Warlock and the Bear Read online

  “You fucking asshole,” she hissed, beginning to struggle against him. He stopped her with negligent ease, a big hand around the nape of her neck and a hard thigh between both of hers. His thumb brushed just under her ear and rendered her a weak, puddle of ohmygod need.

  “Stay still,” he warned in an undertone as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her skin where his thumb had just been, lover-like. “He’s still there. We want to sell this, don’t we?”

  “Bastard,” she hissed, but she stayed where she was. They were only in this situation because of Bennett. If she pushed Morgan away now, then they’d be right back to square one.

  “I’ll have you know that my parents were married,” he rumbled, nuzzling just under her ear. “And to each other, before you say anything.”

  She stilled at the information. He’d never mentioned his family before. When she’d asked Dean a few years ago where the warlock was from, he’d reminded her that oathbreakers were outcasts. Disowned by their families. Whoever Morgan’s family had been, he didn’t have anything to do with them. He was on his own.

  She snorted. “Don’t need to be illegitimate to be an asshole, though, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m an asshole,” he argued. “I identify more as a dick.”

  “You got that right.” Her lips wanted to curve into a smile, but she locked it down.

  He was not funny. No way. No how. Cute. But not funny.

  “So we have to do this? Pretend to be a couple.”

  She made sure to stress the word pretend. Because that’s all they were doing. As hot and sexy as the warlock was, he wasn’t for her. She’d spend most of her time wanting to climb him like a tree, granted, but the other half wanting to throttle him. It just wouldn’t work.

  “Yup,” he breathed, his teeth grazing against her earlobe. She fought down the shiver and locked her knees so she didn’t end up a little puddle on the ground at his feet. Wouldn’t he just love that? Probably make a comment about other activities while she was down there.

  “If you stick your tongue in my ear, I’ll fucking gut you, asshole,” she warned, and he chuckled, pushing away from her. Instantly, she missed the feeling of his hard, muscled body against hers.

  “Noted. And we’re good, he’s gone.” He looked down at her, blue eyes dark with something she didn’t want to recognize. “Okay sweetcheeks, your place or mine?”

  Chapter 3

  Lilly’s place was complete and utter chaos.

  Morgan stood in the doorway of the living room and felt like he’d been physically assaulted. It wasn’t that the place was untidy. Not quite. It was there was stuff…everywhere. A large L-shaped sofa dominated the room, covered in throws and pillows in cozy fabrics and textiles. The sort of tactile offering he’d come to expect from bears. They loved to cuddle down into things. Beds, sofas… someone’s arms.

  He fought back the memory of Lilly nestled in his arms, and the accompanying physical reaction. She hadn’t been there because she wanted to be, but because of bloody Bennett Allan. Didn’t make his reaction, or the aching erection that accompanied it, any less real, though. He’d have reacted the same to any woman all over him like that, he told himself, not just Lilly.

  He carried on looking around the room. The bookcase overflowed, books stacked next to it and on the coffee table. Although books weren’t all the bookcase contained. There were candles and little ornaments, wooden boxes lodged between the books and photos. So many photos.

  They filled the mantlepiece, the open fireplace of which dominated the room. Baskets of logs on either side said the sexy she-bear liked to cuddle up in front of a log fire in the evening.

  A smile creased his lips. His little Lilly was a hoarder. Definitely a hoarder. One with a fondness for cute little animal ornaments, and romance books. She was a closet romantic. A fact that was totally at odds with her hard as nails attitude as an enforcer.

  His amusement fled when he almost tripped over a pair of high heels in the doorway.

  “What the f…”

  His eyes widened. They were hooker heels. Higher than any person should be able to walk in, and black patent leather. The same kind dancers in strip clubs wore.

  His blood heated at the sight of them as he imagined Lilly in one of the little outfits the dancers wore. Less. Then his imagination took him on a little joyride where Lilly gave him a very personal dance. He growled as his cock punched to full mast, hard and aching against the inside of his jeans.

  “Watch out in there,” Lilly called out from the kitchen. “I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I haven’t tidied up. Give me a few, and I will.”

  “What are these?” he demanded, walking into the kitchen with the heels looped on one finger.

  Her eyes widened fractionally for a moment before she set a bland look on her face and continued to dry and put away the dishes. “We call those shoes.”

  “Hahaha.” His dry tone indicated his lack of amusement. “Why do you have them?”

  She winged an eyebrow up at him. “Well, usually I put them on my feet…you know, so I don’t cut myself when I go outside.”

  “I live above a club, Lilly,” he growled. “I know a pair of pole-dancers shoes when I see them. What I’d like to know is why you have them?”

  “Because I’ve been learning to pole-dance, why else?”

  “What? When?” he exploded, then frowned. “I’ve never seen you at the club.”

  She chuckled and put the last of the dishes away. “That’s because you’re never there when class is on.”

  “Class?”

  He groaned, putting two and two together.

  Sandy, one of the regular dancers, was a fitness instructor.

  “I thought those classes were for aerobics.” For old ladies.

  Not pole dancing. Definitely not pole dancing. And absolutely, definitely, not Lilly pole dancing.

  She shrugged as she tried to move past him in the doorway. “Pole-dancing is excellent aerobic activity. You should try it sometime.”

  “I’d rather try something else,” he growled as he blocked her path.

  The shoes thudded to the floor by his feet as he turned, pinning her up against the door frame.

  The kiss outside the lodge, while it had been hot as hell, had been to prove to Bennett, lurking in the tree-line unseen, that Lilly was his. This kiss was different. This kiss was for him. Because he wanted to. Because he couldn’t go another moment without tasting her again, without feeling her soft curves pressed up against him.

  And this time he knew what she tasted like, so he had half a second to anticipate before his lips covered hers. But his lips had barely touched down, he’d barely gotten a taste of the sweetness of her mouth parted under his, when something hard and sharp pressed against the inside of his thigh.

  He froze, opening his eyes to find Lilly looking at him, her eyes dark with her bear, and realized she had a claw pressed against his inner thigh. Master warlock he might be, but magic would do fuck all if she shredded his femoral artery.

  “We might be forced to play a part here,” her voice held a deepness that warned him she was not playing. “But you do not get to grab me any time you feel like it. Pretend, remember? And as long as you do, then we’ll get on just fine.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks.” He lifted his hands in surrender, taking a careful step back. Away from her and the claw in his crotch. “Just wanted to spread the love, that’s all.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure you tell all the girls that. Let’s get one thing straight. I am not one of your groupies. We’ll get this done, get Bennett un-matestruck, and then we’re done. Reading me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled, but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “Loud and clear.”

  “Good. You can sleep on the couch. I’ll throw some bedding down.” She bent, scooped up her shoes, and walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

  His breath punched out of his lungs as soon as she left the room. Groan
ing, he leaned against the doorframe and considered just beating his head against the wood. What had possessed him to grab her like that? He was a fucking idiot.

  If he wanted to get laid there were easier options. None of whom would hold lethal claws up close and personal with his family jewels.

  So why was the only woman who interested him the one woman who’d rather shred his dick than touch him willingly?

  It was the dream again. The one he always had. The one he woke from in a cold sweat with the sheets tangled around him. That was, if he could tear himself from the dream’s clutches.

  It was always the same. He was running through the woods near the home he’d grown up in. Running endlessly through the trees away from the big house behind him. Away from the empty corridors and cold, soulless rooms of the coven. It wasn’t a place of happy memories and soft, fuzzy childhood games. It was a place of tradition and protocol. Of duty and strict lessons designed to turn him into his father. A coven leader determined that his son should follow in his footsteps. A fate he’d run hard and fast from.

  In the dream he was looking for someone. Desperately looking for someone. His mind always shied away from who. He never saw her. Never caught up with her. Even though he knew she was there, she was always too far ahead of him. Always just around the next corner or through the next doorway. Sometimes he got close enough to hear her laughter, close enough to catch a glimpse of her skirts sweeping around the corner, close enough to smell her perfume.

  But he could never catch her, even though every cell in his body told him he had to. No matter how fast he ran, or how hard he tried, it made no difference.

  He’d tried everything. He took different routes, both public and through the secret passageways known only to a select few, to try and cut her off. It didn’t matter though.

  She always slipped away from him, and each time, the agony of loss brought him to his knees in the main hall with portraits of his noble family, all coven leaders, through the ages.

  This time was no different.

  He raced through the coven, turning this way and that. Desperation rode him. He had to catch her. This time, he had to catch her. His heart pounded as he raced down the wide corridors.

  The scent of her perfume was stronger than he’d ever smelled it. He’d almost seen her hair as she’d swept through the door ahead of him. He’d never been so close. In all these years, he’d never been so close.

  Hope filled him. This time. He was actually going to catch her this time. After all these years. Anticipation coursed through him, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he crashed out through the door.

  And… he was eight years old again, standing in the coven hall, looking for the mother he’d never see again.

  Because she’d left. Left the coven. Left his father. Him…

  “Why!? Why do you bring me here all the time?” He raged at the portraits around him. “Haven’t I suffered enough? I get it, she’s gone. She’s not coming back. Happy now?”

  He dropped to his knees with his head bowed and his eyes closed. This was how the dream went. Sometimes he tried to wake himself up, but this time, he didn’t bother. Once the dream got hold of him this bad, it wouldn’t let him go until the morning.

  “Shhh! It’s okay,” A soothing voice murmured in his ear, and he started in surprise. Had she come back? Finally? After all these years?

  “I got you. You’re okay. Go to sleep.”

  He couldn’t open his eyes. A delicious warmth spread through his body like a large, weighted blanket and robbed him of his strength. A soft moan escaped him as he was pulled from the dream, the hard floor beneath his knees disappearing and becoming a soft mattress. Gentle fingers stroked through his hair, tumbling him further into sleep before he could wake properly and see if his rescuer was real or just another dream.

  Because cast-iron balls Braun would never hold him like this, ease his fears, and watch over him as he slept. No, it had to be another dream. Another figment of his fevered imagination. The need to have something… someone… for himself manifesting because of the situation.

  Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Just a dream.

  “No! No!”

  The cry stopped Lilly in her tracks halfway across the landing. Still damp from her shower, she wrapped her towel tighter around herself and looked down the stairs. That had been Morgan’s voice.

  Perhaps the rogue bears had come back and somehow gotten in? She padded down the first step. The hall at the bottom of the stairs was dark, just a few slices of light throwing abstract patterns across the floor.

  “Please… Don’t go!”

  Shit. It was definitely Morgan and he was begging someone, a tortured note in his voice. The sound was one she would never have thought to hear from the self-assured hunk.

  Who was he talking to?

  Despite herself, she snuck down a couple of steps. Lightly, just in case he was on the phone with someone and heard her. She was fairly sure he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted someone to see him when he was vulnerable.

  “Please. Don’t leave me!”

  The plea this time ended on a whimper, and she was done. Whoever it was, she was giving them a piece of her mind. Morgan Jones might be a pain in the ass and a jerk at times, but he was part of her clan, and she protected her clan. Always.

  Her bear’s snarl erupted from her throat as she hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She hooked a hand around the post to spin herself into the sitting room in a practiced move to face whoever Morgan was pleading with.

  And stopped dead.

  There was no one in the room but Morgan.

  She frowned and focused on him stretched out on the sofa bed that dominated her living room. He was asleep, his hair a wild mess around his face as he thrashed in the sheets.

  “Please, mom. Don’t go, I need you,” Morgan begged again in a rough voice, the deep tones contrasting sharply with the child-like plea.

  Shit. He was having a nightmare. A bad one by the sounds of it. About his mother.

  “Hey, Morgan. You awake, bud?”

  She kept her voice low and soft as she crept forward. It was never wise to wake a sleepwalker abruptly, and while he wasn’t sleepwalking, it was kind of the same thing. Wasn’t it?

  And the last thing she wanted was to wake him and get turned into a frog or something for her troubles.

  But he didn’t wake.

  “Morgan?”

  At the side of the bed, she touched his shoulder gently, trying to shake him awake. He rolled onto his back, arm up over his face, and the sound of pain he made almost tore the heart right out of her chest there and then.

  “Shhh!” she whispered, sliding into the bed next to him. "It’s okay.”

  Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, bringing him close to stroke her fingers over the back of his neck and shoulders. He was huge, his heavily muscled body easily dwarfing hers, but right now that didn’t matter. All that mattered was easing his pain. “I got you. You’re okay. Go to sleep.”

  He murmured, but the sounds of pain started to recede. She carried on making soothing noises, sliding her fingers through his hair as she held him. Trying to give comfort and ease his distress. He didn’t wake up. Instead, he sighed, and his breathing leveled out as he slipped deeper into sleep.

  A few minutes of quiet later, she figured he was asleep enough for her to slip from the bed and let him rest comfortably. But as soon as she moved, he turned over and wrapped a strong arm around her waist and held her captive against him.

  “No. Don’t go.” His voice was low and raspy with sleep, the words whispered against the side of her neck.

  She froze, her eyes wide. Was he awake? Had he been awake this whole time? But he didn’t speak again, his breathing long and easy, the thud of his heart strong where his chest was pressed against her back.

  Slowly, she relaxed. She should stay a little while, she told herself, to make sure he didn’t drop back into the nightmare. Just
five minutes, then she’d extricate herself from his hold and go upstairs to bed.

  Within three, she was asleep.

  Morgan woke slowly. Comfortable and with that warm, fuzzy feeling that spoke of deep sleep and good rest. So much so that he didn’t question the warm, curvy body wrapped around him. He just accepted it and pulled his female companion closer to nuzzle the side of her neck.

  A low rumble of appreciation filled his throat as the scent of warm woman and whatever she’d used on her skin—a combination of flowers and woods after the rain—surrounded him. It was instantly, deeply familiar to his sleep-addled brain so he didn’t question it.

  He’d never been lacking in female companionship, so waking with a woman in his bed was nothing new. What was new, though, was the need to keep her close. Normally all he was interested in when he woke was a round of morning sex, but not today. He was just as happy to snuggle, a deep sense of contentment filling him.

  His eyes still closed, he savored the feeling of holding her, her soft curves pressed up against the harder planes of his body. She was still asleep, her steady, deep breathing calming to him on a soul-deep level.

  A murmur in the back of his throat, he nuzzled her neck, kissing along the soft skin and was rewarded with a shiver and a little sound of pleasure he instantly wanted to hear again. So he kissed again, a little trail of butterfly kisses against the satin skin. Working his way down to where her shoulder met her neck, he grazed his teeth gently against her delicate skin and smiled as her breathing caught on a little moan.

  She was so sensitive, so responsive. His body surged to life, his cock, at half mast when he’d woken, punching to full mast to press against the back of her thigh. All he had to do was urge her forward, lift her leg a little, and he could slide balls deep into her welcoming softness.

  But he wouldn’t do that, not until she was good and ready for him. He could be an ass at times, but when it came to the bedroom, he’d never been accused of being selfish. Making sure his lady got off, several times, was what got him going.