He wound up talking on one end of the porch with the sports bar guys while they puffed on cigars, watching Lyra efficiently load up a tray with the remains of lunch. She'd already refused offers of help from a couple of the women and all of the men, who were anxious to get to know her after his three days were up.

Ben wondered if he was going to be the exception or the rule. Casual s.e.x was the status quo for younger shifters, and it was the unexpressed lure of the Perch. But if she and her brother were responsible for running this whole pile, he didn't see where she'd have much time to even brush her teeth.

After they'd asked Ben's opinion of the Red Sox's chances this year, David, Tom and Brian were joking around with each other, trying to figure out who got the first shot with little lion Ca.s.sie.

"Nice fast work, Ben," said Tom, punching him in his bad arm. "You must have made your move before you even unpacked."

"Uh. Yeah, I guess." Ben knew that was how it worked, too. The males selected the females, even if they weren't especially willing at first.

"Looks like Dr. Doom's picked Anna," Brian observed, as he watched the couple stroll towards the dock.

"It's Dumas," corrected David. "Or maybe Dr. d.i.c.khead. I forget."

"Whatever." Brian tossed his cigar over the side of the porch into the hydrangea bushes. Ben was pretty sure Lyra wouldn't like that much. "So that leaves the luscious little Ca.s.sie and the redhead and the ski queens." Brian fished a die out of his pocket.

"We're missing a man. But I'll take on both sisters if I have to," laughed Tom.

Ben cleared his throat. "I believe Flynn is a factor."

"f.u.c.k him. We're the paying guests. It's only fair we get first dibs," said Brian.

Ben was beginning to think that this little pride of lions was going to p.i.s.s him off in the next two weeks. He reminded himself he was here for the women. The females. A little male bonding would have been a bonus, but these yahoos were just as idiotic as most normal men.

"All right. One is obviously Ca.s.sie. It's always best with one of your own, right?" Brian nudged Ben. "Too bad there's not some sweet African American girl here, Ben. They're almost always panthers, and they do not disappoint, if you know what I mean. Gimme some of that brown sugar any day."

G.o.d. An a.s.shole and a racist. Ben wanted to slip away, but he was curious to see who was going to wind up with who tonight.

Tom slapped Ben on the back. "I bet our Benny boy knows all about that already. Two is the redhead. I wonder if the rug matches the drapes."

"Oh, she's a real redhead, all right. You don't get freckles like that from a Miss Clairol bottle," David said.

"So three is Alys and four is Adrienne, okay?"

Tom nodded. "Works for me," David said.

Brian handed the die to Tom, surprising Ben. But apparently they had some sort of regulated game going on here. "Your turn to go first."

Tom tossed the die up against the porch wall. "It's like c.r.a.ps for Cats," he winked at Ben. "s.h.i.t. A five." He pa.s.sed the die to Brian.

Brian of course rolled a one. Poor Ca.s.sie David took his turn and wound up with Adrienne, and after six tries Tom got her sister. Brian put the die back in the pocket of his Dockers. "I'll just go into the kitchen and tell the cook he's eating leftovers tonight."

G.o.d. a.s.sholes, racists, and complete s.h.i.theads.

"d.a.m.n it. I knew this whole deal was too good to be true." Ca.s.sie's porch doors were open to catch the sparkle of sunlight on the water. It had been impossible to miss the boorish behavior below. She'd invited the other women to her suite to get to know them better, since she had a feeling Anna had disappeared for good. Her friend had always had a thing for dental hygiene, so if she hooked up with a dentist, it was a match made in heaven.

"He's kind of cute, that Brian," Rachel said, pretending not to be completely mortified by the last five minutes.

"You know if you could, you'd leave on the next ferry. But none of us want to lose our money." As a banker, Ca.s.sie was fiscally conservative.

"Face it," said one of the sisters. Ca.s.sie thought it was Adrienne but wasn't entirely sure. "Men are pigs. Why we have to wait around for them to pick us is a travesty."

"It's nature," said Rachel.

"It's bulls.h.i.t," said Alys. "I have half a mind to lock myself in my room and eat peanuts all night. Which one got me?"

"Tom," replied her sister.

"It would be one thing if he'd liked my scent or my b.o.o.bs or something. But on a die roll? It's insulting."

"You got the best of the bargain," Ca.s.sie said warmly to Rachel, who was looking a little pale. "Flynn is gorgeous and he can cook. I, on the other hand, have Mr. Macho to contend with. Well, you know what they say about male lions. King of the Jungle. They can't help themselves. But I'm a lioness, and if he thinks he's just gonna bite my neck and roll me over in the woods and mount me, he's got another think coming."

"You go, girl," muttered Adrienne. "Seriously, I had such great hopes for this trip. One of our friends came last year and she convinced us to give it a try. She found her mate here."

"A banker," Alys nodded. "From the Cayman Islands. She's very happy. And rich."

"I'm not looking for a mate, just some good, clean, American fun," lied Ca.s.sie, who would have been more than happy to come last summer and talk investments with a fellow banker and get the h.e.l.l out of New Jersey. d.a.m.n. She was late to the party again. "There's always that cute Ben Cooper after he gets through with Lyra. Maybe we should roll the dice and see who gets to make a play for him," she cracked.

"I'm going for a swim," said Alys. "What?" she asked, as three pairs of glowing eyes turned in her direction. "I like to swim. It feels good."

"Yeah, we know," said Ca.s.sie. "This business about cats not swimming is one more crazy myth. But do you know how cold the water is in Maine? Most people don't go in until August, if then."

"I've got a great new bathing suit."

Adrienne laughed. "What you have are three postage stamps and some string. If Tom sees you in it, you won't have to wait until dark to defend your virtue."

"I'll take my chances. Rachel, want to come with me?"

She shook her head. "No, I think I'll bring my sketchbook outside. It really is beautiful here."

"Even if the men are animals," Ca.s.sie griped.

Chapter 3.

Dinner was a candlelit affair in the cavernous formal dining room, even though the sun had not yet slipped completely behind the Camden Hills. A long trestle table laid with a floral and berry patterned tablecloth and plain white china was set for twelve. Covered ironstone tureens held delicious entrees on the ma.s.sive oak sideboard. The room had been designed to feed at least twenty voracious robber barons and their wives, and there was a definite echo, despite Lyra's attempt with the thick rug underfoot, yards of silk curtains on the windows and fake tapestries on the walls. It was all very hollow and grand.

Flynn had refined a basic repertoire, and had cooked and frozen what he could ahead of time. He'd figured out just what he could get away with and still call himself a chef. He was fortunate there was no worry about vegetarianism; all the guests were most definitely meat-eaters. Tonight's menu included a simple but spectacular beef stew, fruited rice, salad, sweet potato rolls and asparagus from the inn's very own bed. He was still in the kitchen mixing up the Hollandaise sauce, but Lyra urged the others to start with salad. She had set bottles of mineral water and merlot and regular intervals. There was a bar cabinet set up at one end of the room if anyone wanted something stronger.

Of course, the Boys from Boston, as she thought of them, did. There was some discussion that owning a bar was actually not conducive to drinking; they couldn't drink on the job. When they finally got away, they could relax and enjoy themselves. They each poured substantial amounts of single-malt scotch over ice into their gla.s.ses and returned to the table.

The girls had given Lyra a report, so she was totally up to speed on her guests. Anna and Steve were already moony and paired up. They'd discovered a little screened gazebo in a clearing in the woods and had already mated as humans. Anna thought Steve was the most intelligent man she had ever met, and Steve admired her white teeth and pretty much all the rest of her. He'd always been a bit embarra.s.sed that he'd needed corrective lenses-cheetahs were supposed to have superior everything. Anna could attest that his equipment was more than adequate and excessive speed was not a problem. She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt that she was letting down her college roommate by falling in l.u.s.t so quickly, but she'd always been a decisive woman. Ca.s.sie could deal.

Alys had spent two frigid minutes in the bay and an hour in her whirlpool tub to get the feeling back in her toes. Tom and Dave and Brian had found the billiards room and wasted the afternoon away. Adrienne and Ca.s.sie had walked as far down the road as they dared, and then walked back, eating tiny wild strawberries along the way. Tomorrow they would take bikes if they weren't involved with a man.

Rachel had sat on a rock and just looked her fill for the longest time at the sky and the sea, the birds and the trees. She'd sketched a little until Flynn came out and sat down next to her. And then she sketched him. The picture was now up on the Viking refrigerator with a flamingo magnet left over from Flynn's Key West cooking experience. The Duval Crawl had a debilitating effect on his psyche, but now he had a reggae-free kitchen.

Lyra had spent the afternoon inventorying the linen room, marking towels and sheets so she could remember what went where. She drank a gla.s.s of Pinot Grigio at four and kept right on until Brian found her and challenged her to a game of pool. She beat the pants off all three of them and smugly went back to work. At seven she took a fast shower, changed into a chocolate brown slip dress with a lacy shrug and lit the candles.

And Ben? Lyra didn't know, but he'd opened his laptop and spent the whole afternoon reading shifter p.o.r.n.

He was ready.

Conversation and wine flowed. Lyra thought as far as first days went, it had gone pretty well. Sometimes there was awkwardness with new arrivals, and a time or two some of the males got into a p.i.s.sing contest to mark their territory. Literally. She supposed it helped that the Boys from Boston had some prearranged signal worked out. She got the feeling that a few of the girls were not as yet thrilled with the mating selection, but hopefully nature would take its course and everybody would be sleeping in tomorrow.

She took a quick peek at Ben. He wore a white Oxford cloth shirt and khakis. A smattering of fur-chest hair, she mentally corrected-was visible beneath the v of the unb.u.t.toned collar. Good, she didn't like men who waxed their chest, although she had every bit of her own pubic hair ruthlessly removed.

Before she changed tonight, she wanted to see just how experienced Ben was as a man. She shifted in her seat, imagining his smiling mouth in the most secret places.

Dessert was served out on the porch. The fireflies tried to outshine the stars, and the water slapped soothingly against the sh.o.r.eline rocks. While the guests chatted quietly, Lyra and Flynn cleared up the dining room and loaded the dishwasher.

Lyra had to give Flynn credit. Unlike so many males she knew, he actually cleaned up the kitchen as he went along. It didn't take her long to handwash the crystal gla.s.ses and return them to the butler's pantry. She could hear some laughter from the open dining room French doors, wishing for a minute she was sitting outside with all of them.

If only she had an actual butler to work in the butler's pantry. But she and Flynn had ruled out hiring islanders to help. She really didn't want to see the lit torches and an angry armed mob crunching down the pebbled drive once it was discovered exactly what when on at the Perch.

When she returned to the kitchen, Flynn was gone. The hum of the dishwasher droned on. Lyra realized she was getting a bit of a headache. Her contacts had been in way too long, too. She went up the servants' stairs to the set of rooms she and Flynn shared. Technically they weren't in the servant's quarters-those had been in the attic. Someday if the money was there, the twins thought they'd expand the inn and add rooms on the third floor. Their own bedrooms were a discreet distance from the guests and separated from each other by a small study, where Lyra worked on her web designs and brochures. There wasn't even a TV, just a DVD/CD player and a beat-up leather couch. The real entertainment center was in a cozy room downstairs next to the billiards room, but most of the guests always found something much less pa.s.sive to do during their stay.

Unlike their paying guests, Flynn and Lyra shared a bathroom. It was one spot that had not been renovated but for a fresh coat of white paint, because Lyra liked it just the way it was. There was a deep old claw-footed tub which tempted her quite a lot tonight, but she knew she didn't have time for a soak.

She popped out her lenses, took two Aleve, brushed her teeth, and let her hair down from the twist it had been in for dinner. Her gla.s.ses might get lost in the gra.s.s, so she made her way carefully downstairs, willing her shifter senses to come to her rescue.

When she arrived on the porch, the hurricane lanterns flickered and revealed just one male. Her male for tonight and the next two. She knew she was breaking protocol by picking him, but she told herself it was necessary. The reputation of the Perch was on the line. Last year three couples had found their life mates, and more than half of the guests rebooked. Word of mouth had been great. When she was done training Ben Cooper, he'd make some female very happy.

"I wondered where you were."

His voice was low and rough, causing a frisson of desire to slither up her spine. She felt her muscles expand ever so slightly.

"Things to do, people to see," she quipped. "Where are the others?"

"Listen."

She heard laughter, panting, the thudding of heavy eight-foot long bodies racing. A high screech. The shifters had shifting without her, and that was fine. She was never one for group mating, although she knew it was a turn-on for some. She noted clothes, some neatly folded, some tossed on the porch chairs.

"So. What did you learn, gra.s.shopper?" She sat down next to him on the wicker love seat.

"That one minute everybody was drinking coffee, then they suddenly stood up, stripped and paired off. I didn't see anybody change."

"No, you wouldn't. They'll reveal their true selves to each other once the ritual words have been spoken. You know what they are, don't you?"

"I'm not a complete idiot. I told you I've shifted."

"Don't be annoyed. Your eyes glow green when you are and you'll attract moths," she teased.

She could see him quite well in the dark. Her feline blood was thrumming. She ran her tongue experimentally on the edge of her teeth and felt their growing sharpness.

"When are we going to get started?"

She heard the hint of desperation in his voice. No doubt his body was reacting just as hers was. She placed her hand on his lap and felt his marble-hard arousal.

"Seems like you've started without me," she purred.

He pulled her to him and she let him kiss her.

Very nice. Hot and hard. She nipped his lip and drew blood.

"Ow."

"p.u.s.s.y. You know it's part of the mating. We mark each other. I've been giving some thought as to where I want you to mark me."

She stood up, took off her sweater and pulled the dress over her head. She was naked.

"G.o.d." The one word was enough. Lyra smiled.

"Now you." She grabbed his shirt and helped him unb.u.t.ton. "Stand up." His pants and boxers dropped to the porch floor and she dropped to her knees. "We'll do this step-by-step. The female is subservient to the male at night, no matter how liberated we are in our daily lives. You have complete control over me now, do you understand? I am obligated to do just as you wish. If you can't think of anything, I'll just do the conventional, usual thing. Is that okay?"

Ben looked down at Lyra and nodded. Her cats' eyes were luminous, her lips swollen from his kiss. If she put those lips anywhere near- She did. He heard her take a deep breath, as though she were inhaling his spirit. Then her tongue lapped his shaft, swirled, sucked, licked the pearl of moisture from the tip.

"Mmm," she said, her eyes closed and a look of pure bliss on her face.

He fought for control, his fingers slipping in her caramel curls, but she fought harder, and he erupted in a torrent inside the haven of her unbelievably hot mouth. She continued to swallow and lave until he felt he might just die. But it would have been so worth it.

He exhaled when she was finally finished. "s.h.i.t."