License to Shift (2 page)

More words. What did they mean?

“…my father…computer…notes…have them?”

It took three tries before he could form a word. Even so it came out more like a grunt. “No,” he said. Then the most important thing for her own safety. “Leave.”

“…can't.”

Hell.

O
MG! OMG! OMG! OMG!

Julie Simon was not a prude. She enjoyed a finely honed male body as much as any woman. But when said finely honed man answered his door stark naked and proceeded to look at her like she was the answer to his prayers, well, then, her libido kicked into overdrive. Especially when that look turned into hunger and his already thick cock stiffened into a staff that aimed unerringly at her.

She was not a prude, but hell, this was sexually at its most raw. And she apparently liked raw.

Who knew? All her boyfriends up to now had been friendly, flaky men who spoke in full sentences and never, ever growled. And yet one hairy, horny grunt from this guy and her nipples tightened while everything else went liquid.

Not a prude, then. Apparently, she fell more into the slut category because if he made a move on her right then, she wasn't exactly sure what she'd do to stop him. First of all, he looked like he could overpower her in a heartbeat. Second, the moment he'd offered her his mocha latte, her knees had gone weak and her lust spiked. When the hell had she developed a caveman fetish?

Insane!

But she wasn't a beast to be ruled by her hormones. And she certainly wasn't going to jump a near stranger, no matter how ripped his abs or how much he stared at her. Good lord, she'd never been the center of such focused attention. Need rippled off those sculpted pecs, it vibrated in the air between his broad shoulders and her tight breasts, and it seemed like he wanted her so badly it was hard for him to form words. But how was that possible? All he'd done was answer the door…naked.

She took a breath, startled—but not surprised—to find it thick with musk. His? Hers? Who knew?

Get a grip!

She momentarily flashed on what she could grip and struggled to restrain a near-hysterical laugh. She was not a woman who thought things like that. Not in the usual course of the day. So she closed her eyes and lifted her latte to her lips. Damn, he made a great cup of coffee. The honey added just the right amount of sweet.

Focus on the essentials: caffeine and sugar.

That's when he spoke. Two words: “no” and “leave.” Well, that was par for the course from the men in her life. They'd act one way, then say the opposite. Get her revved, then disappear. Give her a latte and then order her to leave. All he needed to do now was invite her to move in, then break up with her and he'd be just like her ex.

But unlike what she'd done with her ex, she refused to leave. Her father needed his help, and so she would be stubborn. At least until she got a fuller explanation from him. One that included two-syllable words.

“So,” she ventured when the silence stretched too long between them, “do you remember me?” She certainly remembered him. Linebacker for the football team with a crazy streak. She hadn't gone to high school here, but she'd spent a few summers being rejected by his clique while listening to tales of his antics. Everyone had talked about the stunts he'd pulled running wild in the state park. According to the gossip, he'd jumped from tree to tree the length of the park. He'd raced the train and won. He'd swum the river when it was still clogged with ice.

Blah, blah, blah.

What she remembered was him finding ways to keep her away from the group. He stopped people from talking to her, he hosted parties in places she couldn't find, and he never did anything but give her the cold shoulder. And where the great Mark Robertson went, everyone else—but her—followed. Which meant she had two very lonely summers thanks to him.

He was a dick of the first water…except for that one amazing, incredible, life-altering night. But she refused to think about that. Ever.

She grabbed onto the cruel memories now. In her mind's eye, she lined up every time he'd turned away from her and used them to ice her hormones. She was here to get her father's journals, and she'd be damned if he frightened her away with his hard muscles and his manly lust.

“I'm Julie Simon,” she said clearly. “You have my father's journals, and I need them.”

He blinked at her, his brows narrowing enough that she noticed a long scar along his forehead.
Probably from tripping while racing a train,
she thought sourly. Though, damn, that looked like it had been a scary wound.

“Your father?” he said, his voice gravelly and bedroom sexy. His eyes drifted closed and he spoke as if he were just waking up from a really beautiful dream. “Julie.”

She shivered at the unexpected timbre of his voice, laced with both yearning and pain. “Er, y-yes,” she stammered, feeling way off-kilter. “My father is Professor John Simon. You've been working with him. Helping him with his computer system for his research. He said you had—”

“I don't.” His voice was clearing, going from bedroom sexy to just radio mellow.

She huffed out a breath, irritation doing little to cool her lust, but every tiny bit helped. “He gave you his journals to digitize. I'm going to transcribe them for him while he's in the hospital.”

His gaze sharpened. “Hospital?”

“Yeah. Heart attack. Bypass surgery a couple days ago.” She kept her answer short, not wanting to relive the frantic midnight phone call from her mother or the drive from Chicago to Saginaw, Michigan, when her life was already in so much chaos. But considering the circumstances, her boss had given her leave from work. Then she had that anxious wait through the surgery while she, her mother, and her younger sister went slowly crazy from too much bad coffee and too little news.

“He okay?”

She nodded. “He's lucky he collapsed at the café in town. He got CPR immediately and then was air lifted to Saginaw.”

She fell silent while he studied her face. His eyes narrowed, and the intensity kicked up in their dark blue depths. She hadn't thought anything about the man could be more raw than what she'd felt earlier, but his scrutiny made her uncomfortable. Like he was reading every curve and hollow on her face for way more than she wanted to reveal.

Then he set down his coffee with a hard
click
. “You are worried.”

“Of course—”

“But not too worried. You believe your father will be fine.”

Two complete sentences full of two-syllable words. Quite the improvement. Maybe now he'd put some pants on. Meanwhile, she watched him curve his mouth into a slow smile.

“I'm glad he's going to be okay.”

Hard not to soften when he spoke in those bedroom tones. “So am I. But by tomorrow he's going to be bored. I was sent here to get his journals.”

He frowned. “I gave them back a while ago.” His gaze shifted from her to a large calendar on the wall. It was a
Dilbert
one, full of cartoons about working in the cubicle jungle. And it was on the wrong month. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” Then when he stared at her in confusion, she got more specific. “June second. Do you need the year, too?”

He slowly shook his head as he walked over to the calendar. “I've been asleep for three days.”

What? Holy shit!
“Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?” That would explain a lot.

“What? No.” His voice was emphatic, but given that he was still staring at the month of May, she wasn't convinced.

“It's not normal to sleep for days on end.” She kept her voice neutral, but was ready to dial 911 if he showed signs of delirium or something.

He swallowed, then carefully switched the calendar over to June. “It is for me. Lately.” Then he stood there glaring at the new
Dilbert
image. “I woke up a couple times, I think, but fell right back to sleep.”

“For three days?”

His gaze cut to hers, and in those dark blue depths, she saw a haunting despair—like a man staring down the barrel of a gun. And now she remembered what had drawn her to him as a teen. Even back then she couldn't look at that much pain without reaching to comfort him. But she only got one step closer before he stiffened and turned from her.

“I'm suddenly starving,” he said, his voice settling into a forced cheer. After the husky tones from a few minutes ago, this was downright irritating. “Want something to eat?”

“No, thanks.”

He crossed to a large refrigerator and pulled it open. A big T-bone sat in the center as well as a couple more cuts of beef, plus milk and a surprising number of fruits and vegetables. Given that her refrigerator contained an expired tub of yogurt and a crappy bottle of wine, she had to be impressed that Mr. Caveman kept a well-stocked kitchen.

“You sure?” he said, his voice becoming cheerier with every word. “I've got plenty.”

“No, thanks. I had a burger on the way up.”

“Ugh. Fast food.” His tone held all the contempt of a celebrity chef. Meanwhile, he pulled out two steaks and threw them on a plate. His movements were efficient as he poured on a homemade marinade and set them aside to soak. Then he grabbed a variety of leafy greens, tomatoes, and God only knows what other vegetables for an amazing salad. Just watching him work was a delight, especially given the way his muscles rippled as he sliced and diced.

The steaks went into the oven right before he started sautéing some kind of mushroom and onion mixture.
Oh, hell.
It smelled amazing, and her stomach rumbled. That burger had been a long while ago. He heard it, of course, and his eyes cut to hers even while he stirred his mixture.

“I was rude earlier. Please, let me make it up to you with some decent food.”

She swallowed. Damn, she was tempted. Hot guy who cooked like a dream? Sign her up! But she knew the truth of him from high school. Someone who was mean to the outsider as a teen didn't grow up to have a generous soul. It just didn't happen, no matter how well he cooked or that she could play “name the muscle” on every part of his body.

“I just need those journals,” she said. “Then I'll get out of your hair.”

“I told you, I don't have them. I digitized them, then gave them back…” He glanced at the calendar. “Eight days ago.”

“They're not in our cabin.”

“Sure, they are. You just don't know where to look.”

Actually, she did. With nothing else to do those two lonely summers, she'd learned her dad's “filing” system by heart. “They're not in the cabinet beneath the desk. They're not in the pile behind his lounger or beneath his bed. They're not in the pile by the toilet or the cabinet next to the coffee—there's just car magazine crap.”

He turned and frowned at her. “Are you sure?”

She glared at him while desperately trying not to admire his profile. Muscled thighs, taut butt, washboard abs, and that dusky erection that had yet to shrink down. “Yes,” she bit out. “I'm sure.”

“Huh.” He turned back to his sauté pan. A moment later, he sniffed the air. Apparently, he could smell when the steaks hit the right temperature because he quickly pulled them out of the oven. Then, he set them on two plates and poured the contents of the sauté pan over them. Next came the salads with a homemade dressing, of course, plus two glasses of lemonade that was probably homemade, too.

“Join me,” he said. “Then I swear I'll help you find your father's journals.”

Well, hard to deny him when he was acting so polite. And when everything smelled so divine. Then her stomach growled again, which had him smiling at her. God, he even had a dimple on his left cheek.

Unfair!

A normal woman would cave gracefully. She would smile and nod prettily while she joined him at the table. She might even offer to decant the wine or something. But Julie wasn't that smooth. Instead, she exhaled a reluctant breath and closed her eyes.

“I will on one condition,” she finally said.

“What?”

Couldn't he guess? Hell. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He'd just put the plates and glasses on the table. He stood there—full frontal—looking as clueless as any child. But he was adamantly
not
a child.

“Could you please—for the sake of my sanity—put on some pants?”

He blinked at her. Two full blinks, then he looked down at himself. Yup. There he was in his full, woody glory.

She didn't realize a man could blush with his whole body. Truthfully, she'd never had the opportunity to see it happen so clearly. Golden brown turned mottled red. And the dusky wood? That even purpled a bit.

He made a choked sound, deep in his throat, and then his hands dropped to cover himself. Where before he'd been confident and manly, suddenly, his eyes were wide and his cheeks were bright red.

Adorable.

He gave her a quick nod before he dashed past her into the hallway and downstairs. Even his ass had turned pink. And wasn't that going to feature in her fantasies for years to come?

Julie smiled as she settled down at the table to wait for Mr. Pink Cheeks to return.

W
hat a bitch!

Mark pulled on his jeans, cursing Julie the Priss with every burning second of embarrassment.

He knew he was being irrational. What was a woman to do when a man opens his door stark naked? Squeal and run away? But for her to stand there and have an entire conversation with him while he was naked and erect? Had she been enjoying the peep show? Or did she just live to make him feel like an idiot?

She hadn't changed a bit from high school. She'd spent two summers here with her father after her parents' divorce, and the whole time, she'd turned her nose up at the uneducated hicks who lived in Gladwin. He'd done everything his adolescent mind could think of to attract her attention. Ridiculous stunts, feats of daring that could have gotten him killed. But all she'd done was turn her back on him as she buried herself in some book. Years later he learned that she'd been working for her father, doing research for his cultural anthropology papers. Not surprisingly, folktales about shape-shifters ran strong in this area. But that didn't ease the burn of rejection.

He had hated her until that one night when lust had overcome reason. One glorious summer night when all the awkwardness was gone and they'd been just a girl and a boy under the stars. Until his bear had to surface and ruin everything. Like it had today.

Why the hell had his grizzly decided on her of all people? It really needed a reality check because the last person who was ever going to let him between her thighs was Julie Simon. But did the grizzly listen to logic? Of course not. Even as it grumbled inside him for looking foolish, it still urged him to go back upstairs. To cook her food and feed her with his own fingers. And then, when she was fat and slow from eating, he could bend her over the table and impregnate her.

Moron grizzly.

He needed to get those journals and get her out of his home. The longer she stayed here, the longer it would take to get her scent out of his brain. And his bear would not be distracted as long as he could smell her.

With that in mind, he booted up his computer to make a digital copy of her father's files. Normally, that would take about five seconds. But he spent ten minutes trying to find a spare USB flash drive to load it on. He found one in his desk. It was shaped like a teddy bear with a goofy grin on his face and a tiny pinhole through his heart. A holiday gift from Tonya, who specialized in graveyard humor. Everyone knew he was likely to die in the next year—probably with a shot to the heart—so why pretend otherwise? Mark had laughed for ten minutes when he'd received it. Carl, their alpha, had stormed out of the room in a dark fury.

That was three years ago. Now that his death was ticking ominously close, the thing just depressed him. So he loaded the flash drive with the files and headed upstairs to give it to his high school nemesis. He found her sitting as regal as any queen at his kitchen table, food untouched.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his stomach twisting painfully in his belly. Damn, he was hungry. But the cramp faded beneath the purr his grizzly let off the moment she came into view.

She jolted and frowned. “No. Should there be?”

He gestured to the untouched meal. It pissed him off that she wouldn't deign to eat food he'd prepared. “Steak too rare?”

“No. I was waiting for you.”

It took a moment for him to process her words. She'd been waiting because normal people ate meals together. They didn't swallow it down the moment food appeared like a starving bear. “Oh. Um. No need. Go ahead. It's probably getting cold.”

“That's what microwaves are for.”

He winced at the idea that she'd nuke his cooking, but didn't comment. He joined her at the table, forcing himself to sit down like a human being. The animal in him wanted to nuzzle her until she was pinned against a tree.

“Eat,” he said. Suave…not.

She smiled uncertainly at him then picked up her fork and knife. “That's a nice tee. Is that a band?”

He looked down at his shirt and tried not to sigh. Did she really think Nathan Fillion was in a band called
Spectrum
? “No. It's a TV show.”

“
Spectrum
? I've never heard of it.”

“It's not a real TV show.”

“What?”

He looked at her and tried to find an easy way to explain a crowd-funded web series based on actors who played in a fake TV show called
Spectrum
but everyone knew was
Firefly
. “It's a science fiction show big in fandom.”

“Oh. Maybe I can rent it.”

“Good luck with that.”

She looked up at him sharply. He didn't blame her. It wasn't a real TV show, but he didn't have the wherewithal to explain just then. And she still wasn't eating. “Don't you like steak? I can fix you something else.”

“No. I…” Pink tinged her cheeks. “I was just waiting for you—the host—to eat first.”

“What? Oh.” He scrambled to hack off a hunk of his meat and shove it into his mouth. Had he lost his ability to function in polite society or had he never learned? Either way, he'd been watching to see her reaction to his cooking and not paying any attention to his food.

One bite, though, fixed that. Hunger gripped his belly, and it was all he could do to force himself to chew. Meanwhile, she cut off a dainty corner of her steak and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened with surprise, and then slipped partially closed in delight. Then, best of all, she released a low murmur of appreciation.

Now that was the reaction he'd been waiting for. He might be three-quarters feral, but he could still cook.

Grinning, he set to his meal with relish. Part of him wished he could slow down and appreciate his own cooking, but after three days, he was starving. If he were alone, he'd make another steak, but he didn't want to leave her even to go across the room. So he ate everything in front of him, pausing long enough to grab the bowl of leftover salad and inhale that. And yet through all that, he kept his attention on her. He watched her take precise bites and chew them daintily. He studied her every facial expression, watching for those seconds when she savored the taste of something. And God forbid she grimaced. If that happened, he would snatch away her food and make her something better. Something that hadn't sat cooling for fifteen minutes while he'd dressed.

But she never did. She liked what he'd given her, and that delighted his bear to no end. Especially when she ate every bite and sat back in her chair with a contented sigh.

“That was incredible.”

“Did you want something else? Dessert, maybe?”

She chuckled, a low sound that rumbled down his spine straight to his groin. “After that? I'm so stuffed, my lungs don't have room to breathe.”

Fat and slow,
his bear thought.
The perfect female.
The man looked away rather than give in to the lust surging through him. “I made cookies.”

“In your sleep?”

“No. Before I went down to work. I keep a stash on hand for programming marathons.”

She titled her head. “Is that what you do? You're a computer programmer?”

She didn't know? That was refreshing. Everyone here knew what he'd created and why. “Um, yeah,” he answered. “I wrote a hunting game that's become popular. The player can be the human hunter or the animal.” And if the player happened to be a shifter teenager, then the game helped keep some of the hunting urge at bay.

“You can play the animal? Like the one about to be shot?”

“Yeah, but in my world, the bear can win. Or the wolf, cougar, or moose.”

She blinked. “Moose?”

“Big hooved animal with dangerous antlers.”

“I know what a moose is,” she said with a laugh. “I just didn't think people would want to pretend to be one.”

“Neither did I, but market research told me otherwise. So I programmed it and people have been buying.”

“Good for you,” she said.

“Thanks.” It was good for him and for most shifters who needed to take the edge off. Sometimes being human got to be too hard, but it wasn't convenient to strip down and go animal. So he created a virtual forest for were-creatures to run wild. To hunt and kill digitally as a way to settle the instinctive need.

And it worked, especially for him.

Sadly, it hadn't done jack shit lately. The need to go grizzly was too strong. But he comforted himself that it was helping others and would continue to do so long after he was put down.

If only he could create a virtual mating program. He'd populate it with her and have at it until she was completely out of his system. But some things couldn't be done digitally, and this was one of them. Which meant for her own sake, he needed to get her out of here.

With that thought in mind, he passed her the teddy bear flash drive. He lingered too long with his fingers caressing hers until she drew back, a blush staining her cheeks. Stupid bear was still trying to claim her. “This has all your father's journals on it.”

“Cute!” she said, but then she frowned as she saw the pinhole. Tonya had even managed to paint the puncture red somehow, but you had to look close to see it. Julie was and her face showed it. “Well, isn't that gruesome?”

She didn't know the half of it. Meanwhile, he tried to distract her.

“I don't have your dad's actual journals. If they're not in your summer cabin, maybe they're back in Ann Arbor. No offense to your father, but he's not that neat a man.”

“Definitely not for most things, but he's obsessive about his journals. And I already checked his regular home. That leaves the summer place.” She frowned at the teddy bear, obviously thinking hard.

“Did you find his tablet?”

She looked up. “Tablet? My dad's old school. He'd still be using a rock and chisel if he could.”

Yes, that was definitely her father. “I set up a Surface Pro for him last year. Got it loaded with the right software and he loved the stylus. Find that and you'll find all his stuff.”

She shook his head. “There wasn't a tablet anywhere. Just his desktop.”

That old dinosaur? It was too heavy and too big to misplace. “I'm sure you'll find it.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I hope so.” Then she glanced out the window. It was only late afternoon, but it was already getting dark. Summer storm coming in fast. “I better find it soon or it's going to be one sucky trip back to Saginaw.”

He looked at her sharply. “You're going to drive back tonight? Why?” Damn it, his words came out as a growl.

“Because my father is waiting for his work, and he gets cranky if he doesn't have it.”

“Your father is an adult who probably needs to rest. Plus, he'd rather his daughter live through the night than crash on the way to the hospital.”

She arched a brow at him, the look both classy and arrogant. “You think I can't drive in a thunderstorm?”

“I think you've probably had a dozen hours of sleep in the last week.” She was beyond beautiful to him. Something about a lush woman with curves everywhere made him salivate. But even his bear could make out the smudges under her eyes and the slight droop to her shoulders. Plus, given how much food she'd eaten, he'd lay odds that it'd been her first good meal since her father went into the hospital.

She brushed him off with a vague wave of her finger. “I'll be fine. This meal has definitely revived me.”

Bullshit.
But it wasn't his business. If she wanted to drive exhausted to her father's bedside, who was he to object? He'd done his duty, gotten her the digital copies, and warned her against stupidity. What more could he do? He was just standing up to say good-bye when completely different words came out of his mouth.

“At least let me help you find the journals. That way you can get on the road before it's dark.”

She stood when he did. “No need. I'm sure I'll find them under a blanket somewhere.” She didn't sound like she believed it, but was willing to hope.

He meant to leave it there. He'd give her the respect of making her own decisions. But different words came out of his mouth. Again. “I have to go into town anyway,” he lied. “Your father's cabin is on the way.”

“No, it's not,” she countered. “It's on the other side.”

He shrugged. “I don't get out much. Let me keep the illusion of having a social life.”

She frowned at him, clearly trying to figure him out. He let her look. Hell, his bear loved it. Practically wanted to preen at her stare. “Are you trying to be chivalrous?”

He grabbed the keys to his truck. “Is it working?”

“Not since the Middle Ages.”

That was completely untrue. He knew many women liked a man with knightly virtues. Unfortunately, he was as far from a man in shining armor as it was possible to get. “Look,” he finally said. “I like your father. He'd kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“I just need to find the journals. And his tablet.”

“And I need to get out of this house. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to die in my basement cave.” Truthfully, that was his plan. Then he gave her a wicked smile. “You might as well give in gracefully. I'm going to follow you anyway.”

“Very well,” she finally said, then gifted him with a sweet smile. “It's like coffee and a good meal made you into a completely different man.”

She had no idea. Question was, how long was the man in him going to last?