Jodi Redford - Cat Scratch Fever

“Dante…” That one breathless word sounded like a plea.

“I want to taste you. All over.” His inner wolf gave a resounding howl of approval.

She swallowed. Hard. “Bad idea.”

“I know. But I still want to do it.” He inched closer, his free hand tracing the outer contour of her thigh. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past fifteen fucking hours.”

“We don’t even like each other.”

“The sex would be unbelievably hot.”

She gave a strained laugh. “Why? Because we can’t stand each other?”

“No, because we both desperately want to fuck each other’s brains out.”

“It’s hormones. After they wear off, then what? We go back to hating each other? Not the most brilliant plan.”

The logical half of him knew she was right, but the other half—the part that seemed to have a direct transmission to his cock—wanted to argue. Big time. “Hate is a harsh word.”

She made a scoffing noise. “You’re only saying that because you’re hoping to get laid.”

Okay, there was that. “I could grow to like you.” Especially if he was buried balls-deep inside her. Hell, his dick was all for the two of them becoming best buds in that regard.

“Please, don’t make me laugh. Besides, could you imagine trying to explain you and me tripping the mattress fantastic to your father?” She wiggled her leg out of his grasp. “He practically suffered a stroke when he walked in on us in your kitchen. No way would he be able to survive finding out we’re having sex.”

The mention of Foster Morgan managed to douse his desire better than a fire hose aimed directly at his groin. “Why the hell would my dad need to know anything about us?” Not like he would say anything to his old man. What he did with his dick wasn’t Foster’s damn business.

Lilly’s expression suggested that he’d spontaneously become retarded. “Your father knows everything that happens in this town. Before it actually happens .”

Unfortunately, that was all too true. He swiped his hand over his mouth, wishing he could so easily rid himself of the bitter aftertaste that always accompanied any conversation regarding Foster. “My dad can think whatever he wants. I don’t give two shits.”

Lilly blinked as if she was surprised by his vehemence. Likely she was. There weren’t many who knew about the tense relationship he shared with his dad. Certainly not an outsider like Lilly. She bit her lip and struggled into a sitting position. “I still think you and I getting naked together would be a massive mistake. In addition to the fact that we don’t like each other, there’s the land deal to consider. I can’t afford to complicate things between us.”

He gaped at her. “For the love of God, woman, how many damn times do I have to tell you I’m not selling?”

Her chin adopted the obstinate slant that never failed to make him long for the ability to conjure a bottle of whiskey at will. “Sooner or later, you’re going to give in.”

“Don’t count on it.” He pushed to his feet and stalked toward the exit. “I’ll call Shane and have him swing by tonight with the plow.” Just as his hand closed around the doorknob, he caught another alluring whiff of her pheromones. He clenched his jaw. “I advise staying out of Shane’s way. He might not have the same restraint when it comes to your condition as I do.” Hell, talk about a crock of shit. If she so much as crooked a finger right now, he’d lunge across the room and be buried inside her in zero seconds flat.

He let the door slam behind him and loped down the steps to his truck. Eight minutes later, he pulled into his driveway and cut the engine. As soon as he walked inside the house, Chevy came careening into the living room and leapt at him in exuberant greeting. Well, at least someone was happy to see him. After giving the dog a proper pat on the head, Dante traipsed into the kitchen and snagged a beer from the fridge. Using the hem of his shirt, he twisted the cap off and chugged down a quarter of the bottle before coming up for air.

Having Lilly safely out of reach wasn’t easing his horniness anywhere near as quick as he would have liked. He’d never been this on edge, itchy to sink inside warm, wet pussy. Despite the winter chill still tenaciously clinging to him, beads of sweat rolled beneath his collar, soaking the cotton of his shirt. He ripped his jacket off and tossed it toward the La-Z-Boy. Feeling like a caged beast, he prowled the room. Chevy jumped onto the sofa and spun in the mandatory half a dozen circles before deeming the cushions comfortable enough to lie on. Resting his muzzle on his paws, he watched Dante with droopy eyes.

Dante slashed a look toward the door, debating the feasibility of riding into town and finding a willing bed partner for the night. It usually wasn’t his style. Not that he was a damn monk or anything. Though lately, he sure as hell came close to resembling one. Thanks to the ever-lovin’ fear Anna Gifford generated in the Morgan pack’s female members, the sexual pickings for him around here were sparse. Which meant that typically when the mood struck him, he was forced to drive downstate and find a woman who was out of Anna and his father’s reach. Considering how much he hated leaving Morgan’s Ridge for any extended period of time, knocking boots for him was few and far between. Sure, he could take his chances with a non-shifter, but unlike some of his fellow pack members, he didn’t feel right getting intimate with someone he couldn’t reveal his true nature to.

So basically he was screwed. Or not, as the case were.

Growling, he kicked the side of the La-Z-Boy. Chevy took that as a sign that they were playing his favorite game—let’s attack the furniture for no damn good reason. Flying from his perch on the sofa with an excited woof , he dove at the recliner. Dante snapped his fingers and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. His expression properly dejected, Chevy moped toward his cage.

Tunneling his hand through his hair, Dante slumped on the chair. It didn’t much matter that he had no easy way of getting lucky tonight. Not when any other woman would be a poor substitute for the one that he hungered for.

Fucking unbelievable. He suffered insatiable hots for the last damn female on the planet he should be sniffing after. Lilly was right about that at least. The two of them hooking up? It’d be like the first sign of the apocalypse, for shit’s sake. He visualized the horrified expressions of his pack members…and his father. Hell, it might be worth it just to see that last part. He took a swig from his beer and scratched his sternum.

Without warning, Foster’s damning words echoed in Dante’s mind. “I’m giving you exactly one week to meet your mate-bond requirement. If you don’t, I’m assigning a new head alpha.”

Dante’s swallow of beer went down bitter. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. Come next week, he’d have to propose to Anna. He’d fought that prospect tooth and nail for the past seven years, ever since Anna had gotten it into her evil head that he was perfect husband material for her. Of course Foster had jumped right on that opportunity, once he’d seen the potential dollar signs in his future. Having grown up his whole life with Anna, Dante knew he’d rather stay single than shackle himself to that scheming bitch, but the damn choice was being taken away from him.

The worse part was he’d be letting down his pack. By wedding and bedding Anna, the pack merger would be forced. But if he didn’t meet the mate-bond requirement, he’d lose lead alpha status, leaving it wide open for his father to induct one of his lackeys—who would go ahead and bond with Anna anyway.

Either way, he was screwed. His only hope was finding an alternative bond mate, but that was damn impossible considering Anna and Foster’s influence. No, those two had guaranteed there not being a wolf on God’s green earth who would take him, thanks to the numerous threats they’d issued to any potential competition who’d shown an interest in becoming his mate. For shit’s sake, Anna had even crashed a few of his dates in the past and picked fights with the other female. Talk about pathetic. And annoying.