Hot Licks

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

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.