Werecats and Werelocks (Collection) (9 page)

Sam put his game face on. The one he probably used when he cross-examined criminals. “You're not very good at this, are you?"

Frankie left her expression blank, opting to play dumb. “I don't know what you mean."

"I mean the sex kitten thing.” He inhaled, then chuckled at his own pun. “Sex. Kitten. Funny, huh?"

"A riot."

His face immediately went sober. “Okay, so again I say, you're not very good at it, are you?"

"You say that, why?"

"Look, uh, Frankie, right?"

"Yes. Frankie Lane. Definitely not Wiggles."

"Whatever. I'm a lawyer. I can read people pretty well and this just isn't a role you're comfortable in. Not even a little."

Well, he had her pegged, now didn't he? “That's not the point. Here's the point. You're hardly ever here, right?” she encouraged, praying he'd agree to this.

In an instant his face was hard, much the way she imagined he'd be when he made a closing argument. “Why don't you tell me what you're getting at? I'm a facts kind of guy. It's the lawyer in me. So let's stop beating around the bush, okay? What do you want? Money?"

"A crib."

"
A what
?"

Her face flushed, but she plowed onward. “A place to stay, lawyer. Look, I can't go back to my apartment because that's the first place my parents will go looking for me. I can't go to the flower shop either. Thank God for Renaldo, is all I have to say to that."

"Renaldo?"

"Yeah, he works for me."

Realization flooded his face and he nodded. “Right, short, spiky hair with the fake blond highlights and a tendency toward wearing the color pink."

Frankie grinned. “Yes, that's him. He'll take care of the shop until I can get back there. But here's the thing. I'm in my human form for now and I need to use that to my advantage while I can. Who knows when I'll shift back again? But I need somewhere to hide."

"A place to stay..."

"Yeah, and you're hardly ever here. You won't even know I'm around. Promise."

"Exactly how do you plan to figure this out—no matter where you stay? If there's nothing you can do but mate to stop this shift thing from happening then—"

Her eyes strayed toward the cold, white ceramic tile of his kitchen floor. “I know, I know. It looks like I'm fucked, right? I dunno. I haven't thought past actually being in my human form and that's why I need a place to hide because there just has to be some other way.” Her chin set stubbornly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

His gaze returned to skeptical. “Question?"

"Go."

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but in this shapeshifting place, do you people—cats—um, women ... do you all have sex with just anyone because you need to mate?"

Frankie giggled. “Don't be silly. We're not a bunch of ‘ho's. Well, most of us aren't. Me included."

"But you had sex with me and I'm a total stranger. That makes no sense."

She hung her head and peered at him through her lashes. “I couldn't help it. I mean, my hormones couldn't help it."

"Your hormones..."

Her sigh was long and windy as she toyed with the edge of the coaster his drink had been on. “Yeah. My hormones are definitely discriminatory. They won't just have sex with anyone. Hence why I won't mate with Harry. So don't go feeling like you were only a warm body. There has to be some modicum of attraction there. Some kind of chemistry. But when my instinct to mate gets all riled up ... caution goes out the window like a credit card at a good sale on Jimmy Choo's..."

He took a long gulp of his whiskey, swishing it in his mouth, then swallowed. “A cat. You're a cat."

"
You're
cat for all intents and purposes."

Slapping the tumbler back on the counter, Sam rose from his barstool and groaned. “Okay, I think I really need to go lay down now. Wait. We didn't ... um, did you use ... I mean, we're not going to make—"

She read his face and then laughed because his alarm was so evident. “Kittens? No. I can only reproduce at specific times of the year. Promise. And I'm clean. Ask Glynice. She made sure I had all my shots."

"Shots ... Okay, yeah. Now I'm
really
lying down.” He was drifting off again, clearly letting his disbelief settle back into his logical brain. He'd shut down soon if she didn't let him process.

Placing a hand on his warm arm, she asked, “But while you lay down, would you give some thought to my proposition? I'd really appreciate having a place to hang while I figure this out. I promise to stay out of your hair while you think. Oh, and I cook. If that helps in the decision making process."

That mask of confusion on his face returned. “Uh, right. I'll go do that. Think. About cats. About cats and sex I hardly remember and hiding and you in your human form, not your cat form. So you don't have to mate with Harry Wein—Weir—"

"Weintraub,” she supplied. “Remember? Blech."

Sam turned back around and grabbed the entire bottle of whisky, tucking it under his brawny arm. “Yeah. What you said,” were his last words before he wandered out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

Frankie sank back onto the barstool and rested her head in her hands.

Oh. My. God.

[Back to Table of Contents]

"You can cook.” Sam made the statement like he was surprised when he entered his kitchen almost six hours later.

Frankie stirred the noodles for the pasta without looking up. “And you can sleep."

"I was traumatized."

Giving the sauce one more stir, she placed the top back on it and turned to face him. “Look, I'm sorry I put you on the spot today. It was really, really wrong of me because you were sort of still in shock. I know it seems like I was catching you in a weak moment on purpose, but I wasn't. I'm just desperate for some peace and quiet from my parents who've nagged me forever about Harry.” Frankie whipped back around, hiding behind the curtain of her hair.

Sam came to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder to take a whiff of the sauce she was intently focusing on. “Smells good."

Her eyes met his chin, sharp and angular. “Did you hear me? I just apologized. And now you accept so I can save face."

The warmth of his presence behind her seeped into her spine. “Yep, I heard you. Apology accepted. Spaghetti?” he asked, the press of his broad chest against her back curling her toes.

"With marinara sauce. You didn't have much else in your pantry and I figured it was the least I could do, seeing as we, you know..."

"I like marinara sauce,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “And yeah,
I know
."

Her nipples beaded, tight and hard. Oh, fuck. He so had to move or she couldn't be held responsible for hurling herself at him. “Good. It should be ready in twenty minutes."

His breath stirred a long strand of hair and the heat wave he'd created last night returned tenfold.

Frankie backed away, because if she didn't that hormone thing would happen again and while it might keep her in her human form longer, it would make her look like a slut. Those who didn't know her culture would never, ever understand the fever created by the need to mate. Especially when you were as attracted to someone as she was to Sam. Physically, he was so fantastic he made her mouth water.

She moved to brace her back on the counter by the sink, letting the cool granite soothe her overheated skin. “So have you given some thought to what I said?"

His dark head dipped while he jammed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “I have."

"And?"

He'd changed into jeans and a black pullover sweater, leaving her feeling naked in the dress shirt he'd handed her earlier and nothing else. “Who told you I work all the time?"

Frankie's shoulders shrugged. “Glynice. Well, she didn't tell me, she told Wiggles and Beulah, but she's right, I guess. And it's sort of obvious. I mean, it's two weeks till Christmas and you don't even have a single decoration. Or don't lawyers decorate for Christmas?"

"I'm busy. I don't have time to decorate."

Frankie held up a finger, pointing it at him. “Exactly my point. You're never here except to sleep. So, are we cool? I'll sleep on the couch and I can pay you if you'd like. Write you a check or whatever."

His dark eyebrow rose. “I don't want money. What I want to know is what happens if your hormones do whatever they did last night and you shift back? It won't matter where you stay then, will it?"

Ah, the dilemma. All out in the open. “No, but I think I've bought myself a few days at least."

"And in that time you expect to find a mate so you can...” he stalled.

"Mate,” she stated matter of factly.

Sam sucked in his cheeks. “Right, that and keep your human form?"

Her smile was crooked. “Hope springs eternal and all. Look, I seriously don't know what I'm going to do, but if I could just do it without being cold, half-starved and stuck in some garbage can, I might be able to think more clearly."

"Okay."

Frankie cocked her head at him. “Just like that?"

"Just like that. I know you're not a thief because of the lease for the flower shop. We do background and credit checks, and you came up clean. I know what you're saying is true, at least the cat part of it because I saw it with my own eyes. I don't know that it's sunk in, but I saw it. So yeah, just like that."

Relief flooded her belly and the headache that had begun to stir right between her eyes instantly dissipated. “Thank you."

The doorbell chimed, startling them both. Sam shot her a confused glance. “Who the hell...” He padded out of the kitchen with Frankie in tow. Yanking open the heavy door to a rush of chilled air, she peered over his shoulder to find Renaldo, and he wasn't alone.

Ah, her beloved intended.

Harry Weintraub.

Suh-weet.

"I think my sauce burned.” She plunked the top to the pot down on the stove and wrinkled her nose.

"I think Harry's more burned."

Frankie giggled, a carefree bubble of laughter spilling from her throat. “Hey, I wasn't the one who burned him. That, lawyer, was you."

Sam threw his hands in the air, palms up, a twinkle of the kill still in his eyes. “It was do or die. I didn't have a choice. Either I saved your ass from the icky Harry or he was going to throw you over his icky shoulder and take you home to mate. So I improvised."

"Know what I can't believe?"

"What's that?"

Frankie crossed to the living room and plunked down on Sam's couch, crossing her legs. “That Renaldo was such a pansy-ass. I should have never called him and told him where I was so he wouldn't worry. Who knew Harry was so intimidating he'd make Renaldo sing like a bird?"

Sam sank down beside her. “Harry was pretty pissed."

"You should never have told him you were my boyfriend, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Brushing a strand of hair from her face, he twirled a finger around it. “Well, we couldn't have you end up with the icky Harry, could we?"

Frankie's somber eyes sought his, her stomach twisting into a knot. “Seriously, thank you. You saved me a lot of hurt feelings because if I had to tell Harry I thought he was icky, I would have felt really bad. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I just don't want to—"

"Mate with him,” he offered, his lips but inches from hers.

Frankie gulped, the spiral of electricity whirring between them made it hard to swallow. “Right. No mating with Harry."

"You think he'll tell your parents where you are?"

"No. He'd suffer some serious humiliation. He won't let the cat out of the bag just yet, so to speak. Not until he absolutely has to. And you did hear him, didn't you? He's going to fight for me.” Christ, how utterly humiliating. Harry waving his fist, which in proportion to Sam's was laughable, swearing he'd win Frankie's heart if it was the last thing he did.

Sam's lips lifted into a smile that made her heart flutter. “Oh, I heard. In fact, the entire neighborhood heard."

How they'd begun to lean into one another, Frankie couldn't say, but the air between them grew thick, pulsing with an unspoken energy.

Her breath caught when Sam leaned into her, the spicy scent of his aftershave lighting her nostrils on fire. “I think I have to go to bed,” he declared suddenly.

"I think that's a good idea."

"I have court early tomorrow."

"Court ... early,” she repeated, hushed and shaky.

Sam's grey eyes scanned her face. “This is me going to bed."

Frankie's cheeks flushed, her body instinctively leaning toward his, shivering wantonly. “This is me saying goodnight and wholeheartedly encouraging you to go to bed.”
Pronto. Before my hormones make your hormones scream uncle
.

Sam's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gliding along the curve of it. “Goodnight, Frankie."

"Night, Sam.” Her voice was strangely husky and if he didn't take his hand off her, move his smokin’ body as far away from hers as he possibly could, some shit would fly. “This is the part where you go to bed and I clean the kitchen,” she tried to joke, yet the heave of her chest and her stilted words betrayed her.

But he didn't move away, instead he moved in closer. “What if I don't go to bed?"

"We'll find out if your man-parts still work while traumatized."

He chuckled, thick like hot fudge. “I wouldn't mind finding out if my man-parts still work."

Her throat became thick and her toes tingled. “Trust me. They work."

"But I don't recall them working. Remember? Prescription sleep aide?"

"Then you'll have to consider me your inside source."

"Maybe I don't want to go to bed."

"Sam, if you don't go to bed now—"

"You'll what?"

Frankie didn't answer him, but the call of her body did. Much the way a steamroller might. His scent intoxicated her, his frame, hot and hard, begged for her to slap herself up against him in a way that would leave him calling her a nymph come morning.

The mating fever rushed over her in a heavy swell of hormonal agony. Christ, she needed him inside her, but this time she wanted to taste him. Every lusciously rippled inch of him. She threw her arms around his neck and Sam responded by dragging her to his lap, yanking open the buttons of her borrowed shirt with such force they popped off.