A Touch of Spring Read online

  A Touch of Spring

  A spin-off story from Dance Around the Cop, Book 2 in the Alpha and Omega Series

  By Lisa Oliver

  Copyright 2017 by Lisa Oliver

  All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition

  A Touch of Spring (Alpha and Omega # 2.5)

  Copyright Lisa Oliver, 2017

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Design by Lisa Oliver

  Cover Model –courtesy of Paul Henry Serres Photography. License KL1_030

  Background – Dreamstime.com

  First Edition April 2017

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, Lisa Oliver. [email protected]

  No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Lisa Oliver. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

  A Touch of Spring is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Note from the Author

  Other Books By Lisa Oliver

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Bronson frowned at the pile of mail on his desk and thought longingly of Beatrice; his best friend Asaph’s PA. She wouldn’t leave a mess like this. She’d have it handled in no time flat and there’d be hot coffee waiting on my desk. But, even when faced with the secret that Asaph and he could turn furry when provoked, nothing would convince the sweet lady to leave Asaph’s employ.

  That pile’s not going to disappear by itself, he grumbled as he sat at his desk and flicked through the pile of envelopes. Invitations, openings, a schedule of exhibitions one of his managers sent through. Bronson put that aside; he had a few changes he wanted to make. More invitations and a couple of bills he put in his jacket to give to his accountant later. Magazines, advertising. Gods, I don’t have time for this junk; Bronson threw them in the trashcan.

  Hello. What’s this?

  A plain white business-sized envelope was buried at the bottom of the pile. No postage, so it’d been hand delivered. It was slim, probably didn’t hold more than a single sheet of paper. But it was the salutation on the envelope that made Bronson pause. You Smell Like Mine.

  “Damn Ronan’s having a joke with me; I’ll kick his ass, so help me,” Bronson muttered as he pulled out his phone. Tapping the screen, he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his friend to answer.

  “Asaph, you bastard, has Ronan been in my office again?”

  “Hello, to you too, Bronson,” Asaph said smoothly. “No, my errant mate hasn’t been in your office; he’s currently under my desk. Did you want to know what he was doing?”

  “No, I don’t.” Bronson was pleased when Asaph finally pulled his head out of his ass and claimed his beautiful omega, but the damned man didn’t have to keep rubbing his nose in mated bliss. “And I don’t need the visual.”

  “What’s got your nose in a snit?” Asaph asked, his breathing sounding a little harsher and definitely faster. “Make it quick. My mate has a wicked tongue.”

  “It’s nothing; I’ll see you both for dinner at eight. Don’t be late.” Bronson disconnected the call and eyed the envelope as if it would bite.

  You Smell Like Mine. It had to be a shifter reference; no human would address a letter that way. Bronson never wore cologne and even his bath gels were chosen for their muted scents. But there were no other shifters in Orlando – there was him and Asaph and well, now Ronan too, but they hadn’t known about him until recently. There’s another shifter in town?

  “Just fucking open the letter, you damned dork,” he chided himself, picking up the envelope carefully. No bumps or lumps to indicate anything dangerous. Bronson sniffed the paper but couldn’t detect any chemical smells. There was a trace of something pleasant, but it was too elusive for Bronson to determine what it was.

  Ripping the edge of the envelope, he pulled out a single sheet of paper. Whoever had written it was concise and had lovely handwriting. With technology, not many people took the time to correspond in cursive anymore. Bronson read the note, shook his head and then read it again.

  Dear Mr. Cunningham,

  What do you hope for when you think about meeting your mate? Someone petite and sexy like the woman I saw you with on Thursday? Or maybe you don’t mind men provided they’re short and submissive like the young blond I watched you disappear into the bathrooms with on Friday night? Perhaps you’re hoping for a ménage – that couple I saw you with on Saturday at the gallery opening certainly seemed to appreciate your advances and you all looked very cozy when you huddled in the taxi together.

  I have to wonder why you haven’t noticed me. Could it be your nose doesn’t work or are you so busy having a good time, you’re not ready for a mate? Or maybe, and this option shatters my heart but has to be mentioned, maybe you have noticed me and find me lacking. You wouldn’t be the first one to think that way but you could have at least told me so to my face.

  I’ll keep watching; now I have scented you, I find it impossible to stay away. Maybe through watching, I’ll find the answer.

  Have a nice evening, Mr. Cunningham.

  Yours.

  A flood of emotions swamped Bronson’s body and instinctively he reached for his phone, before pulling his hand out of his jacket. Asaph would still be busy with Ronan and Bronson wasn’t sure he was ready to share the news just yet. “I have a mate,” he tested the words on his tongue. It felt good. “I have a mate!” Louder this time. Bronson’s heart soared and he looked around as though this magical stranger would suddenly appear.

  But of course, he was alone. All he had was the note. A note that made it quite plain his mate knew who he was and felt…what exactly? Bronson considered the carefully penned words. Disrespected? Unworthy? Beneath his notice? A strong growl rumbled in his chest. No mate should ever feel that way and Bronson felt a flush of guilt at the thought of what his mate had seen.

  Yes, he did take someone home damn near every night. As an alpha wolf, he had a strong sex drive. But for Bronson, sex did more than scratch an itch. The truth of the matter was, since Asaph mated Ronan, holding someone close, even if it was only for long enough to get his rocks off, banished the loneliness he felt as a lone wolf.

  Checking his office door was firmly clos
ed; Bronson called on his wolf and brought the paper up to his nose. Ink. Fibers. Chemicals probably used in the paper making process. A light tinge of exhaust fumes as the letter had been written outside. There. He leaned on the paper to hold it steady. Bronson groaned as he rubbed the patch of paper against his nose, causing the rest of the note to flutter against his mouth. Apricots and lemongrass with the slightest tinge of wolf. Hang on a minute, that’s not a wolf. Bronson pulled the paper away from his face and stared at it, astonished.

  That’s a cat shifter I smell. A big cat. How the hell did I miss someone like that?

  Chapter Two

  Harley glared as he saw two teenage girls simpering in his direction. Cleaning the traces of ink and blood off the finished tattoo, he slapped Sorel on the shoulder. “You know this should be covered,” he said tersely, “Just don’t come crying to me if you get an infection.”

  “Straight home, quiet night, I promise.” Sorrel heaved himself off the chair and peeled a handful of hundreds off a large roll. “Same time next week?”

  “I’ll be here,” Harley sighed, slipping the money into his pocket and not bothering to watch the girls fall over themselves as Sorrel sauntered past them with a wink and a smile. He set about methodically cleaning his space, his mind already focused on the evening ahead. Unfortunately, Bobby had other ideas.

  “Can you squeeze in a couple of butterflies? The girls have pictures of what they want. It won’t take long.”

  “Get Jughead to do it,” Harley didn’t bother looking up.

  Bobby’s squirming caught his eye. “Jughead went home an hour ago. Said he had a hot date.”

  “They can wait for Muriel then. I’m busy.”

  “Oh come on,” Bobby leaned closer. “I know they’re supposed to make an appointment, but they’re really nervous. They’ll back out if they don’t get them now.”

  “Are you bartering dates with our clients again?” Harley arched his brow at the pimply faced young man. The poor guy sweated all the time, had prominent teeth and even once his pimples had cleared, his face would still be pockmarked. Harley hired him for his expertise with figures – the ones on paper, not the ones standing at the door giggling at each other.

  “One of them gave me their phone number,” Bobby admitted in a whisper. “Come on, boss. Twenty minutes tops and I’ll open up in the morning. I’ll even name our first child after you.”

  Harley sighed and pulled out a clean tattoo gun. “Get the money up front. Make sure you’ve seen ID and they’ve signed the form. And Bobby,” he added in a louder voice as the young man hurried back to the counter. “Check that number before our clients leave. It’s probably a pizza place.”

  One of the girls, a pretty blonde who had cheerleader written all over her went bright red. “I’ve just realized we have another appointment. We’ll come back another time.”

  Harley chuckled as Bobby’s smile dropped. The two girls scurried out the door, the giggling gone.

  “Told ya,” he said watching Bobby throw a piece of paper in the trashcan. “Don’t be swayed by cleavage and hastily given phone numbers. You know your mama wouldn’t have girls like that in the house.”

  “I’m getting a place of my own soon, then I can bring home who I like,” Bobby said sullenly.

  “You’ll miss your mama’s cooking,” Harley said as he grabbed his jacket and slipped it over his slim shoulders, flicking his dark braid out of his collar. “Tell Muriel to lock up. You can open at ten and I’ll be in by lunchtime.”

  Bobby muttered obscenities as Harley strode out the door. Knowing he wasn’t meant to hear any of it, Harley ignored it and kept on walking. Bobby was young, full of hormones and went after stunning girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Harley had seen him used and abused more than once for his connection with the parlor and he wasn’t going to let Bobby’s heart get trampled again.

  Heading to his bike, Harley made a mental note to check in on Bobby’s mama. She had a heart condition and one of the reasons Bobby got the job was because she needed the additional income. If Bobby was talking about moving out, then Harley would make sure she was cared for. He had a soft spot for Mama Riley’s deep fried chicken.

  At the thought of chicken, his stomach rumbled. Harley needed to go home and shower before he headed out for his evening plans. He’d grab a bucket of takeout on the way. If his mate was at Breathless he could eat there, but having missed lunch, Harley decided to eat first anyway. He wanted the elusive Mr. Cunningham to notice him for his scent, not his rumbling guts. Or did he? Harley was still on the fence about the whole noticing aspect. For all his fancy words, did he really want to be rejected to his face?

  /~/~/~/~/

  “What is the matter with you? You’re fidgeting around like a cat on a hot griddle,” Asaph grumbled as Ronan slipped away to get ready for his set. Breathless was jumping, all thanks to the lithesome dancer currently making his way backstage. As much as Asaph hated the way everyone ogled Ronan when he was performing, Bronson could see the look of pride too. He wanted that. He wanted to feel pride in a mate. If only he could find him.

  Unsure how much he wanted to reveal to his closest friend and fellow wolf, Bronson leaned back in his chair, cradling his drink. Asaph wasn’t wrong. He’d been edgy all evening. He couldn’t stop looking around, his animal senses on full alert for a change. His wolf was letting him know that yep, someone was watching him. But Bronson couldn’t work out who.

  There was a pretty redhead sitting with her friends who kept giving him the eye, but his wolf ignored her. He spotted the couple who he’d been with the previous Saturday, also hoping to catch his eye, but he wasn’t keen on a repeat. Oh, Bronson was horny enough. He’d been horny since he sniffed that damn bit of paper. But now he knew he had a mate, he would stay faithful, claimed or not. All he had to do was find the person concerned. Because someone was watching him and whoever it was, was damned clever, because Bronson couldn’t spot him or her. Gods, please let it be a him.

  “Are you purposefully ignoring me?” Asaph prodded him and Bronson turned his attention back to his friend.

  “I found a letter today, addressed to me, from my mate,” Bronson said, leaning so he could put his drink back on the table. “Apparently, this person has been watching me for at least four days, maybe more and I haven’t got a clue who it is.”

  Watching Asaph gape was amusing. The tall blond Viking-looking man rarely let his emotions show on his face. But whatever it was Asaph expected him to say didn’t include mate in the sentence. Every paranormal, Asaph and Bronson especially, knew how important a mate was to a shifter.

  “What did it say? Is there any indication this person’s male or female? And…oh shit, this person noticed your activities?”

  Bless Asaph for trying to be discreet. “Mentioned my date on Thursday, the bloke who gave me a blowjob on Friday and the couple I went home with on Saturday,” Bronson said drily, looking around again. “The thing is,” he added, leaning across the table, “I know this person is here. My wolf can sense we’re being watched.”

  “Why didn’t your wolf notice it before?”

  “He probably did, I just wasn’t paying attention,” Bronson hissed. “But the only thing I could glean from the note was this person doesn’t expect to be noticed. In fact, this person claimed it was possible I had already scented him or her and had ignored the mating pull. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Did you get a scent?”

  Bronson nodded and pulled out the letter. He’d put it in a plastic bag so the scent would remain fresh. Asaph took it, and with a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching their table, took a quick sniff before handing it back.

  “You looked like a druggie just then,” Bronson grinned.

  “I should hope I look like a predator now,” Asaph wiggled his eyebrows. “Ronan and his friends are just about to start their routine. The customers will be glued to their tables. Let’s go for a little walk, shall we? Check out security.
See if we can find any stray cats?”

  “Should have known you’d pick that up,” Bronson said, standing. “I hope you’re not going to get all speciest on me.”

  “A mate’s a mate, Bro,” Asaph said slapping him on the shoulder. “You helped me get my head out of my ass about mine; the least I can do is help you with yours.”

  “I just wish everyone didn’t wear so much perfume,” Bronson complained as he followed his friend. “I’m going to end up sneezing at this rate.”

  /~/~/~/~/

  “What are you doing, mate of mine?” Harley muttered, making sure he was hidden in the shadows. “Could it be you’re actually looking for me? Hmm, what to do, what to do?”

  “Hey, Harley, what’s up? Barely noticed you hiding in the corner.” Fuck, Sorrel and Jughead, how the hell did they get in?

  “I was just leaving,” Harley grimaced at his biker friends. Thank goodness, they were human. “Not really my place, you know?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Sorrel said with a leer, looking around at the crowd. Most of the patrons had dressed up for the evening. Sorrel and Jughead stood out with their leathers, tattoos, and untrimmed scruff. “There’s plenty of hot mamas here who might be keen on taking a walk on the wild side.”

  “Yeah, well I ain’t looking.” Harley put his glass on the bar. “I’m heading out. Don’t get that tattoo wet.”

  “Hey, don’t go,” Jughead moaned. “I wanted you to meet my date. She said she’d meet me here.”

  “Some other time.” Harley pushed through the crowds. His mate and huge sidekick were on the other side of the room. Looking for someone fancy, Harley thought as he headed for the door. Blooming typical. Don’t know why I bother.

  “Hey, you’re that tattoo artist that works over on Gordon Street, aren’t you?” Great, a friendly bouncer. But Harley made a point of never being rude to potential customers. His business couldn’t afford it.

  “Yeah, that’s right, have you been in my shop?” He stopped, keeping a wary eye on his mate, who was still wandering near the stage.