Pheromones (SOS 5)

Pheromones (SOS Multi-Author)
Shelby Morgen
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2015 Shelby Morgen



Apparently I'm not the brightest light bulb in the pack. Or maybe I'm just in denial. I'd been waiting at the bar far too long. Three glasses of wine. Sipped. Slowly. That ought to be enough to let any girl know the heralded blond Greek god of a blind date wasn't going to show.

What can I say. I'm a sucker for a good wine. And Greek gods.

This, however, was not good wine.

"Is this seat taken?"

I turned, slowly, taking my time deciding exactly how to eviscerate the now hour-late sculptors' delight my offending friend had stuck me with tonight. Except this particular Greek god wasn't blond. Or Greek. More cowboy, from the golden days of film classics -- tall, dark, and handsome. For a werewolf.

Except he wasn't a werewolf. Something was off there. The scent was wrong, though the deep musk of man made it damn hard to see past the all too fuckable illusion before me.

Were... something. I took another look, enjoying the time it took for my gaze to travel the length of his long, faded jeans up his deliciously muscular ass -- I mean abs, sorry -- to the pecs that bunched beneath his sports coat when he reached for the barstool to slide it out, still waiting for my reply.

The traditional, expected reply, It is, now, formed on my lips, but the words didn't make their way past my suddenly frozen vocal cords.

Antlers?

This time his smile showed teeth. Strong, even, white teeth -- with not a hint of fang. "A magnificent rack this year, if I do say so."

Apparently I'd said that out loud. All right. So now my secret was out, as well. And yet he'd not asked how I could read him. Maybe because he was still waiting on that chair. "Yes, please," I blurted, doing my best to regain my composure. "I mean, no, the seat's not spoken for. I think maybe it was waiting for you."

"Hey!" a too-loud voice boomed from the front of the lounge. I glanced over my unexpected companion's shoulder and saw what I'd most feared all evening -- what could only be one of my best friend's husband's too-long-out-of-uniform college football buddies. "Oh, shit. Save me," I muttered.

My handsome cowboy glanced at the fallen Greek god in the bar mirror and grinned. "I think you're safe. Looks like he's run into an old buddy of his. Another drink or two and he won't remember he was ever headed this way."

"You know him?"

"I know the type."

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the woodsy musk of my new best friend. If he'd been ice cream I would have eaten him up. Moosetracks. Where the hell had that thought come from? He couldn't be a moose. No, no, no. Those weren't the antlers I'd envisioned. But what was he then? Surely not a stag.

The sound of his voice hypnotized me. I loved watching his lips move. Problem was, he was actually saying something. Asking me something. And now I had no friggin idea what. Damn, did it even matter? "Absolutely," I agreed. I'd never felt a surge of attraction so strong -- and for a total stranger no less.

"Well, all righty, then." He held out his hand and I slipped mine into it, my little paw lost in his grip. "Let's go."

With his pheromones pinging off my nerve endings like shots of electricity, I would have followed him anywhere. Except where he led me. Which was down to the pit in front of the band. Replaying the scene in my mind, I watched his lips move. Would you like to dance?

No, no, no. What had I done?

The band -- some local guys who'd been together for more years than I'd been around -- were making a fairly credible stab at La Bamba -- Ritchie Valens' rock and roll version, not the original. Tall, dark, and delicious moved with a grace I wouldn't have expected from a cowboy. Shifter. Whatever he was. He spun me in his arms and twirled me around till the light headed mix of wine, music, and him had me laughing like a loon.

Until the song ended and I landed against his chest with a warm, solid thud, my mouth open slightly in a gasp of surprise, and my fingers pressed against the hard planes of his pecs. When he leaned down to kiss me, my arms wrapped around his neck, pretty much of their own accord.

He tasted as good as I knew he would, like gingerbread with vanilla icing and apple cider all rolled up in one. His tongue swept over mine, continuing the dance. The music started back up again, but we stood locked, pressed together from the heat where the bulge in his jeans met my hips to the steady ache where my tits wanted to feel the friction of his warm flannel shirt against their bare nipples. He pulled back and tipped his head down to rest his forehead against mine.

"Wow." His voice was a reverent whisper.

"Thank you," I managed.

"Yeah?"

"For not apologizing." Something about that Gee, I didn't mean to kiss you, it just happened line always made for a real short night in my mind.

"That kiss wasn't something I'd apologize for. Other than, you know, not having done it years ago."

"We hadn't met years ago." I was pretty sure of that.

"My fault." He rocked his hips to the gentle sway of a hold-me-close song and I gave half an ounce of energy over to following his line of logic. "I should have found you sooner."

"You should have," I agreed. "We've got a lot of lost time to make up for." I didn't have what it takes to be coy. Not when I already knew where this night was going.