Just One Taste Part 26

Lyra thought her head was going to explode. "You have it all planned out then. Did you discuss this with Ben?"

"A little bit. And by the way, Mom called when you were in the tub. She talked to Ben on the phone and thinks you guys should get married the weekend after Columbus Day. The weather's still great here, and all the paying customers will be gone. This place will make a kick-a.s.s wedding reception site, and of course, I'll do the catering."

"Of course." Lyra picked up her empty gla.s.s and threw it against the exposed brick wall, where it very satisfactorily shattered into a thousand pieces.

This was so much better than a pillow.

"What the h.e.l.l was that all about?"

"Don't the Greeks smash plates at weddings? And the Jews step on gla.s.ses? I'm just mixing up the traditions and practicing," Lyra said, as she marched out of the kitchen.

Chapter 7.

By dinnertime, Lyra was merely a sun-kissed golden G.o.ddess. She moved with grace and ease as she poured wine and chatted with the guests around the table.

Rachel had done a lovely job setting it while Lyra had stewed in her room, finding Grandmother Anders's yellow faence plates in the butler's pantry and placing them on blue straw placemats. Rachel had arranged daisies and lupine in a yellow Fiestaware water pitcher, too. Yes, indeed, Rachel had an artist's eye. Lyra supposed the woman deserved a partial refund on her stay. As a teacher, it was a wonder she could afford to spend five thousand dollars on a vacation to begin with.

Teaching was a n.o.ble profession; Lyra knew that and valued it. It wasn't something she'd ever wanted to do, though. Of course, Ben hadn't planned to teach. He'd wanted to be a famous ballplayer, and had come pretty close, according to the Boys from Boston. Probably if he'd had a s.h.i.+fter surgeon operate on him, he'd be winding up in some stadium right now. But he'd been in the dark about the cat subculture. It wasn't his fault.

She wondered how he came to be adopted. Shape-s.h.i.+fter families were unusually close. There were a lot more of them than anyone would imagine, but over the centuries they'd developed a veneer of civilization, if consorting with humans could ever be called civilized. Quite a muck-up people had made of the world so far. Some catastrophe must have occurred for Ben's parents to give him up. They probably had no choice.

They probably were dead.

d.a.m.n it. Now she was feeling sorry for him. He, who was about to oppress her. Limit her choices. Conquer her.

She looked up and caught him looking at her, a s.h.i.+t-eating grin on his face. Screw him. Well, yes, she would, but she wouldn't have to like it.

Much.

When he came for her in the dark, he led her back to the night garden. Without a word, he unzipped her dress and laid her gently on the damp gra.s.s. He took his own clothes off and settled his heavy body upon hers, heart to heart, groin to groin. For a tricky moment, she thought she couldn't breathe. He lifted her arms and placed his palms over hers, pressing so she could feel the current between each of their fingertips.

"One, two, three," he whispered.

"Felis silvestris."

He rolled her over slowly, playfully, almost lazily. There was none of the frenzy of their previous mating, as though he sensed that she needed to be gentled tonight. She lay still while he lapped and tickled her ears. He held her down firmly, although she would have been docile anyway, and proceeded to groom her everywhere. His patient tongue swirled against her skin and fur, its pressure causing her to tingle at each touch.

And then his tongue moved downward, until it dipped within her cat's cleft, causing her to arch off the ground. No one had ever tried that before, and she was hypnotized by the steady swipe of his rough tongue. Her helpless screech broke the quiet of the night, and soon was echoed within the woods and fields by the others as they found their own pleasure.

And then he mounted her and took her, all pretense of gentleness gone. With each stroke he staked his claim. Through the long hours of the night. And she let him.

She had no choice.

When he was done, he touched his nose to hers. Although now lacking the power of speech, they thought the ritual words which would turn them back into exhausted human beings.

Felis catus. No longer wild, but domestic. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Ca.s.sie found Lyra in the hallway, rolling a cleaning cart between the rooms. She was a day late changing the beds, but so far n.o.body had complained.

"Is it true?" Ca.s.sie asked, a little wild-eyed.

"Is what true?"

"That you're mated to Ben for life? Rachel said-"

d.a.m.n. The jungles drums were out in full force. It was a wonder she'd had yesterday to herself.

Lyra nearly gritted her teeth. "Yes, it's true."

"Oh my G.o.d. What does it feel like?"

Like being put in a cage. With a hungry eight-foot panther sprawled across your body knowing he can do anything he wants.

"It's everything I ever expected."

Ca.s.sie gave her a hug. "You are so lucky. And so is he. Not fair! He's the hottest guy here, besides your brother. Rachel really likes him, you know."

"Flynn's a peach, but she'd better not get her hopes up. I don't think he's ready to settle down."

"Good. Do you think he can get me away from Brian?" Ca.s.sie stepped closer. Lyra wondered if she'd get the beds made up by dinnertime. "I mean, he's strong, a lion and all." She lowered her voice. "But it's the same old thing, night after night. I compared notes with Alys and Adrienne. All three of them must have had the same Facilitator. Some woman with no imagination. Maybe she was even frigid. What are the qualifications for a Facilitator's license anyway?"

"I don't know. The Facilitator my parents hired was very good." A sudden, wicked, evil thought crossed Lyra's mind. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. She and Flynn had decided before they opened the inn that ten s.h.i.+fters was the maximum they could handle at a time, even if they did have twelve bedroom suites in the main part of the house. They'd turned one of the extra rooms into the linen room, installing white-painted shelves and commercial washers and dryers. But they always kept the other bedroom available in case of emergency.

"Maybe I can help you out. I know a guy. If he's free, I'll invite him up for a couple of days. Maybe he can give the Boys from Boston a refresher course."

"Ooh! Would you? And is he cute?"

"He's the most handsome man you will ever meet," Lyra replied with perfect honesty.

Flynn dropped the colander into the sink with a clatter. "You did what? Are you crazy?"

Lyra continued to arrange chicken salad and tuna salad stuffed tomatoes on round platter. Everyone would be at lunch today. It had been raining since dawn, but that was a good thing. The gardens needed it. There was plenty to do indoors. The media room was stocked with hundreds of DVDs, there were books, boards games, the billiard room. The guests could even have s.e.x with each other on fresh sheets.

"He's flying himself into Owl's Head and coming on the eleven o'clock ferry tomorrow."

"Jesus Christ, Lyra. Not only does it throw the numbers off, but what about you and Ben?"

"What about us?" Lyra lifted her cool copper eyes at her brother and stared him down.

"Ben won't like it. He'll feel threatened."

"If he wants to play with the big cats, he'll have to get used to it."

"He's only been s.h.i.+fting for three days, sis. If you have complaints, I'm sure you can teach him to do better."

"I have no complaints. Dillon's not coming for me."

"Then why the h.e.l.l is a Facilitator taking time off from his busy schedule and coming here?"

"It's good P.R. for us. He's got a million contacts. And at the same time he can do an informal seminar for the guys, make a few suggestions. A little locker room talk. Apparently the lions are kings only in their own minds," she grinned.

"I am sick to my stomach." Flynn sat down on a wooden stool. "This is the worst idea you've ever had. Are we paying him?"

"No, no. It's a freebie for old time's sake."

Flynn scowled. "What's he expecting in return? If you f.u.c.k him, you're screwed."

"Watch your language, Flynn. I know I can't let him touch me."

"He'll try," Flynn warned. "He's messed with your head for years. And every other part of you," he grumbled.

"I appreciate your brotherly concern, but I'm not sixteen anymore." Or eighteen. Or twenty. Or twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-five or twenty-seven. Oops, she was. She and Dillon had a complicated history, some of it fairly recent.

There were several aspects of s.h.i.+fter life that Lyra was not especially crazy about, the first being s.e.xual initiation. She understood the purpose of it-an inexperienced cat could cause harm, sometimes even death, to itself and others. At the age of sixteen, all young cubs were expected to undergo a session under an expert's care. A dispa.s.sionate stranger. They were removed from their home, taken to a neutral location for one week, and taught every carnal skill they might ever need in human or cat form. The idea was to remove the spontaneous impulse from the s.e.xual act, to approach the subject with care and awareness, to hone physical capabilities. To learn one's place in the animal kingdom. The wildness was guaranteed to come later.

As a female, Lyra had been taught by a dominant, Dillon McCarthy. He had been the living embodiment of every young girl's dream. Tall, dark, sinfully handsome. Clear blue eyes that bored right into a teenage girl's soul. She would have done anything he asked. And had.

Even when she was older and knew better, Dillon had a.s.serted an influence she found particularly hard to shake. The only upside was that she knew he valued her, too. He didn't keep in touch with all his student conquests, so she must have scratched some indeterminate itch of his. But not enough for him to claim her as his life mate. She'd given up that hope a while ago.

And now her fate was in the hands of a man she'd known three and a half days. A man she really didn't know at all.

Lyra went to the greenhouse window and pinched off some leaves and sprigs, tucking the herbs artistically between the tomatoes. Presentation was everything. Something she had been taught at the hands of a master, as he pulled her haunches up the better to mount her. She'd lifted her a.s.s so high she thought she'd break her back.

What if Flynn was right and she was playing with a fire she couldn't control? She'd said nothing about her life mate finding her when she talked to Dillon on the phone this morning. He probably thought she was offering him all the amenities the Perch had to offer. Including her.

Tough. It was too late to tell him now. And she hoped with a little part of her silly human pettiness that his heart might crack just a fraction when he heard the news that she was taken.

One advantage of having covered porches was that even if it rained, breakfast and lunch could still be served outside if the angle of the rain cooperated. Today there was just a steady, straight drizzle. Flynn had unrolled the green and white striped canvas awnings down some to block stray drips, but the bay was still in view, gray and choppy. Some commercial fis.h.i.+ng boats were out and a few hardy sailors.

The smell of the wet earth went directly to Lyra's animal senses as she placed the food on the buffet table. She wished she could strip and spin in the gra.s.s, letting the cool rain wash over her like she did here when she was a child. When things were simpler.

She had always known, though, there was some mystery attached to her family name. Her parents had been the souls of propriety and never exposed Lyra and Flynn to any of their wilder goings on when the twins were children, keeping their summer visits to the Perch strictly cat-free. Once the twins had gone for training, though, they were encouraged to explore the estate as their animal selves under the star-spattered skies.

Their wicked old grandmother had even tried to play matchmaker, importing the grandchildren of her friends for their amus.e.m.e.nt. But Lyra had been so in love with Dillon she hadn't let herself be touched by anyone until she went to college, and then, it was the clumsy fumbling of a beer-breathed fraternity boy. She'd learned her lesson and stuck to art and English majors after that, sensing no s.h.i.+fter companions.h.i.+p on her campus. She didn't even have her brother.

Flynn had gone to Johnson and Wales to cook and party in Providence. He had a flair with food, always had, even as a kid. He had Lyra were both creative in their own ways, and their partners.h.i.+p in the inn had been a blessing for both of them. But now, it seemed, she'd have to walk away from the business she'd worked so hard to build.

Lyra bit her lip. She'd just have to suck it up. She was fated to be a submissive, and she knew she could have done far worse. Ben was an enviable catch. She just hoped she wasn't an infatuation for him since she was his first, and he'd confused his desire for destiny. Males were known to go rogue and break their vows sometimes. She'd tie his tail up in knots if he tried. She valued faithfulness above anything.

Having Dillon here would be a test for both of them.

Chapter 8.

She stood waiting on the porch as she always did for new arrivals, watching the rented black Escalade weave between the trees. Her heart was thumping a little too fast, and she looked a little too fancy for the daytime. She wore a very short halter-top sundress patterned with ripe red cherries, and four-inch open-toed red wedges that elongated her already long legs. Ben had taken one look at her, whistled and kissed her like she was dessert. She'd had to promise him and hour in the night garden this afternoon, and he promised he wouldn't turn.

Flynn was in the kitchen sulking. All of the guests were busy doing off-premises activities, so he was going to be trapped with Dillon, his sister and Ben. Even Rachel had abandoned him, opting to chip in on renting a power boat so they could looky-loo at the huge houses perched on the island's rocky sh.o.r.eline. If he'd been smart, he would have slapped some peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwiches together on the porch and gone with everybody else, but he said he couldn't leave poor Ben alone with McCarthy. Ben would be served up for lunch right along with the lobster bisque and chowder crackers if Flynn didn't have his back.

Outside, Lyra watched Dillon slide off the leather seat, all lanky grace and charm. He opened the hatch and took out his training case and a black canvas bag. He didn't walk so much as saunter up the steps.

"Hey, kitten," he said, bending to kiss her on the lips.

Lyra put a hand out. "You can't. I'm forbidden."

"Congratulations," Dillon said smoothly. "Who's the lucky fellow?"

"Ben Cooper."

"Never heard of him. West Coast?"

"N-no. Connecticut, actually. But he was adopted and not ever initiated."

"Is that why I'm here, kitten? To train your mate? I must say, I'm flattered."