Predator's Kiss (16 page)

Soren smiled through gritted teeth. “Just do it,” he hissed.

Ryland went to retrieve the first-aid kit that was in the bathroom. He put on some latex gloves and put his hands on the wound, putting pressure around the bullet entryway. He squeezed the area, prodding it, manipulating the bullet until it had no choice but to emerge. Soren let loose a volley of curses and his eyes bugged out. Little by little, the bullet oozed out from under the torn skin and fell into Ryland’s hand. Soren moaned, his face paler than it should be, and let out a tremendous breath of relief. Ryland gave the bullet to the police officer, who bagged it.

Lia just stared. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Ryland said as grabbed some rubbing alcohol and gauze from the first-aid kit. He soaked a cloth with the alcohol, rubbing it carefully around the wound.

Soren sputtered at his brother, “You ugly bitch!”

Ryland couldn’t help laughing a little as he wrapped the wound in gauze. “Sorry. Had to be done.”

Soren took a few cleansing breaths. “I know. Sorry for calling you an ugly bitch.” He laughed. “You’re not a bitch at all.”

Ryland stopped laughing and looked at his brother. Soren might be a big and hairy brute like him, but someone had still seen fit to take a shot at him. Had the same person shot at Lia? They had different people after them. Lia was certain her stalker was gunning for her, and Soren believed he was on the receiving end of an assassin’s bullet. All Ryland knew for certain was he was pissed. No one took shots at the people he loved and got away with it.

Loved
.

He turned to Lia. Did he love her? He put his arm around her and pulled her close, careful not to rub against her sore arm. She leaned into him.

Soren stared at the two of them. “So,” he said. “You kids make a lovely couple. I guess this definitely rules out the possibility of me hooking up with Lia?”

Ryland returned his look as a small smile of satisfied revenge slid across his face. “Did I not already warn you to keep your hairy ass away?”

“Uh, yup.”

Lia turned to him, her pretty face all scrunched up. She lowered her voice as she asked, “You warned him away from me?”

He grazed his lips against her cheek, kissing the area he’d bitten earlier, and grinned. “Busted.”

“How very alpha of you,” she teased, as a palpable shiver made her body react.

“Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling her in tighter, lost in their little moment. “And Soren knows if he puts the moves on you again, he’ll have to answer to me.”

She was his, not Soren’s.

“Um,” Soren piped up, peeved. “I’m still here. With a bullet wound in my shoulder.”

Lia grimaced at him, clearly feeling bad for their show of affection, and then looked back at Ryland. “What are we going to do?”

He cupped her cheek. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to the cops and see what they think. All I do know is I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She tucked her head under his chin. “That would be okay.”

He smiled into her hair, breathing in the lingering fragrance of honey. “Okay by me too.”

Soren perked up. “Hey. Do I smell honey?”

Chapter 12

After their nocturnal visit to Soren, the police officers had walked them back to the lodge and called for reinforcements. With a gunman loose in a family resort, it was to be expected. Now the lodge was crawling with cops, most of them undercover, posing as guests. It was unsettling, to say the least.

And it was all her fault. Lia’s gut seized and wrenched with guilt pangs every time she recalled Soren’s wound, or thought of the shifter children playing around the resort. Ryland assured her it wasn’t her fault. The shooter could very well be Soren’s hit man. Lia just knew it was Scott. Her fan was clearly delusional, thinking she belonged to him. Surely Scott would have seen the video footage of Soren kissing her. It would have been enough to send someone like him around the bend. If he was brazen enough to break into her home, he must be foolhardy enough to follow her and take a shot at both her and Soren. He could be hiding on the island right now, waiting for her to slip up.

They got back to Ryland’s suite, and a couple of cops took up posts in the hallway outside. It was still dark out, barely early morning. And as much as her body craved rest, Lia found she just didn’t want to sleep. Her brain was too charged.

It seemed Ryland couldn’t sleep either. As soon as the door to the suite was locked, he reached for her and pulled her in for an embrace. Lia felt so beautifully vulnerable in his arms, so protected at the same time. Her body wanted to be ravished by him, and from his unsteady breathing, she thought he felt the same. She expected him to toss her onto the bed, but he surprised her then. Instead, Ryland quietly undressed her and then himself. He picked her up in his arms and bundled her into bed. He crawled in next to her and just held her. He pulled her to his body and rested his lips on her forehead, as he wound his arm around her hip. And she relaxed into his grip, feeling for a moment that everything was right with the world. She was so happy to be sharing his bed, even if she wasn’t sure where this affair was headed. All she knew was that if he’d taken the couch instead of lying with her, her heart would have crumbled into brittle, pathetic pieces of nothing.

For a long time, they said nothing and just held each other. He clasped her hand and played with her fingers as if trying to memorize the shape of each knuckle and the texture of her skin. She wound her legs around his and let her toes curl up next to his. She loved the feel of his hairy legs brushing against her bare ones, the soft, sensual caress of those hairs on her skin. Ryland was hairy in all the right places. With a smile, she ran her hand over his chest, softly tugging on the coarse hairs there, comparing them to the sparser, smoother hairs on his flat belly.

There were no kisses, but the air pulsed with electricity as quiet and reassuring as it was demanding. His breath mingled with hers, and she closed her eyes, awash in emotions that were so strong she feared they might carry her away.

He finally spoke. “Tell me about your brother.”

Lia laughed quietly. “Antony? He’s the life of the party and my best friend. We’ve always been close, although I haven’t seen him much lately.”

“Did you and Antony always get along?”

“Always. It was kind of eerie. Of course, with him being gay, we had a different dynamic than some siblings. We just got each other. Growing up, he was my kindred spirit and we were each other’s refuge when our parents came down hard on us.”

Ryland wove his hand through her hair and shivers traveled down her spine. “Did you always know he was gay?”

“I think so. At least, I sure did when he offered to braid my hair the first time.” She giggled at the memory. “It upset our parents so much to see that side of him, but I never cared. He was my brother. He might live a different lifestyle, but he’s part of me.”

Ryland grew quiet once more, and she sensed she hit a nerve. Trying to alleviate the tension, she asked about his childhood.

“Oh,” he said. “I was a little shit disturber. I hate to admit it. You might be surprised, but being a shifter was something I had to get used to. I was frustrated a lot, felt different from other kids. I picked a lot of fights. One day my dad pulled me aside and gave me a pair of boxing gloves. Pretty unusual for a hippie, but that’s what he did. He brought me to a gym and pointed me toward a punching bag. It was the best thing anyone could have done for me. I needed an outlet for my anger. I still do sometimes. I got into boxing and did really well. It helped my self-esteem and life didn’t seem so bad.”

Lia smiled against his chest. “That explains the killer arms and washboard abs.”

Ryland chuckled quietly and squeezed her. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she admitted, feeling heat in every limb and digit. “I noticed from that first, towel-clad day.”

Ryland laughed. “I’m glad you approve.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “I still box, you know, for exercise. I have a gym down in the basement. I teach some of the shifter kids in the community as part of our mentoring program. The ones you saw before. Kids who are experiencing what I went through.”

“You’re a real philanthropist.”

“Nah. As Soren says, I’m just ornery. I need something to help me with that. You help me with that.” He pulled away and switched on a bedside light. “Hey. Do you wanna see my gym?”

She squinted at him in the light. “I already saw the exercise room.”

His mouth curved in a naughty grin. “No.
My
personal gym. The one no one else gets to use.”

She got the sense it meant a lot to him. “You’d show me?”

He got up and pulled her with him. “As long as you don’t tell anyone where my lair is. Come on.”

They dressed again and left the suite, and Ryland let the officers know of his plan to get a little late-night exercise. One of the cops followed them to Ryland’s personal basement fitness center and stood watch at the outside door. Ryland led Lia inside.

Smiling, she followed, thinking the room would be a pimped-out closet. What she saw took her breath away.

He waved an arm around the room. “What do you think of my fitness room?”

“Room? It’s more like a fitness palace,” she enthused. She walked around, touching the various machines and weights. Some of them looked so intimidating they could be instruments of torture. They were top-of-the-line—that she could tell—even without knowing anything about them. It was no wonder Ryland’s body was his temple when he had all these devices at his disposal. To top it off, making the place a veritable man cave, there was a large flat-screen TV affixed to one wall, state-of-the-art speakers, and even a Jacuzzi tucked into one corner of the room. The walls themselves were decorated with framed photos of Sugar Ray Leonard and other boxing greats.

This room was his private haven. And he was sharing it with her. The import of the moment made her almost stagger.

He walked over to a closet where he’d stored boxing gloves and other paraphernalia. She watched him move, his muscles flexing like a great cat rather than a big bear. Between his too-good-to-be-true looks and the testosterone-filled atmosphere of the place, Lia’s heart began to race. He grabbed a pair of gloves and turned to her, a sexy grin on his face. At that moment the sexual rush in the room was so intense, she worried she’d faint. She clenched her thighs together, trying to banish the telltale moisture of her arousal.

Overwhelmed, she plunked herself down on his bench press. He walked over to her, his face changed by concern. He sat down with her and ran a hand over her hair. “You okay? Is your arm hurting?”

“No. I’m just … I’m okay.” She was suddenly desperate to have him inside her again, and was fighting the impulse to beg him to take her.

“I’m glad.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You looked a little winded when you came in here.”

“I was. I am,” she confessed. “I just like being with you. More than I would have expected.”

He exhaled and his eyes crinkled with happiness and what appeared to be surprise. “Me too.” Then, an excited flicker of light danced through his black eyes. “Hey, would you like to try boxing? You know, with your good arm? It’s pretty therapeutic. I think I even have an old glove in your size.”

He looked so enthusiastic Lia couldn’t help but go along with the idea. She watched him dash about the room, collecting a few items. He returned to her, all smiles, and proceeded to wrap her hand with an elastic bandage, looping it first around her thumb and winding it around her wrists.

“You have to protect the hands in boxing, especially such dainty, pretty, lady hands.”

She let out a puff of air. “Being dainty is something I’ve never been accused of.”

He frowned at her. “Who’ve you been hanging with all your life?” He shook his head, unbelieving, and continued to slowly wrap. “You’re a beautiful woman, Lia. Rick may not have told you, so I’m telling you.”

Lia swallowed. Come to think about it, she didn’t think Rick had ever commented on her looks once. To know Ryland thought her beautiful was enough to make her tackle him, right there on his bench press.

He stared at her and then looked down at her hand, wrapping the bandage around her palm. “Don’t hold yourself so tight. Spread your fingers for me.”

Lia gulped. He’d said it in such a hushed, concentrated voice. He proceeded to spread her fingers for her, slowly stroking each one. It was so damned sexy, he might have been asking her to spread her legs instead. And she knew in that moment, she would have gladly done so.

Ryland focused on her hand, as if the same rush of feeling was coursing through him, and he was trying desperately to forget it. He wound the bandage between each finger, and then crisscrossed it over her wrist, anchoring it there. He fitted her with a leather glove, tying it firmly but gently. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse. “There. You’re all set. Why don’t we just try a couple of simple jabs?”

Unable to do more than nod, Lia followed him to his punching bag. He positioned her right hand so that her arm was bent, slightly away from her body, but near her shoulder and protecting her face. “When you jab, you’re going to strike right from the shoulder. Nice and easy, not too hard for the first time. Just snap it out.”

She looked at the punching bag, and envisioned her stalker. Even though she didn’t know what he looked like, she’d created an image of him in her mind. A hazy image whose details were murky aside from a twisted leer and piercing eyes. The picture came out of nowhere, taunting her, telling her he wasn’t done. That he’d find her, and he’d hurt Ryland when he did.

Her arm snapped out with a force she didn’t anticipate and she made satisfying contact with the bag. Hard enough that Ryland’s eyes widened. He had to hold the bag from behind it. “Whoa. Dainty and strong.”

She practiced a few more jabs, enough to work up a little sweat. Ryland watched and coached her the whole time, grinning like a proud teacher, always careful that she didn’t involve her injured left arm.