Frostbitten (26 page)

And when I understood what Clay meant, I
really
understood what he meant.

“You’re thinking… you’re thinking of doing it again.”

I should have kept my mouth shut until I could properly modulate my tone. I’d just finished sulking because Clay had implied this wasn’t something I could handle, and now I said those words in whispered horror, confirming it. I wanted to try again, stronger, matter-of-fact, proving him wrong. Only he wasn’t wrong.

Rationally, I knew that in killing one mutt horribly, Clay had protected Jeremy for over thirty years and saved the lives of every mutt who otherwise would have come to Stonehaven to challenge him.

Emotionally, though, I reacted like a little kid, screwing up her face and sticking her fingers in her ears. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to hear about it, didn’t want to think about it. And I sure as hell didn’t want to think about Clay doing it again.

“It’s not important,” he said after a minute. “Not now. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“But it’s bothering you.”

“Bugging me, not driving me crazy. We’ve got lots to do tomorrow. We need to get some sleep.”

He lay back down. When I didn’t, he tugged me down beside him, then settled in, one hand resting on my waist, the other tucked up between us, thumb rubbing my collarbone.

“When you… did it,” I said. “Jeremy didn’t know in advance, did he?”

“Nah. No reason to tell him, and better if I didn’t.”
Better? Or just easier
? We lay in silence for a moment, eyes still open.

“I—”

I was about to say “I want to know,” but did I? Really, did I? What would I be saying? That I wanted all the details in advance? That I wanted to help him plan it? Help him carry it out? My stomach twisted.

Clay wouldn’t want that either.

Did it make me a coward if I agreed I was better off not knowing? Worse, did it make me a hypocrite? I could acknowledge that Clay was capable of doing horrible things to protect the Pack, and I didn’t disagree with the final result… but I didn’t want to think about it too much?

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I haven’t decided anything. I don’t plan to for a while.”

“But…when you do. Don’t—” I lifted my head, his hand falling from my chest. “Don’t do anything behind my back, okay?”

His lips tightened.

“That came out wrong. I just meant… I want to know. I don’t want to find out after the fact. I’m not Jeremy.”

He nodded, kissed my shoulder, then pulled me down again. After another wide-eyed minute of lying there, neither of us bothering to fake sleep, he said, “Are you okay? With earlier today?”

He meant Tesler, the attempted rape.

“I’m… okay for now.”

He knew that meant that I wasn’t really okay, just temporarily so, having slapped a bandage on the wound to staunch the bleeding while I tended to other things.

When I’d smelled mutt tonight, I’d had a moment of panic, thinking it was Tesler. An Alpha could not run from a threat. An Alpha could not have weak spots a mutt could exploit. I thought I didn’t. Now I realized I’d been wrong. At a serious threat of rape, there’d been a moment when my fight response shut down, flight instinct taking over. I couldn’t let that happen again.

When I said I was okay for now, Clay didn’t ask if I wanted to talk about it. He looked for the answer in my face, then said, “Later, then?”

I nodded, curled up against him and closed my eyes.

The alarm sounded at seven. Our first call went to Jeremy, updating him on the situation, getting his opinion of my decisions, then talking to the kids. We had a few muffins to tide us over, then dealt with our anxieties in the way we knew best. We headed downstairs to the gym.

* * * *

The best thing about hotel gyms? They’re almost always empty. I’m sure plenty of business travelers insist on booking a place with a gym, so they can spend twenty minutes in there, then congratulate themselves for sticking to their routine between cocktail parties and room-service binges.

When we arrived, there was one guy coming out of the pool change-room and heading for the weights. By the time I was dressed in my sweats, he was heading back in, not even having broken a sweat.

We started with the punching bag. I held it while Clay worked out his right arm. It didn’t take long before he got bored of that and wanted a more active partner. We started slow, Clay throwing punches and me blocking them, working into it, not wanting to get too involved in case someone came in.

After about twenty minutes with no one even walking past the door, we swung into full sparring mode. I worked on Clay’s reflexes now, feinting and lunging, trying to trick him into leading with his left. After four years of this, though, it’s tough to catch him off-guard in a structured environment. Finally, he grabbed my wrist and flipped me onto the mat, signaling rehab time was over.

When I rolled up, he danced away, grinning.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “Someone comes in and we’re wrestling, however innocently, it’s going to draw attention to us, and we can never afford to draw—”

I wheeled, trying to kick his legs out from under him, but he spun out of my way. We faced off. I lunged, then feinted, managed to get hold of his arm and threw him over my shoulder.

He hit the mat with a
whoomph
, and lay there, winded, shaking his head. “And that wouldn’t have called attention to us, darling?”

“You started it.”

He dove for my legs. I pranced back out of the way and kicked. He caught my leg and down I went.

“Still tired from yesterday?” he said. “I could go easier on you.”

I sprang up and we went a few rounds, throwing punches and kicks. Only a few connected, but not for lack of trying. We didn’t “go easy” on each other, just avoided blows that would do serious damage. Bruises, though, we’d have. I didn’t care. It’s not like I’d be walking around Anchorage in shorts and a tank top.

Finally I had him pinned with his arms over his head, my knee on one thigh, keeping him down.

“Give up?” I asked.

He grinned. “Depends on the forfeit.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

I bent to the base of his throat and tasted it, hot and slick with sweat. He shivered. I grazed my teeth over his skin.

“You admit I beat you,” I murmured between nibbles. “And we’ll adjourn to the showers.”

“
Beat me
is a little strong. You briefly got the upper hand. I’ll admit to that.”

“Nuh-uh.
Beat
you.”

“Temporarily bested.” He jerked his hands free.

I caught and pinned them again. “Beat.” I tickled my tongue up to his ear, making him shiver again. “If you care to contest it, we could go a few more rounds.” I leaned into him, rubbing against him. “Postpone the showers. Hope no one else shows up in the mean time.”

He closed his eyes, hips lifting to grind into mine. When I pulled back, he growled deep in his throat and opened one eye.

“So to get sex, I need to cede defeat?” he said.

“Yep. Nasty and totally unfair, I know. But…” I slid my hand to his belly, tickling under his shirt. “Since I do seem to have the position of control…”

“Temporarily.”

My hand slid under his waistband. “Ceding a fight is tough, I know.” I wrapped my fingers around him and gave one firm stroke. His eyelids fluttered and he growled again, then he reared up, throwing me off. I tried to scrabble out of reach, but he grabbed my leg, yanking me facedown to the mat, then flipping me onto my back and pinning me.

“That’s better,” he said. “No need to choose when I can have it both ways.”

I struggled, but he had the advantage of weight and strength.

He grinned.

“Like that, do you?” I said. “Well, there’s one flaw in your plan. Unless you can get me into that change-room by force, the shower is out.”

“No need to go at all, is there?” He glanced at the door, then pushed my shirt up over my stomach and tweaked my waistband. “Haven’t seen anyone in almost an hour. And I’m nothing if not quick.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

A teeth-flashing smile. “Is that a challenge, darling?”

“No, it absolutely is
not
.” I squirmed, but even with just one hand holding my wrists, he had me pinned better than I’d had him with two.

He pushed my T-shirt up my rib cage, stopping just below my breasts, then sliding his hand under, tweaking my nipples hard enough to make me gasp… and momentarily forget that I was opposed to this idea.

When I remembered to protest, he cut me off with a kiss. We broke off fast when footsteps sounded in the hall. They headed the other way.

“Going to the business center,” Clay murmured. “No one’s coming in here, so there’s no reason I can’t just…” He slid my sweat pants down over one hip and hooked a finger through my panties, giving a tug.

I tried to squirm away. “Don’t you dare.”

“Would you prefer the change-room? It’s still an option.” He nudged my knees apart. “Just say the word. You forfeit and we can take this someplace more—”

I leapt up. He hung onto my hands… until they swung up and clipped him in the chin. I scrambled out from under him. He lunged for my legs, but I backed out of his reach and shot to my feet. As he rose, I kicked his legs out. He went down, landing hard on the mat. I straddled his chest.

He sighed.

I victory punched the air. He shot up, grabbing me under the arms and tickling me. I squealed and caught his hands, and was about to pin him when I noticed a figure standing in the doorway.

It was Joey, watching us.

“You wanted to talk to me?” he said.

I scrambled off Clay, and stood, tugging my shirt down. It already covered me just fine, but I tugged it anyway, cheeks heating.

“Yeah, we did,” Clay said. “You had breakfast?”

“Yes, but I suppose you haven’t.” A smile cracked Joey’s composure. “And if I remember correctly, we’d better attend to that first or I can’t expect to get a rational sentence from you.”

“You two go on,” I said. “I’ll shower and catch up.”

* * * *

When my blood stopped pounding, I switched the cold shower to warm, tilted my face up into the water and tried not to think of how much more fun this shower would have been if Joey hadn’t shown up. I could still feel adrenaline slamming through my veins, the lingering euphoria better than any chemical buzz. And it was more than adrenaline. It was confidence, my anxiety over facing Travis Tesler again fading.

Given my background, my dominance play with Clay might seem odd. Disturbing even. One day I’m reduced to gibbering terror by a mutt pinning me to the ground and threatening rape. Less than twenty-four hours later, I’m letting my partner pin me, threatening public sex.

I’m sure I don’t want to hear what a psychiatrist would say about that. But for me, it works. It makes sense. With Clay, it was different. When we’d first met, he’d taken his time. Friends first, then, very slowly, shifting to lovers. With Clay, I was always in control. I still am.

Dominance play is about control. For some, the thrill is giving it up. For me, it’s about taking it back. I don’t need “release words” with Clay. If I so much as tense, he stops. I choose to take the lead or I choose to give it to him. My choice. Always. That has healed me more than years of therapy ever could.

Yet, as strong as I felt right now, I knew my gut would seize with terror when I saw Tesler again. But for now I felt ready to handle it.

Clay and Joey were in the hotel restaurant, deep in conversation when I entered. Or, at least, Clay was deep in conversation, explaining something, his hands waving, a slice of toast in one, crumbs flying. I headed for the buffet, but a large table of businesspeople beat me to it. Clay caught my eye and waved me over. As I approached, he kicked out a chair for me, then moved his plate between us.

“Clayton sharing his food?” Joey said with a strained smile. “Must be love.”

“No, he’s just trying to make a good impression. Normally, he’d be stealing mine.”

Clay started sliding the plate back his way, but I caught it and held it between us.

“Clay was just telling me about Nick,” Joey said. “He said he’s doing graphic design for his dad’s company. I’m still trying to figure out if he’s joking.”

“He’s not. Nick seems to like it. He’s got a good eye for design.”

“Now, that I can see. I remember how long it took the guy to buy a shirt. I bet there are a lot of nice-looking young women working in graphic design, too.”

We laughed. Five years ago, I’d have guessed that was indeed the reason for Nick’s interest. But lately he’d been making changes in his life—finding a job he liked, actually showing up for it and taking a more active role in the family business.

Around the time I got pregnant, Nick had started getting restless. He’d even briefly flirted with the idea of having a child of his own, which lasted until the twins arrived and he decided babies were really a bigger plunge into the sea of domesticity than he cared to take.