Just One Taste Part 21

Ben had gone through a very dry spell since he was cut from his team. It was always easy to find girls on the road-all those baseball movies were mostly true-and he knew how to rein himself in and not scratch some poor Baseball Annie to death.

But living in a boarding school did not present the smorgasbord of sensual delights he'd once taken for granted. And the chance to be himself-to not hold any part of him back with others such as he-would be a novelty. n.o.body'd get freaked out if they got nicked and bitten some. In fact, they'd expect it.

Didn't that beat all. Ben Cooper guessed he was really a virgin. He'd had more than his share of pretty human girls-anyone as pretty as he was himself was bound to score-but never had encountered another cat in all his travels. It was time he stopped denying who he was, what he was. For two weeks he was going to experience everything he'd refused to consider as he tried to be "normal."

He looked in his rear view mirror. A charmingly freckled redhead sat behind the wheel of the parked car, her long fingernails tapping impatiently. As the ferry clipped through the waves, the cars s.h.i.+fted some. His senses were on full alert now. She was no islander's wife, coming home from the mainland with a week's worth of groceries. She was a cat on vacation.

When the ferry b.u.mped into the pen, Ben felt a thrill. The air was perfumed with beach roses and salt water. A flotilla of lobster boats was moored at the landing, home already from their morning runs. A couple of grizzled guys were waiting on the dock to load up some containers of lobsters for the return trip.

The DOT workers fiddled around with the ramp, and soon a snake of cars made its way past the little white lighthouse. It was long out of commission, but Ben saw the sign that said it was open to the public to explore. He might do that one rainy afternoon, if he wasn't in someone's bed.

He had a map on the pa.s.senger seat, but he realized he could just follow all the other bright, s.h.i.+ny cars ahead of him. The island only had one main road anyhow, with glimpses of blue water behind simple old farmhouses and a general store at the fork.

Must be pretty dead in the winter time, he thought. The Perch was the only hotel on the island, and its dining room was for guests only. There was lots of old money here, people with their own chefs and maids for c.o.c.ktail parties, Trevor had told him. The Howards owned some huge monstrosity on the "rich" end of the island. The Perch was up-island, built by the Anders family, who were plenty rich before the stock market crashed in 1929 but needed their privacy so they could keep their furry little secret.

A small hand-painted sign at the end of the drive was the discreet invitation to enter. Ben followed the caravan of four cars ahead of him. Only one, with the redhead, was behind him. He knew the guests were limited to ten at a time, so a couple of the cars held more than one s.h.i.+fter. Ben had specifically booked a singles session, and he knew he would be expected to experiment to his heart's content. If he ever found his mate, though, he didn't plan on sharing.

The tree-shaded lane opened up on the left to a wildflower meadow studded with deep purple lupine overlooking Pen.o.bscot Bay. To the right were a manicured lawn, some fancy, formal gardens, and a large weathered s.h.i.+ngle-style house with wraparound porches and stone work.

House seemed rather an inadequate word. It was more like a mansion, and Ben thought it was ridiculous to call such a structure a "cottage," as the island guidebook he'd picked up when he bought his ferry ticket did. There was a huge barn which looked like it had begun its life as a stable, and a couple of smaller outbuildings. The Perch was even more enchanting than it appeared on its website and advertising.

Jeez. Enchanting. What was he in, some kind of fairy tale? Maybe he was. He was a d.a.m.ned beast looking for his beauty, or would be when he let himself transform tonight in public. Not in front of a random hotel room mirror after a couple of beers dared him to.

Just then he noticed the smiling girl standing on the porch. Her hair was a jumble of curls and colors, scooped up in a Pebbles Flintstone up-do. She wore a plain white polo s.h.i.+rt with the words The Perch embroidered over her left breast and a denim miniskirt which showed off tan and terrific legs. Legs that would feel luscious wrapped around him.

Enchanting. h.e.l.l, yeah.

The cars had pulled over to a gravel parking area and people were getting out, retrieving bags, stretching. Pebbles skipped down the steps in her canvas tennis shoes and Ben felt his heart skip too. She wasn't wearing a bra as far as he could tell. He felt his c.o.c.k stir beneath the b.u.t.tons of his Levis.

"Hi, everybody," she said. "Welcome to the Perch. I'm Lyra Anders. My brother Flynn is getting a great lunch ready for you all. I'm sorry we don't have bellboys, but your privacy is paramount to us. Flynn and I take care of everything ourselves. Curiosity killed the cat, you know," she laughed. "But does anybody need help with their bags? I'm pretty strong."

Lyra must know perfectly well that one of the perks of being a s.h.i.+fter was super-human strength. Even if that short blonde had brought a steamer trunk, she could have wrestled it up the stairs without breaking a sweat. But most of the guests had traveled pretty lightly. Clothes would be dispensed with shortly anyway.

"If you'll follow me, I'll get you all settled. We'll do formal introductions at lunch, around 12:30. Will that suit everyone? There are stocked mini-fridges in your rooms in case you need a little something before then. And if you want to wander the house or the grounds, please make yourself at home. The Perch is all yours for the next two weeks."

There was a murmuring approval as the guests took in the flagstone entryway. Fancy. Oriental rugs, tasteful paintings, a blue and white vase filled with flowers on a polished round center table. The staircase was latticed and carved and lit by a clear leaded gla.s.s window on the landing.

She was the mother duck, and they were the ducklings following her up the wide carpeted stairs. She dispatched everyone efficiently into their respective rooms, which were situated on a long corridor lit with sconces. Each door had a tiny bra.s.s plate with the guests' names written on a buff card in calligraphy.

Ben found out quite a bit about his fellow residents just as they all shuffled down the carpeted hallway. He was glad that he was last at the end of the hall. He'd seen each of the rooms as Lyra opened doors and connected faces with names. He wanted to connect with her right this minute.

Down, boy. He was thinking like a horn dog. Horn cat, to be more accurate. Yeah, it had been a long time, but she probably didn't do her guests. It wouldn't be professional, go against the Innkeeper's Code of Ethics or something. That little blonde, Ca.s.sie, or red-headed Rachel, or the sisters from Vermont whose names he didn't quite catch or that Asian chick Anna, they were all more than decent and would more than do.

He'd have stiff compet.i.tion, though. He envied those three guys from Boston who'd been friends since they were kids. Imagine having someone to help you through the changes from the beginning. The tall guy Steve with the gla.s.ses seemed like a bit of a stick, though. But maybe he just seemed quiet because the other men were a little on the loud side.

Ben had had locker room friends.h.i.+ps for years, but had never known another male s.h.i.+fter. If he thought about that too long, he might actually go all anxious and girly. But this vacation was going to remedy his lack of history.

He watched as Lyra turned the fancy gla.s.s doork.n.o.b. "Last but not least," she grinned. "See you downstairs in a little bit."

Ben didn't know quite why he was so compelled to stop her from leaving. He only knew that the hand that wasn't carrying his leather duffle bag shot out and grasped her elbow. And when he touched what should have been bony and boring, he felt a zap of electricity straight to his groin.

He could swear she felt it too. Her gold-flecked eyes widened for a long second, then she seemed to get her cool possession back.

"Did you need anything special? As per your guest survey, we've put your favorites in the fridge."

"Yeah, I need something special." Ben hardly recognized the growly sound of his own voice. "I've got kind of a problem I hope you can help me with." His lime-green eyes flicked down the hallway. He was suddenly as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as his grandmother Cooper used to say. Today he appreciated the irony of that statement.

Lyra looked down at her cheap but dependable Timex. "I have a few minutes. Let's go inside your room."

Truthfully, she needed to sit down. Better yet, lie down. The current that had arched between them had been so intense, it was a wonder the rubber hadn't melted on her tennis shoes.

He was handsome, she'd grant him that. Solid athlete's build, six one or two, s.h.i.+ny blue-black hair, square jaw lightly stubbled. Light green eyes set into a tan face. Powerful arms, since he used to pitch. She didn't follow sports but Flynn had filled her in.

Probably panther. Certainly hot. Was he going to be one of her summer flings? He had possibilities. She sat down on one of a pair of green plaid wingback chairs that faced the fireplace and waved him to do the same.

"Nice room," he said. He looked like he wanted to pace, prowl, really, but he sat down across from her.

The room was much more than nice, but Lyra swallowed her annoyance. Most guys weren't all that into decorating. He wouldn't care that the fabric she'd used to recover the chair he was sitting in was twenty-five dollars a yard retail. "How may I help you?"

"I don't know where to begin. Jeez, I feel kind of like a dork." He sighed. "Just a little while ago I was full of bravado, and now all I want to do is curl up in your lap and tell you my troubles. I've never done this before. With other s.h.i.+fters, I mean."

Lyra chuckled. "I'm not surprised. Our inn is one of the very few that caters exclusively to our kind. We provide an environment that is unique, and, may I say, unrivaled on the east coast. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay."

She sounded just like the brochure. Well, she should-she'd written every word.

"No. I mean, really. I've never done this. Spent time with other cats. I don't know the procedures. The drill. The routine."

My G.o.d, he was babbling. Both of Lyra's golden eyebrows rose. "I don't understand."

"Look, I was adopted. I discovered my nature kind of by accident and I tried to subdue it. I mean, I've s.h.i.+fted a bunch of times, but never when anyone was around."

Suddenly, the skin on the back of Lyra's neck p.r.i.c.kled. If she'd been in cougar mode, her fur would be stiff with suspicion. What if this Ben guy was some sort of plant, a reporter or something? Sure, he smelled absolutely delicious, and earlier she had the urge to run her tongue against his throat , but what if her senses were somehow off? She stood up.

"We can cover the procedures, as you call them, over lunch."

"Wait. I've p.i.s.sed you off. I didn't mean to. You're the first actual s.h.i.+fter I've ever talked to in person. I won't tell you of my lame forays into the Frisky Felines chatroom. Bulls.h.i.+t is bulls.h.i.+t whether you're a human or a cat."

"Ever?" Lyra sat back down.

Ben nodded. "Ever."

By the G.o.ddesses Bast and Sehkmet, it wasn't possible. Lyra's mouth felt dry.

"I shouldn't have said anything. You're gonna kick me off the island now, aren't you."

"Don't be silly. You've paid in advance," Lyra mumbled. "And we don't give refunds." She fiddled with the puff of pony-tail hair as she tried to think this revelation through.

She frowned. "This changes the dynamics of the fortnight a bit. Our guests are guaranteed a complete carnal experience. Great food, great accommodations, great entertainment. That includes great s.e.x," she said, almost sternly. "The females won't be happy to know they're a male short."

"Well, h.e.l.l. It's not that I don't want to partic.i.p.ate," Ben huffed. "I was just looking for some pointers. I've never been with a woman who's had cause to complain."

Lyra sniffed. If she'd been whiskered, they'd be twitching in impatience. "We have slightly higher expectations than human females. I wish you'd told me this when you booked your vacation. I could have sent a Facilitator to you."

"A what?"

"A teacher if you will. When we come into our powers as teenagers, we have to be taught how to express ourselves to our full potential, as well as how to safely interact with humans should we choose to do so. A Facilitator initiates our kind into s.e.xual pleasure. It can be very rewarding."

"I didn't need anybody to teach me how to f.u.c.k, and I've never hurt a woman in my life." He sounded somewhat belligerent, but she chose to ignore that.

"I suppose Flynn can tear himself away from the kitchen until you're ready to perform properly. I'll have to train you myself."

"Excuse me?"

She shrugged. Don't look a gift cat in the mouth, buddy. "I rarely indulge myself with our guests, but this seems to be an emergency. I'll give you three nights. Training usually lasts a week, but you seem like a smart guy. After that, you should be more than ready to satisfy your partners."

She saw Ben was p.i.s.sed. "Yeah, I think you're hot, but you can't teach me tricks like some d.a.m.ned dog."

"Or cat," she said sweetly.

"You make it sound like a...like a ch.o.r.e."

Lyra stood up. "It will be hard work, but I a.s.sure you, you'll enjoy it. See you at lunch. And if I were you, I'd say nothing to the others about your lack of experience."

"I've had plenty of experience!" Ben protested.

"That's what you think," said Lyra, leaving the room.

Chapter 2.

Lunch was served on one of the covered porches overlooking the bay. After helping themselves from vintage transferware dishes and platters, the ten s.h.i.+fters and their hosts sat in old-fas.h.i.+oned white wicker chairs, balancing the plates on their laps and their drinks on the small tables that were scattered around.

A pleasant breeze blew up from the water over the emerald green lawn. Ben saw a well-worn path to long dock and a neat boathouse. A few sailboats tacked in front of the inn. He wondered if his hosts had ordered up the quintessential Maine day for their arrival.

Lyra hadn't blinked once in his direction. He supposed he should be happy she was going to take him in hand, so to speak, but there was something about her att.i.tude that frosted him. What was it? Some French phrase his mom would know. Sang froid, that was it. Cold-blooded. He took a sip of his Stella Artois beer and promised himself to make her blood run hot before the three days of instruction was up.

He really didn't know why the truth had tumbled out like that. He certainly hadn't planned on announcing he was an idiot when it came to s.h.i.+fter protocol. He'd done all his homework, after all. But there was something to be said for hands-on experience, and he was looking forward to tonight, unless she planned on corralling him away sometime after lunch. He wouldn't say no, although from what he understood, night time was the right time.

It looked like his hostess was ready to begin the formal part of the afternoon. Her brother, Flynn, a handsome, s.h.a.ggy-haired male version of his sister, had already given him a wink. Probably grateful to be given permission to play with the girl guests. Ben wondered just how much Miss Lyra Anders had divulged to her brother.

He would have been surprised if he'd seen her breeze into the kitchen an hour ago and say, "Room 10 is all mine for the next three days, so you'll have to step up to the plate, to use a baseball a.n.a.logy."

"I didn't think you went for jocks," Flynn had said. "You always go for the artsy-fartsy types."

"I'm making an exception. Besides, they're all sports nuts this time around, except for the dentist."

"Well, I can't say I'm sorry. That redhead has my pawmarks all over her."

"Leopard. She'll be high-strung. Hope you can handle her."

Flynn had thrown a red potholder at her and she'd gone to finish setting up the luncheon table.

Now she stood with a little pile of folders in her hands. "Welcome again to the Perch. I hope you enjoyed the first of what will be truly spectacular meals by my little brother."

There was a smattering of applause.

"Hey," said Flynn mildly. "By eleven minutes. Big deal."

"Timing is everything. And I hope these pamphlets help you all how to plan your time here to your greatest satisfaction. For the next two weeks you'll have the opportunity to discover Jessie's Island. We think it's one of the most beautiful places on the east coast, but I warn you, it's pretty quiet. There's no disco-" there was some laughter-"but the natural scenery more than makes up for that. I've included maps of the hiking trails, and you know there are bikes and kayaks at your disposal. If you want to rent a sail or powerboat, we can make arrangements at the marina for you, but the cost is extra and not included in your pre-paid tariff.

"Most of the summer cottages can be seen from the water, so if you're into architecture you can see how the rich really live. I don't advise you to trespa.s.s from the road. Islanders preserve their privacy and there is a constable, even if he makes Barney Fife look like a genius. The town tennis courts are a fifteen-minute bike ride away, and racquets are in the playhouse."

Lyra pointed to a good-sized gingerbread-trimmed shed across the lawn nestled underneath a stand of pines. "You'll find other lawn games there, too, a croquet set and bocce. We only ask you remove the wickets and equipment at the end of the day. We wouldn't want anybody tripping on them when night falls."

Ben watched the s.h.i.+fters smirk at the hint of what was really going to transpire later on.

"Flynn and I ask that you use common sense. Keep a low profile when you ride in to the village. There's not much to see except for a small historical society museum and a few shops. If you're in the mood for ice cream, I recommend Billy's. It goes without saying that you stay on inn property when you s.h.i.+ft. We have over fifty acres of woods and meadows, and of course, the beach is available for a midnight swim."

Ben allowed himself a mental snort. He thought cats didn't like to swim much. Didn't they hate water?

"Of course, either Flynn or I will be available to answer your questions and help you with anything we have the power to. We try to keep things simple here, and we urge you to not get too territorial, unless it's a mutual thing. I've already staked out my claim for the next three nights, Ben Cooper, so I'm sorry, girls, you can't have him. Ben, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"

Ben felt his face suffuse with color. "I guess I'm a lucky guy," he began to general laughter. "I used to play pro ball. I teach and coach in a private school now." He paused. "Panther." There. That was enough. He felt like a bug under a microscope.

They seemed to be going around the porch circle, like a bunch of elementary school kids on the first day of school. Ca.s.sie was a loan officer at a credit union in New Jersey. She had a short spiky haircut and looked more like a pixie than a lioness.

The three interchangeable Boston boys, Brian, Tom and David had recognized Ben's name, or said they did. They were also lions who owned a popular sports bar downtown and looked perfectly willing to share the delectable blonde as they shared their business.

Rachel was a leopard and an art teacher in a suburb of New York City. The Vermont sisters, cougars (although they preferred the term mountain lions) Alys and Adrienne, managed the family chain of ski shops. They both looked like healthy versions of Heidi with long tawny braids and rosy cheeks.

Unlikely cheetah Steve was a bespectacled orthodontist from Chicago. Tiger Anna with the swingy sable hair was a San Francisco lawyer who knew Ca.s.sie from college and had driven up with her after the cross-country flight. All very ordinary if extra-good-looking Yuppies with a significant secret. Ben wondered if they all had a s.h.i.+fter social circle they ran with back home.