Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)
“What’s your stake in it? Why tell me this?”
“I’m simply a concerned citizen who knows something you don’t.”
And if that didn’t pique my curiosity. . . “What’s the big secret, then? What do you know? What’s going on over there? The lycanthropes—they perform under duress, don’t they? They’re trapped—”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “It’s not so mundane as that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s best you don’t concern yourself with such matters.”
“Secrets don’t scare me, they only piss me off.”
“That can be dangerous.”
“Thanks. But I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.”
He looked both of us up and down. Taking our measure. “I suppose you’d have to be.”
“We look out for each other,” Ben said.
“Good. I’ll be off, then. Sorry for interrupting your evening.” He tipped an imaginary hat at us, then disappeared around the corner, a dapper gentleman from another century.
I stared after him, vaguely aware that Ben was still squeezing my arm. “It’s frustrating. I can’t find anything out about Balthasar, and then Grant comes along talking all this doom. And he wouldn’t even come on my show.”
“You sure seem to be popular with the guys,” he said.
“Jealous?”
“Yeah, I thi
nk I am.”
I put my arm around his waist as we walked to the elevator. “Good.”
Chapter 10
Late that night I lay in bed, curled on my side, wishing for a quiet place that didn’t smell like the hotel room, which stank of furniture polish, bleach, lint, and people. Strangers. Not pack, not friendly. I hadn’t wanted to take over Denver’s werewolf pack; I’d kept insisting that I didn’t want to be an alpha. But now I missed the other wolves. I missed my own place. Here, even with the thick curtains drawn, shutting out the neon lights and early morning activity on the Strip, I could still hear the cars, an occasional voice, distant music.
Ben touched me. He set his hand on my bare hip, lightly, then moved his face along my shoulder to my neck, my hair, taking in my scent, letting his breath whisper over my skin. His warmth brushed over me, sending calm through me. Wherever he was, that was home. He smelled like pack, and that made him safe. Not just in the sense that I knew he wouldn’t hurt me; it was more than that. He meant safety. Lying with him, closed in his arms, nothing could harm me.
That was objectively true. But my shoulders were tense, like hackles, despite the drinks, despite making love before drifting to sleep. Rather, Ben had drifted to sleep and I stared at the curtained windows, waiting for ninjas to strike. The whole way back here I’d looked over my shoulder and jumped at odd noises. I’d felt that prickling sensation that someone was watching me from across the room. But of course when I looked, no one was there.
Ben kissed my upper back, pressing at the knots in the muscles. I moaned softly and bent my neck forward to give him better access. Distraction. I only needed distracting and I’d be fine. As if he knew this, he nuzzled my neck, burying his face in my hair, moving slowly, gently. My body tingled, flushing. Where he touched felt electric.
“You smell worried,” he murmured.
“You can tell?”
“Yeah.” He kissed, more firmly this time, his mouth open, and I melted a little further. “Is it about getting married?”
I was chagrined to realize I hadn’t been thinking about getting married. I really should have been. “No, I’m looking forward to that,” I said. “It’s not that. I feel like I’m being watched. Followed.”
“Even now?” He inched closer, pressing his body to mine, wrapping an arm around me, his hand crawling up my torso to cup a breast. I nestled firmly into his arms.
“I saw this TV special once about security in the casinos. They have cameras everywhere. You can’t even tell where they all are. People sit in these dark rooms watching the footage all day, every day.”
“There are no cameras in the hotel rooms.” His movements, holding me against him, nuzzling at my hairline, became more insistent. His erection against my backside became insistent.