Hot Licks Read online

  Hot Licks

  by

  Jennifer Dellerman

  A cheating boyfriend causes Gwen Coultier to seek a position as a ranger for a family with a lot going on. An orchard, private forest reserve and a bed-and-breakfast make for a chaotic mix that keeps her on her toes, especially when strange things start to happen in the reserve.

  With the return of Rome, strange becomes seductive, and refraining from an intimate relationship with the boss's sexy son quickly becomes an impossibility.

  Leaving his job with the ATF, Rome Felix comes home to Olivia's Orchards, weary of hunting down psychotic prey. As a shifter, the only black jaguar in his family, he needs stability and room to roam, but when a tantalizing scent greets him at the front door, his plans change, and he begins a new and more erotic type of hunt. And since cats lick what they like, tasting every inch of his mate's body will be a sensual draw he won't ignore.

  Hot Licks

  by

  Jennifer Dellerman

  A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

  www.ravenousromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Dellerman

  Ravenous Romance

  100 Cummings Center

  Suite 123A

  Beverly, MA 01915

  Al rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-523-2

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental..

  Hot Licks

  by

  Jennifer Dellerman

  Chapter One

  Embedded in the soft earth was a footprint, nearly twice the size of the one made by the woman starring down at the impression through narrowed eyes so dark they were nearly black.

  “You don’t belong here.” Lifting her head, Gwen Coltier slowly surveyed her surroundings. The clearing she stood in encompassed approximately three acres with forest stretching out on all sides. An old wood and stone cabin rested in the center. Just to the north was one of Florida’s national parks. Several miles south lay the home of her employers, Melinda and Andreas Felix, and it was upon their property Gwen now stood, head cocked as she listened to the birds happily chirping around her, eyes sharp as she peered into the shadows of the trees.

  Gwen eyed the building again. Once upon a time it had been someone’s home, but now the boarded up windows, new metal door and padlock were all new additions to prevent squatters and poachers from using it as shelter.

  Both situations the owners had run into with increasing frequency over the last year, resulting in their need to hire help to canvas the forested area as well as keep an eye out for the safety of their guests. The uninvited ranged from the twolegged to the four-legged and came in all shapes and sizes. Most mornings Gwen started her day by driving the dirt road along the far eastern side of the estate, scanning the steel fencing that separated the alligator nesting grounds from the human occupants. From there she headed to the forest reserve, leaving one of the jeeps provided for the rangers’ use at the gated entrance. The rangers took guests on hikes through the forested area upon request, but no one was allowed to wander around the forest without a guide. It was too easy to get lost, even with the various marked trails, and definitely too dangerous for the novice when it came to snakes, poison ivy and everything else that inhabited the reserve.

  Checking the cabin was another part of the rounds when in this section of the reserve. After giving the padlock a good, hard yank, Gwen would circle the ten-foot tall structure, checking for any new damage or signs of habitation. The lower part was created from different sized stones snugly aligned to form a solid foundation. Half the roof had lost the fight against the elements long ago and several boards were loose, sagging or cracked, but the building remained upright.

  Gwen thought it should be razed. It wasn’t used for anything and posed more of a danger than anything else, but the owners had a sentimental attachment to it, for whatever reason, and so it was on the list of areas to check each time she, Dennis Bonet or James Eden entered the reserve.

  Gwen and James were true forest rangers, having left their government paid positions for the private sector when funding was cut. Dennis had been hired full-time at the beginning of summer, but now, in his final year of college in forestry services, he only worked the weekends, which coincided with James’ days off.

  Today, as every other day she’d come here for the last five months, nothing appeared disturbed, the cabin unchanged from her first visit out to the clearing with Porter, the youngest Felix son. Until she had walked to the back of the cabin.

  At least this was physical proof that something strange was going on in the reserve. A few months back Gwen had caught a glimpse of a jaguar, so deeply shadowed from the thick foliage that its bright orange and black coat seemed a mottled gray. That was something else that hadn’t belonged. Florida had its panthers, small with tan fur that lived within the many parks in the state, but not jaguars. The much larger cats preferred the rainforests in South America. The sight of such a beautiful anomaly had stunned her speechless, and then it was gone before she gathered enough wits together to snap a picture.

  Yet when she’d told Porter and the other rangers about the feline, she’d received a few scoffs, a lot of friendly teasing and, as the weeks passed without another sighting, some doubt as to what she’d seen. But this was different.

  The print was viable evidence.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t belong to a cat.

  She adjusted the strap of the shotgun that lay across her back and scanned the area once again. When assured nothing and nobody lay in wait, ready to pounce the second her back was turned, Gwen unclipped the cell phone from her belt, accessed the built in camera, and, using her own booted size eights for comparison, snapped some pictures. Following the direction of the toes, she walked slowly forward, scanning the ground for another print. She found one approximately six feet ahead. Bare. The five digits easy to make out, thanks both to the rain earlier in the week and the dug-in impression, as if the one making it had been running.

  It also meant whoever ran across the clearing did so within the last forty-eight hours, during or just after the rains, as the dried mud preserved the imprints.

  Suppressing a shudder, Gwen continued on, keeping her eyes on the trail and trying hard not to think how alone she was on the far north side of the former plantation now known as Olivia’s Orchard.

  Named after the owner’s grandmother, the property had been in the Felix family for generations and now belonged to Melinda and Andreas, a warm and friendly couple in their mid fifties. Stretching over thirty thousand acres, it budded against the gulf on the south, a national forest on the north and some swamp areas along the east.

  Then of course the reserve, which was nearly ten thousand acres of uninhibited, densely forested land.

  As its name indicated, Olivia’s Orchard grew large tracts of oranges, avocados and olive trees. The fruit was sold commercially, along with their orange juice and and olive oils. To add to the foot traffic on the property, the main house also served as a bed and breakfast.

  Erected with solid block, painted tan with dark green trim and rising three-stories, the main house was close to twelve thousand square feet and had been cleverly designed with rounded corners to combat the ocean winds.

  A divided wraparound balcony on the second floor afforded privacy, while the third floor had an open wraparound balcony. An indoor-outdoor pool, library and media/rec room were on one side of the first floor and available for guest use at any time. The kitchen, dining room, laundry facilities and separate living space for the
elderly couple that served as housekeeper and handyman took up the other half. The entire third story remained private for family-use.

  It was the second-story that housed the paying guests.

  The east side of the second floor held four rooms with private baths. Separate dorm room style male and female bathrooms serviced the guests staying in any of the five bedrooms on the west side of the second floor. The private beach, horseback riding, and deep sea fishing only added to the huge draw. Gwen had yet to see a single weekend go by without overnight guests.

  She knew because she lived at the main house.

  When Gwen had applied for the position she’d seen it as a way out of a sticky situation. If she couldn’t trust a cheating bastard as a boyfriend, she certainly wouldn’t ever be able to trust him as her boss. Spying the open position at the Orchards on the job board was the perfect solution.

  She’d had the choice of taking a large pay cut and stay in one of the larger guest rooms or taking a little pay cut and finding her own accommodations.

  After seeing the room, she opted for the larger pay cut.

  No way would she be able to find a furnished apartment – she’d had little left after moving out of Steven-the-cheater’s place – filled with comfortable furniture in neutral tones in both the bedroom and the small living area. She also had a kitchenette, a wonderful ocean view and didn’t need to worry about the cost of gas or the hassle of traffic. Adding that all together, the pay difference was negligible.

  Now that she was settled in and used to the hectic rhythm of the orchard/bed-and-breakfast, Gwen figured her life was just about perfect. Except for the alligators. And mysterious jaguars. And now strange footprints.

  From one end of the clearing to the other, Gwen counted seven alternating prints, approximately six feet apart. Spaced at easily twice her running stride, and at five feet seven inches, she wasn’t exactly petite. Whoever made these prints had to be at least seven feet tall. Or had really long legs.

  “Or,” she muttered as an irritating thought crossed her mind. “More likely, someone’s messing with me.”

  With a annoyed frown she realized Porter was probably screwing with her. Only a year younger than her own thirty years, Porter Felix exuded the smooth confidence of a much older male, with enough boyish charm to draw females to him in droves. That he was gorgeous and built like sin on a stick didn’t hurt either.

  The youngest of the four Felix children, though only two minutes behind his fraternal twin Delany, Porter was six-two with hair only a few shades lighter than her own pure black.

  Skin the luscious color of smooth, deep honey burnished like bronze in the sun, while her own gleamed like a copper penny mixed with cream thanks to her Native American grandmother. Thick lashes, a ridiculous waste on a male, brought attention to the deep brown of Porter’s eyes that were duplicates of his father’s.

  In fact, all four of the boys had inherited those mesmerizing eyes, height, masculine physique and droolworthy good looks from Andreas. Though Gwen had only met Porter and the oldest son, Santos, there were enough pictures scattered around the house and dotting the walls to show just how true the father’s gene’s reflected in each of his sons.

  Though each was disgustingly handsome in their own special way, none held a candle to the second son, Rome.

  At least to Gwen’s thinking. From the first time she’d seen a photo of him, even surrounded by his gorgeous brothers, Gwen had had difficulty tearing her eyes from his captured image, only to return again and again. Something that hadn’t changed in the months since her arrival. It was embarrassing, really. Too make things worse, when Melinda had told her with such joy that Rome was leaving his job with the ATF and coming home, Gwen had wanted to puke with nerves. Each day it grew worse, like she was a teenager with a crush on some Hollywood idol that she was about to meet.

  A long, sharp bird call broke into her thoughts and she shook her head at herself. She was mooning over some man she’d never met – again – while danger, or more likely a prankster, waited just around the corner.

  With a disgusted mental head slap, she sent Porter the photos she’d taken with a text telling him that if he wasn’t messing with her head they had a situation.

  Not two minutes later her phone rang. “So?”

  “Where are you?” Porter snapped out, so unlike his normal lazy drawl Gwen blinked around her in surprise before answering. “At the clearing in the reserve.”

  “And you’re not messing with me?”

  Gwen raised a hand in exasperation. “How in the world could I make those prints?” A pause came over the line followed by words too low to understand as if Porter were speaking with someone. “Hello? Porter?” She asked after several moments.

  “Yeah. I’m here. In which direction are the tracks heading?”

  Direction? She looked about, getting her bearings.

  “Northwest and they’re on the west side of the cabin.”

  “James with you?”

  “No. He went to check the west side in preparation for the hike tomorrow while I took the north.” Sweat gathered between her breasts as she stood under the full, late summer sun. Waiting for Porter’s response, she caught the front of her t-shirt between her fingers and flapped the material rapidly, trying for a fabric breeze.

  “Is the cabin secure?”

  She scanned the stone and wood, suddenly wondering if someone could possibly scale the wall, especially since Porter sounded as if he hadn’t made the prints. If that was the case, then she could very well be out here, alone, with a crazy man who ran around in the rain. Possibly naked. She blanched as an image of Bigfoot popped into her head.

  “Yes. Well, in that the padlock is in place and nothing appears to be tampered with.”

  Rustling and two slamming doors accompanied his next words. “You have a key, right?” The sound of an engine turning over.

  Gwen frowned. “Yes. What’s going on, Porter?”

  More murmuring. “I was about to tell you to get inside the cabin, but Rome pointed out the idiocy of that since the lock is on the outside, not inside. Talk about a brain lapse.”

  All the breath left her body and she actually felt lightheaded. “Rome?”

  “Yeah. He drove straight through and got home early.

  Not even an hour ago. We’re now on our way to you.”

  “To me?” Good Lord. Was that her voice all high and squeaky? She cleared it. “Why?”

  “It looks as if we have squatters.”

  “Barefoot squatters? Not real smart in the middle of a forest.” She told Porter, raising a hand to check the thick, single braid she habitually wore down her back was smooth. Realizing what she was doing, she shoved her hand in the front of her jeans and headed toward the cabin.

  “Unless they simply don’t have shoes to begin with.”

  Porter responded.

  “Surely there are easier places to squat than the middle of a forest if you don’t have any shoes.”

  “So maybe they lost their shoes.”

  “Porter? Seriously? Think about what you’re saying.”

  “And think about what you’re not saying. First there was the mysterious jaguar and now what? Bigfoot?”

  Gwen winced because, yeah, that had crossed her mind. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “We’ve just reached the gate. Call James and both of you head back. We’ll meet you in five minutes.”

  Five minutes? No way could they run, much less walk, the distance between the gate and the clearing where she stood in five minutes. It took twenty to walk, maybe ten at a jog, and that would be only for the surest of feet. Any faster along the uneven trail would be a disaster waiting to happen.

  “I’ll call him,” Gwen promised, eying the padlock. “But I want to check the cabin first.”

  “No. Just head back.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’m not a novice, Porter, and poachers and squatters are nothing new. I’ve had to deal with that and more in my eight
years as a ranger. You wouldn’t have hired me if I couldn’t take care of myself and your land.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  Static cut out the rest of Porter’s words and after calling his name a few times, Gwen hung up to dial James.

  “Where are you,” she asked when he picked up.

  “On my way to the clearing to pick you up. I don’t want to be late to Matt’s birthday party.”

  Oh yeah. Gwen could picture James’s big, ruddy face lighting up about the upcoming event. The man was married with three kids and his oldest was having a sleep over. And while she liked kids, wanted several of her own, eight fourteen year-old boys sounded a little daunting, but she knew James was excited. Matt was his only son and he doted on the boy.

  “Well hurry up. I found some footprints here and Porter’s on his way.”

  A soft chuckle came over the line. “Don’t suppose they’re jaguar.”

  Would the teasing ever stop? “No, smarty pants.

  Human. Barefoot.”

  James paused, all serious now. “Squatters?”

  “That’s what Porter believes.”

  “Barefoot, though. Strange.”

  “That’s what I say.”

  Brief silence that was filled with bird call from both sides of the line. “I’m just leaving the rock garden so I should be there in ten.”

  The rock garden was an odd assortment of massive boulders ranging from two to eight feet tall and lay in a much smaller clearing in the reserve. A few of the boulders were nice and flat along the top, making Gwen think, not for the first time, that they’d be a perfect place to stretch out on for a nap. When it wasn’t so sticky hot out that was.

  “Porter wants us to...”

  More static. Gwen looked down at her phone in exasperation. She’d rarely had problems before and now, within minutes, she’d had two dropped calls. Thinking they might need to start using the old walkies again, Gwen clipped her phone back and reached for her keys. Not having the chance to relay Porter’s order to James, she decided to wait for her fellow ranger, and check the inside of the cabin at the same time.