Run Fur Love (BBW Tiger Shifter Romance) Read online

  She was. “I am.”

  He rattled the cuffs, louder this time. “Are these still necessary? Am I still the enemy you want to keep closer? Because if so...” With exaggerated slowness, he moved his leg again, pulling the sheet all the way off his body. “Could you give a condemned man his last wish?”

  It was damned hard to keep her eyes on his face, when she had all that glorious manhood a hell of a lot closer. But she did, pinning her green eyes on his gray ones.

  “You’re not a condemned man. Just possibly a dishonest one.”

  “Dishonest makes it seem as though I lied to you. I haven’t.”

  “A lie by omission, is still a lie.” But whatever she’d thought, whatever prompted her to handcuff him to the bed, all those reasons were fading, under the strength of his gaze, under the strength of remembering what had happened in this bed. What could still happen, if she was willing.

  “Fair enough.” He smiled, the first real smile of the day. “It’s not that exciting. Probably the same reason most men pack up and leave.”

  “A woman.” She smiled herself. “Running away from responsibilities?”

  “Running away...” One eyebrow came down, his eyes looking up at the ceiling, as if the words were up there. “I never thought of it as running away. Running away makes it sound like I left in a hurry, packed a bag and just headed out. When I left, it was planned, thought out, not rushed at all. I gave notice at my job, collected my pay, sold what I didn’t need, and left. Oh, and bought that bike.”

  “But you still left a woman.”

  “I did. But she’d already left me, at least in her heart. I just made the break physical. Made it easier for both of us, I guess. I’d say more than running away, I was headed toward something.”

  “Like the Pacific Ocean?”

  “It seemed as good a place, as any. At least when I got there, I knew I’d gone as far as I could go.”

  “Did you leave her in Kentucky?”

  He shook his head, and it suddenly dawned on her that he was still lying naked, cuffed and restrained, and within arm’s reach. Something uncoiled inside her, that craving, and want, and desire, she’d felt last night. And now, in the light, with him like this, it rose up again, snarling and clawing. Damn, she’d swear she was becoming a shifter, just from being around them so much.

  “I left her in the little town of Beach, North Dakota, with the car, and a cat. But by the time I got into Montana, I’d stopped missing her. I still miss the cat, though.”

  She had to smile. “It took you just over a mile?”

  His shoulders moved, and the cuffs rattled. “Something like that. By the time I got to the Interstate, and drove across the state line, I’d put her out of my head.”

  “But is she out of your heart?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. She’s out of my heart. A couple of hundred miles across Montana on a motorcycle will do that to you. Drive out anything you don’t want crowding up your mind, wipe the slate clean.”

  The thing uncoiling inside her wanted to believe his words, wanted to believe him, with heart and soul, and definitely with her body. But the little voice in her head that had kept her from losing control, on icy corners and hairpin turns, and kept her from getting her heart broken more than once, was telling her something was still off.

  But the thing inside her was stronger than that voice, and she stood up and walked to the night stand, pulling out a condom package from the drawer. It only took her a few seconds to rip the package open, but she hesitated in taking it out. Instead, she reached for one of the two buttons of seven, on her shirt, a smile playing on her lips. By the time she’d gotten the first undone, and moved to the second, Jericho’s eyes had moved from her face, to the condom wrapper in her hand. And hers had moved from his face to what seemed to be the truest thing in the room. Bodies didn’t lie, even if words did. Bodies, at least hers and his, were telling the truth to each other. And his body told her that he wanted her just as much as she wanted his.

  Her shirt hit the floor with a soft sound, and the bedsprings creaked, as she climbed up beside him on her knees. The sun and the breeze were at her back, sunlight hot and the breeze playing with her hair as she rose up, and then swung a long leg over his hips, the same movement she used when getting on a bike. The same sensation in the muscles of her thighs, except there was nothing between her thighs, no powerful body, of her motorcycle.

  But what lay beneath her on the bed was no less dangerous. In the wrong hands, a bike could throw you off, or roll on you, and leave you broken in a field, or on the side of a ribbon of asphalt. And Jericho, well, she was pretty sure he had the potential to do the same. Only with her heart.

  Somewhere along the way, she decided that she was willing to take that chance. Whatever doubts she had about his story were pushed back, as she looked into his eyes, saw heat and desire dancing there, lighting up the gray, with flecks of silver.

  Leaning forward, she wrapped her fingers around the frame of the bed, the metal cool against her palm. Her hair fell forward over her shoulder in that irritating way it always did, and with an impatient flick of her head, she tossed it back over her shoulder.

  “You’re not going to take these off, are you?”

  She looked down at him looking up at her. “No, I don’t think so. Not yet.”

  “Well, then, you’re going to have to do all the work.”

  The smile she gave him, was slow. She let go of the bed, and just as slow as her smile, she reached down, running her index finger down the bridge of his nose, over those full lips. She let them linger there, let him part his lips, and slip her finger inside his mouth. For a moment, he sucked on her, and the memory of what he’d done to her with those lips, with that mouth, rose up fierce, and just as real, as if he were sucking on her breasts again.

  With something like regret, but tinged with anticipation, she slowly pulled her finger out of his mouth. He held on, sucking hard, smiling as she pulled her finger away from him.

  “Tease.”

  “Always, Mr. Steele. Always.”

  Trailing that wet finger down his neck, she let it drift lower, over his throat, pausing at that place that showed her what she was doing to him. His heart was beating strong and fast, a nice thump against her finger.

  But there were other places that told her more, told her exactly how he felt.

  “Morning sex. Always a bit sticky.”

  She sat back just enough to slide the condom over his thick shaft, rolling it on quickly, then tossing the wrapper to the side. Looking down at him, she moved herself into place, shifting her weight down on him, as she lowered her hips. There was the briefest hesitation, and he grunted, as he pushed his hips up.

  “Sticky bits, morning breath, messy hair.” It was hard not to smile. All around them, rose the lush smell of sex, the heady aroma of love, among the sheets.

  “But I wouldn’t give up a morning fuck with you, for all the mouthwash in the world.”

  His words hit her like a sucker punch of arousal, low and deep, somewhere just north of where he was buried inside her. For all her desire to control this, to go slow, he was doing an amazing job of taking that control away, with just a few words from those sinfully sexy lips.

  She sat back, all those curves coming down on him, grinding her hips back and forth, in a circle. This was supposed to have been a slow burn, but he’d turned her on, and turned her plan upside down. With her hands on his chest, she rocked back and forth, up and down, driving him. And if truth be told, driving herself.

  Control went out of the window, and she rode him hard, her breasts swaying, her hair getting in her mouth and her eyes. For a second, she thought of stopping and undoing the handcuffs so he could touch her, touch her breasts, wind his fingers through her hair. But she didn’t want to stop.

  He bucked up suddenly, his knees slamming into her back, knocking her forward. But she leaned back, wrapping her arms around his knees, grinding down on him, trying to find a way for more conta
ct, even though every part of her that could be, was as close as she could get to him.

  Jericho jerked his arms forward, the bed moving under her, the cuffs clanking against the bed. He growled, low and deep, and when she looked down at his face, for an instant, she thought she saw fangs, sharp incisors where regular teeth should have been. But she blinked, and they were gone, if they’d ever been there.

  He bucked up hard, and this time, she felt him, felt every inch of him throb inside her despite the condom, felt the heat of him, and she knew he was about to let go. And she held him, her body contracting around him, joining him, every twitch and shudder he made echoing inside her, like ripples in a pond, crossing and joining and making new circles. She pulled away from him, just as he exploded into the abyss of ecstasy, his eyes wild with pleasure, settling into a half-lidded glimmer that told her it had been just as good for him, as it was for her. That calm, relaxed expression on his face, was the look of a man who was completely satisfied.

  And then it was over, the throbs and shudders, fading into gasps for breath, and ragged breathing. She fell onto his chest, listening to his heart, and then rolled beside him. The surface of the pond smoothed, and they both went still.

  It would be so easy to just stay here, curled against him. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heart beating beneath her cheek. The soft rattle of the cuffs interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to reality.

  “Hey. You think you could un-cuff me, baby? I’ve been good.”

  She raised up, looking down at him. “Oh, yes. Sorry about that. You’ve been very good, and you’ll be far more useful to me, not cuffed to my bed.”

  “Useful? What exactly did you have in mind?”

  She was working up a list of possibilities, when Jericho’s eyes went wide, his body stiffening beneath her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  But as soon as the words were off her lips, she smelled it. Smoke. And she knew damned well that where there was smoke, there was fire. Panic replaced all the feelings Jericho had left simmering in her. She lunged for the bedside table, pulling open the drawer, and in her haste, pulling it out of the stand, spilling face cream, condoms, and safety pins on the floor.

  “Shit...” Dropping to her knees, she found the little silver key for the handcuffs. With it, in her hand, she climbed back on the bed, and undid the first handcuff. Jericho was eerily silent, watching her. As the first cuff clanked, he reached up, and grabbed her hand.

  “I can do this one. Get dressed.”

  She stared at him for a second, and then scrambled off the bed, pulling on a clean pair of panties, t-shirt and jeans. Wherever the hell her bra had gotten to, she didn’t know, didn’t care.

  Jericho sat on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling off the condom and tossing it into the trash, then pulling on his boots, and she joined him. The boots were still damp from the rain, and the damp chill of them against her bare feet made her shiver.

  They were dressed in seconds. “Come on.”

  Jericho grabbed his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and put his hand on the doorknob. Harley was in such a hurry to get out of the room that she banged into him. He turned, expression stern.

  “The door knob's not hot, so I think it's okay to go out.”

  “Oh.” Anything she'd ever learned about leaving a burning building had fled her mind. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Jericho opened the door. The smell of smoke was stronger here, but there wasn't any smoke in the hall. She followed Jericho, as he made his way down the stairs, quickly, but not at a dead run, like she would have taken them.

  “Must have been a cigarette butt in the garbage, or something.” There wasn't any other reason why there'd be a fire, unless it was a grass fire outside.

  “Gasoline.”

  “What?”

  Jericho stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and she looked past him. Smoke filled the bar, rolling in under the door, heavy and gray, blurring the edges of her bar.

  “It's outside. I can smell gasoline. This is no accidental fire. This is intentional.” He turned to her, grabbed her arm with his strong fingers. “Come on. Out the back.”

  He led her through the storeroom, and onto the back porch. She stumbled after him down the steps into the scrubby grass that passed for the back yard. It was only after she got outside, that she could hear the roar of the flames. Jericho was still dragging her away, but she turned to look back. And then instantly wished she hadn't.

  Flames licked both sides of the building, eating at the siding, heading up toward her bedroom window. Glass broke somewhere and the roaring grew louder.

  Jericho pulled her again, dragging her around the corner of the bar toward the shed.

  “Call 911, Harley.”

  Her hand went automatically to the back pocket of her jeans. But there was no reassuring feel of the rectangle of her phone, no matter how long she kept patting her ass, or which side she patted. There was no cellphone. It just wasn't there.

  “Oh my God, I don't have my phone.” Panic made her voice sound shrill. “You?”

  Jericho shook his head. “No phone. Haven't had one for years. It's easier that way.”

  “Oh, right.” She thought about all the phone calls that didn't happen with a man like Jericho, with a man who had no ties to anywhere, or anyone.

  “The nearest phone is up at the crossroads, about three miles that way.” She pointed past east. “We can go there...”

  They'd come to a stop under the little wooden overhang tacked onto the front of the bar, where she kept her bike. She was halfway on the bike, ass already coming down on the seat, before Jericho touched her shoulder.

  “You're not going anywhere.”

  The tires on her bike were flat. Not just flat: they were shredded to ribbons.

  “What the hell? Who would do that?”

  “Come on. We'll take mine.” He slipped around the corner of the shed, and she got back off the bike, following him, looking over her shoulder in complete disbelief at the mangled tires. She'd had that bike for what seemed like forever. She knew every temperamental thing about that bike. It was like someone had stabbed her in the heart.

  The screech of the door, cut off her thoughts. Jericho had the door open, already gone into the shadowy depths. Arms wrapped around her body, she waited, thrumming with a disturbing combination of anticipation and excitement, mixed with an overwhelming sense of loss. Her life was going up in flames, right before her eyes, her bike trashed, her bar burning to the ground, and the only person who could help her was a drifter who'd shown up out of the blue. A man she didn’t even know.

  With a nod of his head, he motioned for her to get on. She climbed up behind him, and he kicked the bike to life. For an instant, she had to laugh; even though it was a sick little sound. She was getting her wish, wrapping her arms around his waist, under the edge of his leather jacket. But she felt her heart thudding in a sick way against his back, as he eased the big machine into the parking lot.

  Something whistled past her head, and then splinters exploded from the side of the shed. Jericho ducked his head, the bike wobbling, as he fought for control. Something else screamed past her, and the dirt kicked up beside the bike.

  “Oh my God! Someone's shooting at us.” Anger, pure blind anger at whoever was out there shooting, rose up like molten lead. If she hadn't been on Jericho's bike, she just might have been fool enough to face whoever it was. But by the time she realized that running toward the gunfire was a bad idea, Jericho was making a tight circle, heading for cover behind the shed.

  “What the hell is going on? Who’s out there?”

  “I have an idea who it might be.” His words were almost lost in the roar of the bike, and in the sound of blood pounding in her head.

  “You're fucking kidding me. You know who it is?”

  “Morgan Ramsey.”

  Before she could say anything, there was another shot.

  “We need to get out of
here. Is there another way out?”

  She kicked herself for the thousandth time, for not putting her own machine away, for trusting that nothing bad would happen, simply because nothing ever had.

  “What do you know about Morgan Ramsey?” Harley asked, her eyes blazing with mistrust and anger. “How am I supposed to trust you when you clearly know what’s going on…why someone would burn my bar down to the ground.”

  Jericho tilted his head back, so she could hear him. “You know, deep down, that I would never hurt you.”

  “Do I? You’re a man of many secrets. I know little about you, or your involvement in all of this. All I know is that you show up, from out of nowhere, and then all of this happens. How can I just ride off with you, not knowing where you’ll take me?”

  “Hold onto me, Harley,” Jericho replied. “I’m getting you out of here.”

  She glared at the back of his head, simply because it was a better alternative to crying. “I want to know what you had to do with this.”

  He revved the engine and gunned it, forcing her to hang on for dear life. In that moment, she despised him. He still had everything that he’d come there with last night. And all she had, were the clothes on her back.

  “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. I promise. Now, is there another way out of here?”

  “That way.” She pointed away from the parking lot, to the tree line that ran behind the bar. The bar, which was now a charred ruin, slowly sinking to the ground. She heard pops and whistles. Jericho filled in the words to the thought in her head.

  “Bottles exploding. Fuel for the fire.”

  A sudden wave of sadness washed over her once again. Somewhere in those bottles was a Macallan, a very old bottle she’d gotten from her father. A bit of the old country, he’d said, even though he’d never left Montana in his whole life. She’d been saving it for God knows what. And now it was gone. And that hurt more than anything.

  Jericho gunned the machine again, and it shot across the field, tearing through stubbly summer-burned grass and dust, dodging rocks, and the only tree in the field. It was impossible to hear if Morgan was still shooting at them, and then she wondered what kind of gun he had. A high-powered deer rifle with a scope? The hair on the nape of her neck rose up, goosebumps prickling her skin. For all the world, in that moment it felt like she had a huge target painted on her back. She leaned forward, and pointed.