Read Online Drawing Deep by Jennifer Dellerman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Dellerman
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twinkled brightly in the clear sky, the moon only a sliver. Not enough illumination for whoever it was to see without the flashlight bobbing in their hand.
Because of the jaguar’s night vision, Santos could easily tell who was digging around the debris from the pit that had been hauled and dumped in the open area behind his home. He’d grumbled at the time, considering the pile of dirt, stones and wood an unnecessary eyesore, one that should have gone straight to the dump or reclaimed for some other use, but the outline of a slender figure with a backside that made his palms itch to touch and knead as she bent over to pick something up made him glad he’d been overruled.
Feral satisfaction purred in his chest. Ria.
Wasting no time, he stalked over to the dresser and yanked on a pair of faded jeans, taking care as he tucked his semi-arousal into the button fly. Once again his body responded to Ria as if it had a mind of its own. Santos was far from a young lad with no control over his raging libido, so when his cock twitched with interest, he new something was up.
No pun intended.
Socks and boots followed, after which he entered the huge walk-in closet, mostly empty, and donned a long-sleeve shirt, topped by a soft brown, cable-knit sweater.
Back in the bathroom, he pulled his hair into a tail that reached to his shoulder blades. A quick look in the mirror showed faint stubble he would scrape off in the morning. Maybe. After all, it was the weekend, and since Rome was taking the boat out tomorrow, Santos had no reason to interact with the guests. He could hang back at the orchards and get some work done in the office. While they had a sharp assistant to handle the majority of the paperwork, it was end of the month, and there were always reports to go over. Not to mention the temperamental equipment he babied.
Santos rubbed a hand over his jaw, thinking that with the end of the month, his mom and Annie would start taking down the fall decorations and begin putting up the Christmas ones. They wouldn’t do it while the house was teeming with guests, but come Monday, when the place would be close to empty, the women would be in a flurry of motion. From experience, Santos knew all the Felix men would be drawn into the craziness, if only to keep their mom from climbing onto the roof of the three-story house to hang lights, or Annie from lifting the heavy golden urns they put on the front stoop with poinsettias so realistic looking that people had to touch them to feel if they were real.
Which was the reason they were fake.
Then of course there was the mistletoe his mom hung in various locations all over the place. It made him think of shadowed alcoves and deep, wet, hot kisses with a woman who’d infiltrated his nights and haunted his days. It also made him think of the other males that lived and worked at the orchards stealing those kisses from him.
An acute wave of possessiveness flooded his senses at the idea, his hands curling into fists. No. He couldn’t think about that. He was too on edge, the dangerous need in him eager to punish those that might – even if only in his head – take away what he believed belonged to him.
Controlling? Oh, yeah. As an alpha jaguar shifter, it was an ingrained trait. Instinctive. Without a strong woman to stand up to them – one who loved, not hated – the road to increased selfishness and arrogance spilled wide open.
Steps sure and light in the unlit house, he made his way down the stairs and to the sliding glass door in the kitchen, halting to watch Ria unobserved. He had a moment to question whether Ria was strong enough to take him on, a worry that snaked into his head and wouldn’t let go. Because if she truly was as timid as a rabbit, his cat would devour her.
Cognizant of that very possibility, Santos refrained from flicking on the outside light, not wanting her to bolt before he got closer. At the same time, he approached her with enough noise to wake the dead.
Because of the jaguar’s night vision, Santos could easily tell who was digging around the debris from the pit that had been hauled and dumped in the open area behind his home. He’d grumbled at the time, considering the pile of dirt, stones and wood an unnecessary eyesore, one that should have gone straight to the dump or reclaimed for some other use, but the outline of a slender figure with a backside that made his palms itch to touch and knead as she bent over to pick something up made him glad he’d been overruled.
Feral satisfaction purred in his chest. Ria.
Wasting no time, he stalked over to the dresser and yanked on a pair of faded jeans, taking care as he tucked his semi-arousal into the button fly. Once again his body responded to Ria as if it had a mind of its own. Santos was far from a young lad with no control over his raging libido, so when his cock twitched with interest, he new something was up.
No pun intended.
Socks and boots followed, after which he entered the huge walk-in closet, mostly empty, and donned a long-sleeve shirt, topped by a soft brown, cable-knit sweater.
Back in the bathroom, he pulled his hair into a tail that reached to his shoulder blades. A quick look in the mirror showed faint stubble he would scrape off in the morning. Maybe. After all, it was the weekend, and since Rome was taking the boat out tomorrow, Santos had no reason to interact with the guests. He could hang back at the orchards and get some work done in the office. While they had a sharp assistant to handle the majority of the paperwork, it was end of the month, and there were always reports to go over. Not to mention the temperamental equipment he babied.
Santos rubbed a hand over his jaw, thinking that with the end of the month, his mom and Annie would start taking down the fall decorations and begin putting up the Christmas ones. They wouldn’t do it while the house was teeming with guests, but come Monday, when the place would be close to empty, the women would be in a flurry of motion. From experience, Santos knew all the Felix men would be drawn into the craziness, if only to keep their mom from climbing onto the roof of the three-story house to hang lights, or Annie from lifting the heavy golden urns they put on the front stoop with poinsettias so realistic looking that people had to touch them to feel if they were real.
Which was the reason they were fake.
Then of course there was the mistletoe his mom hung in various locations all over the place. It made him think of shadowed alcoves and deep, wet, hot kisses with a woman who’d infiltrated his nights and haunted his days. It also made him think of the other males that lived and worked at the orchards stealing those kisses from him.
An acute wave of possessiveness flooded his senses at the idea, his hands curling into fists. No. He couldn’t think about that. He was too on edge, the dangerous need in him eager to punish those that might – even if only in his head – take away what he believed belonged to him.
Controlling? Oh, yeah. As an alpha jaguar shifter, it was an ingrained trait. Instinctive. Without a strong woman to stand up to them – one who loved, not hated – the road to increased selfishness and arrogance spilled wide open.
Steps sure and light in the unlit house, he made his way down the stairs and to the sliding glass door in the kitchen, halting to watch Ria unobserved. He had a moment to question whether Ria was strong enough to take him on, a worry that snaked into his head and wouldn’t let go. Because if she truly was as timid as a rabbit, his cat would devour her.
Cognizant of that very possibility, Santos refrained from flicking on the outside light, not wanting her to bolt before he got closer. At the same time, he approached her with enough noise to wake the dead.
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