The Wild Side: Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge (6 page)

“Back. Off. Now.” Armando said, verbally poking the man with each word. “I spoke to the council. I have a week to do it my way. If I find your spoor anywhere nearby, then I’ll take out you and your punk pack.”

Armando turned his back and took a step away, making it clear he expected the guy to back down. Clearly full of fight, the guy lowered his stance and prepared to leap, muscled legs flexed to spring.

Armando was hurt already, and Liz was getting scared for him. She needed to see more, so she squatted to reach for the regular lens, grappling, head down in the bag at her feet. Even through the viewfinder at fifty feet, the long lens cut out too much light.

She heard only growls and a scrambling, then scratching on the pavement. When she brought the camera back up, she couldn’t locate the men. Where the hell did they go? She quickly pirouetted.

A wolf and a cougar rushed toward her, the wolf in the lead and running from the cougar. She crouched on the ground. They ran past her without stopping.

Liz was more grateful than ever to be invisible in the night.

* * *

Liz’s workout was arms and shoulders, which meant the gym instead of the hills. As she worked through each set, she enjoyed the easy banter with the guys in the weight room. They’d come to respect her dedication to form and often gave her good advice on improving her lifting. That they were all hunky guys lifted her. The eye candy was worth the sweaty price of admission.

Today though, she was off balance, waiting for perhaps the pure focus of lifting to replace the persistently strange feeling about what she had witnessed last night. What had she seen? She ended up rushing her routine to get home to work on the images she had taken. She’d used the gym to procrastinate and she needed to see what was on the camera.

She plopped down in her home studio and started the download of the thermal camera. She didn’t have a clear memory of what she shot last night, but she trusted the images would tell her what happened when things went weird. It had been a few nights since she had downloaded, and the process seemed agonizingly slow.

She opened Photoshop Elements and began to study the images. The first were too blurry and useless for her portfolio. The tenth image caught her eye. She had indeed clicked the shutter after she swung the camera to look at Armando and the mystery man. The two men faced each other, but she must have messed up the settings, because instead of being the usual red to yellow to green pattern of all her previous shots, each of these men was totally red, totally and evenly red. How could two humans have no variance in temperature from core to fingertips? She transferred the image to her flash drive so she could print a full-size version on the Kromekote paper at the studio; she also printed one on a regular sheet of 8½ by 11 paper for reference.

She could see they needed more work, but that would take hours, and she had to get to her job.

* * *

Liz had debated dressing up today, but decided to keep things as normal as possible; she wore her usual loose dress and flats, afraid of being too obvious in her confusion over Armando’s response last night.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, having a conversation inside her head.

“I do want to know more,” Armando said, coming around the desk into her space.

Liz started and resisted the temptation to back away.

“How about having dinner with me tonight? We close at six on Sundays, so eight?” he continued.

“Oh, damn, did I use my outside voice?” she said, appalled that he heard her. “Hey, what are you doing here so early?” ignoring his question.

“I wanted to get some stuff caught up—and you didn’t answer me,” he said.

“So is dinner out with the boss a usual perk around here?” she asked.

“No, it’s not about work. This is about, well the way you looked last night,” he said, “and the way you look now. Maybe the way you’ve always looked—and I was just too dumb or busy or something to see.”

Liz stared hard at him for a moment, unsure of what she thought was the right answer. She took in the amazing amber of his eyes, golden sparks around the slightly dilated pupils. There was something ferally hungry in his look, and it stirred a matching desire in her.

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“How about the open terrace at the Social House? I hear they have some inventive sushi, and I’ve been wanting to try it,” he asked.

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there at eight,” she said.

He looked down at her dowdy office attire and back up into her deep blue eyes. “Would you be offended if I asked to see the same outfit you wore last night? I know there must be some chick rule about no repeats, but, damn, you looked so very fine and so very different.”

Liz’s stomach dropped—and hot smoke filled her further south. How a few mundane words could stir her.

“Oh, I think you’ll have to trust me. I can do you better than that,” she purred in a low, breathy voice.

* * *

Liz dashed into her house, threw off her work clothes, and ran for her bedroom. Although she could get ready for a party in mere minutes, she wanted to prepare herself with a bit more care. She checked the temperature of the small hot tub in the atrium and eased down into the steamy water. She silently thanked Sam for planning the house around this oasis. It was always private, but open to the sky. Over the years, this had been her garden and meditation space, cool during the day in the shadow of the house, and protected at night from the chilling winds. She was far enough from the tall hotels to avoid their noise, but the glow of the eternal city lights bathed the space in soft, perpetual light.

She left the tub a practiced two minutes before her fingers pruneated. Skin flushed and rosy, she pampered herself, imagining that it was Armando smoothing scent and fine skin butters over her arms and thighs.

She applied concealer under her eyes, a light foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and blush, keeping it simple and minimal. She let the wild curls have their own way; they would eventually, no matter what. She checked the mirror, hoping Armando would drool. She reversed her colors of the evening before with a deep, garnet-red dress and black wrap. She ran her finger up the plunge of the neckline, lifting and nudging, making sure her nipples, excited about the possibilities, aimed forward beneath the clinging knit. She twirled, and the knee-length skirt floated out and then settled in soft folds that gave the impression of a small breeze as she walked.

She was ready.

* * *

Hoping for a ride home, Liz took a cab and asked the cabbie to drop her close to the terrace area, an oddly dim space on the overly bright Strip. They’d agreed to meet at the outside entrance rather than hustle through the hotel crowd. She stood a bit in shadow, intentionally early, wanting to calm down before she saw him again. No one bothered her as she watched the comings and goings, the overly perfected women on the expensive arms of much older men. She admired the working women and ruefully wondered about role reversals; she could get the same service, but why pay? She shrugged. She didn’t like to dip as low in the age pool as men her same age routinely did.

Armando walked up, and her body took over before her mind could react. She flushed despite the cool evening air and went liquid at her core. Damn, he looked good in the night. Most men clean up pretty, but his energy was unusual, watchful and untamed, and it pulled her to him. She stood rooted to the shadow, breathing hard and waiting for him to turn and see her.

Liz was puzzled but not surprised at being able to hide in the shadow. With each day that had passed since Sam’s death, she had become less noticed, but it hadn’t been this pronounced before. She had expected Armando to be able to see her now that she had escaped her dowdy working exterior.

She stepped closer and touched his arm.

“Shall we go in?” she asked.

He jerked slightly, plainly startled at her sudden appearance and touch.

“I’m sorry; I must have been lost in thought. Did you just get here?” he asked.

“I’ve been staring at you for about two minutes,” she said. “I was enjoying the show so much that I hesitated to interrupt. It’s fun to watch men as they watch women,” she smiled at him.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

“Neither am I,” she replied honestly.

“Let’s go in,” Armando said, recovering. “I called Jake for a table, so we shouldn’t have to wait long,” he said.

“Cool. I didn’t think they took reservations on anything less than two days out,” she said.

“Jake and I run with the same pack,” he said with a grin, “so he makes allowances for me.”

Liz threaded their way to the table, giving it her best walk, hips swaying, back straight, willing ownership of the path in front of her. She enjoyed the game of pretending that the other men noticed her, however recent experience had taught her otherwise. But she was sure she could keep Armando’s eyes on her.

As if in answer to her thought, Armando placed his hand on her back; she felt claimed.

They settled in a back corner of the terrace and composed their order: ikura sashimi, toro and saba pieces, a complicated house roll, tomago, eel, and a salmon hand roll. It was obvious they shared a rampant craving and passion for raw fish.

They discussed the indulgent excesses of the space, even to the staff uniforms matching the interior, the women in very short, but somehow formal kimonos, and the men in black satin jackets. To Liz’s way of thinking, it was unfair that the men wore long trousers; men usually have great legs.

Liz sipped her martini and ran her tongue slowly over her lips. She’d decided she wanted him—now.

“I’m not entirely sure that this is wise,” she said. He started to interrupt. “No, hear me out. I know where I want this to go but I also want to keep working at the studio. So tell me now that you can be cool with this.”

“I can’t be sure I’ll ever again be so completely indifferent to you at work,” he said. “I can tell you that I’m good at keeping my personal and work lives quite separate.”

“I hope you won’t hold our age differences against me,” she said.

He almost gagged on a sip of scotch. “You have no idea how little that matters to me,” he said heatedly.

He waved over the waiter.

“When our order is ready, would you please pack it to go?” He handed the man his credit card.

“Let’s go to my house,” Liz responded. “The hot tub is ready.” Under her breath, so quietly she doubted he could hear it, she added, “and so am I.”

* * *

Liz’s need for him threatened to overwhelm her. In his car, she tightly clenched the bag of food and her purse to resist distracting him as he sped through the streets, his urgency evident in his race-car-like driving. Their only words were her driving directions.

He leapt out of the car to open her door, but she was faster and pushed the bag into his hands as she dug through her purse for the house key. They made it inside the house, but just barely. Liz dropped everything and pushed him against the door. She slid her hands under his jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, savoring the width and power of him. He shrugged out of the jacket, let it fall, moved his hands down her back to her thighs, and lifted her, surprising her with his strength as he cradled her ass in his hands and spread her legs around him.

Liz took advantage of the higher position to nuzzle his neck and inhale his scent. She leaned away from him slightly and stared into his incredible eyes, bright amber with his need. She moved in to kiss him, pulled back in hesitation, and gave in, suddenly slow, softening her approach to his full lips, darting her tongue out to taste him before he took control and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

The molten fire inside her made her crazy for him, a small observing part of her bewildered by the uncontrollable lust. Time peeled back to her teens when only this, only this touch and tangle mattered.

With her thighs wrapped around him, she ground her mound into him, delighted to find he was ready, too. She was this close, this very close to coming.

She squirmed down his body and dragged him down the hall to her bedroom. He didn’t resist.

She went straight for his buckle and fly.

Before she could touch his shaft, he bent and grabbed the hem of her dress, then pulled the slinky knit over her head. Liz laughed and posed for a moment, the dim light from the table lamp in the corner casting her in black and white silhouette against the colors of the room.

Her bountiful breasts slightly overflowed her demi-bra and set off the amazing curves from her small waist to full hips, a classic Vashti temple guardian come to life.

She turned her back to him, stepped out of her thong, and undid her bra. Impatient, driven, he grabbed her hips and rocked against her, the fabric of his shirttails still in the way. Liz pushed back against him, undulating like a cat in heat, then arched up to stand, reaching over her head to catch his neck and pull him closer.

“We can do slow later,” she whispered, afraid to speak her desire.

Armando growled deep in his chest and lifted her into his arms. Liz was again startled by his strength, and felt light and girlish in his arms. He set her on the edge of the bed and stepped back to his pants to root in the pockets.

“Condoms are in the top drawer, there,” she said, pointing. To her delight, he grabbed a few, put them on the nightstand, tore open one, and started to put it on.

“Let me. I haven’t even seen you yet,” she said, and took it from him.

Liz loved this moment, when she took control, got to see a man up close and oh so very personal. The weight and feel and velvet-rigid power of a man could drive her almost over the edge before she even had him in her. Tonight was the most powerful urge in years.

She peeled the wrapper down him, then she pulled him over her as she leaned back on the bed. She held onto him with one hand and used the other to spread herself for him, her juices evident even in the soft light.

Armando grabbed her and thrust all the way into her in a single motion. Liz wrapped her legs behind his back and pushed up even harder, begging for more.