Fur Factor (2 page)

She didn’t think Ava, Danice and Corinne had seen her, but she knew it was only a matter of time. They would be keeping an eye out for her, since she was so late and had refused to answer any of their calls to her cell phone thanks to the blessing of caller ID.

Once they realized she had arrived, her reprieve would be over, and she would have to face her latest Fix, whoever he happened to be.

Christine Warren

Fur Factor

9

The last two rounds, the gods themselves must have been looking out for her, because those Fixes couldn’t have gone better if she’d planned them herself. Her kidnapping mountain man had turned out to be her older sister’s high school boyfriend, and the idea of fucking little Missy Roper in a secluded cabin for forty-eight hours had turned him an interesting shade of green. He’d given her a pair of his sweats to change into, roasted her some marshmallows and checked into a hotel room until it was time to deliver her back home. As he walked her to the door of her apartment building, he’d even made her promise not to tell Ava how their Fix had really turned out. Like that had been hard. She’d rather have told her parents she’d decided to become a leather-clad, bisexual dominatrix.

She’d rather have
become
a leather-clad, bisexual dominatrix.

Those same gods must have appreciated her prayers of thanks afterward, because they looked out for her on Fix #2 as well. In that one, the buff fireman who had rescued her from the deliberately stuck elevator at Ava’s office building had been willing to give her the ol’ college try—right up until he pulled off her mitten-knit hat and seen the dull ash-blonde color of her hair. That’s when she started to remind him of his four year old daughter, which in turn reminded him of his ex-wife and
that
reminded him of how much he wished he were still married. Instead of a quickie in a stopped elevator, Missy had spent close to two hours listening to the tale of Bobby’s broken heart and looking at pictures of his little girl. Little Mandy looked like a real sweetheart, and even if Missy couldn’t see the resemblance, she vowed to send the child a birthday card every year to show her gratitude for rescuing Missy from her rescuer.

She hadn’t even had to worry about Bobby spilling the beans on that one. The day after her rescue, he’d moved back to Boston to be near his daughter and to try and persuade his ex-wife to take him back. All Missy needed to do was blush whenever anyone asked her what happened, and she was home free. The way conversations with her friends usually went, blushing turned out to be no problem.

Missy occasionally wondered if ”friends” was really the right word to describe their little clique. Reggie seemed more like her sister than her friend—someone who loved her unconditionally, but also delighted in tormenting her, sometimes drove her crazy and would defend her to the death or the homicide. Corrine and Danice were more like drinking buddies. They had a great time together, despite the fact that they had less than nothing in common, and no one could make her laugh quicker.

Then there was Ava.

Ava simply defied description. She presided over the lot of them like a bitch-goddess, dispensing gifts or torment, depending on her mood. Ava wasn’t the sort of person you just “liked” or “got along with.” She made you work too hard for that, but she was loyal and fierce, and Missy could easily picture her ripping the heart out of someone who hurt one of her friends. Missy loved her for that, which probably explained why she put up with all the crap Ava managed to put her through.

Like tonight.

Christine Warren

Fur Factor

10

Missy had dressed in this ridiculous pseudo-dress, taken a cab to the Upper East Side, walked through Reggie and Dmitri’s front door looking like a call girl on the clock, all because of Ava. If not for the other woman’s meddling, she would have shown up looking like she usually did, in slightly baggie khakis and an oversized sweater, or in an ankle length skirt and a diaphanous tunic top, basically looking like a kindergarten teacher. Since that’s what she was, Missy saw nothing to be ashamed of.

After all, where would the world be without kindergarten teachers? Lacking the basic skills of sharing and tying their shoelaces, that’s where. Her friends could make fun of her profession all they wanted. Missy loved kids, and she refused to feel embarrassed that the innocence of her career mirrored the current innocence of her sex life, because if her friends and this sad excuse for a dress had their way, that innocence wouldn’t last the night.

Peering warily over her shoulder, she tried to locate her friends. At least then she’d know what parts of the room to avoid. She saw Reggie standing next to Dmitri—

surprise, surprise—while they chatted with a distinguished looking older gentleman with a shock of grey hair. He was the senator Missy always thought looked like her Grandpa Harry. Well, except for his fangs. Grandpa Harry had a temper, but even he didn’t suck a person’s blood. Missy didn’t particularly care what the senator chose to suck as long as he kept Reggie engaged in conversation and kept her attention off of Missy.
One down, three to go
.

She found the others all clustered together in a small conversational grouping near the fireplace. Ava lounged in an overstuffed armchair, making the seat look more like a throne, while Corinne and Danice sat on the sofa to her left. Each held a glass of champagne, and they all kept casting glances at their watches, the door and each other, in that order. Ava looked less than pleased.

It served her right, Missy thought, quickly facing the wall before they noticed her. It would have served them all right if she hadn’t bothered to show up at all. No rational person could have blamed her. She had just walked into a room full of vampires and werewolves and God only knew what else, looking like chum at a shark convention so she could be set up on a date she really didn’t want to go on with a man she’d never met and whom she had no interest in dating, let alone sleeping with. Maybe she ought to rethink that whole “friends” thing.

Okay, now you’re just being unfair
, she scolded herself, taking a deep breath and immediately following up with a tug to her neckline. She couldn’t really blame her friends for not setting her up with the man she actually
was
interested in sleeping with, since his name remained a secret she intended to take to her grave. She knew her chances with him ranked somewhere below laughable and probably on par with her chances of bearing the next immaculate conception, because as the entire Other social world of New York knew, Graham Winters did not date humans.

She stared morosely into the leaves of a potted ficus while she absorbed the sharp sting of that knowledge. It wasn’t news; she’d known it from their very first meeting, but even after six weeks, she still hadn’t quite managed to work her way out of Christine Warren

Fur Factor

11

crushing disappointment and onto grudging resignation. She still floundered in the morass of wishful thinking, thanks to her unruly hormones. The darn things put her on full alert every time she set eyes on his drool-inspiring body or knee-weakening green eyes. That reaction gave her yet another reason to keep her face to the wall. The last thing she needed was to let him distract her. She knew he was probably in the house somewhere, so she’d be wise to stick to the shadows and avert her eyes until she could make her escape.

But, Lord, wouldn’t she just love to get her hands on him.

She sighed wistfully and dismissed the mental image of running her hands all over his broad, muscled chest. If she didn’t cut this out, she’d leave herself open to attack.

Her friends could spot her any minute, and when they did, she had no doubt they’d swoop down on her like a pack of attack dogs and drag her kicking and screaming to meet her Fix. Now that she thought about it, that would explain the dress, too. They knew she couldn’t struggle in the darn thing without it snapping like an overstretched rubber band. If she so much as threw a punch, her breasts would probably fall right out of the bodice. The idea of the dress’s reaction to a swift kick made her shudder.

Her friends were even more devious than she had imagined, and frankly, instead of intimidating her, the idea made her that much madder. After all, she could appreciate that they wanted her to have a good time, but really, she was beginning to feel more like a John or a hooker than a date. While the idea of being fixed up with a man to fulfill all her fantasies had sounded like a good one at the time, sobriety and two failed rounds had brought her to her senses. There was only one man Missy could imagine hopping into bed with after having exchanged less than twenty words, and since he wasn’t interested, she found that she wasn’t either.

When rebellion struck Missy, it struck with a vengeance. To hell with her friends and their Fantasy Fixes! Missy was a mature, independent woman capable of making her own decisions and getting her own dates. In fact, it would serve them all right if she thumbed her nose at their chosen match for her and picked up a sailor to take home.

Hell, she should just pick some guy out of the assembled guests at random and take
him
home! If she couldn’t have the man she wanted, she could at least have a man of her own choosing. That would show them that Melissa Roper was not a woman to be trifled with. Or at least, she was a woman who picked her own men to be the triflers.

Feeling brash and defiant, Missy spun around to face the room. She
would
pick up a man, one who was about as far from the Fantasy Fix—and from the object of her secret fantasies—as she could, and she’d take him home and end her six year celibate streak without the “help” of her interfering friends. How about
them
apples?

Her defiance lasted all of three and a half seconds. That’s when she saw Danice leap to her feet and heard her yell, “Melissa Jane Roper, where the
hell
have you been?” At that point, bravado abandoned her, self-preservation instincts kicked in, and Missy did the smartest thing she could think of.

She turned tail and ran, just as fast as her three-inch heels could carry her.

Christine Warren

Fur Factor

12

She made it all the way across the living room, beating a path straight for the French doors that let out onto the side patio. She teetered on the very edge of making good her escape when a warm, solid object stepped into her path and blocked her exit.

Missy slammed into it hard enough to knock her slightly silly, but the thing that really stunned her was feeling the immovable object wrap powerful arms around her and press her against the entire length of a very muscular and decidedly masculine body.

“Well, well, well,” the object rumbled in a voice so low, she could feel the vibrations through the soles of her shoes. “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry, gorgeous? I was hoping you might decide to stay awhile. With me.” Christine Warren

Fur Factor

13

Graham saw the object of his unexpected lust spin around and race toward him as if the fires of hell licked at her heels. Clearly, he must have done something very good to earn this kind of reward. He couldn’t think what it might be, but he didn’t care.

When Miss Sexy Ass flung herself headlong into his arms, he offered up a quick prayer of thanks and decided to worry about the particulars later.

He initially wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling, but he pressed her closer and held on for a slightly less noble cause. She smelled amazing—sweet, and rich and edible—and she felt luscious pressed up against him, all soft and warm and deliciously rounded. The breasts flattened against his shirt, were surprisingly delicate compared to the generous ass he’d already drooled over, but their nipples beaded on contact and nudged his chest, and he reminded himself that size didn’t really matter.

Not when he compared it to the importance of her killer ass, her mouthwatering scent, and the soft curve of her belly that currently pressed against his very appreciative cock.

For all that, he could forgo the pleasures of a huge pair of tits and still consider himself a very lucky man.

He took a deep breath and felt his cock harden. God, no woman’s scent had ever gone to his head (either one) like this. He appreciated a female’s fragrance as much as the next Lupine, but normally, human women couldn’t grab his attention with a pair of pliers. They tended to smell like artificial chemicals and sterile soaps to his kind. Even when it wasn’t offensive, it wasn’t exactly compelling either. But this woman had him panting with nothing more than her luscious scent and her equally luscious ass.

When he expressed his appreciation for her with a suitably suave comment, he saw her head jerk up and found himself looking into a pair of meltingly brown eyes the size and shape of china saucers. A man would have to be very careful not to get sucked down by the undertow he saw in those things. He ignored the vague sense of recognition he felt when he looked at her, because he felt certain they’d never met before. Graham was not the sort of man who forgot an ass like this woman sported.

He’d been bored, not blind, but if he had his way, this woman would be relieving that boredom for the night.

He smiled his most seductive smile, the one that made women melt and pant and compare him to a fallen angel, and loosened his grip enough to lean back. He looked down at her while he waited for her to respond to his pass. And she did respond, just not in the way he expected.

“Um, excuse me,” she muttered, tearing her chocolaty gaze from his, ducking beneath his unsuspecting arms and darting behind him to let herself out the French doors.

Christine Warren

Fur Factor

14

“What the hell?” he muttered, scowling. No woman had
ever
turned down that kind of invitation from him.

Beside him, Logan laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day.” The other Lupine grinned. “The amazing Graham just struck out with a woman. And a human woman at that.”

Graham scowled, both at Logan’s taunting words and at the reminder that he’d gotten all tied up in knots over a woman from another species, no matter how good she smelled. What the fuck was wrong with him?