Fondant Fox: Kinship Cove: Mates & Macarons Read online

  I didn’t mention any of that stuff because I was a raging idiot and an emotional sadist. For real.

  We ambled along the road, taking our time on our way to grab a coffee. Being that I’d been raised in Kinship Cove and had worked in the diner almost since I could walk, I knew most of the town. People stopped to say hello, to smile, and to look over Clark in curiosity. I introduced him as a professor in town for a research project and kept moving, not wanting any of them to get the wrong idea. Well, the right idea—he was my mate—with the wrong sort of ending. There would be no Clark and Misty after our research was done. No happily ever after with kits and a house and all that domestic crap. Not really.

  I might need to put some Baileys in my coffee.

  “So,” Clark said once we’d reached the shop and ordered our coffees—latte for me, espresso panna for him. “While seeing the seals was quite an interesting experience, I can’t see how that teaches me about being a shifter.”

  “How many people did you meet on your way to the wharf?”

  “None.”

  “And how many on our walk once we left?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “You counted?”

  “It’s a habit. I still don’t see what this has to do with shifters.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. I took a sip of my latte, organizing my thoughts. Yup, definitely should have asked for Baileys.

  “Shifters are not always like their animal selves. You’re a wolf—wolves are pack animals, so perhaps a large group of wolf shifters doesn’t seem abnormal to you. I’m a fox—we don’t pack, but in Kinship Cove, we stay close and connected much like humans do. Even solitary animals come together to form groups for safety, for comfort, and for community. We have all types of shifters here—from mice all the way up to a dragon. The only one I’ve ever met, actually.”

  Clark huffed. “I quite remember him.”

  “Good, because you likely won’t ever see one again. My point is, shifters need other shifters. Kinship Cove is a place where we can all be who we really are—and who we are is a family.”

  “Technically not.” His smile softened his words, made him seem almost to be joking. Did the good professor joke?

  I definitely did. “You can take your technically and—”

  “Go fuck myself?”

  Bingo. “Biweekly.”

  His grin grew larger, his eyes—a deep blue with flecks of what looked like gray—staying locked on mine. Suddenly, the tension between us grew. The pressure of our animal sides trying to push us to complete our mating making it harder to breathe. Harder to not simply attack him and tear his clothes off. To not kiss that grin right off his handsome face and pay for that mistake later.

  That big, awful, ugly mistake.

  “So,” Clark finally said, still not tearing his gaze from mine. “About biweekly.”

  He wanted to talk about intercourse. Let’s talk about intercourse, baby. Man, that just didn’t flow like using the word sex would. “I was wondering when we’d get on that subject.”

  He seemed almost taken aback. “I apologize. I don’t mean to—”

  “How about tonight?”

  Okay, so now he seemed taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “The first biweekly appointment—does tonight work?”

  “Yes. Of course. Sure.” He coughed, almost as if he’d just choked on his own spit. Which could have happened—I was basically setting up a date to have sex with him. That couldn’t be a normal occurrence.

  Oh my fates, what if this was normal to him?

  Stop thinking.

  “Great.” I grabbed my coat, thankful we’d gotten our coffees in to-go cups seeing as how staying around Clark at this point would be an impossibility. “So tonight, we research why my scent has such an effect on you.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what we’re out to learn.”

  “No, I mean—” he held the door for me but blocked the way, essentially trapping me in the vestibule with him “—why are you agreeing to this so easily?”

  Because I’d take what I could get for as long as my heart let me. Because I might as well get something out of this crazy mating before the denial of our bond drove me over the edge.

  Because sometimes a girl just wanted to get laid. “I’m teaching you about mates, and mating is a part of that.”

  “So…sex?”

  One side of my mouth quirked up. “That’s sort of the idea.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Yes. I can be at your hotel by say…seven. Does that work?”

  He released the door so we could walk outside, looking almost flustered. “Shouldn’t I buy you dinner or something first?”

  If only. “Why bother with formalities? This is just about research, right?”

  He frowned. “Right.”

  “I’ll see you at seven.”

  I walked away, not looking back. Unable to get the frown I’d just seen out of my head. This was a mistake—a big, bad, horrible, worst idea ever mistake.

  Which meant I needed to buy something sexy to wear. Sexy lingerie and bad mistakes went hand in hand.

  5

  Misty

  My razor had never gotten such a workout.

  I twisted, I turned, I pulled, and I removed every bit of hair I could discover from my neck down. Why? It wasn’t like this was my first time—I wasn’t some blushing human virgin with puritanical ideas about waiting until marriage. Ha. I was a shifter—a fox shifter. We fornicated like rabbits at times.

  Okay, not that bad, but seriously, female fox shifters weren’t called vixens for nothing.

  In essence, I’d had sex plenty of times, but something about this night with Clark felt different. New. I was going to have sex with my mate. Who didn’t believe in mates. And therefore, didn’t want me as his.

  But I was still going to ride him like I stole him.

  No matter how much it hurt in the end.

  “It’s fine,” I mumbled, looking in the mirror as I rubbed a pint of lotion into my skin. Softer…I needed to be softer. “It’s totally fine. I can handle this.”

  Man, I was a good liar.

  I was just starting to hyperventilate a little bit at the thought of what was to come—the good, the bad, and the likely-to-get ugly—when my phone rang, Ginger’s face appearing on my screen from my contact log. Perhaps she’d finally read the text I’d sent her earlier. The one that contained only three words—thong or commando?

  I tapped the screen to answer the call. “What’s up, dollface?”

  “So…there’s going to be sexing tonight.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Best liar ever.

  “Really? Because that’s not what I heard.”

  “Who the heck is talking? I didn’t tell anyone—” My teeth rattled with the force I used to snap my jaw closed. “You tricked me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Basically, I wasn’t the only good liar in the bunch. Not surprised, to be honest. “Ginger, I swear to the fates, if you’re messing with me—”

  “Fine,” she said before I could threaten her with something super crafty and evil. Like…replacing all her moisturizer with edible lube guaranteed to bring all the single shifter men to her door. Not that I’d investigated the right scent to do such a thing. Or whatever. “I didn’t hear a thing. Though you texted me about underwear choices that don’t involve an entire yard of fabric—I figured sex was a pretty clear indication.”

  “Really? I didn’t think my question was all that brazen.”

  “Asking if your pussy lips should be flapping in the breeze or not is awfully brazen, my friend. Totally a dead giveaway. Plus, I’m pretty much psychic when it comes to fucking. I can sense the rise in hormones.”

  She couldn’t…I didn’t think. “Impressive.”

  “As is how good you are at lying to yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s your mate. You won’
t be able to hit it and quit it.”

  My stomach dropped, my inner fox chattering unhappily in my head. I had to take a breath before I could answer her. “Friends with benefits is doable at this point.”

  “No.”

  “We’re going to meet up biweekly.”

  “What the fuck is biweekly?”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means—though really there are two meanings, so a little clarification on whether that’s twice a week or once every other week might be nice.”

  I huffed a laugh. “Once every other week.”

  “A fortnight between fucking? You poor thing. And why is any sort of time frame even being discussed along with sex? Are you scheduling hookups?”

  Hookups. Not matings, not dates, not anything normal. Just…sex. “Yeah. For research.”

  “Misty.” If Ginger had sounded any angrier, I’d have been afraid. As it was, I was sort of thinking I’d call in sick tomorrow. And maybe the next day. I definitely needed at least three days away from the sisters.

  “It’s fine,” I said, already working on my absenteeism excuses in my head. Sore throat. Cramps. A giant eagle chased me down and sliced my arm open. Hey, it could happen.

  Ginger, meanwhile, was stuck on the Clark and me thing. “It’s so not fine. You deserve more than biweekly fuck fests.”

  I wanted more than that too, but Clark didn’t. He wanted research.

  Which meant I was going to research his dick like no other. “I’m good. I can handle this.”

  “Bitch, you’re more than just good. You’re fabulous. But are you sure you’re okay with this? Are you ready for the fallout?”

  Ready for Clark to disappear? For him to decide our research was done? Or for him to keep coming back, ready to settle for twice-a-month physical interludes with no personal connection, no snuggling and curling up together? No true mating, just an occasional visit to ward off the worst of the mating denial pain.

  Was I ready?

  I was going to have to be. “I’m ready. I know what I’m getting into.”

  Ginger blew out a breath, causing a little static on the line. “Then I’ll leave you alone about it. Call me if you need saving, though. I’ve got a dragon shifter, and I’m not afraid to use him.”

  “You use that dragon enough already.”

  “True. But Kingston won’t mind if I call off our nightly freak fest for a little search and rescue mission.”

  From the background, I heard a deep, rumbly, “The fuck I won’t.”

  “Sounds like he disagrees with your assumption.”

  “Well, there goes my foot rub,” Ginger said, sounding more than a little pouty. “I should go. He gets cranky when I ignore him for too long.”

  In Ginger/Kingston speak, that meant he got anxious if he didn’t have her naked and underneath him every few hours. Or in front of him. Or on top of him. This one time, I walked into the kitchen at the bakery, and…

  Well, that’s a story for another time.

  I gave her the same advice I’d been giving myself all day. “Get yours, girl.”

  “Back atcha.”

  I ended the call with a tap, clinging to the phone as if somehow it would tell me what to do. I was pretty sure Siri’s answer to “Should I or should I not fuck my noncommitting mate?” would be something along the lines of “I don’t understand the question.”

  To be honest, neither did I. A mate who didn’t want to be mates. Who didn’t believe in the concept or understand what could happen if one tried to ignore the bond. I’d seen shifters suffer through horrible seizure-like episodes while trying to break a mating. Had watched our town alpha—Jericho, of Madeleine and Jericho—deal with a depression lesser men would have fallen victim to when he was stupidly trying to ignore his mating bond. Shifters couldn’t stop a mating bond. But Clark—well, he didn’t fully embrace his shifter side, so he thought the entire phenomena could be boiled down to pheromones.

  If that were the case, there would have been some aged shifters brewing that shit up on the daily.

  Only I would be cursed with a mate who would even consider such a thing as mating doesn’t exist.

  By the fates, what was wrong with that man?

  Still, there was no stopping the pull to be with my mate, no use trying to stop it. I might not ever get everything I wanted—a true mate, partner, and father to a litter or two of adorable, crossbred kits—but I was going to take what I could get for as long as I could. Impending heartbreak be damned. So I got dressed into some seriously sexy clothes, I put on some seriously sinful red lipstick, and I gave myself a seriously intense look-over in the full-length mirror. Hair done, makeup ready, lips looking like they were meant for sucking things, dress showing every curve, legs bare and ready to be spread.

  Heart…tucked deep inside the fortress I’d built around it.

  “It’s research time.”

  6

  Clark

  It’s just research. It’s just research.

  I chanted those words to myself as I paced my hotel room. They didn’t help. My stomach stayed knotted, and my skin still felt clammy. Tonight was more than research. I didn’t know how much more, definitely more…but in what way? I’d had sex before. Twice, in fact. Two totally different people. Both times had been pretty good. I mean, not like the greatest event in my life good…but good. Fine. Lovely. How much better could sex be with a shifter woman than a human?

  Mate. My inner beast huffed, growling the word in my mind. Mate.

  “No such thing.” I started to pace again, but a knock at the door sent me scampering in that direction. I waited a few seconds to answer, taking a deep breath and preparing myself to see Misty again. Beautiful, sexy, funny, sarcastic Misty. My not-mate. And yet the only woman I’d ever met whom I simply couldn’t stop thinking about. Who inflamed my soul and made me want to throw logic out the window. And whom I was about to have sex with.

  Lord help me.

  One last deep breath and a quick adjustment to my already hard and aching cock, then I was ready. I swung open the door and tried to smile, but I was pretty sure every muscle in my body turned to stone in exactly zero point five seconds. Every. Single. Muscle.

  She is so fucking hot.

  The thought startled me in its baseness, but there was no other way to describe her. No better word. Beautiful was too trite, pretty too simple. Cute was all wrong for sure, and exquisite trivial. No…Misty was all of those things but more. She was hot and totally fuckable.

  And I was standing there staring at her instead of inviting her inside.

  “Hi.” I coughed, the word coming out on a breathy sort of sigh. “You look lovely.”

  Hot, my wolf growled. Mate. Hot. Sex. A sensation unlike any I’d ever experienced tickled my mind, the feeling of my inner beast…moving around. As if he was a real being living inside my head instead of some whisper of spirit. I sensed movement and emotion, need and desire. Misty had awakened him from a long, deep slumber. She was what he’d been waiting for. What he wanted.

  Mine.

  “Did you get your work done this afternoon?” She slipped out of her coat, making my knees go weak. Skin and red and…curves. Have mercy, the woman was a siren. A dangerous creature hell-bent on destroying me. Or at least my control.

  “Some of it,” I replied, the lie rolling off my tongue easily. As if I could work when I’d been so worked up. When I’d known I would be having sex with her later. I couldn’t have worked if my life had depended on it. She didn’t need to know that. “Did you have a nice time after we went for coffee?”

  “I did. Dealt with a few issues at the diner, went shopping for a few thongs, and then took a nice, hot bath.”

  Do not think about her ass in a thong. Do not think— “Thong shopping?”

  Yeah, those two words proved I wasn’t thinking, all right.

  “Yeah,” she said, pouting those bright red lips of hers. “But I didn’t find anything I liked, so I figured I’d just go
without.”

  Without…as in…was she not wearing panties? I liked panties—I think we all know I like panties—but her in that dress with nothing underneath? If I hadn’t bit my tongue, I would have moaned. And then come. And then moaned again.

  Death by vixen. That would be the title of my memoir.

  “Uh…” Think, think, think. You have a PhD—there is a brain somewhere inside of you. THINK. “Can I get you something from the minibar?”

  “No thank you. I’d prefer a clear head for our research.”

  “Research.” Hypothesis: If I have sexual intercourse with my supposed mate, then my level of pleasure should increase tenfold. “Right. So…you’ve been thinking about the research?”

  She smiled, the look that of a predator, then stood and sauntered over to me. Sauntered—because there was no other way to describe the way she moved. Hips rolling, breasts jiggling, eyes locked on mine. She teased with every step, exuded confidence with every foot covered. Yeah, that was a saunter for sure.

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking about it, all right. Have you?”

  She pushed me back until I was seated on the end of the bed. And then she…well, she…there was no easy way to describe this. She straddled me. Hoisted a leg and settled directly over my very hard, very neglected…groin area.

  Sweet mercy. “Yeah. I’ve been…thinking.”

  Her lips kicked up a little higher, that smile turning a bit more devilish. “Thinking is good. Doing is better.”

  Oh hell. My inner wolf bounded back and forth in my head, making me dizzy. Throwing off my equilibrium. I did my best to leash the beast, but it was hard work. I was having trouble concentrating, what with the sexy female on my lap with her legs spread and her dress hiked up to show off…

  Yup. Pantiless. Nothing but warm skin.

  Pretty sure I came just a little bit when I saw that.

  “Tell me something, Clark,” Misty said, leaning closer and biting her lip. “What do you like?”