Summer's Lease

Chapter 2-3

Mitch knew he’d been right to be wary of the new guy; he was…special. He gave off waves of vulnerability that Mitch had had a hard time not acting upon. But Mitch had too many issues of his own, so he would just have to stay away and wait out the summer until the man left.

He paced his tiny cottage, his bear anxious to be set free and run on the beach. But his human side knew he’d have to wait until it was fully dark and late enough that no one would be about, especially the new guy.

Hell, he thought, passing his front window yet again and glancing out of it to see if he could see John. What a stupid-ass thing to do, allowing my bear to be seen by a stranger.

But his bear had been drawn to the man, sensing his pain and emptiness, knowing on an instinctive level that John had also lost someone dear to him. But from now on, Mitch knew he’d have to keep away from the man and his cottage, even though his bear felt a need to guard it and its occupant from any and all dangers.

Mitch recalled John’s surprise at first seeing his bear. Amazingly, and perhaps most disturbingly, John’s initial shock and fear had almost instantly been replaced by…interest, even desire. And, most dangerous of all, these feelings had been present also when John had met his human. The mate bond, although still quite weak, was definitely there.

“No!” Mitch said, slamming his fist on the table as he passed it. He wasn’t going to allow his instincts, either human or ursine, to take over, not again. It hurt too much the last time. The human would return to his life in the city in a couple of months and life for Mitch—lonely, boring, but safe—would resume.

He continued to pace, frequently glancing out of the window at John’s cottage. He told himself he was just checking the light levels, but that was hogwash.

“Teddy!” Mitch snorted and shook his head, smiling at John’s goofy name for his bear. “Ah, s**t!” He’d have to talk with Morwenna. Maybe she could give him a potion or something to help take the edge off. But then, she was no doubt responsible for his current plight. “Damn her meddling!” The table was thumped again.

Another glance out of the window, and Mitch saw John leaving his cottage. Mitch came to a halt behind the curtain so he could watch.

“City folk,” Mitch snorted when he saw John lock his door. No one would break into his cottage. Mitch knew his bear wouldn’t allow it, and neither would Mitch.

He watched as John walked toward his car. A pang of anxiety hit Mitch; maybe the guy was packing up and leaving. But sense soon prevailed, because he realised there was no luggage.

As Mitch watched, Nick, or the Admiral as he’d privately dubbed him because of his military clothing and background, strolled into view. The Admiral’s little snappy, pain-in-the-ass dog pulled on its lead to get to John. The Admiral turned in John’s direction and they approached, John squatting to pet the annoying creature.

Although Mitch couldn’t lip read, he could tell from both men’s body language that they were having a pleasant conversation.

A growl burst from Mitch’s throat when he saw the Admiral pat John’s shoulder. Though definitely not his type, the Admiral had kept himself fit in his retirement, and still struck quite a handsome pose, one Mitch wondered if John was attracted to.

Mitch had had to wrestle with his bear urging him on the couple times he and John had shaken hands. He’d almost been undone at John’s concern at the cut on his forehead. No way could Mitch have allowed the human to touch him in sympathy; he couldn’t have controlled his bear-inspired urges then.

Mitch was able to breathe again when he saw the Admiral turn away and start walking down the cliff path. Obviously John had rejected the man’s overtures.

Flicking his gaze back to John, Mitch saw the guy open his car door and climb inside.

He’s going into Newquay to hook up with someone at a gay bar, the bear growled.

“Jesus, I’m losing it,” Mitch said, shaking his head.

Once John had driven away and Mitch could no longer sense the guy’s presence, rational thoughts began to populate his brain. It was too early for the bar to be open, and even if John f****d his way through every one of the bar’s patrons, it was none of Mitch’s concern; John was a free agent, nothing to do with him.

Mitch eased his fingers from their death grip of the top of the sofa. Looking down, he saw two sets of claw puncture marks on the leather. Must have partially changed. He was unable to recall the last time that had happened. “Yep, I’m definitely losing it.”

* * * *

Going into the bathroom to start cleaning up, John spied something red and orange in a corner. On closer examination, he saw it was a checked cotton shirt. Opening it up he noticed that it was huge. It had to belong to Mitch. That’s why he was shirtless.

Unable to stop himself, John buried his face in the damp fabric and sniffed deeply of Mitch’s manly essence. Instantly John felt aroused, yet calm.

Walking into the bedroom, he draped the shirt over the back of a wooden chair to dry. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. He needed to go find a supermarket as he didn’t fancy dry cereal and tea without milk.

* * * *

It’s pathetic, John told himself that night when he couldn’t sleep and had reached over to touch Mitch’s now-dry shirt. In the morning he’d fold it, find a bag for it and take it over to Mitch’s cottage. At least that would guarantee him a few minutes with the hunk.