Tropical Holiday Tails - Zoe Chant Page 0,5

they don’t mix.” Tom patted his pockets and came up with a cigarette, which he lit.

“That’s disgusting,” Julie said. “You know I hate it.”

“I hate you thinking you couldn’t do better than that vain, shallow jerk,” Tom retorted.

“He’s not shallow,” Julie protested. “And you don’t have to protect me.”

She couldn’t have said why she was so sure…something about the way he looked at her. He spoke a little slowly, like someone struggling through layers of language might…or someone who was as dizzy with unexpected desire as she was.

She wanted to kiss him, to peel him out of his loud, too-new clothing and see what the muscles he wasn’t shy about sharing on the beach and pool deck felt like under her fingers. But to her surprise, more than that, she wanted to find out why he read Russian, and what Sweden was like and even how long he’d been playing hockey.

They were at the door of the hotel and Tom paused to take another long drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out and throwing the butt into the trash can. “How could you know that he’s your mate? I mean, I get that he’s good-looking, but...”

“I don’t know,” Julie said, over her caribou’s protests. “It’s confusing. Overwhelming. But I’ve never felt like this. My caribou is so sure. And…” she wasn’t going to talk about the rest of what she felt with her brother. “I just think so,” she finished lamely.

Tom looked at her, and not even the darkness could hide his guilt or his anger. “You’ve thought someone was right for you before,” he reminded her, like a knife in the side. “You even said he might be your mate.”

Julie had no answer for that, unable to articulate how different this was.

Tom shook his head as he opened the hotel door. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. I have no desire to sleep through one of the resort’s amazing breakfasts.”

Julie followed him without comment, turning the book in her hands as she went.

She slept with it under her pillow that night, and dreamed of what she imagined Russia looked like.

Tom lay awake, listening to Julie’s steady breath, until dawn started to color the sky. Leaving her to her sleep, he dressed silently and crept out of their little hotel room and down the hall.

He didn’t believe in mates, not really. It seemed like a fairy tale, something for gullible shifters or a story for children because it was too hard to explain desire. But Julie’s face haunted him; it was the first time she had looked truly happy in longer than he could remember. Whether Lars was her mate or not, Tom was going to find out more about him before he had a chance to hurt his sister.

It was impossible not to know where Lars was staying; his cottage was the first one off the main path, and his porch was not as well screened in greenery as most of the others. He seemed to enjoy sitting out, sunning himself vainly, and had already started developing a deep, glowing tan.

Tom looked down at his own arms. He’d been cautious about sunning, given his starting pallor, but was developing stubborn color. In the early light, it looked pretty pathetic.

He froze at an unexpected sound from behind the hedge. It was a familiar sound, but not one he expected here. It was…munching.

Tom peered around the gate that led to Lars door and confirmed his suspicion. A moose was standing in the tiny yard in front of Lars’s cottage, chewing viciously at the foliage, its gawky, giant shape utterly unmistakable even without the distinctive antlers.

As Tom watched, aghast, the huge moose shifted back into the hockey player, and bent put on the robe that had been lying on the grass as Tom ducked back out of sight.

Tom retreated quietly, trying to make sense of this.

Lars was a bear…supposedly.

And if he wasn’t a bear, what else might he be lying about?

He wanted his sister to be happy; she deserved every joy in the world, and he’d be cursed if he was going to let some conceited, untrustworthy foreign jerk break her heart. He’d already let her get hurt once, there was no way he was going to do it again.

Lars was tired of pretending.

He was tired of pretending that he was comfortable with his money and his new clothes. He was tired of pretending he was a predator. He was tired of pretending not to stare at Julie.

He was just