Just One Taste (23 page)

B
y dinnertime
, Lyra was merely a sun-kissed golden goddess. She moved with grace and ease as she poured wine and chatted with the guests around the table.

Rachel had done a lovely job setting it while Lyra had stewed in her room, finding Grandmother Anders’s yellow faïence plates in the butler’s pantry and placing them on blue straw placemats. Rachel had arranged daisies and lupine in a yellow Fiestaware water pitcher, too. Yes, indeed, Rachel had an artist’s eye. Lyra supposed the woman deserved a partial refund on her stay. As a teacher, it was a wonder she could afford to spend five thousand dollars on a vacation to begin with.

Teaching was a noble profession; Lyra knew that and valued it. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted to do, though. Of course, Ben hadn’t planned to teach. He’d wanted to be a famous ballplayer, and had come pretty close, according to the Boys from Boston. Probably if he’d had a shifter surgeon operate on him, he’d be winding up in some stadium right now. But he’d been in the dark about the cat subculture. It wasn’t his fault.

She wondered how he came to be adopted. Shape-shifter families were unusually close. There were a lot more of them than anyone would imagine, but over the centuries they’d developed a veneer of civilization, if consorting with humans could ever be called civilized. Quite a muck-up people had made of the world so far. Some catastrophe must have occurred for Ben’s parents to give him up. They probably had no choice.

They probably were dead.

Damn it. Now she was feeling sorry for him. He, who was about to oppress her. Limit her choices. Conquer her.

She looked up and caught him looking at her, a shit-eating grin on his face. Screw him. Well, yes, she would, but she wouldn’t have to like it.

Much.

When he came for her in the dark, he led her back to the night garden. Without a word, he unzipped her dress and laid her gently on the damp grass. He took his own clothes off and settled his heavy body upon hers, heart to heart, groin to groin. For a tricky moment, she thought she couldn’t breathe. He lifted her arms and placed his palms over hers, pressing so she could feel the current between each of their fingertips.

“One, two, three,” he whispered.

“
Felis silvestris
.”

He rolled her over slowly, playfully, almost lazily. There was none of the frenzy of their previous mating, as though he sensed that she needed to be gentled tonight. She lay still while he lapped and tickled her ears. He held her down firmly, although she would have been docile anyway, and proceeded to groom her everywhere. His patient tongue swirled against her skin and fur, its pressure causing her to tingle at each touch.

And then his tongue moved downward, until it dipped within her cat’s cleft, causing her to arch off the ground. No one had ever tried that before, and she was hypnotized by the steady swipe of his rough tongue. Her helpless screech broke the quiet of the night, and soon was echoed within the woods and fields by the others as they found their own pleasure.

And then he mounted her and took her, all pretense of gentleness gone. With each stroke he staked his claim. Through the long hours of the night. And she let him.

She had no choice.

When he was done, he touched his nose to hers. Although now lacking the power of speech, they thought the ritual words which would turn them back into exhausted human beings.

Felis catus
. No longer wild, but domestic. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

C
assie found
Lyra in the hallway, rolling a cleaning cart between the rooms. She was a day late changing the beds, but so far nobody had complained.

“Is it true?” Cassie asked, a little wild-eyed.

“Is what true?”

“That you’re mated to Ben for life? Rachel said—”

Damn. The jungles drums were out in full force. It was a wonder she’d had yesterday to herself.

Lyra nearly gritted her teeth. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Oh my God. What does it feel like?”

Like being put in a cage. With a hungry eight-foot panther sprawled across your body knowing he can do anything he wants.

“It’s everything I ever expected.”

Cassie gave her a hug. “You are so lucky. And so is he. Not fair! He’s the hottest guy here, besides your brother. Rachel really likes him, you know.”

“Flynn’s a peach, but she’d better not get her hopes up. I don’t think he’s ready to settle down.”

“Good. Do you think he can get me away from Brian?” Cassie stepped closer. Lyra wondered if she’d get the beds made up by dinnertime. “I mean, he’s strong, a lion and all.” She lowered her voice. “But it’s the same old thing, night after night. I compared notes with Alys and Adrienne. All three of them must have had the same Facilitator. Some woman with no imagination. Maybe she was even frigid. What are the qualifications for a Facilitator’s license anyway?”

“I don’t know. The Facilitator my parents hired was very good.” A sudden, wicked, evil thought crossed Lyra’s mind. She shouldn’t. She
really
shouldn’t. She and Flynn had decided before they opened the inn that ten shifters was the maximum they could handle at a time, even if they did have twelve bedroom suites in the main part of the house. They’d turned one of the extra rooms into the linen room, installing white-painted shelves and commercial washers and dryers. But they always kept the other bedroom available in case of emergency.

“Maybe I can help you out. I know a guy. If he’s free, I’ll invite him up for a couple of days. Maybe he can give the Boys from Boston a refresher course.”

“Ooh! Would you? And is he cute?”

“He’s the most handsome man you will ever meet,” Lyra replied with perfect honesty.

F
lynn dropped
the colander into the sink with a clatter. “You did what? Are you crazy?”

Lyra continued to arrange chicken salad and tuna salad stuffed tomatoes on round platter. Everyone would be at lunch today. It had been raining since dawn, but that was a good thing. The gardens needed it. There was plenty to do indoors. The media room was stocked with hundreds of DVDs, there were books, boards games, the billiard room. The guests could even have sex with each other on fresh sheets.

“He’s flying himself into Owl’s Head and coming on the eleven o’clock ferry tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ, Lyra. Not only does it throw the numbers off, but what about you and Ben?”

“What about us?” Lyra lifted her cool copper eyes at her brother and stared him down.

“Ben won’t like it. He’ll feel threatened.”

“If he wants to play with the big cats, he’ll have to get used to it.”

“He’s only been shifting for
three days
,
sis. If you have complaints, I’m sure you can teach him to do better.”

“I have no complaints. Dillon’s not coming for me.”

“Then why the hell is a Facilitator taking time off from his busy schedule and coming here?”

“It’s good P.R. for us. He’s got a million contacts. And at the same time he can do an informal seminar for the guys, make a few suggestions. A little locker room talk. Apparently the lions are kings only in their own minds,” she grinned.

“I am sick to my stomach.” Flynn sat down on a wooden stool. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Are we paying him?”

“No, no. It’s a freebie for old time’s sake.”

Flynn scowled. “What’s he expecting in return? If you fuck him, you’re screwed.”

“Watch your language, Flynn. I know I can’t let him touch me.”

“He’ll try,” Flynn warned. “He’s messed with your head for years. And every other part of you,” he grumbled.

“I appreciate your brotherly concern, but I’m not sixteen anymore.” Or eighteen. Or twenty. Or twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-five or twenty-seven. Oops, she was. She and Dillon had a complicated history, some of it fairly recent.

There were several aspects of shifter life that Lyra was not especially crazy about, the first being sexual initiation. She understood the purpose of it—an inexperienced cat could cause harm, sometimes even death, to itself and others. At the age of sixteen, all young cubs were expected to undergo a session under an expert’s care. A dispassionate stranger. They were removed from their home, taken to a neutral location for one week, and taught every carnal skill they might ever need in human or cat form. The idea was to remove the spontaneous impulse from the sexual act, to approach the subject with care and awareness, to hone physical capabilities. To learn one’s place in the animal kingdom. The wildness was guaranteed to come later.

As a female, Lyra had been taught by a dominant, Dillon McCarthy. He had been the living embodiment of every young girl’s dream. Tall, dark, sinfully handsome. Clear blue eyes that bored right into a teenage girl’s soul. She would have done anything he asked. And had.

Even when she was older and knew better, Dillon had asserted an influence she found particularly hard to shake. The only upside was that she knew he valued her, too. He didn’t keep in touch with all his student conquests, so she must have scratched some indeterminate itch of his. But not enough for him to claim her as his life mate. She’d given up that hope a while ago.

And now her fate was in the hands of a man she’d known three and a half days. A man she really didn’t know at all.

Lyra went to the greenhouse window and pinched off some leaves and sprigs, tucking the herbs artistically between the tomatoes. Presentation was everything. Something she had been taught at the hands of a master, as he pulled her haunches up the better to mount her. She’d lifted her ass so high she thought she’d break her back.

What if Flynn was right and she was playing with a fire she couldn’t control? She’d said nothing about her life mate finding her when she talked to Dillon on the phone this morning. He probably thought she was offering him all the amenities the Perch had to offer. Including her.

Tough. It was too late to tell him now. And she hoped with a little part of her silly human pettiness that his heart might crack just a fraction when he heard the news that she was taken.

One advantage of having covered porches was that even if it rained, breakfast and lunch could still be served outside if the angle of the rain cooperated. Today there was just a steady, straight drizzle. Flynn had unrolled the green and white striped canvas awnings down some to block stray drips, but the bay was still in view, gray and choppy. Some commercial fishing boats were out and a few hardy sailors.

The smell of the wet earth went directly to Lyra’s animal senses as she placed the food on the buffet table. She wished she could strip and spin in the grass, letting the cool rain wash over her like she did here when she was a child. When things were simpler.

She had always known, though, there was some mystery attached to her family name. Her parents had been the souls of propriety and never exposed Lyra and Flynn to any of their wilder goings on when the twins were children, keeping their summer visits to the Perch strictly cat-free. Once the twins had gone for training, though, they were encouraged to explore the estate as their animal selves under the star-spattered skies.

Their wicked old grandmother had even tried to play matchmaker, importing the grandchildren of her friends for their amusement. But Lyra had been so in love with Dillon she hadn’t let herself be touched by anyone until she went to college, and then, it was the clumsy fumbling of a beer-breathed fraternity boy. She’d learned her lesson and stuck to art and English majors after that, sensing no shifter companionship on her campus. She didn’t even have her brother.

Flynn had gone to Johnson and Wales to cook and party in Providence. He had a flair with food, always had, even as a kid. He had Lyra were both creative in their own ways, and their partnership in the inn had been a blessing for both of them. But now, it seemed, she’d have to walk away from the business she’d worked so hard to build.

Lyra bit her lip. She’d just have to suck it up. She was fated to be a submissive, and she knew she could have done far worse. Ben was an enviable catch. She just hoped she wasn’t an infatuation for him since she was his first, and he’d confused his desire for destiny. Males were known to go rogue and break their vows sometimes. She’d tie his tail up in knots if he tried. She valued faithfulness above anything.

Having Dillon here would be a test for both of them.

S
he stood waiting
on the porch as she always did for new arrivals, watching the rented black Escalade weave between the trees. Her heart was thumping a little too fast, and she looked a little too fancy for the daytime. She wore a very short halter-top sundress patterned with ripe red cherries, and four-inch open-toed red wedges that elongated her already long legs. Ben had taken one look at her, whistled and kissed her like she was dessert. She’d had to promise him and hour in the night garden this afternoon, and he promised he wouldn’t turn.

Flynn was in the kitchen sulking. All of the guests were busy doing off-premises activities, so he was going to be trapped with Dillon, his sister and Ben. Even Rachel had abandoned him, opting to chip in on renting a power boat so they could looky-loo at the huge houses perched on the island’s rocky shoreline. If he’d been smart, he would have slapped some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together on the porch and gone with everybody else, but he said he couldn’t leave poor Ben alone with McCarthy. Ben would be served up for lunch right along with the lobster bisque and chowder crackers if Flynn didn’t have his back.

Outside, Lyra watched Dillon slide off the leather seat, all lanky grace and charm. He opened the hatch and took out his training case and a black canvas bag. He didn’t walk so much as saunter up the steps.

“Hey, kitten,” he said, bending to kiss her on the lips.

Lyra put a hand out. “You can’t. I’m forbidden.”

“Congratulations,” Dillon said smoothly. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”

“Ben Cooper.”

“Never heard of him. West Coast?”

“N-no. Connecticut, actually. But he was adopted and not ever initiated.”

“Is that why I’m here, kitten? To train your mate? I must say, I’m flattered.”

“No! That is, everything is just perfect with us. Really, um, great. But some of the female guests thought a little brush-up course would be helpful to improve their experience. I—Flynn and I thought you could mingle with the males and discreetly drop some hints. The girls would be grateful.”

“That may be so, but they won’t be you. I wish you’d told me you were life-mated, Lyra. I don’t think I would have bothered to come,” he complained.

Well, she supposed that was a compliment. “It was very sudden.”

“Isn’t it always? I suppose your brother hasn’t been fool enough to fall in love, too.”

“Not quite yet. Let me show you to your room. Lunch is at one. I’ve left a brochure---”

“Yeah, yeah. I read your website, kitten. Very impressive. Everything I could think of and then some. When do I get to meet the paragon?”

“At lunch. He’s out kayaking.” And I hope his arm is holding up, she thought.

D
illon walked
up the stairs behind her. God, she had a great ass. He remembered the many times he’d enjoyed her and gave a sigh of regret. Girls like Lyra didn’t come around every day. He’d done an outstanding job with her. One of his best success stories.

But she just wasn’t meant for him. She’d come close, he knew. It had
almost
been there. But he wasn’t ready to ride a desk instead of doing fieldwork. If he had claimed her, he’d probably be surrounded by a bunch of rugrats and getting paunchy by now. Nope, he’d facilitate until it bored him. He still had a few years before the age difference between his subjects and himself would be a little creepy.

Lyra led him to a spacious room in the middle of the corridor. “Love the colors, kitten. You always did have an eye. Every corner of the house shows your touch.”

Lyra blushed. “Thank you, Dillon. That’s nice to hear.”

“Only telling the truth. I remember what this place was like when your grandmother was alive.”

Lyra’s blush went deeper. They had spent spring break her senior year of college here while her grandmother went on a cruise. Dillon had sworn he’d fuck her both ways in every single room, and he had.

“I’ll see you downstairs at lunch. Flynn’s fixed lobster bisque.”

“Umm. My favorite. You remembered.” He winked at her.

Oh, yes. She remembered. She remembered everything.

B
en took
off the helmet and life jacket. His head was sweaty, as was the rest of him, but being out on the calm bay today had settled him. Flynn had told him this morning who the extra guest was, and Ben didn’t like it a bit.

Lyra had dolled up for this Dillon McCarthy, too, not that she didn’t always look great. Ben even hated the guy’s name. It sounded fake, like some alpha hero out of a romance novel. To his shame, Ben knew a little something about them, at least the paranormal kind. Being without his own Facilitator, he’d used whatever fiction he could find to try to navigate the shape-shifting universe. He’d lurked on shifter message boards to see which books were recommended, then ordered them off Amazon. Ben had paid close attention to the females as they waxed enthusiastically about which books were a turn-on. He guessed he’d picked up enough to make Lyra happy so far.

When he kissed her this morning, he’d discovered she was wearing a little red thong. He’d be taking it off with his teeth in an hour in the night garden.

But he’d better get cleaned up before tangling with Lyra’s first lover.

He took a hot shower but skipped shaving. Women seemed to like the scruffy look, even if they wound up with beard burn on their thighs. He pulled on tan shorts and a sage green shirt that he’d been told matched his eyes, then stepped into some Topsiders. Yuppie on the outside, all feral within, he reminded himself.

They were already outside on the porch when he came down. Lyra jumped right up and kissed him.

“Hi, sweetie! Can I get you some soup?”

What was this sweetie shit? He kissed her too quickly, then extended his hand to Dillon, who lounged in a wicker chair as if he owned the inn and the entire damn island.

The man stood and clasped Ben’s hand. Hard. “I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve got yourself an exceptional mate, mate. Don’t screw it up, or I’ll have to come looking for you.” Dillon smiled, but Ben thought it was more an exercise to show his perfect white teeth than anything else. The man’s posh accent put his back up.

Figured. American women were suckers for British accents.

Ben smiled and squeezed right back. They held on to each other far longer than etiquette required. Frozen blue eyes met icy green.

“I know what I’ve got, and I thank God for her,” Ben said quietly.

“Good. Flynn tells me the wedding is set for October. I don’t know how you’ll be able to wait that long myself,” replied Dillon, setting his long frame back in the chair. “This bisque is as great as I remember, Flynn. I remember when Lyra and I were up one spring, we found some in the freezer and devoured it. And each other,” he laughed.

“Okay, you can stop this pissing contest right now,” Ben said. “I’m not playing your game. You were stupid enough to let her go. I wasn’t.”

Dillon’s sculptured face softened. “Well done! You are more astute than I imagined. I’ll retract my claws and we’ll see about being friends. Or at least not enemies.”

“Deal.”

L
aura had been holding
her breath for the whole exchange. Perhaps she’d underestimated her future husband. He might have been younger and less experienced that Dillon, but he’d taken him down in one snap of the jaw.

Lyra fussed over a bowl of soup, blushing furiously. It wasn’t that she was hoping they’d come to blows, not really. But she hadn’t expected them to resolve their property dispute in a dozen sentences.

Fucking
men
.

“So, Lyra, tell me how you want me to shape up these shifters.” Dillon grinned, this time a bit more naturally.

“I’ve got a reservation on the 9:30 ferry tomorrow. I’m taking the girls in the van to the mainland. We’ll go shopping in Camden, have lunch. I do this every session,” she said, turning to Ben. “It helps people from feeling too island-bound, gives everybody a change of scenery. Besides, every red-blooded woman likes to shop. Flynn takes the guys golfing at the country club and they eat there.”

“Jeez, I hate golf,” Ben said. “That’s the one sport I don’t have patience for. My dad kept giving me clubs, and I kept loaning them to teammates and now my students.”

“You don’t have to go,” Lyra said quickly. “This lesson is definitely not for you. Y-you,” she stuttered, “are fine.”

“I hope I’m more than fine,” Ben said. Lyra’s rosy face must say it all.

Dillon stretched. “Okay, sounds like a plan. Lions, you said?”

“Assholes,” said Ben.

T
he hour
in the garden turned into two. Bees buzzed, butterflies flew, Lyra had multiple orgasms. When he held her afterward, he nuzzled her neck, then pressed his lips to her ear. “You are mine.”

Lyra nodded. Yes, there was no question anymore. She was.