Predator's Serenade (8 page)

In response, Gunnar did a drum roll of happiness. When they turned to smile at him, he just gave his fingernails a blasé once-over, trying to appear the cool kid.

Within minutes, they were all seated at the resort’s fish and chips shop. It was a tranquil spot overlooking the lake and had a relaxed atmosphere that made it popular with the visiting families. Soren gave thanks they were surrounded by loud, happy tourists because his tension had ratcheted up a notch. Somehow Wes had weasled himself at the table right next to Gioia, where Soren had been planning to sit. He ended up sitting next to the kid.

While Gioia caught up with her embarrassed cousin, listening as he told a story of being invited out onto Ryland’s fishing boat, Soren stared at them. No doubt, Ry had lured Wes away for some fishing to get him away from Gioia for a while. Soren’s bear rumbled again, and a fiery burn took root in his stomach. It was good to see her smile and laugh at Wes’ tale of “almost landing the big one,” but he didn’t want her smiling at Wes.

He wanted all her smiles. Her happy smiles, her proud smiles. Her smiles of lusty satisfaction. An image cut through his consciousness, one of Gioia laid out on his bed buck naked. Writhing and twisting in pleasure as he sucked her off, as he plundered her sweet pussy with his mouth and hands. A delicious visual of her grinning at him as he rose, wet-mouthed, from between her legs and found his home inside her.

His brow got moist and hot. He wiped at his head and started at how clammy it was to the touch.
Oh, damn. I need to get this woman alone again
.

She glanced at him, her adorable eyes squinting behind her glasses. “Are you okay, Soren?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, mesmerized by the innocently seductive movement of her lips as she talked. “Just dandy.”

* * * *

Lunch had proven to be an exercise in excruciating pain. Wes had monopolized the entire conversation, and Soren had had to excuse himself to have a number of not-so-polite chats with unmated males who kept swerving by their table. It was exhausting. He was so relieved when some other mated dude approached the table and challenged Wes to a game of darts. Gioia had urged her cousin to go. Right on cue, Gunnar disappeared, heading for the conference room once more.

Soren and Gioia eyed each other over the table, the remnants of their fish and chips between them. Taking the bull by the horns, Soren stood and reached for her hand. “Walk with me.”

She stumbled after him out of the restaurant. “I don’t want to take up your time. I’m sure you have things to do.”

He did have things to do. He owed a composition to the New York Philharmonic, and they’d want to collect it soon. Soren realized he hadn’t given his work a thought since arriving on Gemini Island. He’d been too taken up in Gioia’s family and plight…and her scent. He couldn’t even think about composing now. Not with his bear creating such a damned furor inside him. Did she taste as good as she smelled? “We won’t be long.”

“But Gunnar…”

“Your son is fine. You can spare a few minutes. I just want to walk with you.”

“Oh.” Her whispered response put him even more on edge.

I need to know if she’s my mate. I can’t continue like this
.

Soren almost dragged her into the woods and toward one of the hiking trails. It was his favorite trail on the island, if he had to pick one. It boasted a boardwalk that ran along a peaceful stretch of the lake. It was quiet there, with few hikers, as most of the serious outdoorsy types preferred the trails that delved into the deep woods.

He listened to her soft footfall on the wooden planks below them, and all the while her scent called to him. Peaches and vanilla and something else…

She was wet. Upon sensing the musky, feminine perfume, his cock pummeled the seam of his jeans.
Jesus
Christ
.

Desperate to touch her with some sort of intimacy, Soren slid his arm around her waist as they walked. He waited for her to jump away, but she didn’t. In fact, she almost leaned into him. Good. He suddenly had the desire to be her freaking Rock of Gibraltar. “You’re a good mom, Gioia,” he whispered.

Her bottom lip wobbled and formed a smirk. “Not everyone agrees with you. People have made comments…”

He frowned at her. “Fuck those people. What do they know?”

She arched a black brow at him. “And what about you? Have you ever wanted kids?”

He put the back of his hand to his brow in mock horror. “God, no.” He grinned, until he realized she wasn’t grinning in return. He got serious again. “But I still know it’s a hard job. I know our mom and dad had a rough time with Ry and me when we were growing up.”

“They did?”

“Sure. I wasn’t always the pillar of confidence you see before you now,” he joked. “I may not understand everything Gunnar’s going through, but I probably understand most of it. It’s not easy being different in a world of people who seem the same.”

“How did you handle it?”

“With my fists,” he said laughing. “Not the best approach, I admit. But for my brother and me, it was sometimes the only approach, especially when confronted by big, human bullies.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said quietly, her shoulder brushing under his.

He grinned at his remembered follies. “Oh, don’t worry. We usually gave what we got. But it wasn’t easy for our folks. Not only did they have to deal with two grouchy bear sons, they had to deal with bear sons who weren’t even the same species.”

“You and Ryland aren’t the same sort of bear?”

“Nah. He’s a grizzly. I’m a polar. Freaks of nature, huh? Fact is, your bear isn’t decided by family history or coloring. I guess it’s more spiritual than that. You become the bear you need to be.” He allowed his gaze to rest on her eyes, drinking her in. “What were you like as a child?”

She smiled. “Boring compared to you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I guess I went through my rebellious stage when I was sixteen.” She looked down, but her smile was wide and noticeable, even as she tried to hide it. “My mom caught me necking with Ralph Ambrose in the alley behind our house. I think his hand might have been up my shirt when she caught us.”

Soren grinned but had to admit the image made him even hotter. “Lucky Ralph.”

“Not really,” Gioia replied. “My mother reacted in true Italian fashion. Wielding a pan, she dragged me away by my ear and told Ralph if she ever saw him near our house again, she’d roast his nuts. Each time I bumped into him at school afterward, he ran in the opposite direction.”

He laughed, enjoying the bubble of amusement inside him. “I see where you get your protective instincts.”

“I hope I’m not that bad,” she said softly, and the sweet, scratchy tone in her voice made his cock throb even harder.

“You’re not. And Gunnar’s a good kid, thanks to you.” He smiled, mentally comparing the young Clementine’s behavior to some of his own old antics. “He’s not a little hell-raiser like I was.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then looked ahead. Her body inched away from him. “Something tells me you still are.” She slid out of his grasp, making his pulse stop and start. It continued to jerk at a pace that would put a cardiac nurse on edge. “Look, Soren. You’ve been really kind, but I need to get back.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

She stopped moving and glared at him. He could see she wasn’t sure of her own answer. From her furrowed brow and tense shoulders, he could tell the desire to stay with him was winning over the need to flee. “Because…I don’t go wandering in the woods with men I barely know. Because we have nothing in common. You run with the jet set. I walk with the bargain basement set. You go to gallery openings and play to concert halls. I knit, and yes, I still get a kick out of
The Price Is Right
. You’re wearing Polo. I couldn’t even tell you how to play polo. You live in New York and hang with glamorous people. I live in Calgary. The highlight of our year is a stampede. We’re not really cut from the same cloth.”

“Are you judging me because I have money? Because I may live in New York, but I come from small-town Ontario.”

“No, I’m judging you because you sleep with a new fashion victim every week!”

Ouch
. “Not every week,” he grumbled.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for my son. I really do, but it doesn’t mean you have to entertain me.”

He thought they were having a nice time. Weren’t they having a nice time? It was hard to keep the harsh tone out of his voice as he replied, “I didn’t bring you into the woods to
entertain
you.”

Her eyes flashed. “Then why are we here?”

Why
were
they there? Because as much as he didn’t understand it, she moved him. Even though, as she’d so succinctly pointed out, they had nothing in common, he still wanted to taste her. The idea of having Gioia all to himself for a while appealed to him on a base level, a primal level, and he needed to follow through. “Because…I’m…”

“You’re what?” she demanded.

“I’m…ah, fuck. I’m hungry for you, that’s what!” And before she could close her gaping mouth, Soren gave into his craving and backed Gioia up against the boardwalk railing. Just a small taste. One little taste, and he’d know for sure.

She let out a soft cry upon being pressed into the wooden rail. Immediately, he backed off so as not to hurt her. For a moment, he almost walked away, but in that second, Soren realized her hands were bunched up in his shirt, and she wasn’t showing any sign of letting go.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, worried.

“No. You just surprised me,” she replied in a breathless voice.

He removed her glasses and placed them on a nearby bench. “And where do you stand on surprises?”

“I’m…I’m good with them.”

He crushed his body against hers, letting her feel his arousal on her belly. “Good.” Entangling his hand in her soft hair, he held her head still and smashed his lips against hers. As delirium consumed him, he traced her lips with his tongue, coaxing her to open to him. She did and he slid inside, savoring her warmth and her taste, needing to absorb her into his every pore. She met him, glide for luxurious glide, and Soren sucked at the tongue she’d poked out at him earlier. And the whole time, he wasn’t sure which of them was moaning harder.

Crashing, frenzied sensation took root in his body, shaking his soul.

My mate
.

Gioia was his. No more questions.

It seemed ages before they were able to separate their rampaging mouths. He leaned his forehead against hers, and she panted softly, nestled against him. He watched her gorgeous chest rise and fall and smoothed his hand up her torso, desperate to cup her breast. “Gioia.”

She stopped him, her voice catching, her hand upon his. “No. Too soon.”

No two words had ever sliced into him with such savagery.
Too soon
. No. After a life spent floundering, seeking comfort in the wrong women’s arms, it wasn’t too soon. It wasn’t soon enough. He needed to hold his mate. Soren forced a breath into his lungs and tried to silence his roaring bear. He pulled away from her, just an inch or so, and immediately felt the need to yank her back into a tight embrace. “I won’t apologize for kissing you. An apology would imply it was wrong, and it wasn’t.”

Gioia stared at him, her eyes squinting in wonderment. Or was it because she was missing her glasses? He handed them back to her.

She slid them on over her reddened face. “Thanks. I’m blind without them. I can only see outlines and colors.” She slowly met his gaze once more. Her erratic heartbeat was made obvious by the tiny, pulsating vein in her neck. A delicate flush trailed over her cheeks and down into her cleavage. And her lips turned up in a heartbreaking half-smile.

Hot damn, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And he’d travelled the world on his music tours. The Taj Mahal, the Louvre, the Hermitage. None of those places contained works of art to rival Gioia Clementine’s shy smile. “I need to kiss you again.”

“Soren,” she began, shaking her head. “I haven’t done this in a long time. Gunnar and I are only here for two weeks…and I won’t be a notch on your belt.”

“A notch? You think I see you as a notch?” He had to refrain from gasping like a heroine in a melodramatic black and white movie. Bile crept up into his throat.

“I don’t know. Don’t you?”

He’d never been more ashamed of who he was. He got the strange sensation his sanity was wrapped up in her words, like the scarf she’d been knitting, slowly unraveling. His mate thought she was a
notch
.

And he couldn’t blame her. What should he say to make her stay? “Gioia, I…”

“I should get back to Gunnar.” Once again, the bashful curl of her lips made his heart race. She turned from him and followed the path back to the lodge.

And as Soren watched her swift retreat, her high arches clicking on the wooden boardwalk, foul vomit and shame flooded his mouth. He turned and hurled his upper half over the railing and spewed his self-loathing into the pristine lake.

As his violent spasms slowly turned into dry heaves, he stood and wiped his mouth with his arm. A new determination took hold of him as he listened to Gioia’s now-distant footsteps.

He had no idea how to go about it, having no experience, but he would become the sort of man to make Gioia proud. He was done with other women, done with models and airheads and trophy girlfriends. Done with mindless fucking and seduction as a competitive sport.

No more notches.

As she raced toward the lodge, weaving around a group of excited-looking fishermen who seemed intent on flagging her down to share a beer with them, Gioia encountered Lia. Ryland’s mate was sunning herself on one of the patios, a laptop forgotten on her lap. As Gioia approached, hands shaking, Lia opened her eyes and sat up.

“Gioia? What’s wrong? It’s not Wes, is it?”

She almost wished it were Wes. She could handle her lunatic cousin’s mood swings and his sudden deviant desires. At least, she thought she could. Soren, however, not so much. “No, it’s not him.”