Lifemate Connections: Eryn

Chapter Three

"Well, this is an unexpected turn of events," Jack said into her ear. "Me and the boys were set for a night of blissful sighs and ear-shattering yodels."

"So was I," Eryn said dryly. She pulled herself onto the vanity and leaned back against the mirror. The glass was cool against her spine, and the water she'd splashed her face with earlier dripped from her chin to her chest. Neither one did anything to ease the overheated condition of her skin. "But he's suspicious, and I really had no other option."

"An innocent man had no reason to be suspicious over anything you said."

"I don't think he's the killer."

"Is that intuition or frustration speaking?"

"Both, if I'm at all honest."

"If there's one thing you've been, it's bluntly honest."

Amusement touched Jack's deep voice. "And I have to say, it's shocked some of the boys here."

"They need to stop huddling in that van with you and get out in the real world more."

"I keep telling them that, but I think they're enjoying the voyeurism aspects of our job."

"Well, I guess it's cheaper than renting pornos. Where's Grey?"

"Still in the room."

"He's waiting for me to come back." She said it as a statement rather than a question, simply because she sensed it was true. Though why he was so confident she would come back was beyond her. They might share a connection that went deeper than the usual sexual link of shifters, but they were still strangers.

"Looks like it," Jack agreed.

"You uncovered any more facts about him yet?"

"We're checking files for unsolved murder cases."

"He didn't say it was unsolved," she interrupted.

"No, but I'm guessing from his tone it was. And given what he said about money, it'll probably be a high society murder, which at least narrows the search field."

"Anything else?"

"No. The man's identity has been wiped clean."

Just like his scent. It had to be deliberate. "There's been no information or help forthcoming from military, FBI or CIA?"

" 'They're looking into it' is the latest response. I'm not holding out hope that they'll be much help."

"So you don't think Grey's one of their men?"

"No. But he's somebody's."

She hoped that "somebody" was on the side of good.

Hoped Grey was. She had a feeling he'd be a dangerous man to be on the wrong side of.

"So, what do I do now? Leave?"

"I don't think that's an option, given what you told Grey."

She grinned. "Meaning I have permission to go forth and fornicate?"

"You have official approval to do what you have to do to maintain cover."

"Hot damn."

Jack laughed. "Who said undercover work wasn't fun?"

"Not me." She hesitated. "What about Gantry and Harrison?"

"Gantry's still a no show. Harrison's talking to a pretty brunette." He stopped. "Grey's on the move."

"Where?"

"Heading down the stairs."

Her pulse raced with excitement. "Towards the restroom?"

"No."

Damn, she thought, disappointed.

Jack continued, "He's headed towards the back booths.

Seems to be angling toward Harrison."

"What?" Had Grey known Harrison was the man she'd been talking about? If so, how? And what the hell did he intend to do? Warn Harrison off?

"He's just brushed by Harrison and is moving on to the men's room."

Coincidence? Something within her suspected not.

Suspected Grey's brief encounter with Harrison had been intentional. Though she had no idea what it meant.

"And Harrison?"

"Still talking to the brunette." He hesitated. "Hang on, he just headed to the restroom."

"You got camera's or listening devices in there?"

"No."

"That's a bit slack."

"People pissing, farting and shitting is not something we need to hear or see. Especially when those people are men."

"Meaning you have devices in the women's room?"

"Well, no. Not for lack of trying, though."

"You're sick, you know that?"

"I try my damnedest."

She grinned. "You think Grey and Harrison know each other?"

"Until we know more about Grey, we won't know."

"But Harrison is who he says he is?"

"Yep."

"You going to have security check out the men's?"

"Who's the cop here?"

"That a trick question?"

He chuckled softly. "You sure you're happy where you are?

I'd love to have you on my team."

"Being cooped up in a van with sex-starved men is not my idea of fun."

"We could make it fun." He paused. "Security's just gone in."

Footsteps approached the restroom door. She turned on the tap and scooped up some water. "I'm about to get visitors," she informed Jack. "I'll let you know when it's safe to talk."

Three women pushed through the door, all noise and energy. Eryn splashed the water over herself, closing her eyes and ignoring the three of them as they visited the toilets, washed their hands, and redid their makeup. They were there for a good ten minutes, laughing and chatting like giddy teenagers, though at least one of them was close to forty.

Eryn blew out a relieved breath when they finally left.

"Talk to me, Jack."

"Harrison's just come out of the men's room, and Grey's still in there."

"And the security officer?"

"Reports that Grey was chatting on the phone when he walked in, and Harrison was in one of the stalls. Neither man said anything to the other."

"Did security stay in there until Harrison walked out?"

"No. But Harrison came out a few minutes after the security guy. Looks like it was nothing more than a coincidence."

Somehow, she wasn't buying that. "I might go chat some more with Harrison. Where is he now?"

"Up at the bar, getting a drink."

"And the brunette he was chatting up?"

"On the dance floor with another man."

"Good. I might do some more probing, see if he can remember anything about the five victims."

"Just be careful." ' "Subtle is my middle name."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

She grinned. "So I'll drag him to bed and question him during sex. It's amazing how often truth comes out when the little head is in control."

"I'm not going to dignify that comment with an answer."

"Coward."

"Totally."

She turned off the receiver again and headed out. Pausing just outside the door, she let her gaze roam across the crowded room as she carefully took in the scents.

And just when she least expected it, she caught a wisp of the one she was looking for.

Her heart leapt, then zoomed into high gear. She raised her nose, sniffing lightly as she followed the faint aroma to the right. It led her to the back booths, then drifted away, lost to the unsubtle aromas of flowery perfumes and sweaty sex.

She frowned, glancing around. Two couples inhabited the closest booths, both of them getting down and dirty. The end booth was inhabited by two dark-haired women chatting animatedly.

Grey had been sitting in the end booth earlier this evening.

Coincidence? Maybe not. Yet if he was the killer, why couldn't she smell that smell on him?

She opened her senses a little more, but the aromas lining the air were too thick and too layered, threatening sensory overload again. There was no way on Earth she was going to be able to pick out one faint scent in a room as confined as this, no matter how good her nose.

Still, she walked past each of the booths, acting as if she was searching for someone as she carefully tasted the air.

And caught the faintest trace of that scent again. She stopped, frowning. It seemed to be coming from the booth with the two women in it. Maybe one of those two had met the murderer sometime during the night.

If that was the case, she'd have to tell Jack. They needed a watch put on both women.

At least her catching the scent meant they were on the right track. The killer had been here sometime in the last few hours—maybe he was still here, somewhere. Given Gantry's nonappearance, that would surely mean he was off the suspect list, right alongside Harrison. Grey was the only one left of the three suspects that she couldn't definitely say yay or nay to.

And if he wasn't the killer, who was? Was it someone all five women had rejected? Surely the police had considered that possibility—though undoubtedly, it would be nigh on impossible to check every single man the five women had mated with at this place. As Jack had pointed out, the security cameras didn't cover all areas. There were lots of nooks and crannies where some loving could be had without the camera catching on.

Which left her with Grey and Harrison. And given Grey's reluctance to answer questions, the only man she could interrogate was Harrison. Though she may have wiped him off the suspect list, maybe he could tell them something that might give them a clue as to who the real killer was.

A long shot, but longs shots were all they really had at this point.

She turned and found her gaze meeting Harrison's. He was still at the bar, but he was looking over his shoulder, and there was something in his gaze that suggested he knew exactly where to find her no matter where she was.

A chill ran up her spine, though she wasn't exactly sure why.

With him watching her so closely, she could hardly disappear into the restroom and ask Jack to keep an eye on the women. Especially since Harrison may have been watching when she'd walked out of the restroom. She may have wiped him off the suspect list, but that didn't mean she was right.

She walked up to him, sliding her hand around his waist as she stopped beside him. The heat of him hit like a club, almost making her gasp. Lord, it was like walking into a furnace of desire.

And that made her frown. Something was very off kilter.

He hadn't effected her so strongly before, so why was he doing so now? Or was it merely the fact that the need for satisfaction was growing in intensity, and her hormones were becoming less fussy about where they got it?

She swallowed, then said, in a voice that was a little too husky for her liking, "Care to by a girl a drink?"

His blue eyes met hers. The blatant interest she'd seen earlier was now a bonfire. His lust lashed her skin, making her pulse skip, and race. This man was primed and ready to go—it was just a matter of deciding if she really wanted to go that far.

Though if the desire stirring between them was anything to go by, her hormones had already decided in the affirmative.

"Darlin, you can have anything you want—just as soon as I manage to catch the attention of one of these lovely ladies."

"Easily fixed." Eryn raised two fingers to her lips and gave a shrill whistle. People jumped and stared, but the whistle succeeded in getting them a barperson.

"That's a real handy trick." The amusement crinkling the corners of his blue eyes sent another rush of desire shooting through her veins. "You'll have to teach me."

"It's easy," she teased. "You just put your lips together and blow."

"Keep talking sexy like that and I'm all yours."

She grinned. "Are cowboys really that easy?"

"When you've been on the range with nothing but a horse between your legs and cattle all around you," he drawled, "most definitely."

She laughed. "And has this particular cowboy ever been near a horse or cattle?"

"Only the mechanical kind in country bars."

"Honesty. I like that."

He slid her glass of wine across to her. Their fingers brushed, and electricity skittered across her skin, reigniting the deep-down ache. Damn, what was going on here? Why was she reacting to this man so strongly, when before her reaction was, at best, lukewarm?

He wrapped a hand around his frosty beer. "How come you're down here again? I thought you'd been grabbed for the night."

She shrugged. "Turns out I made the wrong choice."

He raised an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"He wasn't after what I'm after."

"And you know this because…?"

She forced a smile. "Because he let me go."

"A fool indeed." He gave her a look that held enough heat to smoke her insides. "Be assured I will not make the same mistake."

She raised an eyebrow. "Presuming the offer comes to the table."

He hesitated. "Of course."

"And the offer very much depends on how you feel about questions."

"Darlin', with the prospect of wild sex in the offering, you can ask me any damn thing you like."

She leaned a hip against the bar, taking a sip of wine before saying, "You said you've spent time with eight or nine women so far—what went wrong?"

He shrugged. "Everything."

His voice was a little vague, and she frowned. "In what way?"

He hesitated, eyes a little distant, as if he was fighting to find the memories. "Four of them were bi. They weren't looking for anything long term, just a sperm donor."

"Then why did they come here? There're sperm banks all over the place."

"Maybe they wanted a particular look, and that can't be guaranteed at sperm banks." He shrugged again. "Let's not dwell on the past. Let's talk about the future." He half turned, facing her. "Or at least the next few hours."

She raised an eyebrow. "Presuming again that I have a few hours to spare."

"Even the busiest person can make a little time for wild and wicked sex, can't they?"

"Maybe." She sipped her drink, but it did little to ease the aching dryness in her throat. Oh, how she wanted to give in to the desire throbbing through her veins. But as much as her hormones might protest, she was here to do a job. Right now, that job was questioning this man, not shagging him.

"What about the other five tryouts?"

He glanced at his drink, but not before she'd caught the irritated flash in his eyes. "I told you before. The hands of a plumber weren't what they were after."

"There has to be more to it than that."

He looked at her again, but the blue of his eyes was once again distant and, just for a moment, reminded her oddly of Grey. "Why? Women have all the power these days when it comes to relationships, and believe me, they're using it."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you don't like the change?

You'd prefer that men once again did all the running in relationships?"

"I believe in equality—in all areas."

"Including the bedroom?" She'd met lots of men over the years who'd spouted similar beliefs, but most seemed to get a little ticked off when a woman tried to take control and set the pace. Promiscuity might be required, and women might be able to pick and choose as they pleased, but most men still liked to call the shots when it came to sex.

His brief glance was filled with enough heat to singe her toes. "Particularly in the bedroom."

"Meaning if we went upstairs now, you'd let me take control and do whatever I want to you?"

His gaze met and held hers, and suddenly she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Could only stare deep into his eyes, until they seemed to surround her, fill her. The world was nothing more than a bluish-gray sea that pounded her skin, and her mind was aflame with the heated wash of his desire.

"Only if you let me do whatever I want to you in return."

His words were so softly spoken they seemed nothing more than a lush wind that whispered through her mind.

First it was Grey blowing her sockets, now it was Harrison.

Maybe she'd been a whole lot closer to the "shag anything" edge than she'd thought. She blew out a breath, and scrambled to hang onto the last remaining scraps of resistance. "Did you date any of the last five women outside of the bar?"

He reached out, running a finger down her cheek. His eyes were distant, distracted, his touch a sear of lightning against her skin. "No."

"Why not? Did they find someone better?"

"Yes."

Her gaze was still caught in his, and it was getting harder and harder to reach for questions through the lust fogging her brain. She forced a teasing grin and said, "Perhaps you'd better tell me their names, just so I can understand why those women passed up such a fine option."

He grinned. "I'd be a fool if I did."

She raised an eyebrow. "Scared of the competition, cowboy?"

"Right now? No."

His finger had reached her lips and was outlining them.

She licked her lips, licked his finger. His skin was cool against her tongue, and tasted faintly of beer and salt. "Then prove it."

His finger paused, his touch branding her lips. "Why is this even important?"

"Because I prefer men not afraid of a challenge." She wrapped her lips around his finger, sucking on it lightly.

The scent of lust sharpened dramatically, drowning her in its heat. "Their names were Gantry and Steepan."

The air around them trembled, as if the flames beginning to consume the two of them were sucking in all available oxygen. It was certainly harder to breathe. To think.

But she had to think. Had to, because he'd just given them something. "And are they here tonight?"

"Gantry's not."

"And Steepan?"

He blinked, and awareness returned to his eyes. He continued to stare at her for a moment, and she'd swear she saw both surprise and anger in his eyes. But once again, that anger wasn't aimed at her, but at himself.

She frowned at the thought. It had been Grey who'd been angry earlier, not Harrison.

"I don't know if Steepan is here or not." He turned away, and picked up his drink.

His lie vibrated through her. He not only knew whether or not Steepan was here, but he actually knew him. Not as a friend, but as a… She hesitated, searching for the right word. A colleague. A partner.

And she also knew he wasn't about to tell her more right here and now. Whatever it was that had allowed the slip was now securely locked away.

"Then what do you know?"

The sexy smile that suddenly tugged his lips made her heart do a strange little dance. But it wasn't the smile itself, but rather its odd similarity to Grey's smile.

"I know I want to fuck you something fierce."

His words vibrated through her, making the already fierce ache fiercer. "Even with me in full control?"

"Yes."

"Then let's do it." The words were out before she could stop them. But she couldn't regret them, not when the fever of wanting burned through every part of her. Besides, as she'd said to Jack earlier—the best time to question a man was during the haze of sex.

If she could remember the questions.

Something close to triumph blazed in his eyes, then he grabbed her hand, his fingers long, strong and hot as they pressed firmly against hers. He tugged her towards the stairs, not saying a word and not letting her go as he led her up to the second floor, and arranged a room.

Once they were inside the white bedroom, she pulled her hand from his and said, "Strip."

He didn't argue, just silently undressed and tossed his clothes onto the sofa. Then he crossed his arms, watching her as intently as she watched him. A smile tugged her lips. She had a feeling he was ready to stand there all night if that's what it took to convince her he believed in equality in the bedroom. Only equality wasn't the true issue here—it was whether he was willing to allow her to take complete control.

She finally allowed her gaze to slide past his face, discovering what she'd instinctively known—that he worthy of a long inspection. Broad shoulders, great arms, powerful chest, slim hips and long, strong legs. And most importantly, impressive packaging. Not the biggest she'd ever seen, but still damn fine. And certainly on a par with Grey.

Her gaze rose to his again. Amusement touched the blue depths, as if he was in on some joke he wasn't about to share.

"Lay down on the bed," she said.

He turned on his heels and walked across the room. She admired his butt as she followed him, then began opening the drawers beside the bed as he lay down. In the second one down, she found what she was looking for—silken rope.

His gaze flickered to the rope and back again. "Remember, what you do to me, I get to do to you."

And didn't that thought make her pulse zoom. "The object of this exercise is to discover whether or not you spoke truthfully. Raise your arms above your head."

He did, crossing them at the wrists. "And how is tying my hands going to achieve that?"

She grinned as she roped his hands to the headboards. "It will test your willingness to let a woman be in as complete control as most men like to be."

"I'm not most men."

Grey had basically said the same thing. Was it a phrase they taught in some secret man school or what?

"We shall see." She grabbed two more ropes and tied his feet spread-eagled to the end bedposts. Then she met his gaze across the long hard length of his body.

"Ready?"

A smile tugged one corner of his sensual lips. "I think you can see that I am."

She could. And he was indeed ready—thick, and hard, and pulsing with heat. Suddenly thankful she wasn't wearing any panties, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him, pressing herself against the heat of him, sliding him back and forth through her slickness. He began to move with her, and she stopped.

"Don't," she said softly, "move. Just stay still. This one is for me, and me alone."

He didn't say anything, just watched her, an intentness in his gaze that sent a delicious thrill down her spine. She continued to hold his gaze and began to slide up and down his shaft again, watching his pupils dilate with desire and lust, until the blue was almost gone and all that was left was black ringed by silver. Which was odd when his eyes were blue.

But she really wasn't worried by oddities right now, but rather how damn fine everything was feeling. She closed her eyes, concentrating on sensation, concentrating on sliding him back and forth, teasingly touching all the right places, but never for long enough. Pleasure spiraled, and her breath caught, then quickened. She hadn't intended to fly solo all the way, but right now, she just couldn't stop. It felt too good. He felt too good, just sliding back and forth, back and forth. A shudder ran through her, and she rubbed against him harder as the sweet pressure began to build low in her stomach and flutter upwards.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice harsh, raw.

She opened her eyes. His gaze consumed her, burned her.

The scent of his need swam around her, flaying her skin, flaying her senses, until all she could feel, all she could smell, was his desire. His body quivered beneath her, as if demanding she unleash him, take him. She didn't, losing herself instead to the rapture and power of denying him pleasure, denying them both that moment of complete oneness while at the same time satisfying her own needs.

And even though his frustration lashed at her, there was also something fierce in his eyes, as if what she was doing was exactly what he wanted her to do. And that, somehow, he was deriving almost as much pleasure by watching her take what she needed as he would have if he were inside her.

The thought became lost as the waves of pleasure rose and rose, until they were a molten force that would not be denied.

Yet even as her orgasm ripped through her, some small part of her half-wished it was Grey she rode, that it was Grey whom she would soon allow to pleasure her anyway he damn well pleased.

Trust her to be landed with hormones that could never be happy with what they had.

When the trembling eased, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sweat glimmered across the warm gold of his skin, and his body trembled beneath her. His gaze was fierce, hungry. Demanding. A tremor that was all anticipation ran through her. What was still to come would be good. Real good.

"Satisfied?" His voice was a growl that rumbled right through her.

She allowed a small smile to touch her lips. "If you mean am I satisfied that you're willing to let a woman take complete control in the bedroom, then yes, most definitely.

"Good." He tugged on the rope, freeing his hands. "Your turn."

Another tremor of excitement ran through her. The edge in his voice, the heat in his eyes, suggested that her turn would be a long, drawn out seduction, despite the fact that he was quivering with need.

And women had turned away from this man? What kind of fools were they?

She silently offered him her hands. He looped the silken rope around her wrists, then undid the rope around his ankles and shifted so she could lie down.

"On your stomach," he said, voice still rough.

She obeyed, and he straddled her, the heat of him brushing her skin as he leaned forward and loosely looped the rope around the middle post of the headboard.

Then he said, his words little more than a whisper of warmth past her ear, "You will beg me to give you what you denied me."

"I don't beg for anyone," she replied, knowing even as she said it that in her present state, begging was high on the agenda if she didn't get what her body demanded.

"We'll see." His voice held a confidence that made her quiver deep inside. And that quiver had absolutely nothing to do with fear.

She closed her eyes, waiting for his touch. A top popped, and the warm aroma of citrus and sunshine stung the air. She cracked open an eye. What were the odds of two men wanting to do the exact same thing to her?

Then his oiled hands slid over her back, and the question was rolled away by pleasure. She closed her eyes again, all but purring as his fingers worked magic up her back and across her shoulders. By the time he'd finished she wanted him badly, and she couldn't help groaning in frustration when he climbed off.

"And what was wrong with finishing as we were?"

"The fact that you're not ready to beg me for it yet." He slapped her butt lightly. Even the sting of his hand on her flesh had excitement flushing through her body. "Turn around."

She did. He moved down to her feet, tying them spread-

eagled, then started the whole massaging process all over again. It was a sensual and erotic experience that had her panting with need and aching like crazy. But still she wasn't ready to beg, and the dangerous glint in his eyes suggested he had no intention of moving on until she did. Part of her did want to give him that, to just beg so she could feel the thick heat of him inside. She needed that, needed him thrusting deep, so very, very deep… and yet, there was also something undeniably exquisite in the torture of waiting. In letting the moment, the tension, and the desire build, until there was nothing between them but urgency and need. She might not be far from that point, but she hadn't reached it yet. And obviously, neither had he.

He reached across her and placed the oil back on the bedside table. "Beg for me," he said softly, his words warm whispers across her lips.

"No," she whispered back, then kissed him.

There was nothing soft, nothing sweet, about this kiss, and yet it was incredibly passionate. It was the kiss of lovers, not two strangers making love.

And then he was inside, driving deep, and she was arching up to meet him, wanting everything he could give, as hard and as fast as he could give it.

Only he didn't give her anything else, just pulled out of her, leaving her empty and aching. His teeth nipped her bottom lip lightly when she opened her mouth to protest.

"Beg for me," he whispered again.

"No," she panted, squirming beneath him, trying to recapture his cock and drive him home again.

Only she didn't need to. The words were barely out of her mouth when he was ramming hard inside her again. This time, he stroked several times before withdrawing. The man obviously had amazing control.

"Give me what I want," he said, his gaze holding hers, fiercely determined.

"No," she said, wondering why she felt it was so important that she kept resisting. Damn it, she wanted to be fucked hard, he wanted to oblige, and all she had to do was open her mouth and say please.

But something deep inside had decided resistance was important.

He shifted, moving to one side, then slid his hand down her body and into her slickness. She shuddered, enjoying his caress, the press of fingers against her heated, aching flesh.

Enjoying the feel of them sliding in and out, in and out, as his thumb flicked teasingly across her clit. Teasing her, making her ache, making her tremble and moan. And stopping each and every time she came close to orgasm.

He didn't ask her again, but in the end, she had no choice but to give him what he wanted. Not when her body was screaming for completion.

"Please," she panted, "I need you… want you… inside."

He slid over the top of her, his grin wicked. Victorious. "Are you begging me, Eryn?"

"Yes." God, yes. "Just do it."

With one swift, hard stroke, he was inside, and it felt so good she could only groan. Then he began to move, thrusting deep and strong, and it was fierce, and passionate, and so damn good she wanted to scream.

And though she could barely even breathe let alone scream, she knew this was what had been missing in her love life up to now—a sense of connection that almost seemed spiritual. She could feel him, not just inside her body, but on the outskirts of her thoughts. As if the linking of flesh had somehow linked their minds. Emotions swirled between them—a kaleidoscope of color that was passion and warmth, even caring, though she couldn't say how that was possible when they didn't even know each other.

Yet she knew she only had to open up and that kaleidoscope would completely fill her, mind, body and soul, making them one in a way mere sex never could.

She didn't reach out. Didn't dare.

Thought slithered away as the pressure began to build. It spiraled upwards, rapidly gaining momentum, until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only wait for the inevitable peak. A peak she leapt over with abandon, twisting and shaking and moaning. He came with her, his roar echoing in her ears as his body slammed into hers and his release flooded so very deep.

When the tremors finally eased, he laughed softly and rested his forehead against hers. "Well, I'm damn glad you finally gave in."

She grinned. "Yeah, so am I."

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and drew back a little.

"No yodeling though, which is somewhat disappointing."

She frowned. She'd said that to Grey, not Harrison, so why would he make a comment like that? Or was it simply a matter of him somehow realizing she was a beagle shifter?

"I'm not the type of girl who yodels for just anyone, you know."

"I'm not just anyone," he said, a touch of male arrogance in his tone. "Perhaps we need a replay."

She shifted her hips, moving against him. Despite the fact that they'd only just finished making love, he was still quite firm inside her. It wouldn't take much to get him going—just as it wouldn't take much to get her going.

"If the replay is slower, I'm all for it."

He gave her a wicked grin. "If slow is what the lady wants, slow is what the lady gets." He reared back, undid the ties around her legs, then reached forward, undoing the knots around her hands. Then he drew her up onto her knees, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His eyes were more gray than blue, and held an intentness that made her soul shiver.

"This time I intend to make you yodel so loud the whole bar will know your pleasure."

Her pulse zoomed at the thought, and she grinned as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "You can try."

He certainly did try.

And he damn well succeeded.

Movement woke Eryn many hours later. She cracked open an eye, watching him pad across the room and gather his clothes.

"Where are you going?" she asked softly, a little surprised he'd leave before their time in the room was up.

He barely even glanced at her as he pulled on his jeans.

"Work."

She looked at the clock on the bedside table, and frowned.

"It's three in the morning and still dark outside."

He hesitated. "Yeah, but there's stuff I have to do before I actually go to work."

He was lying. And the mere fact that she sensed this made her frown. Damn it, Harrison was human, not shifter, and they shouldn't have that sort of connection. If he was a shifter, then okay, maybe, as it was a well known fact that shifter pairings often connected on many different levels. But she'd never heard of a human-shifter pairing sharing anything more than great sex.

And while humans were more than capable of psychic abilities, it wasn't telepathy or empathy happening between them. It was something stranger—something deeper.

She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. "What are you working on at the moment?"

He hesitated, and once again that odd, distant look crept into his eyes. "Reinstalling pipes in Tennamar."

Tennamar was one of the old estates built on the fringes of the city, and a good hour's drive away. So, it was logical he'd leave early, considering he had to go home and get all his gear—so why didn't she believe that was the reason he was leaving? Why did she believe his reasons for going were a whole lot darker—and more deadly?

"Will you be here tomorrow night?"

Something flashed in his eyes. Regret. Exasperation.

Neither of which made any sense. "Yes."

Yet he'd said earlier tonight he wouldn't be back until Monday. That had been the truth. This wasn't. "Then maybe I'll see you here."

"Yes." He strode across the room and leaned down to kiss her. It wasn't the good-bye kiss she'd been expecting, but rather a promise of things to come. He raised a hand, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, his gaze intent, as if memorizing every curve, every flaw, in her face. "Till next we meet."

He spun before she could speak and walked to the door, his movements grace itself.

She blinked, for the first time realizing what she was seeing.

It wasn't the walk of a plumber with a hankering to be a cowboy.

It was the walk of a man who moved with the grace of a vampire and the power of a shifter.

Grey, not Harrison.