Shifter Scrooge, page 3
Shit. Striker was so not going there. Focusing on the past just wasn’t his bag. He wasn’t the only guy out there with a sob story, and he sure as hell wasn’t into wallowing in memories of his sometimes sad childhood.
Truth was, his father had checked out on him before he was born, and his mother too often relied on the kindness of strangers to really give a shit about her only son. She hated taking care of him and often complained about his crybaby tantrums. But Striker was no sniveling boy now.
He was a man. A Shifter. A motherfucking Siberian Tiger Shifter, at that. He didn’t need anyone or thing. Especially not a bunch of fucked up memories during the most overrated holiday season of them all.
He snarled at the twinkle lights decorating the mantle inside the cabin, but made no efforts to remove them. Striker just thanked fuck they were the only ones inside. He could always just shut them off, he figured.
Heaving a sigh, he stretched his enormous body, working out the kinks from driving for so many hours, then checking the grounds before he’d settled in. But he was making up for that now. Being fit was a way of life, like with most Shifters, but for Striker, even more so. His time in service meant he took his physical fitness very fucking seriously.
He was a trained killer. A natural one, too. But there were things instinct and brute strength couldn't account for. It was up to him to make sure he kept himself in prime shape. Sure, a few of the guys had laughed their fucking heads off when they saw him doing his morning and evening yoga routines, but once he handed them their asses on the training mats, that shit had stopped real quick.
Striker exhaled slowly as he turned and bent into a low lunge. Balancing his six foot seven-inch frame with its two hundred and ninety-eight pounds of hard muscle was not an easy feat, but after a dozen years of practicing, he was an expert. He had just closed his eyes when a loud knock on the door shook him from his reverie.
The fuck? He flicked his gaze to the monitors he’d set up on the counter so he could easily keep track of the outdoor surveillance system. A small, crappy looking hatchback had somehow pulled in behind his own suped up SUV without him noticing. Frowning, he stood up and walked over to the image in front of the camera by the door.
“Are you shitting me?” he growled, noting the enormous stack of boxes and bags the intruder was holding, blocking the camera’s view.
“Hello? Lena?” a feminine voice called.
Fuck. Striker pulled the door open just as the unwanted visitor leaned over to knock again. Wind blasted snow right in his face and he was momentarily blinded, but that wasn’t why his head was suddenly filled with the roar of thunder. The scent of gingerbread and cinnamon, and something else warm and delicious, invaded his nostrils, making him dizzy. Striker had no time to adjust, he was bowled over before he took his next breath.
Crash! Boom! Grunt! Moan!
Rrrrr.
What the shit was happening right now?
Striker was barely aware of the deep growl coming from his chest, where a pair of decidedly feminine hands clutched at his shirt. He shook his head trying to get the snow out of his damn face so he could see, but he was loathed to let go of the soft, warm person he was holding.
Feels good. Let’s bite her.
Wait. What? No!
Striker’s Tiger was talking too loudly in his head for him to do anything more than squint as the snow melted in his eyes, freezing the damn sockets.
“Ouch fuck!”
“Let me help,” the female whispered, and more of that gingerbread scent wafted into his nostrils.
Rrrrr.
Striker froze as he felt something soft rubbing at his face. Taking stock of what happened in a moment’s notice wasn’t too hard for him, after all, he’d been trained to do that kind of thing. So, what happened was he’d pulled the door open, and this female stranger fell on him. Literally.
She’d flattened him to the ground under what felt like a deliciously plump body. The packages she’d been holding were spread out everywhere, and even though her yelp had momentarily deafened him, like the snow that had blinded him, he couldn’t argue that she felt nice all snuggled up on his half-naked body.
“Oopsies! Gosh, I am sorry. The snow is all clear now. Anyway, um, hi, Keet—wait, you’re not Keeton,” the woman said, her enormous hazel eyes so wide he thought he’d drown in them.
Jealousy filled him for a split second before he shook his head and cleared that green-eyed bastard out. Striker stared at the stranger, completely stunned. Who was she? Why did she look familiar?
“No. I’m not Keeton,” he grumbled.
“Oh! You’re that friend of his, right? We met at Matty’s name day ceremony,” she said, mentioning Keeton’s youngest.
“Did we?” he asked, eyebrows shooting sky high.
Truth was, he might have met the little troublemaker, but he couldn’t think straight at the moment. Not with all his blood rushing to a certain part of him that was growing long and hard beneath his sweats.
“Yeah, I think we did. Oh,” she started, eyes going wide.
Fuck. She must have felt his unavoidable boner. Striker didn’t do blushes, but he was damn well certain his face was flaming right then.
Damn. Damn. DAMN.
“Great, lady, can you get off me now?” he growled in a pretty damn unfriendly voice.
“Sure. Oh, um, pardon me. Sorry,” she mumbled.
The woman flattened her hands against his chest and abs as she wiggled her curvy little body down his until her feet found the floor. Holy fuck. Every single nerve ending was on high alert and Striker could have sworn his fucking Tiger purred at every touch and slide of her fluffy little frame.
The stranger smelled like gingerbread spices and cozy evenings by the fire. Not unpleasant fragrances at all. Her cheeks had turned a bright red as she awkwardly petted his naked chest. Using his body for leverage, she continued to mutter apologies as she pushed back onto her knees.
“Dammit. I knew I should’ve worn boots,” she muttered as her feet slipped on the now wet entryway.
The hardwood floors were highly polished and maintained, and the melting snow only added to that. Striker grabbed her elbows before she flopped forward again, his attention trained on the fascinating creature. She smiled her thanks, tipping sideways a bit before he righted her.
“Easy,” he growled and pulled her back before she could topple them both once more.
Of course, that meant she was kneeling between Striker’s now splayed legs, a position he was suddenly very interested in.
Wait. What? Fuck. No.
He wasn’t looking for complications of any kind and this woman in her—was she wearing an Elf costume, oh hell no—was definitely an unwanted complication. He growled and went about getting them both off the floor with perfunctory movements.
“Oh! Thanks,” she smiled and gasped as she regained her balance. Her smile almost knocked him backwards, but he shook it off and pointed at her.
“Wow, I made such a mess. I am so sorry—” she started before he could even get a word in, but he was having none of that.
“Look lady, who the hell are you?” he snapped, not liking his beast’s sudden interest in the woman.
His blood started to boil, and not with anger, but with something far worse. He felt his pulse speed up and his dick grow hard again beneath the thin pair of sweats he wore for his workout. Fuck. This wouldn’t do at all.
Finally, she stopped groping around the floor for her boxes, showcasing her perfectly round ass, and Striker rolled his eyes to the heavens. He turned around, giving his balls a quick pinch before turning back to help her get her shit, er, stuff, together.
One thing was certain, he needed her gone. Like now. And Striker sure as hell didn’t need to be sporting a woody when he told the little Elf groupie to scram.
Chapter Three
Needing to create some space between them, he pushed one bag at her and moved away. Yeah, it was fucking rude that instead of helping her with her shit, he just watched as she bent over in that ridiculous get up and straightened her bags and boxes, giving him another spectacular view of her very round, sumptuous assets.
Let’s bend her over the couch, see if she wants to go riding on our one Tiger sleigh. Wonder if she likes it fast and rough or slow and deep.
He slapped his face to stop the naughty images running through his head of this naughty Elf bucking wildly against him, his cock buried deep into her gingerbread scented love box.
Love box? What the fuck?
He slapped himself on the cheek, earning him a quizzical stare, which he studiously ignored. He wished she would just stand up already, but of course, when she straightened, his gaze went right to her firm, ripe breasts.
Damn. Damn. DAMN.
“Well, hello. Sorry about squashing you. I’m Bea,” she said, her eyes bright and a cheerful smile on her face.
Striker was put out to see she was pretty. And he didn’t mean that in any pervy stalkerish way, she was just genuinely pretty. Her skin was smooth, and her lips plump. She had a straight nose that was wider at the end and a cute little overbite. Her pajamas aside, she was very nice looking. The strange woman held out her hand to shake his, but Striker did not dare touch her.
“B what?” he asked instead, going for rude.
“Not B like the letter. Bea like the name. Well, my full name is Beatrix Annmarie Constance Gallo. I know it’s a mouthful. My family is mostly Italian and giving our kids ridiculously long names is like our thing. You know, I tried to go by Trixie for a while, but my Mom said it made me sound like a poodle and not a person, anyway, so it’s Bea now. Just Bea.”
She faced him, hands full of all her brightly decorated holiday crap, smiling at Striker like they’d known each other for years, and fuck if that smile didn’t damn near blind him. His chest rumbled again, and Bea’s smile faltered as she cast around for the source of that sound. She was definitely human, and it was obvious she had no clue who or what he was.
Show her, his beast suggested, and Striker frowned even harder.
“You’re right,” he answered. “That was a mouthful.”
“I know, right?” she replied, good-naturedly. “So, where is everyone?”
“Not here, Beatrix Annmarie Constance Gallo, which is exactly where you should be.”
He could sense her pleasure at his recalling of her full name, and Striker frowned. Not like he would forget it with his steel trap of a memory, but still. He shouldn’t encourage the little human. He needed her out of there. Like now.
“But I am here,” she replied, her expression curiously confused.
“But you shouldn’t be,” he countered, running his hand over his face, and trying for patience.
It wasn’t her fault she’d stumbled into his little getaway from Christmas mission at Keeton’s place. The woman had no idea he was there, so it wasn’t a trap or anything. Still. He needed her gone.
“Look, I am sorry you missed your cousin and her family. But like I said, they aren’t here, and you need to leave.”
“Oh no! I can’t believe I missed her,” she replied, biting her lower lip in a sexy little pout Striker wasn’t even sure she knew made her look cute as fuck.
“Yeah. Too bad. You’ll catch her next Christmas. See ya,” he growled, opening the front door, but the little whirlwind blew past him and dropped her things on the counter.
“Well, what about you?” she asked, turning to face him.
“What about me what?”
“Why are you here all alone on the Christmas Eve Eve?” the woman asked, her bright eyes zeroed in on him.
Fuck, she was pretty. But what the hell was she saying?
“Christmas what what?”
Striker scratched his head. The human woman was a one of those holiday nuts, he figured, taking in her garb and the scent of gingerbread and holiday spice that clung to her. Her being there was so not a good idea.
Rrrrr.
“Christmas Eve Eve,” she repeated slowly.
“Okaayy. Well, I’m watching the place.”
“Oh, I see. So you have family coming to meet you here, then?” she asked.
Striker scoffed. Family? Him? She was nuttier than a fruitcake if she thought he looked like a family man.
The idea has merit. We can be family. To her. Let’s bite her, his Tiger growled.
STFU.
“No,” he replied quickly.
“No?”
“No, I have no family,” he growled.
“Oh, that’s too bad! But you’re Lena’s friend, so that kind of makes you family,” she said, using some crazy Christmas Elf groupie logic he supposed.
“I am not Lena’s anything,” he grunted, gathering her things back up off the counter and attempting to steer her to the entryway.
“Keeton’s then?” she asked, shrugging him off and taking her things back to the counter.
“Look, I am not anyone’s friend or family. And, well, it was weird meeting you Bea, but you should go before the snow starts falling in earnest,” he shouted.
Fuck. What was this little troublemaker doing to him? He had to actually pause before he accidentally said he was a friend of Keeton’s. And he knew that wasn’t true. They’d been on the same team. That didn’t make them friends. Or family. No. That was ludicrous.
The Tiger chuffed and purred mournfully, and Striker snarled at the silly beast. Two seconds with this woman and he was acting like he was starved for affection or something. Maybe he was just horny. He could order an escort, but no, the Tiger dismissed the notion with a threatening growl. He didn’t want anyone touching him, except maybe her.
Trouble. She is nothing but trouble.
“Ooh, it is coming down hard, isn’t it? Look, friend of Keeton’s—”
“My name is Striker,” he told her, backing up another step when she moved towards him.
What was she, a witch or something? His Tiger tasted the air, sensing no magic, and yet, the little minx had finagled his name out of him with hardly any effort. Striker had no intention of telling her anything. He just wanted her out of the suddenly too small cabin.
His beast chuffed, the Tiger increasingly agitated, but whether from her closeness or his thoughts, he could not be sure. She was dangerous, this curvy little human. She made his Tiger curious, and that was never a good thing.
“Striker,” she repeated to herself, as if committing it to memory before flashing her green moss and gold-colored eyes at him.
Bea extended her hand, a smile on her face again, big, warm, and inviting.
“Nice to meet you, Striker.”
“We already met,” he muttered, looking at her hand as if it were a live wire.
“I know, but since we are going to be spending the holiday together, I just thought it was prudent we were formally introduced.”
She shrugged and turned around, looking through her bags and boxes. She bumped into one of the monitors he’d put there to watch the security feed, and he stepped forward to right it before it fell. The woman was a disaster and totally oblivious to the fact.
She was shrugging out of her jacket, humming carols, and Striker stopped what he was doing and just watched her move with confidence and ease, as if he wasn’t a trained killer with a lethal half ton beast lurking inside him. Not that she knew about that part.
Five minutes later, he was still standing there like a total idiot before he realized she was making herself at home.
“Hey, didn’t you hear me? The snow really is coming down hard now. You need to leave. Sorry Lena isn’t here, but I will tell her you dropped by.”
“Oh no, I heard you, but you see, I kinda didn’t notice till I was already up the mountain that I was running on fumes, so unless you have an extra can of gas beneath those gray sweatpants of yours,” she replied, biting her lip after she mumbled that last part.
Striker looked down at his sweats. Yeah, they were gray. But so what? This woman was speaking another language. He shook his head as her words finally sunk into his thick skull.
“What?” he exploded. “Why the hell did you block me in if you had no gas?”
“Oh, um, actually, I didn’t think about that.”
Bea frowned, biting her lower lip. Striker’s Tiger scratched his insides up, angry at him for being short with the female. But what the heck was she doing barging in on his solitude with her Elf jammies and curves and that ridiculously adorable pout?
He did not know this woman from Eve, and she was already fucking with his hard-earned inner equilibrium. No way. This was not going to work for him. Like at all. He needed to hustle her cute jingle bell wearing butt on out of there.
Yes. her Elf outfit did in fact have a little tie in the back with half a dozen silver bells hanging from it, giving the woman her very own holiday soundtrack every time she moved those gorgeous hips of hers, for fuck’s sake.
“I am so sorry. My friends are always telling me how flighty I am, but I guess I just figured by the time I noticed the gas was gone that Keeton would have some around here somewhere. Lena always talks about how prepared her husband always is. But you aren’t him, and I guess you don’t have any,” she mumbled. “Oh well, I’m sure we can figure it all out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But that means you have to stay here. Overnight,” he emphasized, ignoring the way his animal chuffed happily at the idea.
“Yep. But no worries, I know all sorts of ice breaker games we can play—”
“I don’t play games,” he growled.
“Oh, well, we can just talk then—”
“Do I look like I like to sit around and chit chat like a fucking girl?” he growled, wincing at his own use of the curse word.
Oh well. If Bea wanted to have a playdate with him, like they were fucking toddlers, then she should know who she was dealing with, right?
Rrrrr.
“You’re right. So no games, no chatter, but you are a guy, right? Guys are always hungry and for some reason you don’t gain a pound no matter what you eat,” she murmured.
“What?” he asked, but she wasn’t even speaking to him anymore while she mumbled and chewed her lip.
