Spike watched her face fall as she spoke, and his anger stirred at this nameless, faceless owner. “Can you go to another stable? Move your horses?”

“I don’t own the horses. Their owners send them to me, and I train them, show them, help sell them if that’s what wanted. I’d have to find another stable willing to hire me on or rent me the space, and owners are very, very picky about where they send their expensive, prize-winning horses. Me and the other trainers are trying to buy the place ourselves, but the price is too high. A corporation can cough up much more than underpaid trainers.”

“How high?”

“Seven figures.” Myka sighed again. “That’s why I have to go home. Tomorrow we’re going to meet with the owner and offer him at least a down payment if he’ll reconsider selling to us. Then try to get a loan for the rest.”

“Mmm.”

“I know, not as exciting as Shifter fights or chasing Jordan around, but it’s important, and I have to get some real sleep so I can be coherent at the meeting.”

Spike didn’t want her to go. He relaxed around Myka, opening up like he’d never opened up to anyone, and he liked that she was opening up to him. She listened to him—really listened. Then she thought about what he’d said and told him her true opinion, which was screw Liam and Gavan both and do what Spike thought best for himself.

Spike closed his fingers around her shoulder, her skin like warm roses. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Goddess, he was begging again. Myka’s eyes shone in the moonlight, which turned the blue of them light and beautiful.

“To check on Jordan? Sure.”

“Yeah, to check on Jordan,” Spike said. And to talk to me. I don’t care what we say. I talk to you, and I feel strong.

Spike moved his touch to her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw to turn her face to his. He closed his other arm around her, leaned down, and kissed her.

The spark of the kiss ignited his blood and tightened in his body. He stroked fingertips across the softness of her cheek, tasted the heat of her lips. Her mouth responded to his, a hunger that matched his own.

Spike slid his hand down to Myka’s tank top, perfect for the day’s warmth but too light now for the midnight chill. He skimmed his palm over her breast, finding her nipple tight behind the thin fabric. Spike closed two fingers around the bud, tugging.

Myka put a hand on his wrist. “No, I really have to go,” she whispered.

She let out a soft moan, however, when Spike slid off the swing and to his knees, catching the tight nipple in his mouth through the fabric. Myka closed her hand around the back of his neck, fingers playing in the buzz of his hair.

Spike drew the nipple between his teeth. She would taste better without the shirt, but he was giving her time, easing her in gradually. Shifters could be rough, and Myka wouldn’t be used to it.

So why did he want to be so incredibly gentle with her?

When Spike finally released her, Myka’s breath was coming fast, her lips parted and moist. Spike caught that moisture on his tongue, cupped her cheek, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded, silent, eyes fixed on him.

Spike had to help her up out of the swing, then he walked her from the porch, his arm around her, to where she’d parked her pickup on the street. A sleek black F150, very nice.

Spike drew Myka into his arms one more time and kissed the plump sweetness of her mouth. “Promise?” he said.

“Yes.” Myka rose on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips damp and warm, small tongue darting along the seam of his mouth.

Spike guided her up into the truck. Myka landed on the seat, her fingers shaking as she slid the key into the ignition.

He shut the door for her. “Tell me how it goes tomorrow,” he said through the open window.

She nodded again and started up the truck. Spike stepped back, making himself let her go.

Myka raised her hand to him, put the truck in gear, and eased away from the curb, the engine loud in the silence of the street. Myka’s taillights burned red, then she turned a corner and was gone.

Spike’s heart went suddenly as empty as the street.

From his vantage point, alone in the darkness, he clearly saw the smaller vehicle emerge from deeper shadows and follow in Myka’s wake.

Spike didn’t recognize the car. He knew all vehicles around Shiftertown—who the hell was that?

He came alert with white-hot fury. Spike snatched out his cell phone and punched numbers as he ran for his motorcycle.

“Ellison,” he said when the phone clicked on the other end. “Watch my house for a while, will you?”

“What?” came Ellison’s sleep-clogged voice. “Hey, a wolf needs some shuteye once in awhile.”

“Just do it. I have to go, and I don’t want Jordan unguarded.” He hesitated, fixing his gaze on the corner where the car had disappeared. “Please.”

“Whoa.” Ellison came fully awake. “Did you just say please? Must be something bad.”

“It is. Get here.”

“Sure thing, friend. Want me to call Dylan too?”

“That’d be good. Thanks.” Spike clicked off the phone to Ellison’s startled exclamation that Spike was saying thank you, and started up his bike.

*** *** ***

Spike caught up to Myka and the car that followed her when they both turned out of Shiftertown. Spike rode as quietly as he could, without his headlight, until they turned onto a main thoroughfare.