The Cougar's Bargain (19 page)

Really, she didn't have much of one. She was still as a statue, with teeth clenched and hands balled into tight fists from anticipation.

“What do you want?” He slipped his thumbs inside the elastic legs of her panties and skimmed them over her tingling flesh toward her sex, and she reached for him.

It was instinctive, reflexive. Her hands around his wrists, urging him on.
Don't make me use words.
Don't make this … more awkward.
And she hoped he understood because she didn't know what to do—what was expected of her.

She hooked her leg around his back and gave him a little nudging bump, toward her, not away.

He knee-walked closer to her thighs and pressed a hand against the thin layer of cloth over her apex when she released his wrists.

He leaned in and claimed her lips once more, rubbing her to further arousal, and cautiously avoiding her most tender part. It was as if he
knew
just what to do to keep her on the edge, to keep her wanting, and how to wrest control of their play when she'd thought initially she was the one who'd had it all.

We could share, maybe.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and crushed her chest against his. She wanted to feel more of him, touch him anywhere she could and with what she could as he kissed her senseless.

At that moment, nothing mattered more than where their bodies joined, and his fingers dipping inside her panties to stroke her cleft.

She wanted that and everything that came next. Wanted him to be the one to melt away what was frigid and unyielding about her, because she'd never trusted anyone in the way she did him.

They argued and fought, but she couldn't dare say he'd ever disrespected her. He may not have been a gentleman by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd never hurt her so much as inconvenienced her.

“Sean,” she pleaded, and his finger tucked into her, and all of hers into his back, and he whipped his head around and stared at the door.

“Sean?”

“Shit.”

“
What
? Do you have somewhere better to be?” She couldn't help the tart tone. She was so used to being disappointed, but she'd hoped Sean would have been different.

He pulled his hand free and sat back on his heels, still staring at the door.

Then the knock came.

Sean dragged his sleeve across his moist lips and eased off the bed. “I'd bet you a birthday pie that's your brother.”

“What fucking time is it? We weren't asleep that long.” She scrambled to her feet and shoved her legs into her jeans as Sean retreated through the door between their rooms.

“Yeah, we were. Shifters tend to sleep more deeply when they share beds. It's nearly midnight.” He closed the door behind him, and she hurried to the corridor and took a glimpse through the peephole.

“Fucker,” she whispered.

Steven knocked again, and she jumped back from the doorway, swearing under her breath. “Just a minute.”

She hurried into the bathroom, cringed at her reflection, and quickly patted down her wild hair. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes glassy, but if push came to shove, she could lie and say she'd been drinking. She certainly felt drunk enough.

She probably would have to do some drinking before the night was over. Before that moment, she hadn't given any thought to the potential cataclysm that could be Sean and Steven meeting, but now she worried. Sean was going to talk shit, and Steven had always been the kind of man who thought the cure for that compulsion was a punch to the nose.

After taking one deep, bolstering breath, she pushed the door chain aside, undid the deadbolt, and pushed down the lever.

“Shit, I told you I was coming.” He pushed his way in with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “What happened? Did you fall asleep waiting?”

Not wanting to incriminate herself, she said nothing, let the door close, and took a few steps out of the foyer.

For a long while, he said nothing, just stared, and she bit her tongue, because she was tired of being on the defensive all the time. There was no need to volunteer words unnecessarily.

She squinted at the tiny ponytail.
What the hell did he do to his hair?
She hadn't seen him with anything longer than a crew cut since he was six. It had obviously been a few months since their last in-person encounter.

He cleared his throat and put his hand where her stare had locked. “So … you're nice and tan, huh?” His gaze fell to her scarred cheek, and she turned her back.

“Tan?” She looked down at her hands and forearms and shrugged. “I guess I am. Consequence of working outside and away from fluorescent lights.”

“What do you mean
work
?”

She sighed, already weary of the third degree, and—to add to her angst—she suddenly understood what the term “cock blocked” meant. “So, hello, Steven. How are you? Are things well at home? What's with the ponytail? Are you mimicking your namesake?”

“I am
not
named after Steven Seagal.”

She turned back to him, nodded, and gave the end of her braid a twirl. “Sure you're not. Mom and Dad didn't even have a television the year you were born, and couldn't afford movie theater tickets. I'm pretty sure you're named after Great-Uncle Steven—you know, the one who always used to chase all the octogenarian ladies around at the church picnics?”

“That's a low blow. He smelled weird.”

She shrugged. “I'm tired and hungry, and you came in without even saying hello. I may be sensitive, and all, but you're an absolute turd.”

“You're right. Sorry. I work with folks who communicate in grunts and one-fingered sign language for the most part. I could do better.” He tossed his duffel onto the floor beside the dresser and scanned the room. His gaze landed on the bed with its messy covers, and she winced.

“I don't reckon we'll be sharing that,” he said.

“Hell no. I didn't invite you, and I don't want a repeat of that trip we took to Disney when we were kids. Get your own room and your own bed.”

“I haven't wet the bed in at least twenty years, and
nah
. I can call the office and see if they have a rollaway. You don't really mind, do you? I'm a civil servant. Gotta mind the budget.” He snapped up the phone receiver from the bedside table without waiting for an answer.

Dammit
. She gave the door to the adjoining room a double-tap, and when Sean didn't immediately answer, tried the door. It was open, so she let herself in and quickly locked the portal on his side.

Sean sat at the end of the bed with his phone pressed to his ear. He motioned her over, indicating the space beside him. “I'm talking to Mason. He put me on hold because he had to pick up another call.”

“Everything okay?” She held her ground near the door, holding her arms folded over her chest and rocking back on her heels. Her body went amok whenever she entered his orbit, and getting close to him would be stupid. She'd want to touch, and taste, and that would lead to trouble. Unsatisfying, rage-inducing trouble.

“Belle's giving him some hell.”

“In what way?”

“A couple of demons popped out of the hellmouth when Hank and the crew were about to pack up, and I guess Belle was in a certain kind of mood. Reckless—hey, yeah, Mason. You find her?”

Now Hannah
did
take the seat he offered, desperate to hear the news straight from the source. Her hearing wasn't as good as Sean's yet—perhaps it never would be—but she picked up about every other word. There'd been a couple of weaker non-corporeal demons coming out of the hole, and Belle had gone after them without telling anyone. Normally, Ellery was on hand to banish the spirits, but she'd gone east with the local witches, and all that could be done was to chase them back into the hellmouth and hope they were too tired to stage a second escape attempt so quickly. Belle had chased them, and they'd been gone before Hank and the others had a chance to catch up … but then so was Belle.

Sean hit the speaker button right as Mason said, “She got stuck in the mouth entrance, but she's out now. Took a bit of back-and-forth shifting between her cat form and human one to get her free of the magic. She's resting in her cat form now at Mom's. She'll probably have to sleep off the trauma for a while.”

“What the hell was she thinking going after them alone like that?” Hannah asked.

“Good question. Obviously, she can't talk to me right now, but maybe when she's got her wits and human vocal cords back, she'll tell Miles what got into that Swiss cheese brain of hers.”

It was good that Miles was there. She was good at making people feel comfortable enough to talk, and as
La Bella Dama
's so-called “Ear” had a personal connection to the goddess no one else had. Lola would tell her if Belle needed Cougar intervention, or if Belle was just being a brat. Given the fact she was nineteen, the latter seemed likely. Hannah would know. She'd been pretty bratty at nineteen, too, but anyone would have been a little wild after moving out of the stifling Welch household.

“I'll call you back when I have any news,” Mason said.

“Should I head home?” Sean asked.

“Nah. Let Mom and Miles deal with it. Ellery should be back tomorrow. She'll probably be back here before you will.”

“Still, I—”

“Drop it,” Mason barked. “Deal with your own shit right now, and let Belle work through her own.”

“I just don't want there to be another situation where I'm accused of not pulling my weight.”

“I said drop it. Do you understand me?”

“Fine.”

“Bye.” Mason disconnected.

Sean turned the phone over and over in his palm and ground his teeth as he stared at it.

“Um …”

“I don't want to talk about it,” he said.

“Are you so sure you know what I was going to say?” There were so many things she could say. She could ask him what his game plan was for dealing with Steven, who would probably get impatient and start knocking on the door at any moment. Belle merited a few words of conversation, as did the rest of the drama happening during their absence from New Mexico. There was the matter of what they
hadn't
done in her motel room, and what it meant that they almost had. That couldn't be swept under the rug so easily. She didn't think the thing he was referring to was any of those, though. His insistence that they not discuss it made her want to broach the subject even more.

“Don't, Hannah.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“Yes, you were.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You'll get better at reading energy in time, I guess.”

“Everyone's or just yours?”

He turned his hands over in a
who knows?
gesture and cut a look at her through the corners of his eyes. “Who can say?”

“Hannah?” Steven rapped on the door in the neighboring room. “You gonna hide in there like a scared rabbit?”

She stared down at her fingernails and chewed the inside of her lips.

Sean gave her a nudge. “Better let him in.”

“
You
let him in. You're the one who invited him.”

“What's with the snide tone?”

“My tone is as it always is.”

“Right. And in the few months I've known you, that's never been a good thing. But then again, when you're sweet, I start to worry you're playing with me.”

“Hold up.” She put up her hands and shook her head. “Other way around, dude. I've never been anything but clear in what I wanted at a particular moment. I don't play games.”

“You sure?”

“What are you even asking me?”

He shrugged. “Just something for you to think about.”

He opened the door for Steven, and the two stood on their respective sides sizing each other up for so long Hannah was starting to wonder if the jerks thought they were looking in a mirror. Not that they resembled each other at all, beyond their cocky stances and similar builds.

She scoffed. “Okay, you two can stand here making heart eyes at each other all you want, but I've got to eat something or I'm gonna—” She clamped her lips on the words and squeezed past both men to grab her purse. She was going to say that if she didn't eat, she was going to shift. She was still a new enough Cougar that she couldn't control what the cat did if she felt like her needs weren't being met.

“Scream?” Steven concluded for her. “Yeah, I don't want to hear that. I don't really want to set you off.”

Snarling, she snatched up her room key and shoved past him, through the corridor and out onto the breezeway.

“You know, I could say something about your behavior right now,” Steven called after her. “You're being
so
Hannah.”

She stopped the door from closing by sticking her foot into the gap and said into the crack, “Well, that's just swell. Saves me some breath if you already know what names I'd call you and in what order.”

She could think of a few names for Sean, too, and she muttered them as she stomped down the stairs.

Dick.

Playboy.

Heartbreaker.

None of those were particularly creative. She'd heard them all—and worse ones—from women he'd dated in and out of the glaring.

At that moment, she wanted to add a brand new one to the list.

Dirt.

She should have never abandoned her Plan A. She needed to find some woman to take him off her hands, and
quick
.

Sean didn't think it was his place to tell Hannah how much or how little she should drink, but he already knew she was going to be shit-faced in a matter of minutes. Sean had refused December's offer of a beer, but Hannah was keeping a one-to-one pace with her brother. In an hour, between the two of them, they had probably drunk enough to fill a small aquarium.