The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies--Chapter 5

“Vlad – I mean Ivan -- no, Vlad – stop wriggling! No, I – stop! And Ivan – or Vlad, or—hey! you shift back right this minute, young man!”

It wasn’t easy bathing three-year-old werewolves, especially when they wouldn’t stop shifting and you couldn’t tell them apart in either form. Buffi tried not to laugh as the boys giggled and growled and whooped, splashing water all over the bathroom and drenching their mother in the process.

All three of them froze at the sound of someone banging on the front door. The force of the blows seemed to rattle the walls.

“Buffi! BUFFI! Dammit, woman, open this door!”

The deep rich baritone echoed through the house, but it was almost drowned out by the pounding of her own heart. What was Rock---

“Aaaaooohhhh!”

Terrified by the pounding and yelling, the boys had both shifted into wolf form. Now they were howling, scrabbling and clawing at the sides of the bathtub, desperate for the safety of their mother’s arms.

How dare that arrogant, bloodsucking (hmmm…blood) jerk come back here after she’d already thrown him out? She had half a mind to shift and take a chunk out of his muscular thigh. Or his rock hard abs. Or maybe his steel bicep—

“BUFFI!”

With a few choice words she shouldn’t use in front of her children, Buffi turned off the water and pulled the drain plug. She squelched down the stairs with a puppy under each arm, a trail of water dripping behind her, and all the time Rock was banging and yelling.

She dropped the boys in the kitchen. “Sit! Stay!” Then she ran to the front door, nearly ripping it off the hinges when she opened it.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Rock Fangsworthy?”

He stood frozen in mid-knock, his fist in the air. The vein in his jaw throbbed. She repressed a shiver as she recalled the way she used to love running her tongue across it.

No! Down, girl!

She put her hands on her hips and glared, waiting for him to say something. But he only stared. At her. His blue eyes, glinting like cold diamonds, bored into….

With a dismayed gasp she looked down. Her soaking wet t-shirt clung to her body like she was a sorority girl in a Cancun bar at spring break.

Why hadn’t she put on a bra this morning?

Buffi looked up again. Rock’s eyes roamed over her body, greedily devouring every inch of her. She knew he could read the helpless need in her eyes, see the lust in her face, and she shivered at the thought of those strong, cold hands on her hot willing flesh once more.

Without a word he crossed the threshold --- Damn it! Why hadn’t she revoked his invitation? -- and seized her by the arms, pulling her to him roughly. She could fight him if she wanted to but, to her shame, she didn’t want to. She loved the feel of his hard, cold body next to hers again. Raising her arms to push him away, she found herself instead clutching at his shirt as she whispered weakly, “What are you doing here, Rock?”

“Why did you do it, Buffi? Why?” His voice was rough with anger, and need, and….and…pain?

Oh God, he knew about the boys!

****

He’d meant to rage, to roar, to scare the hell out of her, but then he touched her. Like a fool he touched her and once he touched her, he couldn’t stop touching her. The years fell away. For a moment he could forget she’d hired someone to kill him. He was a moth to her flame, a marshmallow to her campfire, a redneck to her bottle rocket, and all he could feel, all he could think about, was her hot little body pressing into his.

Like a drowning man who opens his mouth to let the water claim him, he lowered his head to hers. He growled with pleasure at the first taste of her honeyed lips. She rewarded him with a sweet moan, her arms going around his waist. Tongues thrust and parried and darted and sucked as hands roamed and caressed and delved and teased.

“Buffi,” he groaned into her hair.

“Oh, Rock,” she whispered against his chest.

“Grr,” came a voice by his feet.

“Shit!” he roared, instinctively kicking away the knife he imagined was buried in his leg. From the corner of his eye he saw two black bundles of fur go flying.

Buffi screamed and raced across the room to her dogs.

No, not dogs – children. By the time Buffi knelt on the floor beside them, the dogs had turned into boys – two little boys with black hair. He couldn’t judge their ages – the little beasts all looked the same to him.

“My babies!” Buffi sobbed. “Are you all right?” When she saw that they were fine, she whirled on him with a mighty snarl.

“You! You-- arrogant, thoughtless, coldblooded, dead son of a bitch!”

The inferno of her maternal fury scorched him like the heat of a thousand suns. Yet even as he was infuriated by her furiousness, still he was aroused by the force of her wild beauty. No one could inflame his loins like this furry temptress.

But his pride would never let him show it.

“Whose are they?” he roared. “Who’s their father? How long did you wait? Did you go straight to someone else’s bed from mine?”

She gaped at him speechlessly. He laughed mirthlessly.

“You’re just like every other woman, aren’t you? I should’ve known – you never loved me! You forgot me the minute we were through – and now you want me dead!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she scoffed as she angrily tossed her head. He couldn’t decide what he wanted more – to wring her lovely neck or bury his face in that fragrant blond silk. “I don’t care enough about you to want you dead!”

She was lying – he could see it in her eyes. Her mind might not want him, but her body remembered the passion they shared. He could hear her heart pounding, see the fire in her eyes, smell her excitement. His little lupine spitfire might hate him, but she still wanted him.

“Oh no?” he chuckled. “Prove it, Buffi. Prove you don’t want me!”

***

With the lightening speed of his kind, he swept her into his arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. His mouth took hers once more, and they were engulfed in the flames of their desire.

“How can I do this?” she raged to herself. “And in front of my babies!”

But she’d never been able to resist Rock Fangsworthy, and she could never regret the bliss they’d shared, not when it had given her those two precious gifts.

No, she’d never let Rock know the twins were his – never! – but she couldn’t deny herself the pleasures of his powerful embrace, the sweetness of his cold, cold kisses. As she let herself be swept away by the storm of their passion, all she could think was “God, I hope the boys shift again cause this could really mess them up!”

To be continued...Chapter Six

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