Betting the Moon: Cannon Pack, Book 4 (19 page)

“You don’t think and I don’t care, John. Just answer the question. Are you going to give me what I want or not?” She pouted in the way John couldn’t resist.

Hoots and laughter surrounded her. “Yeah, John-boy. Give her what she wants or one of us might have to give it to her.” John punched the loudmouthed hunter in the arm.

She strode to the group and positioned her body between John and the werewolf. “So the way I see it, you owe me the kill.” She turned to face the werewolf and widened her eyes, hoping to alert him to her plan. “Let me be the one to put him down.”

She watched the battle in John’s eyes and knew how much he wanted to kill the shifter. But, with the heckling of the others, he had little choice but to give in.

“Fine. Just make it quick.”

She blew him a kiss along with a sexy smile and waved everyone back. “You guys might want to step away. Uh, you know. I’m not that good a shot.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

“Back up, dudes. You never know where her bullet will go.”

At least her bumbling hunter act was still holding up. She almost shook her head in disbelief. Almost a year and they still hadn’t caught on? Wow.

She stepped closer to the bleeding wolf. If he was as intelligent as she thought werewolves were, he’d catch on. At last his gaze met hers and she gave him a huge no-way-can-you-miss-this-signal wink. He blinked, then tilted his head. She wasn’t sure he understood what she was about to do, but he knew she was up to something. She aimed a couple of inches above him, allowing for the discharge from the rifle to miss him.

Get ready, wolf.
Taking a breath, she squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out and, after only a moment’s hesitation, the werewolf yelped, jerked, then fell silent. Taking the dirty blanket the homeless man had used, she flung it over the body of the werewolf in feigned disgust. “Good riddance.”

The hunters shouted and John lifted her to twirl her around. “You did it. You finally killed one.”

“Finally? But I killed the female. Remember?”

“Oh, sure. Yeah. I forgot. Never mind.” John released her and turned to his men. “Grab the carcass for Lauren, men.”

“No!” Her shout stunned them into inaction, giving her a moment to think. “Uh, I mean, it’s my kill, right? Then I decide what to do with the hide. And I’ve decided that I want to leave it right where it is.”

“But why waste a hide you could hang on your wall?”

Lauren took John by the arm and led him away from the werewolf. “You know I don’t like trophies on my walls. Besides, it’s a scrawny thing.” She adopted an evil expression. “And I want it to stay here. I want to imagine the rats having a feast. I think that’s the best way to dispose of a vile creature like that. It’s my kill, my decision, right?”

“Whatever you say, Lauren. I’m just so damn proud of you. Men, group together.”

Lauren swallowed the bile in her throat and returned his hug but didn’t follow the others as they circled around John. Instead, she paced over to the werewolf, then bent down and lifted a corner of the blanket, pretending to examine the head. “Stay still until we leave. If I can, I’ll come back to help you,” she whispered. She would’ve sworn the shifter’s lips pulled back into a smile.

She turned to face the group and a movement above her brought her to a standstill. The beautiful black werewolf who’d escaped with the injured female werewolf crouched on the roof above her, his lips curled back to expose deadly fangs. She took a moment to appreciate his magnificent body, then abruptly dropped her eyes. If she drew attention to him, John would start the hunt again, thrilled by the chance to bag two in one night. The magnetic pull emanating from the mystical animal, however, drew her attention back, holding her spellbound. His eyes, brilliant amber, glowed against his black face and the dark night around him.

Lauren couldn’t help but study him. His body was all muscles and packed action. This creature, this regal being, was more a true hunter than John could ever be.
The werewolf tilted his head, reminding her of someone else. Suddenly, realization struck her, dazing her.
It’s Daniel.
She smiled, a little embarrassed not to have made the connection before. She should have known. In either form, he had the same intensity, the same sexual pull, the same overpowering presence. She frowned. The same accusatory expression? But why was his fury focused on her and not the others?
Shit, he doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m with them.

Panic rolled through Lauren. She had to do something before John and the others noticed him. In the end, however, it was Daniel who drew their attention.

The werewolf on the roof turned toward the hunters and widened his snarl. A spine-tingling growl floated down to the hunters, and he crouched as though ready to attack.

Praying her idea would work, Lauren lifted her rifle, aimed and pulled the trigger.

Who says a wolf can’t make a pussycat purr?

Cat Scratch Fever

© 2012 Jodi Redford

Perfect timing has never been Lilly Prescott’s long suit. Seconds before a showdown with werewolf Dante Morgan, who owns a property that by rights should belong to her, she goes into heat. Not a simple event for a lynx shifter. No, she’s doomed to weeks of frustration that can only be soothed by frequent rolls in the hay—or her hand. Unfortunately, Dante accidentally witnesses the latter.

Left shaken and highly aroused in the snow, Dante can’t believe he’s attracted to the woman who drives him crazy, and not in a good way. Worse, his father has issued an ultimatum. Marry, or abdicate his place as pack leader. On the other hand, it’s the perfect leverage. Lilly will get her land…in exchange for a wedding ring and all the sexual satisfaction she can handle.

Marry Dante? No doubt he’s a poster boy for Hunks ’R’ Us, but he’s rude, arrogant and Lilly’s sworn enemy. Not to mention the thought of losing her independence is frightening as hell.

When they find themselves falling victim to their own charade, though, it’s anything but hell. It’s heaven, and the last thing either of them wants. The real thing.

Warning: This book contains redneck werewolves, inconvenient hormones, and a whole new use for cat toys. Uncontrollable meowing may occur.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Cat Scratch Fever:

What the hell am I doing?
This whole plan is nuts.
She ran both hands down her face and smothered a groan. Dante chose that moment to walk back into the living room.

Awarding her a cautious glance, he plopped a plate loaded with a fresh bagel sandwich and chips on her lap. “Everything okay?”

She swallowed past the lump of worry lodged in her throat. “No one is going to buy this—you and I.”

“That’s why we have to make it convincing.”

“Trust me, I’m not that good of an actress.”

Dante rubbed his jaw. “Well, my old man already thinks we’ve got something going on.”

“Great. One down, a couple hundred more people to go. And that’s just counting your relatives.” She snatched a chip and nibbled its crinkled edge listlessly. The healthy appetite she’d possessed minutes ago seemed to have disintegrated. She dropped the half-eaten chip back onto the plate and exhaled heavily. “Speaking of relatives…I know my sister will never believe we’ve suddenly fallen madly in love. Crap, just yesterday I told her you were a perverted peeping Tom.”

A grunt issued from Dante, and she shrugged. “Hey, I was mad.”

He stroked his goatee. “Actually, that might work in our favor. I’m assuming you told her about what happened on the road?”

She nodded.

“So tell her I made you dinner as an apology, and one thing led to another.” His mouth tipped into another of those panty-wetting grins. “After one incredible night in the sack together, you knew you could never live without me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease.
No
one’s going to believe that.”

His palm curved over her knee. “I bet I can make you believe it.”

She tried not to focus on the distracting way his fingers brushed along the inner seam of her pants. “Don’t count on it.”

“Should I take that as a challenge?” His gaze still locked with hers, he took her plate and set it next to her coat.

Planting his hands on the chair’s upholstered arms, he boxed her in and leaned so close, she easily made out the flecks of gold in his irises. Compelling as his gaze was, her attention couldn’t help straying to his mouth. Her nipples tightened as she imagined those sexy, masculine lips traveling in a slow glide across her breasts and belly. What would his goatee feel like against her skin? Would it be scratchy and irritating, or soft and ticklish?

Unconscious of her actions, she reached up and traced her fingertips over his jaw. “Hmm, definitely soft and ticklish.”

A wicked sparkle danced in Dante’s eyes. “Were you having dirty thoughts about my beard?”

“Possibly.”

“Tell me what you were thinking.”

The husky persuasion in his voice proved to be her ultimate downfall. “I was wondering what it’d feel like on certain parts of my body.”

Dante licked his lips in a way that was incredibly…wolfish. “I can show you firsthand.”

The heat simmering inside her kicked into full boil. Dante’s nostrils flared, and the intensity in his eyes sharpened. “Christ. I smell how fucking turned on you are.”

“I can’t help it.” She swallowed hard and squirmed against the cushion. “It’s the hormones.”

“No, it’s more than that. And you know it.” His face inched closer until his breath mingled with hers. “You want me, Lilly. Admit it.”

“I don’t know what’s bigger—your ego, or your self-delusions.”

He gave her a predatory grin that prompted flutters in her stomach. “Neither is any match for the size of my cock. But then you already know that.”

He would have to bring up his impressive package at a time like this. Now she couldn’t get the damn thing out of her mind. Which wasn’t helping her present condition at all. “Another check mark for your massive eg—” The remainder of her comeback fell victim to the firm, sinful pressure of his mouth
 

on hers. A shaky whimper escaped her. Dante took that as a convenient invitation to thrust his tongue past her lips.

She’d experienced plenty of kisses in her life. Not one of them came close to competing with the consuming hunger inherent in Dante’s. She could taste his desire. Feel his single-minded focus on her. It swept her up and left her breathless. His fingers tunneled insistently in her hair, angling her head back for a deeper exploration of her mouth. His tongue coaxed hers into play, and she eagerly obliged. God, she wanted to eat him up with a spoon. And that made absolutely no sense, considering how arrogant, obnoxious…chauvinistic…and…and…

She lost her train of thought as his roving hands massaged her breasts through her top. Inspired to do her own exploring, she smoothed her palms over Dante’s broad shoulders, trying to drag him closer and tug his flannel shirt off at the same time.

He pulled back, revealing an expression dark with passion. “There’s not enough room on this chair for us both. How about if we continue this on the couch?”

“My bed is bigger.” The suggestion popped free before she could halt it. Grinding her teeth at her loud-mouthed inner slut, she waited for Dante to smirk and lob an appropriately lewd crack at her. Instead, he scooped her into his arms, knocking the bag of Brussels sprouts onto the ground. He was careful with her ankle, something she appreciated—though honestly, she didn’t even register any discomfort anymore. Likely the improvised icepack had done the trick. That, or lust had blindsided her to the point all other sensations had skulked into the farthest recesses of her consciousness.

He walked down the short hallway and paused between the two open bedroom doors. “Which one?”

She pointed to the doorway to the left of them, and he strode inside the small room. He carefully arranged her on top of the patchwork quilt before stretching out beside her. His mouth found the tender spot beneath her ear and quickly discovered how easy it was to reduce her into a quivery, gasping wreck. She tore at his shirt again, desperate to touch warm flesh rather than flannel. This time he obeyed her wishes and released the top few buttons before growing impatient and yanking the garment over his head and tossing it aside. She snuggled against him, a happy purr leaking free.

He groaned and coasted his fingers along the curve of her spine. “Fuck, that’s sexy. Do you always purr like that?”

“Usually only when I’m in the middle of a heat cycle.”

His hand slid beneath her top and cupped her breast through the thin mesh of her bra. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, and she arched into him. A feral growl rumbled from deep in his chest. “I wanna get you nekkid.”

“Oh God,
yes
.” So much for keeping her inner slut out of this.

 
Thankfully he required no further prompting and made short work divesting her of her top and bra. The rapt way he stared at her breasts brought a fresh surge of moisture between her legs. She whimpered as his hand splayed over her mound.

“I don’t even need to touch you to know how fucking wet you are.”