But spending their honeymoon night on the run from hunters out to finish him and his pack is sure not the kind of fun he was looking forward to. When it comes to following her instincts, former Marine Dee-Ann Smith never holds back. And this deadly member of a shifter protection group will do anything to prove one of her own kind is having hybrids captured for dogfights. Trouble is, her too-cute rich-boy boss Ric Van Holtz insists on helping out. Even if he has to drag her off to an isolated Maine town where the only neighbors are other bears almost as crazy as he is… Let sleeping dogs lie.
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Please note that any instance of my hero veering wildly from normal polar bear behavior is completely down to me and my edgy, barely-leave-my-house-to-walk-the-dog author lifestyle. The kind of pain that could kill a man. Maybe it had. Like warmed-over shit melting in the hot desert sun.
The worst part about all this? It was his fault. He had no one to blame for this but himself—and those damn Jell-O shots. He should have stayed away from them. He knew better. All that alcohol in those delectable little jiggly squares And now he could barely move without pain.
Brutal, undeniable pain. It was morning and that light coming through the window was destroying any brain activity he had left. He could tell. The scent was different. He smelled feline. Everywhere he smelled feline.
Crush snarled a little. That damn cat. Male lions. Never trust a male lion! Try one. Crush had tried one. Then another. And another. After the eighth A word he rarely used about himself. He was a bear, after all. A polar bear specifically.
No, not one of those guys who insisted on swimming in the Atlantic during the middle of winter to prove how virile he was. But a guy who could swim in the Atlantic during the middle of winter and never worry about dying of hypothermia. A guy who could shift into an eight-foot, twelve-hundred-pound polar bear anytime he wanted to. Instead, Crush lived like most of his kind. Being curious. Asking too many questions. Staring blankly at people until they became terrified and ran away.
Eating whenever he was even slightly hungry. The usual. Too bad, though, Crush had discovered something that all bears found distressing. Not after one of his old partners had called him and given him a heads-up.
So now Crush was just waiting for the anvil to drop. Unfortunately, it felt like that anvil had already dropped right on his head. No, he just needed to get a move on. He had to get up. He had to deal with the pain. So he had to get up. But there appeared to be a little problem with him just leaping from bed and facing the day. And that problem was the naked female sprawled across his chest. Uncaring about the brutal pain it would cause, Crush opened his eyes and looked down. That was a female all right.
A—he took a sniff—feline female. Another feline. The most untrustworthy of species in his opinion. Christ, what was wrong with him? He had classmates from junior high, high school, and college who called him that as well. Yet a little depression, a few too many Jello-O shots to drink at a house party, and here Lou Crushek was. With a feline. Who was this female anyway?
Anyone he knew? It was a fact. Look it up! Just because he felt his life falling apart around him—he hated change! And part of keeping his life together was doing the morally right thing. Man, it sucked being a good guy all the time.
His voice sounded like gravel. He cleared his throat and tried again. Excuse me? He recognized that hair color, though. She was a She-tiger. Hating to wake her up, Crush tapped her shoulder. This was getting worse and worse. When the hell did he become a frat boy? Suddenly she stretched, her long body briefly writhing on his. Damn, she was pretty. How drunk had he been last night?
She blinked at him in confusion; then she smiled. What just happened? Just relax. He was irritating? Is that what you think? That we fucked? What was I supposed to think? Have you ever tried to sleep with a canine? They yip in their sleep. And run. MacDermot just allows him to stay here with her and those giant, useless dogs she owns. I hate the yipping. Everyone wet and miserable and goddamn yipping. Just name one. I challenge you. This is me being nice.
I even complimented you. But one of those full-body ones. The woman had a child, but she was hanging out and getting drunk at house parties and torturing him with her butt on his cock? Still breastfeeding. All right. You know she loves morning jobs. We both know she can do the damn job. Besides, she has to realize that not everything can be the close-up kill.
Bear Meets Girl
Shelly Laurenston Barb dropped her lipstick into her giant purse and relaxed back into the seat, eyeing her daughter. Do you expect me to buy that lie, Cella Malone? Let her marry me off to my cousin? You just never let them push you around. But yesterday Would you rather it had been a wolf? Any other wolf is tolerable, but not the Smiths?
She loves to attack from behind. Not at all. I mean, from the outside looking in to the world of Malones I can assure you the aunts do not make it easy. But her Aunt Deirdre fears her effect on Meghan.