Marie Harte - A Matter of Pride

Dean, to her chagrin, seemed to sleep like a baby while she tossed and turned in a sleeping bag not fit for a child. And then she’d had to take care of business in the woods. There was no water to drink or wash with but what she carried, and the stench of their makeshift fire had carried into her clothing. She wanted to run screaming to her hairdresser, but she’d left that life behind weeks ago.

A normal Saturday morning in Miami consisted of a nonfat latte and plans for the evening—as in, which man would be lucky enough to be her date to whatever boring nightclub she’d agreed to attend—and design time. Stacey liked to use her Saturdays to sketch new clothes and think outside the box. Her fun, creative spans gave her some ease from the stresses of running the business side of things that Miles didn’t manage from Monday through Friday.

Truth to tell, she’d much rather spend her weekends with her sketchpad or sewing machine dreaming up fashion. That or curling up with a good book. But her so-called friends, those darlings of society who kept her purse fat and happy, liked being seen with her. They bought the pieces she wore at the clubs, and they spread the word about her designs.

The men were a necessity. Accessories to dress up her solitude. A small part of her always hoped one of them might break her string of predictable, two-dimensional dates. Inevitably, they’d pressure her for sex, flatter her until she felt ill or show her off like a prize poodle.

She sighed.

“Keep up, your highness,” Dean said with cheer. The idiot started whistling and increased his stride through the well-traveled trail.

Dear God, they’d already walked three miles this morning. When could they shift and run as cats? She needed four feet, not two. Her boots were killing her.

She wanted so badly to complain, but she didn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of being right about her.

He stopped so suddenly she plowed into his backpack. “Oomph.”

He turned around with a smile. “Sorry. Thought I heard something.”

“Like what?”

“Heavy breathing, a little grumbling, maybe. I’m not sure.” His eyes twinkled.

As annoyed as she felt, Stacey couldn’t help wanting to smile with him. God, a man this aggravating shouldn’t be this charming. She poked him in the chest, pleased when he grunted, and walked around him. While she followed the clear trail, her cat scratched at her mental guards to go free and hunt. The scent of deer and rabbit tantalized and her nose twitched. But reminders that Lex’s cats might be near kept her head clear of everything but Quince’s orders.

She snorted. The cat thought he could command her. How little he knew her. Stacey had agreed to be bait because she wanted to deal with Lex on her own terms. Screw Quince. If he thought she was worried about Miles, he could jump off a— Okay. So she worried about her brother. Miles let his anger get the best of him when it came to Quince, and she knew why.

Miles and Quince had been tight once. Best friends, until Quince’s responsibilities under their pride leader had taken his time. Miles had focused more on business, but they’d always been friends. For Quince to turn against the pride and take Lex’s side over Michael’s had hurt. Especially considering Miles’s clear loyalty to Michael and the well-being of the pride.

But Stacey still didn’t know exactly what to make of Quince. He’d had one of Joy’s pieces, her pride and joy during her jewelry-making days. She’d only given her bracelets out to loved ones. Yet Quince had one, and he’d obviously carried it around. The little threaded bracelet appeared worn and carried his scent all over it. He kept it in his pocket?

She had a bad feeling the man had a thing for Joy. Come to think of it, he and Joy had always seemed to rub each other the wrong way.

Kind of the way she and Dean argued.

An immediate remembrance of their kiss flared to life, and her entire body tingled. That rush of adrenaline when they fought had translated all too easily to passion. Is that what Quince felt for Joy? And if so, did that mean Dean felt something similar for her?

Horrified at the thought, she forced it from her mind. But that left her free to worry about Lex and Quince. She’d have to ditch Dean out here somewhere, and in a way that would keep him from looking for her. For all that he acted like he couldn’t stand her sometimes, he had as big a protective streak as his older brothers. But with Lex, Quince and a bunch of cats with confusing loyalties all roaming the forest, she didn’t want to take a chance with Dean’s safety.

Once she took care of Dean, then what? Quince had said he’d handle Lex. But would he be any better a leader? Just because he had a crush on Joy didn’t make him a hero. Far from it, considering how he’d turned on their pride leader in the first place.

“You okay? You worry me when you’re quiet.” Dean touched her shoulder, and that easily, arousal flared to life within her.

“I’m fine. Great. Just love this mountain air.” What she wouldn’t give for a whiff of her lemongrass aromatherapy as she basked in a mud wrap while Inga worked her shoulders.

She took her canteen out and drank, thirsty and tired, though she’d be damned if she’d admit it.

“Slow down.” He eased the canteen from her mouth and caught a drop of water off her lip. The sensual glide of his thumb over her mouth gave her goose bumps. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

His concern made it even harder to not want him. Even though he’d backed away from her like she had the plague yesterday, he looked anything but disinterested right now.

She coughed and took a subtle step back. “I hate to break it to you, but I can handle myself. I spent most of my life dealing with the urban jungle. Your little trek through the woods is nothing compared to summers in Miami.”

He tilted his head and stared at her.

“What?”

“So you’re loving this trek, eh?” The dimple that winked on his cheek made her heart race. “Gee, Stacey. And here I’d pegged you for a comfort and resort kind of gal. I can’t wait to tell Maggie that we can add your name to the list.”

“What list?”

“The girls are going camping in a few weeks. It’s a real fun trip they make once a quarter. Camping out under the stars, a campfire, roasting marshmallows. No men or civilization for a full weekend. Sounds right up your alley.”

Inwardly, she groaned. She already had withdrawal from the cell phone she’d been forced to leave behind at the pride. “Sure.”

Dean beamed. “Yeah. Just think. You can ask them all kinds of questions about how they like their clothes to fit while roughing it.” He paused. “What a great idea. I’ll make sure to mention it to Maggie and Julia. Oh, Gabby too.”

I’m sure you will.

“I’d tell Rachel,” he continued, “but she likes to spend her time off at the local spa. Not like you.”

The bastard didn’t believe her for a second. He could obviously see the sweat and dismay written all over her face. She hated being dirty when human. Even as a feline she spent an inordinate amount of time grooming. But she did like to shift into her animal soul and lose herself in nature, feeling the earth beneath her paws, catching the scent of prey on the wind.

Followed, of course, by a day being pampered at an exclusive resort. She had a feeling she wouldn’t get the spa treatment after this weekend.

Dean chucked her chin as if she were a three year old and walked away a few steps to confer with Monty via his HF radio. He signed off while she finished resting her tired muscles. God, she missed the familiar comfort of her heels.

“One more mile until we hit our change spot.” Where they’d shed their packs, clothes and skin, and haul ass, catamount style.