Page 14 of Sear
Lots andlotsof kissing. And other things.
His cock twitched at the thought of her plump lips wrapped around it.
She’s way too young.Hell, she looks downright innocent. Probably a college student home on summer break.
Besides, right now, I’m Lucas Winter, wannabe poacher,he reminded himself.And dating anyone is off the fucking table.
But we need a mate, urged his cat.That wolf-girl smelled good. Healthy and fertile. Return to her. Court her.
It was a ridiculous suggestion, but it stirred up a bunch of stuff that Lucas had worked hard to tamp down.
How long had it been since he’d been on arealdate, the kind that resulted in breathless, sticky, sweaty, fabulous sex, followed by a cozy adults-only breakfast the next morning?
He could picture it now: hot coffee and steamy glances, and minus two little girls squabbling over which one wanted the first toaster waffle andDaddy, Savannah got extra syrup!
God, how he missed the feeling of waking up all relaxed and rested while cuddled up to a willing woman.
I need to stop torturing myself,Lucas told himself sharply.I can barely keep up with work and parenting as it is. No sane woman would sign up for permanent third place in my life.
Despite Emily’s hang-ups about shifters, she’d been right about that much during their last-ditch attempt at marriage counseling. They hadn’t discussed the shifter stuff, of course, but there’d been plenty else wrong with their relationship by that point.
At least the counselor had helped them keep things civil for the sake of their girls during and after the divorce proceedings.
Lucas’s attention swung away from the stout, long-winded dentist who was talking about last year’s elk hunt.
As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze fastened on Malia. She was laughing at something that the bear shifter girl—What was her name? Oh, yeah, Ellie—was saying.
Malia seemed to sense his eyes on her. She turned her head and, to his intense pleasure, smiled at him.
It was all he could do not to shove himself away from the bar and march over to the table to ask for her phone number.
Fuck. What waswithhim today? If he didn’t get his head in the game, he was going to be really screwed.
He wasworking.
Even if he was suddenly aching with pent-up need and years of loneliness.
Summoning every ounce of his self-control, Lucas turned his attention back to the dentist.
After that, he continued making his rounds of the place, trying to get a feel for the hunters gathered here.
Tringstad had informed him that The Hair of the Dog was the only real watering hole in the area. So, if the poachers were the thirsty types, they’d be somewhere among this crowd.
In Lucas’s experience, poachers were usually ego-driven, eager to wave their dicks around and bragging about making illegal kills.
All he had to do to locate them was pass their sniff test for “not a fish cop,” as game wardens were known. And he was damned good at passing for a dirtbag when he was in the company of genuine dirtbags.
Over the next hour, he struck up conversations with anyone who looked like a hunter, and bought drinks freely. He paid for them out of his own pocket, since the great State of Idaho did not reimburse alcohol purchases while on business.
But from experience, he knew that doling out beers and whiskeys was the first step in passing the all-important sniff test.
After yet another round of drinks and his “new in town, got a bull elk tag I don’t wanna waste” spiel, Lucas finally hit pay dirt.
“Nice ass on that chick,” Travis Bickham said. The other man’s eyes tracked the waitress, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, as she wove her way quickly and gracefully through the obstacle course of small tables set up in the club. “Whaddya think? Is she a moaner or a screamer?”
Lucas fought the urge to bristle and snarl at his new friend’s revolting comments. He reminded himself that he was Lucas Winter right now. And Winter was a dirtbag, through and through.
So, he forced himself to chuckle and leer at the waitress. “Moaner, for sure. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that.”
