn’t attempt to lure tips from those sitting ringside with lingering glances or air kisses. Instead she collected the money tossed onto the stage, murmured her thanks with a sinful grin, and held her head high as she sashayed past the pole to the curtain at the back.
Marshall rose from his seat and started making his way to the rear of the club. Drunken patrons began flashing their dollar bills the minute music spilled from the speakers and a new dancer took the stage. He barely masked his disgust as he waded through the thick smoke and pungent scent of body odor and sweat, livid that his female had been forced to exist in such conditions in order to hide among the masses. Once he took Mira out of this hellhole, he would ensure she never returned to it. After tonight, she would never be forced to sell herself in any fashion to survive.
The guard blocking the hallway to the back didn’t give Marshall any trouble, not when he pulled his duster aside, flashed the badge on his belt, and revealed the sidearm nestled under his arm. His notable size and height were usually enough to get the job done, but having the backing of a Browning pistol and Uncle Sam in situations like these certainly didn’t hurt.
Once he stepped past, he took his time, walking confidently toward the back of the building. Nude females crammed the dressing space he entered as he pushed aside the heavy curtain at the end of the hall. Most were staring into the mirrored vanities bolted into the walls, but a few were relaxed on the large leather couch on the far left of the room. He didn’t pay attention to the lusty stares that darted in his direction, transfixed on the redhead who stood at a locker directly in front of him with her back turned. She closed the snaps on her blood red bra as he neared, her matching boy short panties already in place, hugging the luscious curves of her ass.
He knew that she could hear him as he approached, as she’d teased him the first night they’d met about his boots and the very distinctive sound they made as he walked. At the time he’d bullshitted his way around her observation, claiming they were the most comfortable footwear around, but what he wanted to tell her was that the heels of his boots were as essential as a belled collar, keeping him from getting shot by a comrade when he moved too quietly and caught them off guard.
He smiled at the memory. Even then, the desire to share everything with her was present.
“Stop right there, Marshall,” she said quietly as she turned, sending long tendrils of vibrant, flaming scarlet over her shoulder. “Don’t come one step closer.”
He couldn’t prevent the throaty growl that rose from his chest. Her voice was as sultry as her body and face. So damned sexy he couldn’t help but respond. Blood flowed to his cock, firming the flesh that had not found release in the warm cradle of a female since he’d faced off against the witch who was now scowling at him.
“Do you think you can stop me after I came all this way, darlin’?” he drawled and continued advancing, purposefully ignoring her request.
“I think I could try.” She met his stare without flinching, her hazel irises flashing a beautiful grass green. “Are you sure you want to go there? You can’t trick me this time.”
He stepped closer to her, placed one hand on the wall just over her head, and whispered as he bowed over her shorter frame, “You’re surrounded by people who I’m wagering don’t know a damned thing about who or what you are. I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Damn you.” She peered over his shoulder, undoubtedly validating his observation. When she returned her gaze to him, he could see the fury radiating through her thinned lips and furrowed brows. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be coy, sweetness.” He brought a hand up, slowly brushed his knuckles over the soft swell of her breast, and grinned when she gasped. Her lower lip quivered, and her cheeks turned an alluring shade of crimson. Lowering his voice, he said, “You know exactly why I’m here.”
Muted whispers sounded from behind, and she caved her chest and moved away from his touch, slapping at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
He arched a brow at her and leaned closer, until his lips were against the shell of her ear. “Funny, the last time were in this position, you were begging me to touch you all over.”
“Bastard,” she snapped, her eyes shimmering with anger and resentment as she arched her neck to glare at him.
She turned then and retrieved clothing from the locker. Her hands were trembling as she stepped away to slide into a pair of green velour pants and a matching cotton camisole. The red bra straps were visible underneath, and for some strange reason, the visual revved him up even more. She kept a distance as she folded her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture.
“Well?” she stated defiantly. “What do you want?”
He smiled, and she met the gesture with another scowl. “Do you really want me to put you over my shoulder and carry you out of here, Mira?” He noted the wince when he used her given name. The whispers at his back intensified, revealing that she had, in fact, been living under the alias of a dead woman as his sources had revealed when he’d finally struck pay dirt and learned where she had settled down.
She shook her head, struggling for words, and reached past him for the purse hanging from the peg inside the locker. As she closed the rectangular metal door with a click, she sighed. “Fine, we’ll do this somewhere else. But I’m not leaving the club with you.”
“Is that so?” he asked in a husky rasp and stepped into her personal space once more.
“Cut the shit,” she hissed and glanced around him again. Stepping closer, she continued, “Let me guess, you want me to track down someone else? Give you the location of some other soul so you can interrogate them for your bullshit agency?” She laughed, shaking her head. “What’s the plan? Seduce me again? Wait until I’m practically pleading for relief before you bring in the big guns?”
His grin vanished, replaced by anger. He forced his temper to cool before he responded. “I have a room upstairs. We’ll talk there.”
“No way.” She stepped back, placing the bulky purse draped over her shoulder between them, her distrust evident. “I will not go to a room willingly with you. I learned my lesson the last time.”
“You will go with me willingly, or I’ll carry you.” He snagged her arm when she tried to move and turned so that his back blocked out the room, preventing anyone from seeing her. “The last time was a misunderstanding that I take full credit for. I reacted impulsively, and you were embarrassed and hurt as a consequence. But I can promise you that the only big gun you’ll meet tonight”—he yanked her close, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her against him, until they were hip to hip and she could feel the hard outline of his notable erection—“will be this one right here, darlin’.”
Despite the anger he could scent, he knew she was also aroused. Her full, berry-colored lips parted, and her pupils dilated wide. He shuddered when she brought her hand up, placed it against his chest, and pushed. Her touch was electric, her nearness heaven. He didn’t bother asking for permission whe
Bygones would be bygones. He fucked it up before, but it was time to make amends. Hell or high water, she was his female, and he was not going to exist without her.
Not anymore.
Chapter Two
Mira scrambled away from Marshall the instant he placed her on her feet inside his room. She was angry. She was hurt. And she wanted him so badly that she despised herself for it. Her cheeks were flushed, and her body was quaking. For someone who made a living by shedding her clothes on the stage, she was now reduced to virginal schoolgirl mannerisms.
Because beneath the lust she was experiencing, there was also a sobering amount of fear.
This is what happened the last time she’d come in contact with the dangerous cat shifter so many months ago, something so powerful she’d felt as if she was enraptured by a spell or potion. A drink at the bar she’d visited to relax and unwind following an extremely long day turned into something more when he strode up to the counter, offered to buy her a drink, and after exchanging in some very explicit verbal foreplay, invited her to his hotel room. It was impossible to say no. In a town that was overpopulated by preening metrosexual men, Marshall’s Texan accent, alluring smile, and scruffy features drew her like a cat to cream.
Her lapse in judgment had led to her spending several weeks inside a locked-down facility where she was forced to use her ability to trace locations and procure the names of several preternatural people her capturers were searching for. Marshall had tried to convince her that her confinement was a mistake, something he wasn’t able to remedy but something he deeply regretted nonetheless. She’d done all she could to harden herself against the man, but it was always futile. The truth was he lit a fire inside her that no amount of space or anger could extinguish.
Armed with the bitter and powerful vestiges of fear, anger, and despair, she steeled herself not to react and to show no interest. Unfortunately—and to her dismay—Marshall Mackenzie hadn’t changed at all since she’d last seen him.
His charming nature and gorgeous cowboy looks were deceptive in their ability to lure you in so you never sensed the trap. He was tall, standing well over six feet, and built like a ball-busting running back who could also block or take a hell of a hit when necessary. Silken black hair peered out from his equally dark Stetson hat, and his squared chin with a slight dimple was lined with heavy stubble that she also remembered quite well. His full lips were a luscious shade of pink, complementing his bristled, tanned skin.
She glanced into his face, taking in his distinguished features, and turned away when his emerald gaze met hers. It appeared that hadn’t changed either. His stare was a potent weapon, creating a hot pool of desire between her legs that she knew he could smell despite her efforts to hide it.
“Careful, Mira.” His voice was rough, the syllables raspy. “I’m already primed for you.”
“That’s your problem, not mine,” she said with more confidence than she felt and walked to the fridge tucked under the counter. If there was one positive thing to be said about Vegas, it was that alcohol was always in a ready abundance. Right now, drowning her fantasy of pouncing on top of the man standing across from her was sounding better and better.
Marshall chose to remind her of how different he was from ordinary men when he crossed the distance and stopped her before she could open the small squared door. His speed was uncanny, as was his ability to move so quietly his victims couldn’t perceive the sound of impending danger in enough time to defend themselves. She stood silently as he rubbed his thumb across the smooth, vulnerable expanse of her wrist, his callused touch surprisingly erotic.
He hesitated before he spoke. “I know I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. That night was my fault. I admit it. I was so shocked to experience what it felt like to have you near that I reacted without thinking. I didn’t mean for it to end like it did, and I would do anything to change it.”
“You didn’t do anything to change it. That’s the problem.”
She tried to pull away, and he held firm. “I did try to smooth things over. You were the one who sent me away,” he reminded her. “Each time I came to you to explain, you refused to talk. I only left because you told me to. That was your choice, not mine.”
She lifted her head and faced him with a bravado she didn’t think she was capable of. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You got what you wanted. Now I want you to leave me alone.”
“Don’t even go there, sweetness.” The portion of his iris near the pupil shifted to a bright yellow. “I didn’t get anything I wanted, and you know it.”
Exhaustion and fury overwhelmed her, cracking her resolve to remain calm and collected. Here Marshall was, talking about missing out on a rip-roaring good lay, while she was living in a filthy slum, shaking her tits and ass for the masses and hoping like hell she could escape the heat that Marshall had placed on her head.
“You are such an asshole. You have no idea what I’ve been through because of you. None.”
Torment and shame flickered across his face. “I know more than you think.”
She wanted to scream at him but knew it wouldn’t do a damned bit of good. They’d been in this same place before, and none of their talking had ever resolved anything.
Wrenching her hand free, she told him, “It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. I’ve moved on, and I suggest you do the same.”
He had her pressed against the wall in a flash, one hand at her waist as the other fisted in the hair at her nape. His eyes were shimmering peridot now, quickly turning canary yellow.
“You’d better not be saying what I think you are.” He thrust his hips into hers, pinning her in place.
The firm ridge of his cock was hard and unrelenting against her stomach, the broad tip prodding her belly button. “You belong to me, Mira. I warned you before you took off like a thief in the night. Once we met, our fates were sealed.”
She stopped squirming when that unforgiving length of steel became longer and harder against her, and liquid heat pooled from her sex in response. He did tell her that he believed she was his mate the night she’d fled. Shitty timing on his part, as she’d been informed that morning they were setting her free, and she bolted the moment he’d been pulled from her room to take care of something on the premises. There was no way she would have lived a life in which she turned on her own kind, giving them up like candy-wrapped prizes.
It made her ill when she imagined Marshall coming on to her for the sole purpose of using her ability for his own personal gain. Sure, he’d gotten the shock of his life when the predator under his skin got wise to what she was to him the moment their skin touched, but the fact remained the same.
He worked for people who captured and disposed of their kind.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked softly, studying her.
“I’m thinking that you’re a liar and a traitor.”
His eyes narrowed. “Judging me without hearing my side? Why am I not surprised?”
“Because it’s true?”
“Because you never would listen, no matter what I said,” he corrected. “You were so determined to find deception in my motives. I hoped that when we had time alone . . .” He paused when she nailed him with a look of outrage at the remembrance of her time in what she considered a prison, despite the luxury accommodations he made sure she was provided. “Real time alone,” he clarified smoothly and rotated his hips, eliciting a moan that she couldn’t bite back. “We could talk and clear the air.”
“Stop crowding me.” She rested her palms on his chest, over the cotton T-shirt that was warm to the touch—a consequence of his unusually high body temperature.
“I can’t help it.” He dipped his head and brushed his cheek against hers, the bristles on his chin impossibly soft. “I’ve been aching for you. Going out of my fucking mind. Do you have any idea what it’s like to yearn for the only one who can complete you? To know that she’s out there somewhere, waiting for you come and claim her as your own?” Pulling away, he looked into her eyes. “It’s maddening. So intense it’s impossible to breathe.”
