The Beast in Him (8 page)

“To tell time.”

“I’ve seen admirals with the same watch. You planning on attacking those deadly saccharine packets by sea?”

Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit and Smitty wondered how long before she decked him.

“Is there anything else you want?” That’s a nicely loaded question. “Or can I go now?”

“Sure, you can go.”

“Thank you,” she said in an exasperated sigh. Then she pushed her chair back and stood.

As Jessie walked past him, he added, “I understand you’re afraid.”

Not surprisingly, she froze in her tracks. Even when he had to coax her from trees, Jessie would get insulted if he even suggested she might be afraid. To her, hiding in trees and under bleachers was merely a preventive measure that any sensible person would do. “Excuse me?”

“You’re afraid. I completely understand.” He patted her hand like he would his grandmother. “It’s all right. You go on now.”

She took two steps back until she stood right next to him. “Afraid of what?”

“Of your feelings for me. That’s why you’re fighting me so hard.”

“I do not have feelings for you—other than hatred.”

“Now, Jessie Ann, we’ve always been honest with each other. Just admit you still want me—after all these years.”

She threw up her hands. “I’m walking away from this conversation.”

He figured. But he simply couldn’t help himself. It was such fun torturing her.

Smitty jumped up and followed after her. As he reached the door she’d already gone through, she was suddenly back, her small body slamming into his.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh... ” She looked back and then shoved him onto a small couch. Sitting down next to him, she grabbed his arm and yanked it over her shoulders. “Now just sit there and look pretty.”

A few moments later, three men walked through the door. Two were full-human, but the one whose eyes locked on Jessie...

Immediately, Smitty recognized the wild dog from Saturday night.

“Jessica! Hello!”

Jessie smiled and it had to be the fakest thing Smitty had seen since he went to Los Angeles on a business trip. “Sherman. Hi!”

Her forced cheeriness made Smitty’s back teeth ache, but the dog seemed to buy it.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hard at work as always?”

“Oh, I was. I was.” Jessie waved her hand dismissively. “But I was just taking a little break with my... uh... friend here.”

“Now, Jessie Ann, don’t play coy.” Smitty nuzzled her neck. “You know I’m your boyfriend now.”

As Jessie went tense all over, the male dog went from big and dumb to resentful in a heartbeat—like Smitty had dug up his favorite bone from the backyard. Didn’t he get that Jessie had no interest in him? How could she? The woman deserved better than some scrawny dog. Unfortunately for the dog, he wasn’t “getting it,” forcing Smitty to make it clear as crystal. So when that resentful doggy gaze moved from Smitty teasing Jessie’s neck to his hand, Smitty let his hand drop—right on Jessie’s breast.

Jessie let out a sharp breath, and the dog asked, “Well, Jessica. Why don’t you introduce me to your boyfriend?”

“Of course.” Jessie casually took the hand lying on her breast with hers and when she curled her fingers into his palm, she unleashed her claws.

Smitty grunted, but that was all. He’d kind of seen that one coming. But, dammit, it had been for her own good. And he’d go to his grave saying that.

“Sherman Landry, this is Bobby Ray Smith. Bobby Ray, this is Sherman Landry.”

The dog already had his hand out for Smitty to shake, but it fell back at his side as he stared at him. Smitty had seen it before. That look. A look of fear and panic. And he knew the next words that would come out of the dog’s mouth.

“You’re a Smith?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of the Smith... Pack?”

And there it was. A Smith could be any ol’ body. But a member of the Smith Pack, one of the direct bloodline, brought out all sorts of reactions from other shifters. Some looked down on them and others looked horrified. That one small phrase, “Of the Smith Pack?” followed Smitty around like stink on a pig.

“Yes, sir, I surely am of the Smith Pack. The Tennessee Smiths.”

“I see. Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Jessica, can I speak with you for a second?”

“Well, as you see—”

“Now.”

This had been what she’d been trying to avoid—time alone with Sherman Landry. Like most obsessive dogs that chased the same car every day, went after the same cat, slammed into the same mirror because they didn’t seem to grasp the only other dog in the room was themselves, Sherman wouldn’t quite give up on her. She really wished he would. He’d sent flowers to the office that morning, even though she’d told him about her allergies. How could Smitty remember sixteen years after the fact, but this idiot forget after two days?

He grabbed her hand and pulled her outside Starbucks into the cold, completely oblivious to the fact that she had no coat in ten-degree weather. Then he started rambling and she had a hard time focusing. Not merely because of the cold, but really because a tit grab had never felt so good before and Smitty hadn’t even squeezed.

“I’m not sure what the problem is, Sherman,” she snapped, too cold to bother being polite any longer.

“Jessica, do you know who you’re sitting with?”

“Well, since I just introduced him to you, I have a vague idea.”

“I don’t mean who he is. I mean who he is.” A physicist with several government contracts under his belt and a tenured position complete with his own lab at the local, blindingly expensive small university, Sherman still had the amazing ability of sounding like a complete idiot.

“And who is he?”

“He’s a Smith. I thought he was just a wolf, but he’s a Smith. What are you thinking?”

I’m thinking the man can palm my breast anytime. “I’m not sure what you mean. What am I thinking about what?”

“Jessica”—to her great annoyance, he took her elbow and led her farther away from the coffeehouse—“Smiths are, at the very least, not good for a woman’s reputation.”

“My reputation?” Had she actually portaled to another time and dimension? Where women actually had to worry about their reputations.

“I know. I know. You don’t think about those things, but you need to. Smiths are infamous womanizers.”

She’d never call Smith males “womanizers.” Although she would call them whores.

“I see.”

“And,” Sherman said in all doglike seriousness, “they’re dangerous, Jessica. Unstable. Even other wolves avoid them.”

“I had no clue.” Sure, she could explain to Sherman how she’d grown up around Smiths and knew them better than most. She could also explain how Smitty and she used to be friends. But all that would require her to spend more time with the man, seconds of her life she’d never get back.

Forcing herself not to glance impatiently down at her watch, she said, “I’ll talk to my Pack about it.”

“Of course. Because God forbid you should move without their permission.”

It was the venom with which he made that statement that had her eyes narrowing to slits. Her Pack only wanted her to be happy. For instance, they sure as fuck wouldn’t let her stand out in the cold so they could lecture her.

The coffeehouse door opened and Smitty walked out, heading right toward them. She hadn’t been this relieved to see the man since he dragged Bertha off her while she was pummeling Jess’s face.

Smitty glanced down at her, and she knew he’d immediately caught on to her rapidly growing anger. Taking her arms, he pulled them around his waist and pulled her in tight to his body. His jacket and body heat kept her warm; his embrace kept her from tearing out Sherman Landry’s throat.

“Everything all right out here?” Smitty asked.

“Yes,” she said out loud. Under her breath, she added, “Make him go away.”

“Leave it to me,” he muttered back. “Well,” he said clearly, for the entire street to hear, “we’re going to go home now and have some hot and dirty sex.”

Jess let out a startled gasp and tried to pull back, but Smitty held her tight against him.

“Yup,” he continued, “we’re gonna go have some nasty, dirty, whore sex.”

Even with her face buried in his—very nice smelling—chest, Jess could still sense when Smitty locked his sights on Sherman.

“And you’re not invited.”

“Jessica,” Sherman tried again, “maybe we should—”

“Son,” Smitty drawled, “don’t make me show you how much of a Smith I truly am.”

Sherman cleared his throat. “I’ll speak with you another time, Jessica.” She heard his footsteps heading back to the coffeehouse.

When Sherman opened the door, Smitty tossed out, “Just don’t call her when we’re having sex—which will be constantly!”

Jess waited long enough for Sherman to get inside before she yanked away from Smitty and followed up with a solid fist to his chest. The pain that radiated up her arm afterward, she ignored.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothin’,” he said, looking confused. “Why?”

Smitty wasn’t sure what he enjoyed more. Torturing that scrawny dog—and he had tortured him. The poor guy didn’t know whether to be horrified or jealous of Smitty and Jessie going at it. Or had his pleasure come from torturing Jessie Ann? All that was fun, but what he enjoyed the most was having Jessie Ann plastered up against him. She nuzzled real nice, even when she didn’t mean to.

At the moment, however, she looked real cranky.

“I was helping like you asked.”

“You were being a dick,” she said while looking down at the giant watch on her wrist. “And you were enjoying every damn second of being a—oh, my God! I’ve gotta go.”

She ran to the corner and hailed a cab, but before she stepped inside, she ran back over to him.

“One other thing.”

“Yeah?”

She slid her hand under his jacket and twisted his nipple until his eyes watered.

“Touch my tits again without permission and I’ll rip this off.” She glanced at her watch again. “Ach! Now I really do have to go.”

Jessie turned and ran back toward the waiting cab. Sure, Smitty could have let her go, but to be honest, he’d never been so damn entertained by a woman before. “So how do I get permission?”

She spun around, jumping back when she realized he stood right behind her. “Stop sneaking up on me! And you don’t get permission.”

“Why not? You said I was pretty.”

“Look, Smitty, while I appreciate your doglike persistence, you need to know that nothing you do or say will change my mind about this. You’re part of my past, and these days I’m all about my future. I don’t have time or room in my life for you and your casual chats. Understand?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

“’Cause I always love a challenge.”

He’d caught her with that when she was halfway in the cab. With one foot in and the other still braced against the curb, she stared at him. “What challenge?”

“You’re challenging me to get you back into my life.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your exact words were ‘I challenge you, Bobby Ray Smith, to get me back into your life.’”

“I never said that.”

“That’s what I heard.” The beauty of wolf hearing. You heard only what you wanted to, made up what was never said but should have been, and the rest meant little or nothing.

“Is there something wrong with you? Mentally?”

“Darlin’, you met my family. You’ve gotta be more specific than that.”

“That’s it. I’m leaving. I can’t have this conversation with you. I can’t—”

He saw it immediately. The way her entire body tensed, her eyes focusing across the busy city street, locking on something in the distance. She went from exasperated to on point in less than five seconds.

“What’s wrong, Jessie?” He followed her line of sight but didn’t see anything that stuck out to him.

“Nothing,” she said, her eyes still staring across the street. “I need to go.” She went up on her toes and absently kissed him on his cheek. He’d bet cash she wouldn’t even remember she did it.

She stepped into her cab and closed the door. She didn’t look back at him, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. That wasn’t like her. Even if it was to give him the finger, she’d do or say something before driving off.

Smitty turned and stared at the spot Jessie’d been staring at. But he still saw nothing that made him feel tense or worried.

So what the hell had worried his little Jessie Ann?

As soon as Jess stepped off the elevator, her friends made a run for it. They got away except the one she wanted to catch anyway.

“Jess! Be reasonable!” She dragged Phil into her office by his collar and slammed the door. She had about ten minutes before the others would sneak back in. She had to make this fast.

Phil, however, was busy defending his actions of deserting her with a crazy hillbilly wolf. “We figured we all didn’t need to go to the hospital with you.”

“Shut up about that. I’ve got a question for you.”

“What?”

“Do you remember Walt Wilson?”

Phil thought for a second. “The name sounds familiar... ”

“Kristan’s biological father.” And the man who’d unceremoniously dumped an eighteen-year-old Maylin because “That thing inside you ain’t mine.”

“Oh. Him,” Phil sneered. “What about him?”

“I think I saw him.”

“In New York?”

“No, in space.”

“Okay. Sarcasm a little unwarranted.”

Jess paced to the big window behind her desk. She rarely looked out it. She rarely had time.

“You sure it was him?”

“No, but I think it was. I saw his picture once in May’s photo album. She kept only one picture of him so Kristan would know what he looked like.” She frowned. “He’s lost a lot of hair for a wolf. Got a giant receding forehead.”

“I don’t think foreheads can recede.”

“You’re gonna argue this with me?”

“Whoa. Is all this tenseness about Walt Wilson?” Phil grinned. “Or about that big ol’ country wolf?”

When Jess pretended to lunge for him across her desk, Phil wrapped his arms around his chest. “Not the nipples!”

“Track Wilson down,” Jess told him. “If he’s in town, I wanna know.”

“Okay.”