Protecting a Mate (2 page)

She met those nearly black eyes and watched them darken further as his… She sniffed the air.

Delicately of course because a
Baxter
did not ever bring attention to a natural bodily function such as breathing. God, she hated her stuck up mother sometimes. Most times.

Back to sniffing and sorting through his flavors until she found his natural scent. The inherent smells of his animal—his
bear
. It explained all the muscles and his size. Speaking, er, thinking of sizes… He was massive everywhere, but especially
there
and he was definitely turned on by her nearness. Even if she was a
ferret
.

“You gonna always be like this or is it because we just met? How about telling me your name?”

“Huh, what?” She tore her attention from his hard cock to stop at his abs. She wondered if he’d taste as good as he smelled. She bet he’d taste better. She bet—

“Eyes up here. C’mon now.” He snapped his fingers in her line of sight, breaking her stare.

Melanie covered her mouth and coughed. “Right.
Right
. I, uh, came from the main office. I’m the new runner. Melanie. Holt has me going site to site to gather reports.”

He quirked a single brow. “We email them.”

She shrugged. “Apparently some foremen are button-pushingly challenged.”

“I’m not one of them.” His lips ticked up in a sexy smirk. Then again, all of him was sexy. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t take you to the construction trailer and spend some time with ya.”

Oh, that sounded wonderful. Not that she wanted to mate in a trailer, but her hoo-ha was hoo’ing and ha’ing and screaming anywhere they were alone would be perfect. When he released one of her wrists, but kept hold of the other, she finally realized they’d been touching. Aw, she hadn’t even noticed and now she missed out.

She really needed to pay better attention.

Foster turned and tugged her along, pulling her toward the nearby trailer. With her trailing behind him, it gave her a good look at his ass. And what an ass it was. She’d nibble it a little here and a little more there.

Mel’s ferret was in full agreement. The little beastie chittered and did a victory dance, hopping around and anxious to bite Foster. She wanted to tie him to her so tightly, he’d never think of fucking anyone else. Like her sister.

Not that the whole drama surrounding Paige was her sister’s fault or anything. But still, Foster would be fucking her and only her.

Foster Lawson… Foster and Melanie sitting in a tree…

She liked the way that sounded.

Foster’s steps slowed and stopped, which had her stuttering to a halt. She raised her gaze and met his eyes. He had that sexy smirk on his lips again.

“Like staring at my ass, doll?”

Heat suffused Mel’s face and she scrunched her nose. “Maybe a little.”

“Uh-huh.” It was his own damn fault and she’d tell him that as soon as they got behind closed doors and naked.

He returned his attention to their path and she soon found herself softly padding up a set of wooden stairs. Mel’s excitement grew with each step, the knowledge that they’d soon be alone overwhelming her.

Three, two, and—

“Yo, boss!” A deep bellow came from the nearest home site. “Need you over here.”

Foster stopped and sighed, giving her his attention. “Go on inside, doll. I’ll deal with this and be right there.”

Foster moved away, heavy boots thumping on the wooden stairs as he headed toward the other male. The wind blew his scent her way and there was no missing his desire—and anger.

Yeah, she was desire and anger packed herself.

Mel grasped the door’s handle to be halted by the ringing of her cell phone.

She really, really hoped it wasn’t her ex again. She swiped her thumb across the screen and brought it to her ear. “Hello? This is Melanie.”

“Melanie, it’s Holt. Where the hell are ya? I’ve got Darren over at
Two Palms Apartments
waiting on you. His mate has a pregnant chick appointment, but he can’t leave until—”

“Shit,” she raced down the steps and toward her car. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” She ignored Foster’s shout as she raced to her vehicle and crawled behind the wheel. She knew where he was and she’d come back. As soon as she made sure she didn’t lose her job. “I’ll be there in like, five minutes. I swear.”

She pressed the little button to start the car’s engine and popped it into reverse. Foster jogged toward her, confusion on his face, and she waved at him. Except maybe waving was a bad thing.

Especially since brown fur slipped from his pores and decorated his arms. Shit. He didn’t like her leaving.

“Melanie?”

“Yeah, I just hit Main. Five minutes.” And as soon as she was done, she’d go back to Foster and explain. Better yet, since she had Holt on the phone… “Hey, can I get Foster Laws—”

And then a silence that told her the call had been cut. Okay, obviously Holt was done talking. She’d call him to get Foster’s number later.

“Where is she?” Foster crashed into Holt’s office with all the finesse of a wrecking ball. He came to a stop in front of the big werecougar’s desk, his chest heaving. When it came to large and snarly weres, Holt was the biggest, baddest who scared the shit out of everyone… mainly because he had a hair trigger temper. Foster was equally big and could play the stare-down dominance games if he wanted, but on the whole, he was a laid back kind of guy.

Until his mate—his gorgeous, curvy little wereferret mate—drove off before they could get acquainted. Not properly acquainted, but dammit all to hell, he hadn’t even gotten to taste her lips.

The ones on her face,
he told his bear sharply when it sniggered suggestively. He didn’t know what gods he’d pissed off in a previous life, but in this one he’d been saddled with a bloody pervert of an inner bear.

Holt hadn’t moved, the paper in his hand motionless as he looked up at Foster. The sight of him bristling with anger and fur peeking out of his pores would’ve had most people running for the hills.

Not Holt. Instead, Holt blinked and between one second and the next the gold of his cat flooded his eyes. A signal to Foster that if they were going to throw down animal like, Holt was as big and mean.

“Who?” As always the owner of Catson Construction was short on the wordage.

“Melanie. About this big,” Foster waved his hand at about chest height, “and all…” His hands shaped a very generous hourglass in the air before his bear growled and he frowned. No, he didn’t want to call Holt’s attention to his little mate’s luscious curves. “And a ferret. Wait. Didn’t Archer mate a ferret?”

Fuck. No… There was no way his little ferret was Archer’s new mate. Inside, his bear about lost it at the thought. Bears tended to be solitary creatures, werebears more so. And finding a mate? He’d heard horror stories where a bear’s mate had been mistaken for another shifter’s mate…it always ended in blood and violence. For the other shifter.

“He did. Paige.” Holt still hadn’t moved. The male’s cat was aware and at attention, but remaining motionless was standard operating procedure when dealing with a pissed off bear. No sudden movements. No shouts. No uninvited speech. Bears were slow to anger, but once they got there…

Well, the only word was volcanic.

“Paige. Not Melanie?” Relief flooded his veins. Except the bear didn’t want to calm down, even with this reassurance.

It wanted blood. It was good and pissed and wanted to destroy something—someone. It’d fixated on Archer and now it wanted to stomp around the site, find Archer and rip his hands off for touching Foster’s little ferret. He never said the bear was rational. Or able to admit it was incorrect about, well, anything. Along with being a pervert, the thing seemed totally incapable of backing down, even when in the wrong. It could be a Grade A asshole when it got going.

“Definitely not Melanie.” Holt stood carefully, deliberately. His eyes narrowed as he studied Foster.

He didn’t miss the quick glance to his forearms and the fur there.

The door opened behind them and Holt’s eyes widened in concern. Foster whirled around to find Archer in the doorway. Despite what his human brain knew, his bear still hadn’t let go of the notion that Archer was stealing their mate. The fucking thing was slow on the uptake.

“YOU!” he snarled, and launched himself across the gap between them. His big hand wrapped around the werecougar’s throat. It was nothing to lift the male, his feet no longer touching the thinly carpeted floor, and he threw him out of the office.

Via the window.

*

Gimme that paperwork, kthxbye!

Then she ran back the way she’d come and on to the next site.

She’d been in a race against time. Sure, her day ended at five, but Holt was leaving at four which meant the
only
way she could get Foster’s number was if she got back to the office before her brother-in-law left.

Hence the speeding and slamming and skidding.

But she made it.
Whew.

Melanie squeezed the steering wheel and closed her eyes as she prayed the car would stop. Gravel flew, she was pretty sure someone nearby shouted, and her slide finally stopped. She carefully—

super slowly—parted her lids. Okay, she hadn’t hit anyone. That was goo—

Slam
.
Grunt.

Something fell onto her hood. No,
someone
. Her whole car shook with the collision, her shocks squeaking and the sheet of metal covering her engine caved in with a loud
crunch
.

“What the fuck?” she shouted which was followed by a decidedly male yell except his was louder than hers. Much louder. Growlier, too. She’d think it was sexy if she hadn’t just found her mate.

“What the fuck?”
Wait. She knew that voice.

Melanie sat up straighter in her seat, arching her back as she fought to see what—who—now used her car as a bed. “Archer? What the hell are you doing on the hood of my car? Why’d you fall on my car?”

If that isn’t evidence of shoddy breeding, I don’t know what is
.

That was her mother’s voice. Her mother’s condescending, holier than thou, elitist, bitchtastic voice.

It reminded her why she was better off without her family.

Archer lifted his head and swung his golden-eyed, furious gaze to her as he pointed toward the construction trailer. “Because of that asshole!”

Mel followed his arm and across the lot until her stare landed on the source of her car’s recent damage. She smiled and released a dreamy sigh.

“Foster,” she whispered his name. She wouldn’t have to beg Holt for his number after all.
Score
.

Ignoring the grumbling—and groaning—Archer, Melanie yanked on her door handle. And yanked.

And yanked again. Dammit. Somehow a two-hundred-plus pound guy bent her car’s frame and now she couldn’t open her door.

“Dammit, Archer. Get the hell over here and help me.”

That type of language is evidence of poor breeding. It’s proof of ignorance.
Then her mother would have sniffed her uppity nose.

As if the woman wasn’t raised poor and grew up in a double-wide trailer.

Ugh.

“Archer!” She yanked on the handle. He broke her car. The least he could do was get her out of it.

A deep, booming, ground-shaking, panty-wetting roar sliced through the air. It surrounded her in a blanket of comfort despite the promised violence in the sound. It sank into her and she released another one of those happy, sweet sighs.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Foster’s rage was palpable and she focused on him. On the breadth of his shoulders, the anger on his features, and the fur covering his skin.

Oh, he wasn’t angry at Archer. He was
furious
almost to the point of shifting.

Crap. It was different when a ferret shifted. Her kind got really tiny and even when they wanted to cause someone harm, the worst they accomplished was tiny little bleeding holes. Hardly more than a paper cut in the grand scheme of things.

Bears were… an entirely different, very deadly story. And Foster looked about two blinks from a full freak out.

“Foster!” She banged on her window. “Foster!”

Foster swung his attention to her. His black eyes narrowed and all that anger remained in place. But he was listening to her which was a good thing. Maybe she could save Archer long enough for the man to run and hide. She wasn’t sure what the werecougar had done, but he was one of the reasons she had a job so… it’d be great if he could keep breathing.

“Hey, I can’t get outta here. Help me?” She parted her lips in what she hoped was a sweet smile. He narrowed his eyes at her and then his attention flicked back to the groaning Archer. Idiot male. If he stayed quiet, he could slink away… “Yo, Foster! It’s getting hot in here and Archer broke my car.

So, can you help?”

His glare remained, but some of that darkness faded from his irises as he slowly tromped down the wooden stairs. His gaze remained focused on her as he approached and she flicked her glance to Archer only to have Foster snarl.

Okay then, no worrying about the werecougar, it is.

The other male carefully rolled off her car, jarring her vehicle as his heavy weight, and thudded to the gravel. Archer didn’t cross her vision so she assumed he’d escaped by hiding on the other side of the car. Smart considering Foster grew closer by the second.

And the nearer he came, the more she realized exactly how close to his shift he’d been. Yeah, his eyes were no longer midnight, but the dark brown fur remained. As did his long, wicked fangs and the sharpness of his jaw. His cheeks had reformed and were closer to bear than human. Then there were his hands. Or rather, claws. His nails were black and sharp, knuckles accentuated by his near shift, and fur coated his palms.