Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

Rosie was more than ready to cooperate with Cat’s eagerness to be gone. Cat rode north toward the Colorado border, certain that Andrés would head away from civilization. She paused at five to drink and eat and rest the mare, refusing to give up hope.

By eight the sun was beginning to set. Cat had no idea how far she’d gone; the countryside had hardly changed, and she’d encountered only cattle, horses, and a few pronghorn antelope. Her legs ached, and Rosie was beginning to droop.

Cat dismounted at the foot of a small hill, stretched, and left Rosie to graze while she finished off the last bottle of water. Her heart was a leaden weight in her chest. She couldn’t continue with only the supplies remaining in the saddlebags; when morning came she’d have to turn around. The chances that she’d find Andrés were growing smaller by the moment.

Wearily she spread the blanket on the brown grass and lay down. She had just closed her eyes when Rosie nickered softly. Half afraid to hope, Cat opened her eyes again.

The stallion stood at the top of the hill, the plume of his tail stirring in the evening breeze. Cat rose, adrenaline rushing through her body.

Come , she begged silently. Come to me.

For a handful of minutes it seemed he would turn and flee. But slowly, hesitantly, he started down the hill, head lowered and ears pressed flat. He stopped several yards away, his eyes filled with that very human sadness.

“Andrés,” Cat whispered.

His ears flickered, but he came no nearer. Cat offered her upturned hands.

“I was wrong,” she said. “You’ve paid enough. It’s time you had a second chance.”

The stallion lifted his head. An eldritch light sprang up around him, gilding his coat and crackling the grass under his hooves.

Cat was never sure what she saw then. Andrés changed; four legs became two, and the ebon mane became a shock of thick, dark hair. He stood naked before her, still silent, still waiting.

Love and desire tangled in Cat’s mind, one inseparable from the other. She, too, had been transformed.

“We forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you, Andrés. Be free.”

He began to shake, and she realized he was laughing. His voice boomed in a cry of triumph and joy. He opened his arms and she walked into them, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his body.

“ Mi gatita, ” he said, taking her face between his hands. “ Gracias. Gracias desde el fondó de mi corazón.” He searched her eyes. “How may I repay you?”

In answer she kissed him, her hand wandering between them to stroke his erect cock. “If you really want to repay me,” she murmured, “don’t make me wait a second longer.”

She took his hand and led him to the blanket. He removed her clothing with something like reverence, worshiping her body with lips and tongue. But when he parted her thighs to enter, she rolled over and pushed him onto his back.

“It’s my turn now,” she said, and mounted him with a groan of pleasure.

That night she had the ride of her life. And when it was over and they lay together gazing up at the fading stars, she knew Itzel was at peace.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Stay with me forever.”

He traced her lips with his fingertip. “Forever is a long time.”

“Not nearly long enough.”

“You hardly know me. How can you be sure—”

“Let me show you just how sure I am.”

And they rode together, bound as one, until they could ride no farther.

THE WORST THING ABOUT WORKING FOR AN INVESTIGATIVE agency specializing in paranormal and psychic events was the long, often irregular, hours.

My field of expertise might be missing persons rather than things that went bump in the night, but it still involved late nights and long shifts. Monsters mostly preferred the cover of darkness, it seemed.

But the second worst thing about working for the aforementioned agency was having a boss who had no respect for the “eight hours between shifts” rule, made law years ago.

So when Frank’s phone call woke me up after I’d barely been asleep for three hours, I was neither happy nor surprised.

“Rioli?” he said, his voice more gravelly than usual. Meaning he’d either been up all night or he’d hit the smokes again. “Need you in here ASAP.”

“Frank, I only just got home from the Harbor case—”

“This one’s important, Grace. Be here by seven.”

I glared blearily at the clock. He’d given me a whole thirty minutes. How generous of him. I hung up, dragged myself out of bed, and threw on some clothes. Luckily for us both, the traffic at that hour of a Sunday morning was practically nonexistent, and I found a parking spot right out in front of the agency’s multistory building.

It turns out I wasn’t the only investigator Frank had called in early. And when I heard the rapid tattoo of footsteps coming up behind me, I barely restrained a groan. There was only one man in this building who could make the mere act of walking sound so sexy, and I really wasn’t in the mood to cope with his banter this morning.

“Hey, Ravioli, wait up.”

“Ravioli is a food,” I said tartly, not breaking stride as I headed for the elevator. “And my name is Rioli. I’d appreciate it if you’d actually remember that.”

“Are you always this touchy in the mornings?” he asked, his voice so warm, so rich, that shivers of delight ran down my spine.

But then, I’d been supersensitive to this man’s presence from the moment he’d walked elegantly—and oh-so sexily—into the Preternatural Investigations offices eighteen months ago. Luckily for me, I was not alone in my admiration, and Ethan had wasted no time dipping into the pool, so to speak. The man was a werewolf who knew how to work both his aura and his lean, powerful body. He was sex on a stick, as one of my cubicle mates had noted. Right before she’d taken him home and enjoyed his stick.

Thankfully, I’d been spared the grittier details of their activities the following morning. I had imagination enough when it came to Ethan.

Which wasn’t to say I’d never been tempted to do more than imagine, but I often worked with the man on missing persons investigations. Unless you were very lucky, mixing business and pleasure always got messy.

Not that I’d actually mind a little of Ethan’s mess every now and again.

I blew out a breath and punched the elevator button. Control. I needed control. Ethan would smell the merest hint of arousal, and that would only stir his interest more. And I needed that like I needed a hole in the head. Especially when it had been so damn long since I’d had anything decent in the way of sex.

Weres of any breed might be free and easy when it came to sex, but I was a wolf shifter , and my parents were depressingly old-fashioned when it came to the whole mating act. Though I was pretty sure I could shake their overly strict sensibilities if the right man and moment came along. Ethan certainly wasn’t that man, hence the cobwebs and me feeling hornier than a bitch in heat whenever he got within hormonal radar distance.

I punched the button again. As usual, the damn elevator was taking its freaking time getting here.

“Or is it just me that brings out the worst in you?” he continued, from right behind me.

I took a breath that was filled with the warm, spicy scent of him, then slowly turned to meet the vivid blue of his gaze. A gaze that was too bright, and saw too much. A gaze that never gave much away, no matter what the situation.

But Ethan Garrison wasn’t just sex on a stick, he was ex-military, and a dangerous man despite his to-die-for smile. He was dressed in black this morning, his roughly rolled up shirtsleeves emphasizing the strength of his shoulders and upper arms, while his close-fitting jeans paid homage to the long, lean length of his legs. Even his boots and baseball cap were black. With his golden hair and skin, it was a potent combination.