Hair of the Dog (6 page)

“You perv.” Bobby Joe chugged his entire beer in one long
drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar. The bartender scowled, but brought
him another. “I shoulda knew you’d skulk in the dark and watch.”

“I always visit the spring on my runs,” he protested, taking
offense to the likes of Bobby Joe calling
him
a perv. “Always.”

“Perv,” B.J. mumbled. He shot his next beer. He pointed to
his empty glass. The bartender refilled it. Again. “She has some strong magic,
that one does. I couldn’t stop m’self from shifting.”

Tell me something I don’t know.
Taking the high road,
Grant let the “perv” insult slide. “You’re single-handedly making everyone in
Mystic Springs look bad, Bobby Joe.”

He snorted a laugh and puffed out his chest. “In
comparison.” The feet of his barstool scraped against the floor when he got up
to leave in a huff, taking his beer with him.

Grant shook his head.
Good riddance
. He held his
finger up in the air for another beer. Two was normally his limit, but tonight
felt like a six-pack sort of night. He preferred his wits about him when he
raced through the moonlit meadows and woods. There might be something to be
said for drunken inertia, watching the stars spin in the sky above. A hangover
might give him some perspective.

When his third beer arrived, so did Ivy. The air around him
felt fresher. The chatter in the bar sounded more like background music than
droning noise. The dull lighting in the room appeared to brighten with glow of
her aura. Maybe he should have stopped at two beers and gone home, but then he
would have missed her.

In a way, she was like the Native Americans had been to his
pack. Ivy was a missing piece of his life. But believing that would sully the
memory of his wife. For that very reason, he fought the hold Ivy had on him.

Ivy smiled pleasantly at him. “Good evening, Mr. Mayor.”

He bobbed his head. “Ivy. Looking for Bobby Joe?”
God
forbid
.

“Oh no.” Her head swiveled around in both directions before
returning to him. “Why? Is he here? Point me toward the nearest exit,” she
muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

He washed down his desire for her with a gulp of beer and
decided to give her his cold shoulder. She was not for him. Grant glanced
around the crowded bar and said, “Was.” He took a long drink of his beer.

She slumped in relief. “I’m sure he’s a great guy and all,
but not for me. Too…full of himself. He ditched me last night. In the woods.
Alone.” Her voice raised an octave with each new revelation.

Feigning ignorance, he said, “Alone?”

“Not entirely alone.” Her lip turned up in one of her
mischievous grins and he wanted desperately to lick like he’d done the night
before at the spring. “Speaking of being alone, I have not had a moment’s
peace. I’ve been hit on by nearly every man I’ve come in contact with and one
woman. Is there some sort of woman shortage in town?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Since Molly’s death, Grant had been
dogged by every available woman of his kind in town and a few wolf lovers. A
widower was tantamount to fresh meat in these parts. He was the catch of the
day.

The bartender placed a glass of white wine in front of Ivy.
“From the guy at the pool table.” She walked away to wipe down the bar.

“A bounty on my booty or something?” she asked, glancing
toward the corner of the bar where the pool tables stood.

Grant laughed to hide his jealousy. The sound of pool balls
crashing against other pool balls rang out over the jukebox music. The breaker
of balls sunk three.
Show off.
Every man in town strutted and preened
for her.

Grant didn’t have a cold shoulder to give, not when it came
to Ivy. Turning to her, he said, “It’s because you look amazing today.” The
truth—or half-truth. Every species wanted her for their own. To possess her
potential abilities would put the power in their corner. Wolves had always
dominated—financially, socially and politically. Having Ivy would level the
playing field for weaker species. His pack couldn’t allow it.

A man squeezed by, brushing up against Ivy, inhaling her
scent.
Subtle.

Her eyes flitted away and she flipped her hair uneasily.
“Thank you,” she said to Grant, ignoring the other man’s violation into her
personal space. “You guys sure know how to make a gal feel welcome. Or
objectified,” she mumbled.

He drained his third beer, signaling the bartender for
another. “Not accustomed to accepting compliments?”

“No. I’m not.” She pushed the drink away. “And I don’t care
for white wine either.”

He leaned in close. “I’d buy you a drink myself, but I’d
have to stand in line.” Not that he wouldn’t stand in a long line to be with
her. He shouldn’t. Grant had an entire town to think of and his dead wife’s
memory to preserve. Not his own selfish needs to fulfill. He had to prove
himself to be a better man than the Bobby Joe Dumfries of the world.

“I think I’d like to buy
you
a drink, Mr. Mayor.” Her
voice rang seductively in his hypersensitive ears. “And discuss an advertising
budget while you’re in a relaxed mood.”

“I think you mean vulnerable mood.” The bartender placed a
beer in front of him. Grant picked it up and clinked the beer bottle against
her wineglass. “This is my fourth, which is already two too many for me.”

“I insist on buying your fifth.” Her eyelashes dipped in a
slow, seductive blink. “Maybe a sixth.”

“Trying to get me toasted, Ms. Fontainebleau?”
Please say
yes, even if it’s to steal my wallet in the parking lot or entice me to give
you an unlimited advertising budget.

She took a sip of her unsolicited—not to mention
unwanted—wine. “At the very least.” Her tongue ran slowly along her lower lip,
leaving it glistening as well as irresistible.

Grant longed to taste those lips. He planted his elbow on
the bar, propping his heavy head on his hand. “I could do that for you.”

Her head tilted ever so slightly. “I’ll just bet you could.
And I’d wager you’d do a damn fine job.”

“Your eyes, Ivy, have turned smoky.” They picked up the hue
of the dark mahogany of the bar. Her cheeks bloomed a rosy pink from the wine
or his words or her natural glow. Her scent…her scent had every beast in the
room on alert.

“I have beer at my cottage,” she said.

Deciding that he was overthinking things in general, he
quickly slapped a twenty on the bar.

Grant zipped the Jeep to a jolting stop in front of her
cottage, nearly giving Ivy whiplash. They’d calmly, nonchalantly slipped out of
the bar at the lodge, probably not fooling anyone about the reason. For
discretion’s sake they’d kept hands, lips and saliva to themselves, exchanging
only glances and polite conversation. Ivy had already decided that once inside
her cottage, all bets were off. She’d be on him like flies on shit. Wait, no,
bees on honey. Point is she’d be on him or him on her.

Ivy dashed up the steps to the cottage, glancing back at him
over her shoulder.

Grant surveyed the surrounding area before following her
inside. “You really should lock yours doors.”

Ivy gathered up the fabric of his shirt into her balled-up
fist and pulled him closer. “You really should shut up and kiss me.”

“You’re right.” He clasped his hand behind her neck, drawing
her closer. His lips came down fiercely on hers, crushing her
self-consciousness into dust. While his one hand held her steadfast against his
firm warmth, the other explored Ivy’s butt, hopefully mapping her curves for a
return trip in the future. A future in which she’d be naked. Him too.

His tongue broke through her lips with little resistance.
I
surrender
. She went all soft and pliable in his hands. Grant, on the other
hand, felt rigid against her pelvic bone. Almost as if they shared one really
horny brain, he lifted her and she locked her legs around his waist so he could
carry her the short distance to the bed. Thank heaven for single-story houses
and the people who love ’em, or make love in ’em. They toppled together onto
the mattress, testing the squeaky springs.

His lips trailed down Ivy’s neck, making a path to her
breasts. Her best feature, if she did say so herself. She only brought them out
for special occasions, usually keeping them corralled in a minimizing bra and
loose clothes.

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Is that a telephone pole in your
pocket, or are just incredibly happy to see me?”

He chuckled playfully and her spine tingled with longing.
His hands got busy stroking and kneading her flesh while his tongue plundered
her mouth. When he took a break from that, Grant said, “I do know I’m very
happy to see you. But I really want to see you naked.”

It wasn’t something she heard often. Some guys in her past
had wanted to see her go away. She rolled him over onto his back with force and
straddled his lap.
Who am I?
Ivy quickly unbuttoned her blouse, starting
at the top, while Grant grappled to yank her shirttails from the waistband of
her slacks. All the while, she moved her pussy against his erection in some
seductive dance of need she hoped would deliver relief from her desire, but
only made her ache for more.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Huh?
“I feel like impaling myself on your penis over
and over again until one or both of us needs hospitalization. How do you think
I feel?” She flung her blouse across the room.

His hands grasped her breasts, squeezing gently,
appreciatively. “Not dizzy? No shortness of breath?” Near as she could tell, he
spoke directly to her breasts.

“Oooooh yeah.” Ivy dragged her center slowly along his erection
and he groaned. “I’m hot. I’m panting. My heart is racing, but I’m not going to
black out, I assure you.” Ivy had never felt so grounded in her life. This was
right where she needed to be. She helped him peel his shirt away so she could
get Grant one step closer to where he needed to be. Inside her.

Her hands caressed his incredibly solid chest. Ivy finger
combed the hair that carpeted his sternum. She scooted down a few inches and
tugged on the fly of his button-fly jeans. They parted, revealing the waistband
of his BVDs. God, he looked like an underwear model.

Grant ran a single finger between the cup of her bra and her
cleavage, teasing her unmercifully, a rakish grin on his dreamy face. His
finger pad found her nipple, plucking the tip into a hard peak. Pulling the
lacy fabric aside, he leaned toward her. She arched down to meet him halfway as
if they were of a single mind. Grant swirled his tongue in tight little circles
around the hard tip of her nipple. She moaned, feeling the pleasure tugging like
a cord connected her nipple to her pussy. Ivy clutched the back of his head,
holding him to her.

The phone next to her bed rang, shrill and unwanted, next to
them. Since she knew few people in town and even fewer knew her number, coupled
with the reality that she didn’t give a damn who it was or what they wanted,
Ivy ignored the piercing annoyance into her orgasm-in-the-making.

“You going to get that?” he asked between soulful kisses.

Bolting upright, breaking their connection, she asked, “Are
you into this or do you have somewhere else to be?” She wouldn’t let a tornado
stop her but it seemed like he’d let a telemarketer come between them.
Apparently the two of them being of one mind was over.

She shrieked with delight when he swept her up in a
commanding tuck-and-roll maneuver that put him on top of her near the foot of
the bed. Grant went back to lavishing her with kisses, alternating sweet with
sensual with fierce. His rough five-o’clock shadow scrubbed against her skin.
She’d happily suffer a case of whisker burn for him, wearing it like a badge of
honor tomorrow. Easing her knees apart with his thigh, Grant ground his hard
cock against her pussy. He suddenly popped off the bed to skim her pants off.

Normally she’d feel scrutinized, insecure, leaning towards a
case of regret, knowing with some certainty his backside would be dressed and
out the door before the sun comes up. Instead Ivy focused on the moment and her
need. She’d swear someone slipped her something akin to Spanish fly, if such a
thing existed. If so, she’d like to find out who in order to send them a
thank-you card, a balloon bouquet, maybe a Lexus.

Grant trailed kisses starting at her ankles, weaving a path
to the sensitive crease behind her knee as she giggled with delight. Sex had
never been so much fun. His lips circled her knee and dotted her thighs. “What
do we have here?” He kissed the butterfly tattoo on her hip and she felt the
heat of a blush on her cheeks.

Her legs wantonly parted again so he could pet the panel of
her panties. As luck would have it, her panties matched her bra. On some level,
maybe she’d known they’d end this day together. Or hoped, at any rate.

“Oh.” She thrust her hips up to meet his hand. It wasn’t
clear if he was rubbing his palm against her pussy, or if she was rubbing her
pussy against his palm. His fingers danced between her legs, petting, pressing
and caressing until Ivy feared she’d fracture into a million blissful pieces.

The phone screamed out again to be answered.

Grant sighed his hot breath between her legs. “Must be
important.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “My aching loins are
important.”
Be a man. Yank the phone from the wall jack. Toss it across the
room and fuck me.
Instead he pushed off the bed and brought her the phone.
She didn’t smell smoke or hear sirens. Everything else could wait.

“This better be good!” she snarled into the receiver.

“Miss Fontainebleau?” a voice asked.

“You have the wrong number.” She slammed the phone down.
“Where were we?”

Grant grinned and skimmed her panties away, discarding them
with the other clothes. As he stared at her pussy, his breath hitched. He
settled between her legs, pressing his lips against her inner thigh, switching
quickly to plant a sweet kiss on the opposite thigh. Placing his palms where
his kisses had landed, he gently applied pressure, spreading her legs apart.
Ivy squirmed when he nuzzled the crease of her leg.

He tenderly kissed her pussy lips and she stopped squirming.
His mouth opened, parting her lips with his lips for his tongue to slip inside
her channel. “Mmmmm.”

Hearing his moan, feeling the warmth of his tongue delving
in and out of her pussy, Ivy couldn’t help but moan as well.

The tip of his tongue traced along her pussy lips. “You
taste so sweet,” he muttered.

“Yes,” she said, her teeth clenched in rapture. She had no
idea how she tasted, but loved hearing his opinion. She wanted to hear more,
feel more. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded breathlessly.

His tongue swiped lightly up from her slit to her clit
before his lips closed in around the nub. His tongue twirled circles around her
clit in one direction, followed by the other. He eased his fingers into her
opening, massaging her pussy from the inside. The combination of fingers and
tongue sent her mind spiraling out of control, freefalling into madness.

“How do you feel?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Oh God,” Ivy whimpered, writhing against his touch. “Warm.”
Her belly filled with the warm glow of liquid pleasure. Her fingers combed
through his short hair.

His tongue brushed up and down over her clit. Ivy flung her
head back and forth. She dug her heels into the mattress, thrusting her pelvis
uncontrollably at his mouth. His fingers continued gently massaging, but
faster, as if he were pulling her climax from someplace deep inside her.

He pressed his thumb against her anus and asked, “How do you
feel now?”

“Yes,” she called out. Ivy’s thighs trembled around him,
quaking as the heat dropped from her belly to her pussy just like the waterfall
of her dreams, going from a trickle to a deluge. “Grant,” she muttered. “Oh
Grant.”

Instead of stopping or slowing or running for cover, he rode
out the wave of her orgasm, licking and lapping at her liquid heat until Ivy
sank limply into the mattress. As the pulsing in her pussy subsided, Grant
continued dropping tender kisses against her skin.

He rested his head on her abdomen as Ivy fingered his hair,
enjoying the simple silence. Until the phone rang again.

Grant reached for the receiver, handing it over.

“What?” she snapped.

“Ivy. Please don’t hang up,” the voice said. “Mr. Atwood
here.”

“Mr. Who?”
You have some nerve, buddy
. “Do you have
any idea what you’re interrupting?” She eyed Grant glancing up at her from his
position between her legs. He’d be wanting his happy ending momentarily.

“I think I have an idea,” Atwood replied. “And for the
record, no one is sorrier than me that I’m interrupting.”

Clearly he had no idea what he was interrupting or he’d know
no one was sorrier than her and Grant.

“May I speak with Grant, please?” he continued.

Ivy cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon? Who?”

“Grant Grayson. The mayor.” When she didn’t reply, he added,
“It’s important.”

“What makes you think he’s here?” Her eyes flit to him.
Did
he plan this? Did he boast about it to his friends in town?
He snapped his
attention to her, moving closer, perhaps to catch the conversation. She knew he
hadn’t let on to anyone just by the curious glint in his eyes. She and Grant
must have looked on fire for each other when they left the lodge. The gossips
had already phoned all their friends and family.

“A hunch,” Atwood said.

“Well, you know what you can do with your hunch, Mr.
Atwood?” Ivy swapped the phone to her other ear. “It would be highly
inappropriate for the mayor to be at my cottage at this time of night,” she
glanced at the bedside clock, “unless I needed him to sign a petition into law
or whatever mayors do. Don’t you agree?”

Grant buried his face between her breasts, his shoulders
sagging. Ivy stroked his shoulder with her free hand.

“Is he…there?” It sounded like he covered the receiver with
his hand for a few seconds. She heard muffled talking before he said, “It’s a
matter of life and death.”

She thrust the phone at Grant. “It’s life or death
important, or so he says. I’ll just have you sign that petition some other time!”
she shouted for Mr. Atwood’s benefit.
Jeez.
That didn’t even make sense,
but it was her ridiculous story and she was sticking to it.

“Grant here.” He rolled off her to lay flat on the mattress.
“Of course. Yes, I understand.” Sensing the fun and games were over, Ivy pushed
off the bed and began collecting her clothes. “Sure. No, I’ll be right there.
Magic Drive. Five minutes.” He held the phone out to her.

She placed the phone in the cradle. “Problem?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, which didn’t answer her inquiry.

Ivy pulled her blouse back on, feeling the familiar
self-consciousness of nakedness, minus the fervor of their necking and petting
and… “Magic Drive is in the resort, isn’t it?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself about, Ivy.” He dressed
at the speed of light.

“I can see
you’re
quite agitated.” His agitation was
robbing her of her post-climactic bliss. Same as the phone call had robbed her
of a chance for multi-climactic bliss.

“It’s nothing!” he snapped, which put her senses on high
alert and left her feelings in need of mending.

Now fully dressed, she said, “If it happened on the resort
grounds, it concerns the hell out of me.”

Grant took her by the shoulders. “It’s a
car-versus-pedestrian accident. Might be quite gruesome. Your job is schedules
and spreadsheets and budgeting. Not this.”

“My job is also PR and…and I’m responsible for the safety of
the staff and guests, Grant.” She also felt like Jell-O, every muscle in her
body turning to post-climactic mush.

“I’m asking as a personal favor to me,” he shook her
lightly, “please stay here. I’ll brief you later.”

Squaring her shoulders and standing firmly, or as firmly as
she could manage, she replied, “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” He released his hold on her and she
nearly crumpled to the floor. “Grab a jacket.”

In the Jeep, weirdness swirled in the air like a noxious gas
leak. Maybe the car plowed into a gas main too. Grant silently sped to Magic
Drive, only a couple minutes away. Minutes that dragged due to the unnerving
quiet.