Tracker, he called himself. Caretaker was more like it.
Myka had learned a long time ago to take care of herself. She’d be dead, or in prison, or in a mental hospital if she hadn’t. And yet, to surrender, if only once, to this man’s strength and protectiveness was . . .
Peaceful. Astonishing. A taste of happiness.
Spike opened his eyes, liquid brown in the dim room. He didn’t look sleepy or groggy, but perfectly alert.
“Hey,” he said. He brushed back Myka’s untamable hair. “You’re pretty in the morning.”
“Now I know you’re crazy.”
“You’re all rumpled from making love with me. That makes you beautiful.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls.” Myka said it teasingly, but a sudden pain laced her heart.
He brushed back her hair again, fingertips light. “Haven’t been that many girls. Not in my lifetime.”
Hard to believe. Spike didn’t have conventional man-prettiness, but he was sexy. Hard body, hard face, eyes that could be hot with fighting rage or warm and dark, like they were now. And his tatts. Myka had never been attracted to heavily tattooed men, especially not one as inked as Spike, but the dragon that spread across his back was graceful and beautiful, the jaguars on arms and chest as fluid. The tattoos moved with him, perfectly balanced, a part of him, not just ink on skin.
“Shifter females aren’t thick on the ground,” Spike said, his voice quiet. “Most are looking for a mate for life. They want someone strong in his clan, not a tracker who has to answer to others and puts his life in danger every day.” He shrugged. “They can afford to be choosy.”
Meaning they wouldn’t choose him. Spike didn’t sound angry when he said it, or sad. Just resigned.
Myka remembered his statement last evening on the porch swing—Dumb-ass fighter, that’s Spike.
“If all they see is a dumb-ass fighter,” she said, touching his face. “Then they aren’t looking.”
He stiffened. “Don’t do that.”
Myka stilled. “Don’t do what?”
“Say things like that, while you look at me like that and touch me like that.” He growled. “I won’t let you out of this bed. Not today, not for a long, long time.”
Why didn’t that sound like a bad thing? She touched his face again, turning it into a caress along his sandpaper whiskers.
Spike closed strong fingers around her wrist. “You have your meeting at the stables. What time?”
Myka sighed, rolled over, and looked at the clock on her nightstand. “Shit. Now.” She completed the roll, sliding out from under Spike’s arm, and came up with her feet on the floor.
Spike got out behind her then closed his arms around her body. He pulled her back into him and kissed the top of her head.
They stood that way, swaying a little together, Myka closing her eyes to savor the warmth and strength of him at her back. If she could believe he’d be at her back all the time, watching over her, supporting her . . . her life would be as perfect as it could get.
Spike kissed her cheek then nuzzled her, hands coming up to cup her br**sts. He drew both ni**les gently between his fingers, and kissed her cheek again.
“Let’s get you there,” he said softly.
He stepped away, taking his blissful warmth with him, and gave her a little push on her butt to send her toward her bathroom. There, he proceeded to take a shower with her, soaping her entire body before they made love one more time against the tiled wall.
*** *** ***
Myka hastened into the dusty office at the stable yard, five minutes late, panting and hoping she didn’t look as though she’d had fantastic sex all night and again this morning. The rain had gone, clouds breaking up. In a few hours the city would look as though no rain had fallen on it at all.
The grim faces the other four trainers turned to her when she walked in told her that they neither noticed nor cared about her wild night, nor were they having a productive meeting with the stable owner.
The bottom line, the stable owner told Myka and the other trainers, was that he needed them to come up with half a million if they wanted to make a down payment and stop him negotiating with the developers. If they thought they could get him the money within a week or so, he’d wait, but he couldn’t afford to keep the stables open anymore. He needed a large influx of cash to pay his deceased father’s back debts and move on to more profitable ventures.
Half a million was a ton of money, and even pooling their efforts, the other trainers, all male, said they couldn’t cover it. Neither could Myka, whose savings consisted of some of her riding prizes in the past plus bonuses from owners happy that she’d helped them sell a horse for a good price.
Nowhere near enough to make a dent in five hundred grand. She could put her house up for sale, but considering the market nowadays, there was no guarantee she could sell it quickly, nor make enough even to cover what she still owed on the mortgage. All in all, a depressing meeting.
Spike waited for Myka at one of the outer corrals near her truck. He’d called his friend Ellison as soon as they’d finished showering, and Myka had heard relief in Spike’s voice when Ellison reported that all had been quiet in Shiftertown. Jordan had been up early demanding breakfast, and Dylan had actually cooked for them all.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for that,” Spike had growled when he’d hung up.
Now he was leaning on the top rail of the square corral, watching the two horses inside. Both were Quarter Horses that belonged to a wealthy businessman who paid Myka to make them winners. The gelding had retreated to the far end of the corral, keeping his rump against the bars, while he watched Spike. The mare had planted herself in the middle of the corral and was giving Spike the evil eye.