Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set (4 page)

CHAPTER 7

S
he'd begged supplies from the main house, despite the cook's assurances she didn't need to make her own dinner. But Monica liked to cook. It helped her think. While chopping and slicing and sautéing, she could let her mind wander over all the possibilities.

Too bad most of the possibilities had involved going another round with the taciturn and delicious Jordan Leone instead of figuring out what exactly was attacking the menagerie.

There
was
a science to what she did, though you couldn't get most people to believe it. Tracking prints in the dirt or analyzing blood samples or simply calculating what sort of musculature would be needed for something to be able to jump over a wall. What sort of claws could dig through brick, what kind of hide was thick enough to fend off the bite of barbed wire. The Crew kept files. Made reports. She and her peers compared notes. But still, so much of what they did had to be based on speculation. When you couldn't prove something, that was all you could go on.

Vadim had sent her down here thinking she might be looking for a chupacabra. Never mind it wasn't killing goats and it was out of the normal territory associated with that beast—there weren't many things that could do whatever
this
thing was doing. Yet after looking over the pictures of the slaughter and having Jordan take her around the estate, Monica wasn't convinced. She'd been on a couple cases hunting chupacabras before, and while they could certainly cause a lot of damage, there'd never been one she'd seen or heard of that could drag away a full-grown tiger or even a half-sized mountain lion, for that matter.

Which meant this was probably something different. Something they didn't know about, hadn't ever seen. The tingle of anticipation had been with her all day long, and being so close to Jordan all afternoon hadn't helped much.

So, she cooked.

She'd never had jambalaya and wouldn't have dared to try it here in the land where it was considered comfort food, so she'd settled on something she knew without a doubt she could pull off. Nothing fancy, just pasta with a fresh tomato sauce and lots of onions, peppers and garlic. Fresh-grated parmesan. The cook had given her a loaf of sourdough bread, which she'd cut into splits and baked with some more parmesan and olive oil. Adding a salad of mixed greens and lots of extra veggies, she had a complete meal. Enough for two, as a matter of fact, which had been her plan all along.

“You didn't have to do this,” Jordan said from her doorway.

“I wanted to.” She waved him into the small dining area. A table set for two. The plates were white ceramic, heavy and serviceable and far from romantic...but romance wasn't what she really wanted. Was it?

For a half a minute, she was sure he was going to refuse her, but then he shook his head and moved toward the table. He took a seat. Then he looked at her.

“I should... I was running.”

“I saw you.” She'd watched him head off and return hours later. Sweating. Panting.

“I should shower first.”

“Sure,” she said. “If you want to.”

He didn't move. Monica smiled and set the bowl of pasta in front of him. Jordan fell on it like a starving beast, scooping a huge portion and digging in without so much as a second look. She served herself, eyeing him casually, though in reality she was taking in his every move.

“Good,” he grunted around a mouthful of bread.

“You were hungry, huh?”

Jordan paused. Chewed. Swallowed. He reached for the glass of red wine she'd set out and drained half the glass before answering her. “Yes.”

“Good,” Monica echoed him and set to eating her own portion. She hadn't been exercising as he had, but she managed to put away a decent amount of pasta before she sat back in her chair to rub her belly.

Jordan had cleared his plate, plus the salad and most of the bread, and was looking hopefully toward the kitchen. “Is there more?”

“Yes. Plenty. Help yourself.” Monica watched him get up. The view from the back was as nice as the one from the front.

He caught her looking when he came back. She didn't pretend to be embarrassed. He frowned, settling into his chair.

“I'm not on the menu,” he said. “In case you were hoping for dessert.”

Monica burst into laughter. “Oh. Was I that obvious?”

“No, actually, you're not obvious at all.” He sat back in his chair and gave her a look so stern it made her sit back, too.

“Erm,” she said finally when it was clear that was all he was going to say. “Sorry?”

Jordan swiped at his mouth with a paper napkin and flung it down, then got up to pace a little bit. “I mean, what the hell was last night?”

Before she could answer, not that she had any clue what to say, he'd turned on his heel and stalked over to her. He should've been intimidating—and he was, or he would be if she hadn't faced actual monsters, not just some guy with his boxers in a twist. When he leaned to get in her face, though, she did pull back a little.

“I thought you were in trouble,” he snapped.

“So you figured you'd save me?” Monica snapped back. “Well, that's noble and all, but I promise you, I can take care of myself.”

“I've seen what that thing can do. You haven't, not firsthand.”

She put a hand on his bare chest, no longer sweaty. He'd taste like salt, she thought. And fuck, that made her want to lick him.

“I've seen other things, Jordan. I'm not a shrinking flower—”

His hands gripped her upper arms, tight. She was up and out of the chair before she knew it. She thought he meant to kiss her, and she was already opening her mouth for it, but instead, he shook his head. His dark hair had fallen over his eyes.

“The next thing I know, you've got me fucking you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “And that's it. Nothing after that. Not a damned word about it, all day long.”

“I made you dinner,” Monica whispered, torn between being flattered he was so upset and apologetic for so unexpectedly hurting his feelings.

Jordan let her go and stepped back. He was still breathing hard. Light flashed in his eyes. He turned away from her, shoulders hunched. Fists clenched.

“Why are you even here?” he muttered. “It's ridiculous. DiNero has too much fucking money.”

That stung. Monica rubbed at her arms where his fingers had left marks. “Look, I know what I do must seem crazy. But really, there are things out there that people refuse to see.”

He swung around to look at her, brows furrowed, mouth curled into a sneer. “Sure. Like a goat sucker?”

“Among others. Yes. You work with animals—is it so hard for you to imagine that there are creatures we don't know about?” She put her hands on her hips. “Something came through that wall. Multiple times. Something killed those animals. And something, if we don't figure out what the hell it is, will come back again and again and continue until everything in this zoo is dead, probably including the people. Because it can, Jordan. It simply fucking can.”

“Keeping the animals safe is my job. Not yours.”

“Yeah, well, DiNero hired me to figure out what it is, okay? So once I do that, I can tell you what to do to keep them safe. My crew can come in and hunt it down, and if DiNero wants it alive, maybe we can even figure out how to tell you to take care of it. I'm sorry I stepped on your toes, if I did. And I'm sorry about last night... No, fuck that,” she amended. “I'm not sorry about last night. I needed you, and you were there. I'm glad you were. Believe it or not, I appreciated it.”

“Great. So I did you a favor?” Jordan's scowl twisted further.

She stepped closer to him. He backed up. She took another. This time, he stayed. She'd seen a look like that before. It turned out she'd been developing a habit of wounding men's pride, and that broke her more than anything else had.

Monica closed her eyes for a second. Thinking of Carl. How much she'd loved him and how long it had been since she'd felt that way about anyone. Maybe she never would again.

“I had a nightmare. I was attacked some time ago, and sometimes I dream about it,” she said in a low voice.

“Okay.” He eyed her warily. “And that's my problem?”

Oh, he was going to make this difficult. “In the dreams, I relive the attack. When I wake up, I can't get out from under it. The only thing that really helps me is to...fuck.”

“What kind of attack?”

“I was hiking with my husband,” Monica said flatly. “We'd gone into some unknown trails, stupid, I guess, but we thought it would be fun. Isn't that how horror stories always start? We thought it would be fun at the time?”

“I don't like horror stories.”

Monica laughed bitterly, then shrugged. “Something came out of the woods. Slashed at him. Knocked me out next, so I didn't see what happened. It dragged him into a cave, where it killed him. It took me next. I woke up next to his body. When it came back, I fought it and killed it.”

She said it matter-of-factly, not because the story didn't move her emotionally, but because it was the story she'd told the police and the wildlife officers and everyone else, the same story so many times the words themselves came by rote. It was the only way she could tell that story without breaking down.

Monica rubbed her arms again, this time against the chill of gooseflesh that had risen there. The food in her belly shifted uncomfortably. She couldn't look at him anymore.

“What was it?” Jordan asked.

She shook her head. “They said it was a bear.”

“Bullshit,” he said.

She did look at him then. Her chin went up. “I don't know what it was. I never figured it out. But I knew it was something, not a bear. It had scales. It could see in the dark. It had claws...”

She shuddered and went silent.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jordan said quietly, “I'm sorry.”

“I'd been studying to become a vet. I decided to focus on figuring out exactly what sorts of thing could have done that to my husband. I'm going to figure out what did this to your animals, too.”

“But you still dream about it at night.”

She nodded.

Jordan took a step closer. He pulled her into his arms again, this time more gently. Her face pressed against his hot bare skin, and though he might've grumbled about needing a shower earlier, all Monica breathed in was warm male. She closed her eyes. His hand stroked over her back.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

Jordan, typically, didn't say anything. The steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek skipped a beat or so, though. His arms tightened around her.

After a minute, Monica pushed away. She cleared her throat. Jordan stepped back. They stared at each other.

“I need a shower,” he said finally. “But after that, if you want to come over so we can talk about what you think this thing out there is...”

She nodded, hiding a smile. Stiffly, he backed away from her. She waited until he'd gone out the front door before she went after him to watch him cross the small piece of lawn between their bungalows. She could not figure him out. Not at all.

CHAPTER 8

T
he glass of red wine he'd downed had lit a fire in him that wasn't going to go out. The whiskey wasn't a good idea, not after last night and the wine and the conversation he'd had with Monica earlier, but then again, Jordan didn't always make the best decisions. He downed one shot before getting in the shower, where his cock got hard as soon as he tried to soap up. He took another when he got out. His hair was still wet and he'd barely put on a fresh pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt before she was knocking on his front door.

“I brought dessert.” She held up one of the cook's chocolate cakes. Jordan knew it by the scent of the icing. “I got it from the main house.”

“Looks good. C'mon in.” He stepped aside to let her pass. He'd managed to tame his dick, but barely. When she brushed his belly with her arm, he felt it stirring again.

They sat at his dining table. He'd put out a box of cheap chocolate doughnuts and made coffee, though the caffeine was going to do a number on him, as well. All of this was. Shit, he was going to need another run.

She'd brought along her tablet to show him some of the things she'd been working on, and before he knew it, they were side by side on his couch while she ran through lists of what she was putting together. She smelled so good. It had been a mistake to invite her here, Jordan thought. He was too hungry.

“But I don't know.” Monica shook her head, then tucked a dark cherry curl behind her ear. She flicked her finger along a line of photos she'd pulled up. There was no denying the edge of excitement in her voice. “None of these things match the patterns. I've run through all the databases, and really, just...nothing.”

“You love this, don't you? The unknown.”

She looked at him. “Love it? I'm not sure. I've always thought of love as something that makes you happy.”

“Me, I've always thought it was something that made you miserable,” Jordan answered.

Monica laughed. “How many times have you been in love, Jordan?”

He didn't have an answer. He'd been homeschooled since the age of fourteen, when his parents had yanked him out of public school at the first signs of what they both had prayed would never come true. He hadn't gone to the prom, basketball games. Hadn't played in the band. He'd gone to college too wary of other people to trust anyone enough to fall in love.

“I thought so,” she said when he didn't answer. “Sure, love can make you miserable. But it also makes you happy. So happy.”

For a second, her gaze went faraway. Unexpectedly, Jordan envied the man who'd married her, the one who'd made her look that way. The one who'd died, he reminded himself.

Monica shrugged off her expression. “Anyway. I have some calls and messages out to some of my colleagues, but at this point, I'm looking at something big. Something strong. Something that lives in the bayou.”

“Anaconda? Python? Something like that?” He shook his head. “I know there's a huge problem with that in Florida, but I told you, not so much here.”

“Snakes don't have claws.”

“Gator?” He laughed at the idea, but Monica looked thoughtful.

“Something like that,” she said. “You can laugh all you want, Jordan, but I'm good at what I do, and based on what I've seen and what you told me, I wouldn't put something like a gator off the list.”

“Gators can't climb walls.”

She smiled. “I said something
like
an alligator. But it's definitely smart enough to figure out how to get through that wall and get what it wants.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking. “You really believe all this stuff about things that go bump in the night.”

“I believe in things that go bump in the sunlight, too.”

He glanced at her to see if she was making a sexy innuendo, but all she gave him was that same blank, assessing look that was starting to make him crazy enough to want to do something to wipe it off her face. He frowned and scooped up another of the chocolate mini doughnuts from the box he'd put out. They were fat coated in fat with another layer of fat on them, but he needed the calories, or else he was definitely going to give Ms. Blackship a surprise she was not going to like.

Her gaze followed the movement of his hand to the box, then to his mouth. Heat filtered through him at the way her eyes lit up, just the barest hint, and the way the tip of her tongue crept out to dimple her top lip.

She caught him looking. “You don't believe in any of this stuff. I know.”

Jordan shook his head. “I work with real animals. Real things. You're asking me to believe that some kind of monster is coming out of the bayou and slaughtering them? I'd be more likely to believe some kind of poachers—”

“Except poachers would take the animals alive. If they were going to steal and resell the animals, they'd want them alive. Even if they only wanted the pelts,” she added, “they wouldn't slaughter them on-site.”

“No,” he admitted grudgingly. “I've been thinking about it, and you're right.”

She leaned forward a little. “DiNero believes it. That's why he called the Crew.”

“Then I guess that's all it matters, huh?” He leaned back.

Monica smiled a little. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so that should've been awkward but was only quiet. It had been a long time since he'd sat with a woman this way, without idle chatter and inane small talk, stupid words to cover up the fact both of them were thinking only of how to get in each other's pants with the least amount of effort. He couldn't stop thinking about her flavor.

“Look,” Monica said abruptly. “About last night.”

“We don't have to talk about it.”

“No. We do. I don't want you to think—”

“I don't think anything,” Jordan interrupted. “We're both adults. It happened.”

Monica shook her head. “But you didn't like it.”

“I didn't—” Jordan cut himself off. “What the hell?”

She laughed gently, tipping her face up. “I mean you didn't like that it happened. Not that you didn't like...it.”

Jordan scowled. “It was unexpected. That's all.”

“It won't happen again.”

That did not actually make him feel any better. If anything, the thought that he would never again be inside her tightened a knot in his lower gut. He didn't have words for her, though, just a low grunt.

“I
am
sorry,” Monica said. “You were there, and I needed someone.”

Jordan gave her a long, steady look. “Gee, way to make a fella feel special.”

Monica ducked her head, looking embarrassed for a second, before popping up with the first genuine, full-fledged grin he'd seen on her. It lit her entire face. She was pretty, but that smile, that fucking smile... She was beautiful.

He kissed her.

He could have stopped himself. Years of therapy, of learning self-control, of discipline, of fighting the hunger—he could've done anything but kiss her. She was in his arms the second after that. She opened for him immediately. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

He picked her up as easily as he would a bag of feathers. She moaned softly into his mouth. The hum of it sent an arc of electric desire straight to his already rock-hard cock. He settled her on the table and pushed himself between her legs. She moaned again when he pressed his erection against her. She wore a flowing pair of thin batik-printed pants that provided little barrier, but his denim jeans were majorly cock-blocking him.

In seconds, without breaking away from her mouth, he'd yanked open his fly and pressed himself against her again. For a moment, they were at an impasse, but then Monica lifted herself up, fiddled with something at her hip and released a tie he hadn't noticed before. The pants opened somehow in that magic way of women's clothing he'd never understand. She wasn't naked beneath, but a good tug tore her panties away. She cried out, a sharp sound that mimicked pain—except Jordan knew the sound of pain.

He was inside her in the time it took to breathe once, twice. She cried out again, and this time, there was a tinge of true pain in the sound. He wanted to slam deep inside her but eased out, only to have her grab him by the hips and pull him back.

“Look at me,” she demanded in a low, urgent voice.

He did and lost himself in her gaze. She took his hand and slid it between them to get his thumb against her clit. She was slick, and his thumb slid easily against her. She bucked and gripped his hips again. Her back arched. Her mouth opened.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. Then louder. “Please, fuck me.”

The table creaked as they rocked. The hunger built inside him, and the only way to slake it was to take her. Her mouth. The heat between her legs.

“Mine,” Jordan heard himself say but as though from far away.

He felt it when she came, her body clutching his and forcing him over the edge into an orgasm so powerful that he saw gold stars flickering around the edges of his vision. He captured her mouth once more, the kiss at first fierce in the last few ripples of his climax, then softening.

In the silence that followed, he heard her breathing shift. He looked into her eyes again, not sure what he expected to see there. Or what he wanted to see.

Monica curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him to her to brush his lips with hers. “Jordan.”

That was all she said. One word, his name, a wealth of meaning in the two syllables, if only he could figure out what it was. Or if he wanted to.

They disengaged. She tidied herself, and he did the same. Neither speaking. She didn't need to ask him where the powder room was, since the layout of their bungalows was the same. By the time she came out, he'd changed into his running clothes.

“Oh,” she said.

“I need to go for a run.”

“Jordan...”

“What?” he asked roughly.

“What just happened?”

“You ought to know,” he told her. “You were there.”

“That's not what I mean, and I'm sure you know it.”

“What can I say?” he said with a shrug. “I needed someone. You were there.”