Tempted by the Bear - Complete (13 page)

T
ori

M
y phone buzzes with a text
. I glance down to see it’s from Jax. I’ve been trying to like him for weeks now. I open it but don’t reply to his attempt at seeing me tonight. Lame, I know, and unfortunately, the more I put him off, the more he wants to see me. I wish I could find a way to make Jax be the guy I want, but I still can’t shake my dreams about Keith—or my impure thoughts the moment I walk into Bear Mountain Lumber.

The scent of fresh-cut pine overpowers the musky smell of spring when I step out of my car. My internship is one day a week, and I spend the other six waiting for it to come. The parking lot is almost empty, and it makes me wonder if maybe I’m not supposed to be here. My phone is slick in my hand as I double-check my calendar to see if I missed a text from Keith telling me my day is cancelled. When I find nothing, I pick my way through the mud puddles toward the door.

I’m assigned to a different area of the manufacturing plant each time, and the location is dependent upon who has the time to show me what they do. I go to Keith’s office to check in. His door is always open, and I find him digging through a pile of papers on his desk when I get there.

“Hey.”

He glances up and smiles. Heat rushes all the way down to my toes as he says, “Hey. I’ll be right with you.”

“Where is everyone?”

“It’s shutdown day,” Keith mumbles and then slides a document over as he says, “Got it.” He returns his gaze to me, and his eyes twinkle. “We’re going to do routine maintenance on the machines. It’s pretty fun, because sometimes we have to fix things.”

I smile at his boyish excitement. “Oh, yeah?”

“C’mon. Pierre is waiting for us.”

My work attire is jeans, multiple layers on top, and steel-toed boots. Our feet clunk down the hall, and we stop to get our hard hats and ear protection before entering the manufacturing section of the building.

An older man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over a tight T-shirt comes our way. Even though he’s got gray hair, the guy is cut, and muscles ripple in his arms as he lifts a toolbox. I’ve met him once, and he’s a man of few words, so I nod back when he acknowledges me with a tip of his head.

Keith raises his eyebrows at me when Pierre just keeps walking, expecting us to follow. I cover my mouth to suppress a giggle. The old guy must have eyes in the back of his head, because he grabs a container of oil and tosses it over his shoulder without turning around or stopping. The oil slaps into Keith’s hand as he reaches out to catch it. Pierre says, “Driveshaft.”

Keith mouths to me, “Driveshaft.”

I mouth back, “Stop,” as a grin covers my face.

My relationship with Keith is easy. He openly teases me as he shows me things and treats me like I’m a little sister. It helps me contain my physical urges even though my crush on him continues to grow. Throughout the day, we proceed to grease and clean the heavy machinery, and I even get to replace a big part on one of the saws. To say I’m in heaven is an understatement.

When it’s midafternoon, we break for milk and cookies. Cold, creamy liquid slides down my throat as Keith says, “Told you today would be fun. I saw you do a little happy dance when we got that saw running again.”

“It was. My mother and sisters would have rolled their eyes at me.”

I watch Keith’s throat work as he swallows a bite of his cookie before he says, “Yeah, but your dad would have been proud.”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. He was never a part of my life.”

“Oh. Sorry for the faux pas.”

“Don’t be. It never really bothered me.” I get up to refill my glass, because I’m lying. Growing up without a father was a big deal to me for a few years. I wasn’t into the girly things the way my sisters were, and I wished I could have spent my weekend days hanging out in a garage, tinkering.

My glass chills my fingers as I return to the table, and I say, “My mother managed to parent just fine, and the one time I complained about no man in the house, she pointed out to me there were no guarantees my father would have even been the mechanical type.” I let out a small chuckle. “And then she taught me how to do the physical-labor chores she hated. I filled my need to fix things by changing out the storm doors for screens and cleaning out the gutters.” I break off a piece of my cookie. “It was a win-win.”

“Did you ever get to work on a car?”

“No.” I tilt my head at him. “Don’t tell me you have some old sports car you restore.”

“I prefer landscaping.” He frowns slightly before he adds, “I spend my weekends turning my yard into a mystical forest.”

A piece of my dream comes back to me. Keith and I are in a wooded area that makes me think of a children’s story version of wilderness. “Mystical? Like a fairy—” Heat rises to my cheeks, because what we do there is X-rated.

When Keith lifts his gaze to me, his eyes are dark, and he swallows as if his cookie is stuck in his throat. He reaches for his milk. The glass topples, and he picks it up quickly. Dabbing at the small puddle with his napkin, he mumbles, “We should get back to Pierre.”

I wonder what I said to upset him as I clear my things. On our way out of the cafeteria, he walks quickly, and I catch up to him to grab his arm. “Keith. I’m sorry.”

He stops and turns to me. His jaw is working, and he rakes his hand through his hair as he sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“For what?”

“For making sure I spend time with you whenever you’re here.”

“But you don’t.” My stomach sinks, because I’m afraid he’ll stop being around when I come in. His mouth is a tight line, and I don’t think I’m getting anywhere, so I yank out my phone. “I know we can never be together. Let me show you something. Look. I have a boyfriend.” The glass is smooth under my finger as I tap in my password. I pull up my texts and show him the one from Jax. “See?”

Keith glances at the screen and then back at me. Now his eyes are hard in a different way. I’m not sure my lie made anything better, because the heat radiating from him almost sears me. “Is it serious?”

“Ah. Yes?” I sigh. I’m a terrible liar, and my lips give me away when they part as if to ask for his kiss. “No. But the point is I’m not waiting for you. I know we’ll never be a thing.”

“He treats you right?”

Now I’m confused. He’s being protective? I step back to put space between us. “Sure. I mean—yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go look at the kiln controller.” I follow Keith as we walk toward the back door. As soon as we’re outside and on our way to the building where the wood cures, he’s back to his usual self and stomps through a puddle to get me wet. I return the favor, and we end up laughing as our pant legs get soaked during a childish game. But the one we’re playing isn’t for kids.

I
sabelle

I
’ve had
a lot of crap jobs in my lifetime, so doing data entry at Kick It is a breeze because it means I’m clean, dry, and able to drink as much coffee as I’d like. But mostly, I’m happy to have something to do besides work out. I shut down the membership spreadsheet, and the computer snaps shut when I close it. As I stand, I grab my empty mug to wash it out. I have a session with Ashton in fifteen minutes.

I decide to catch up with Luke.
“Hey, Babe, sushi tonight?”

Cohabiting when you’re mated takes away the angst of wanting to be together, but it doesn’t rid couples of the power struggle that can happen when first sharing living space. Luke and I came to the decision that we would alternate cooking dinner. I don’t usually do takeout, but I do pick easy meals to make. Slicing up fish and making a salad falls into that category.

“Sure. I’ll be home by seven.”

Luke likes to get his studying done before he comes home. His discipline is admirable, and he’s managed to get enough credits in his three years that he’ll graduate this spring with a degree in business. I’m trying to convince Tristan to hire him for Arctic Vodka while Luke studies for the test he needs to apply to law school, but my brother is still bitter that we mated.

When I walk over to the drink station, I notice Lucy working the front desk at Ink It. I call out, “Hi, Lucy.”

She glances over at me and offers me her fake smile. I pour on the sugar. “You really must come for dinner some night. I know Luke misses you.”

Now she snarls in reply, and it makes me grin. I enjoy nothing more than getting under the skin of werebears who don’t like me. I turn away and notice Ashton has arrived, and I walk over to the mats where we’ll start.

That first day Ash and I worked together, I sort of lost it on a punching bag. I haven’t pulverized one since, because he pulls me back before I get there. It shouldn’t work, because only Tristan, who’s an alpha, can stop me. But when Ash tells me to stop, I can.

He gives me his usual silent nod, and we begin with a jump rope routine. My muscles are tight but begin to loosen, and our ropes become a blur as I try to keep up with his speed and footwork. My heart pumps and pushes oxygen through my limbs as I fall into the zone. When I begin to reach exhaustion, Tristan interrupts my trance.

“Izzy, Mom is coming. Tomorrow.”

I freeze in place as my body goes cold. I reply.
“Please don’t make me see her.”

The slap of Ash’s jump rope stops, too, as Tristan says,
“You have to. But I won’t leave you alone with her. I promise.”

My stomach clenches, and I place my hand on my belly as if I can make it stop. Sweat drips down my nose and splatters on the floor.
“Right. And you promised to not bite Annie. We know how that worked out.”

Tristan’s voice is faint.
“She can’t hurt you anymore, Izzy.”

“I know.”
I bend over and blink back the tears that burn in my eyes. My mother may be too old and frail to hurt me physically now, but if her voice still works, she’ll find a way to do it with words.

Ashton asks, “Are you okay?”

I glance up at him. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I hop up to bounce on my feet. “My brother was just telling me my mother will be here soon.”

Ashton steps back and crosses his arms. “Punching bag.”

He’s cut the jumping drill short, but I don’t mind. The familiar burn of anger rolls in my veins as I begin the level-one progression I use to warm up my arms. My punches are hard today, and the scent of the adrenaline racing through me is so strong that I can smell it. I think Ash can, too, because he moves me on to level two quickly. My feet smack at the bag, and the chain it hangs from squeaks as my force moves it.

“Three!” Ash’s voice rings in my ears, and I begin more-complex moves. The pain I crave comes as the impact of my punches spikes into my bones.
Yes.
When I deliver a roundhouse kick, the slap of my foot is followed by a ripping sound, because I break through the leather of the punching bag. It’s as if I’ve opened up the well of evil I keep locked inside me, and my movements become faster while my hits become so forceful that the agony reaches my spine.

I’m lost to my rage, and I let it pour out of me as I destroy the object before me. When there’s nothing left to hit, I stop and step back to hunch over and catch my breath. I’m suddenly aware that Ash is in front of me, and I glance up at him. He tilts his head toward a separate room used for yoga classes.

When we get there, he sits down and motions for me to do the same. “Tell me about her.”

Tears run down my face as if a dam has broken, and I begin to speak. I tell him about the abuse I suffered as a child from both my parents. I talk about how everyone in the clan knew and nobody stepped in to help the alpha’s children. I talk about why I learned to fight and tell him about the first time I struck back and how I spent a week in a cage as punishment. And when I’m done, Ash holds me as I cry out the tears of a lifetime.

Once I recover, Ashton finally speaks. “Why don’t you let your bear out when you’re here?”

Intense anger makes it hard to control shifting. I gaze into his blue eyes and notice the high cheekbones in his face. His jaw is strong, and his neck is as thick as a tree trunk. I don’t think I could kill him, but I’m not sure. I say, “Because she’s afraid.”

He nods at me, and I wonder about what he must have seen in the human wars as a SEAL. I whisper, “You know, don’t you?”

Ashton shakes his head. “I only know what you tell me, Isabelle.” He hands me a towel. “Maybe someday, you will.”

The cotton is rough against my face as I wipe away sweat and tears. I offer a wry smile and jump up to my feet. “We’ve got time for a sparring match. You up for it?”

Ashton gives me his version of a grin. “Bring it.”

A
nnie

I
’m
on the Internet searching guest cottage layouts when Tristan gets home. I’m so engrossed that I don’t get up, and when his hands land on my shoulders, I jump. He leans down and kisses my neck. I say, “Do you like the looks of this?” I tilt the screen of my laptop so he can view images of a beach-house-inspired kitchen.

“Vacation home?”

“No. I was thinking your mother might like it.”

When I met Tristan for lunch this morning, I didn’t mention my plan to research building his mother a house of her own. I wanted time to think about the idea. Now I hope it’s a good decision.

He says, “She’s staying here.” Tristan walks over to the freezer and pulls a bottle of vodka out. The stopper pops when he yanks it out, and a glass clinks on the counter.

“She doesn’t have to.” I turn in my chair to face him. “I can afford to build another house for her, and then we can have our privacy.”

Tristan takes a sip of his drink and closes his eyes. I’m not sure if he’s trying to find words or if he’s had a rough afternoon. When he opens them, he stares at me for a moment before he says, “My mother does not like to be on her own. She stays here.”

From what he’s told me about the elder Mrs. De Rozier, I don’t think she’s going to like me, and I don’t relish the idea that I’ll be living in my home with a woman who makes me uncomfortable. But Tristan seems firm on his stance, so I say, “Fine.”

I do tolerance well, and I bet Tristan will want her gone before I do. I say, “The Lupine Room will be ready for her. Do you know what time she’ll arrive?”

“I’m picking her up in Portland tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be home for dinner.”

“What should I cook?”

Tristan sighs and holds the chilled glass up to his forehead. “I don’t want to talk about her. Can we discuss it tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist to lay my head on his chest. His shoulders relax as he slips an arm around me and pulls me tight. He downs the glass of vodka, and I imagine the burn in his throat. I speak telepathically.
“You can tell me anything.”

“Did I mention the children are coming, too?”

“What?” I pull away and glare at him. “I’m not ready.” I put my hand on my forehead as I start to pace. “We need beds, and their room isn’t painted, and—” Panic makes my pulse quicken, and I stop to look at Tristan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They’re just kids. They don’t need special things.”

I frown before it hits me. He and Isabelle were always an afterthought, so why would he think his children should be any different? I walk back to my mate. “Oh, Tristan.” His face has the beginnings of stubble, and his cheek is rough against my palm when I place it on his cheek. “I’m going to shower them with love and give them the childhood you should have had.”

Tristan’s eyes glisten, and his hand is warm over mine as he pulls it from his face. “Annie, my love, I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do. Don’t you realize the gift you’re giving me? Children, Tristan—the very thing I thought I would never have.”

His lips turn up the slightest. “You don’t get it. My kids are no gift.” He holds up his hand as I open my mouth to speak. “Tell me what you think in a week, but for now, don’t be grateful, because our love is about to be tested by my family.”

I grin at him. “You forget I’ve met Hurricane Isabelle.”

He allows me a small chuckle. “She’ll seem like a gentle rain after you meet the rest of them.” He pulls me back into an embrace. “Let’s have dinner on the porch and enjoy the stars.” He gazes down at me. “It will be the calm before the storm.” He kisses me, and I taste the rich flavors of spice in his vodka before they give way to the familiar sensations of my true mate.

W
hile I season the steaks
, Tristan opens a bottle of red to let it breathe. I’d be concerned about his drinking, but he went for a run after his earlier cocktail, and I’m glad he chose exercise to relieve his tension. I smile as I think about the other workout we had when he returned. While he continues to warn me about his feral offspring, I can’t help my excitement. I’m about to have three five-year-olds giving my home the activity of a family.

The meat slaps on the platter, and I say, “You haven’t told me if you have boys or girls, and I want to know their names.”

My mate’s mood is positive, and he says, “Girls. Eva, Echo, and Ellie.”

“Goodness. I was expecting boys with harsh Nordic names that make me spit when I say them.”

Tristan’s eyes twinkle. “You mean like Satan and Lucifer?”

“Exactly.” I hand him the steaks and a large spatula. “You have no idea how much fun I’m going to have with little girls.”

Tristan kisses the top of my head. “If anyone can tame them, it’s you, my love.”

While he steps out to the back porch to grill, I rinse off the fiddleheads I picked up from a roadside stand. I’m going to sauté them in lemon butter, and I nibble on one as I walk over to the fridge to get the ingredients.

I fantasize about the summer days full of trips to the lake, going out for ice cream, and learning to ride bicycles. Maybe we can install a playground for all the children in the De Rozier clan. Butter sizzles in the pan, and I turn down the heat as I squeeze in lemon juice. Even though I’m anxious to get things ready for the girls, I know Tristan needs tonight to be all about us.

When he comes inside, I grab the bottle of wine and hand it to him. “Let’s toast to finding each other. Because you continue to make me happier every day.”

Wine gurgles into the oversized goblets as Tristan pours, and I toss the greens into my sauce before I take my drink. He says, “To finding the woman who makes me fall in love all over again each day.”

“To finding the man who makes my dreams come true.” Our glasses clink, and the acidic taste of vinegar accosts my senses when I take a sip. I turn to the sink to spit it out at the same time Tristan does, and the contents of our mouths splatter. “Ugh.”

“It’s gone bad,” says my mate.

“Let me go get another bottle.” I grimace as I roll my tongue around my mouth to clear the unpleasant taste, and I jog down the stairs. The air in the basement is cool, and I entertain the thought of making a playroom down here for the polar bear children who are sure to find our summer too hot.

When I return, I say, “Let’s try this again.” I notice the empty bottle on the counter. “You poured it out?”

“Yes. There’s nothing you can do with it once it’s turned.”

I nod, because I would have done the same thing, eventually. Although I probably would have entertained another way to use it first. “I suppose you’re right.”