by J. K Harper
Alert, his wolf softly rumbled. She watches all.
In other words, she was a predator acutely aware of her surroundings, somewhat uncomfortable in large groups, and probably not really in favor of feeling trapped at the back of this store.
Here. Finally, his wolf said. Satisfaction, awe, and deep knowing filled his tone.
At that moment, she looked up at her audience, surveying everyone in a sweeping glance as she finished her sentence. Then her eyes snagged on Tate's. Mid-speech, she paused and stared back at him. As he kept looking at her, the world constricted. Nothing else existed except him, the unknown female wolf who smelled like the deep canyons and sage-tumbled deserts near his home, and his own breath sounding loud in his ears as his head filled with a distant roaring noise.
6
Claire felt jarred so sharply she thought she might fall onto the floor. He was here. The sexy, strange male wolf from the other day was right here, in this Denver bookstore. Listening to her. Looking at her with such intensity from beneath his cowboy hat brim she thought he might laser holes through her. And this time, she couldn't run away.
Dark haired, compact yet easy in his skin, he stood staring with the same element of shock she felt whipping through her, although something else framed his countenance as well. Pure cowboy through and through, he looked completely at home in the jeans that hugged his legs and skimmed his thighs and waist, in the rich mahogany boots encasing his feet, in the dark brown cowboy hat that shadowed his face just enough to leave his wolf-enhanced eyes nearly glowing. Starting, she felt her own wolf staring back out her eyes, eager with the crazed desire to leap across the room to him.
Here, here, he is here, her wolf chanted in her head. She twirled in ecstatic little whirls, almost panting with the desire to be loosed. It sent warmth straight to the suddenly heavy, full-feeling spot between Claire's legs that hadn't seen any action in months. She clenched there, just a little, and felt her breath hitch.
But who is he? Claire wondered for the thousandth time since she'd first encountered him. And simmer down, she ordered her wolf. Can't be like the other day. Not with all these people staring at me. Burningly aware of the rows of people before her, sitting in polite silence while she had some sort of mini nervous breakdown right before their eyes, she forced her usual wary caution to drive her motions. Keep reading, she thought hard at herself.
She forced her eyes back down to the page. With a quick, “Sorry,” she cleared her throat, took a sip of water from the full glass provided by the bookstore, and began the sentence again.
Somehow, she made it through the next five minutes of reading her work without losing her composure despite the sweetly alluring scent of the male wolf who stood at the back of the space, watching her. Somehow, she gracefully concluded and smiled while the audience clapped. Somehow, she answered questions in a steady voice, managing to sound knowledgeable and confident in her responses despite both her general aversion to this part of her life as a writer and her shivering awareness of the gorgeous male wolf eating her up with his mere presence.
Somehow, she managed to not pass out from some bizarre sort of hormonal reaction to him—a guy who was by all standards sexier than any wolf had a right to be—as he stood rock still the entire time, never taking his gaze from her face. Not that she slipped any glances at him, of course.
Maybe just five dozen or so. Give or take.
Somehow, she managed to not have a heart attack when he joined the line of people afterward who wanted her autograph in their purchased copies of her book, getting closer to her with every signature of her name she made with an only slightly shaking hand.
She even managed to not dissolve into some sort of puddle of senselessness when he finally reached her, the very last person in line. She could make a break for it now, she supposed. But that would look and be crazy by anyone's standards. And why exactly she wanted to flee him was a bit of mystery, too. She couldn't figure out what on earth was going on with her. Her wolf seemed also to explode into sheer emotion as the male shifter approached, just like the other day, although this time there was some deeper awareness at play. Claire could only pick up on some sort of euphoria from her wolf, who danced and strained inside her mind, shakingly desperate to leap out and greet him. He looked like some kind of delicacy, one that would taste like mocha and cream and espresso, with spicy cayenne shot through.
I don't even know him, Claire thought in a befuddled daze as he eased to a stop right before her.
He'd somehow maneuvered himself to be the very last person in the line. Velvet brown eyes shot with sparks of gold from his wolf also peering out drank her in as he silently looked at her with what seemed like the thirst of a man long parched.
She, on the other hand, must look like a deer in the headlights.
Hormones, she thought wildly, although her wolf trembled with some sort of deeper emotion. This must be her recently unsated hormones reacting powerfully to a very attractive male wolf who broadcasted clear interest in her. It had been months since her body felt this aflame, alive, sexual.
Never, her wolf instantly disagreed. Never felt like this.
She watched as a slow, gentle smile curved up his lips and made his entire face open and warm. Without question, he was the kind of man who laughed often, smiled in automatic, genuine reflex to the world, and kept kindness at the forefront of all his interactions. She felt oddly comfortable in his presence, as if she'd known him her whole life. Dark, close-cropped hair teased from beneath the brim of his brown hat. Bare laugh lines etched his eyes and mouth, which still captured a smile.
“Hey, there.” The slow, sweet molasses of his voice slipped over her. A sharp clench between her legs sent such a definite surge of desire washing over her. She sat, still freshly speechless, still staring back at him like a gape-mouthed idiot. “It was really nice to be able to listen to you read now. You have a beautiful voice. Really liked it the other day.” He paused and tipped his head to the side as he looked at her, as if weighing his next words. Then he went on, the gentle grin tugging his lips up as he spoke. “Wish you hadn't run away so fast. I kinda wanted your voice wrapped around me some more.”
Claire's mouth dropped open as all the blood in her body seemed to simultaneously drop to that sweet spot between her legs, creating such a sense of heavy fullness and desire her breath stuttered in her chest.
“I,” she began. His eyes mesmerized her, bringing the warmth slinging through her closer and closer to a feverish pitch. Where was she? Oh, yes. Bookstore. Must remember there were others around who might be listening to their conversation.
“Ah, thank you so much for coming.” Coming? Had she really just said that? Suddenly thankful she never blushed, Claire cleared her throat and hurried on. “Did you want me to sign my book for you?”
He glanced at the stack of her books artfully arranged on the table before her. Making a curious sound, he picked one up and turned it over to read the back. Claire took the opportunity to examine his every inch while his eyes remained trained on the book. The way he fit into his jeans spoke of an easy grace, a sense of sureness in his outfit and how it defined him. Downtown Denver wasn't exactly teeming with cowboys, but the way he so surely wore his clothes didn't make him stand out like a sore thumb.
“'Claire Anderson lives in Colorado,'” he read from her bio, flashing a glance up at her. “Anderson, huh? Pretty common name in some worlds.”
Although his tone was easy, she instantly tensed. Despite her undeniable fascination, she couldn't help her natural wary reaction. “Some worlds” meant in the human world. No shifter would ever have a name like that. He knew it couldn't be her real last name. He belonged to a pack, and he was trying to find out her affiliation as well. Just like all pack wolves. Just like the other day, when that had been almost the first question out of his mouth. A sudden rush of disappointment that he was like all the others caused her wolf to whine a bit, drooping her tail.
And why would she care that he wa
s like all the other male shifters she'd ever met?
Because he is not like them. Her wolf trembled in anticipation, fixated on the gorgeous male before her. Not at all.
Before she could answer him, though, he took a casual step back and averted his eyes back down to her book. Almost as if he was aware of her bristling and didn't want to alarm her. “Wow, this is your third book? You must have started writing when you were about twelve.”
Despite herself, Claire let a quick smile at the compliment flash across her face, even though he was still looking down and couldn't see it. Yes, she'd started seriously writing when she was young, but not that young. She'd been lucky enough to publish her first book while she was still taking classes from the small college near her home.
His tone conveyed his admiration as he went on, “That was a good crowd in here tonight. You must be pretty popular.” With that, he looked back up at her again, although he kept his eyes from looking directly into hers. A gentle smile was on his face, which was so sunny and open she couldn't help but relax.
“I've been lucky. My books have been well received,” she managed to say without stammering, feeling the usual shyness about her writing evident in her tone. She was proud of her work, but the difference between writing in her private space at home and reading her work out loud to strangers in crowded bookstores was still significant. She was always taken aback when people came up and told her how much they loved her books.
“Well, then,” he said, plunking the book in front of her and gesturing at her pen. “I'll just have to read it myself, then. Would you sign it for me?”
Claire swallowed. Still a little shaky from the force of her ricocheting emotions in the presence of this alluring stranger, she nodded and picked up the pen. Then she paused.
“What's your name?” she asked, looking back up at him. Her wolf wiggled and rolled and jumped, dancing with the desire to shift and run with him. Claire felt her pulse beating hard in her neck.
“Tate,” he said, his expression suddenly serious as he looked back at her. “Tate Bardou. Pleasure to meet you, Claire.” He extended his hand to her, the natural cowboy charm making it such a genuine gesture she reached out her own hand over the signing table.
The second their skin touched, Claire knew she was utterly lost.
7
Tate felt the blood rush from his head the moment his fingers connected with hers. A bolt sizzled between them, sending little shocks up and down his spine. His wolf shivered and stared so intently at Claire from Tate's eyes he knew they glowed even more.
Then again, her eyes were glowing as well. The startled expression on her face captivated him, since he knew it matched his own. Just like the other day on the street in Cortez, there was a huge spark between them. The spark that said she was his mate.
Claire abruptly pulled back her hand, breaking the moment. By the increase in her breathing, though, not to mention her unshielded eyes, Tate knew she'd felt it as well. He also knew she was nervous around him, although he still wasn't sure why. Even so, he knew how to handle that. He was a horse trainer who often worked with flighty, suspicious fear. Claire exhibited the same symptoms. This, he understand how to approach.
“I wondered if I'd ever see you again,” he said, keeping his voice and his stance casual despite the yearning need to leap across the damn table and claim her. Which was crazy. He never in his life had had any desire to “claim” any woman. What did that even mean, exactly? “I guess you were in a hurry the other day. Were you getting ready to come out here for your reading?”
She nodded, the spill of thick white-blonde hair waving over her face with the movement, teasing at her full mouth. Tate suddenly imagined her beautiful lips parted beneath his. Hurriedly, he went on. “Sorry about being so pushy that day,” he said. Carefully, he smiled at her. “I was just interested in you the moment I knew you were there.”
Claire visibly swallowed. With another quick nod, she bent her head back down to her book and scribbled some lines in the front of it. Then she gently shut it and handed it to him. “You'll have to pay for it up front,” she said. Her smooth, rich voice flowed over him, sending tightness to his groin.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said, lips still tipped upward. She shot a quick glance at him to see if he was kidding with her. He tucked the book under his arm and almost imperceptibly leaned away from her again, as if he wasn't terribly interested in her presence.
It was maybe the hardest thing he'd done all day.
“Claire,” he said, pausing a moment at the sound of himself saying her name. He hoped he'd be saying it a lot more often. “Claire, do you have plans tonight?”
Clearly caught off-guard, she stared at him. He let his gaze meet hers directly, although he still angled his body away from her. Even though she was still sitting and he towered above her, he hoped he didn't seem to be in her space.
“I don't,” she finally said. Her pulse had jumped in response to his words, and he tracked the delicate movement in her neck. The sight of it beating there, just below her creamy skin, sharpened his breath. He had the sudden urge to lean across the table, catch the delicate skin there between his teeth, and lightly nip at it.
His wolf shivered with the effort of not doing just that. Giving himself a hard internal shake, Tate tried to speak normally. “I don't want to miss out on this opportunity a second time. May I take you out for dessert? Drinks? A late dinner if you didn't already eat?”
Clearly still a little wary, Claire regarded him with those wide, beautiful green eyes. He found himself wondering if she retained that color when she shifted into her wolf. Her scent, though, she couldn't hide from him this close. She was just as wildly aroused as he was, despite the shock he also sensed still lingering beneath it.
“I already ate dinner,” she said after another few long, agonizing moments had passed. The look in her eyes, though, said she was still hungry. “But....” Taking a deep breath, she tipped her chin up, as if she'd made a decision. Unexpectedly, a smile bloomed across her face, making her even more stunning. “Do you have anything else to offer, cowboy?”
Tate felt what seemed like every drop of blood in his body rush straight to his cock, which suddenly strained against his jeans. He blinked at Claire for a moment, unable to articulate any words as he processed her clear invitation.
When he was certain his voice wouldn't crack, he said, “Yes, I think I do. I'd love the great pleasure”—he paused for the briefest moment on that word, smiling as he saw her pulse beat hard in her neck—“of your company this evening, Claire.”
Casually, trying to restrain his wildly excited wolf, Tate offered this most alluring female wolf, this beautiful woman, his arm and a smile at the same time, still keeping himself as unassuming as possible. If ever in his life he'd wanted to make a good impression, this was it. Holding his breath, he waited for her answer.
Eyes flicking around the bookstore as if still uncertain, Claire slowly nodded yes. “I'm leaving early in the morning,” she said as she pushed back her chair and stood. To Tate's pleasure, he saw she was almost as tall as he was. All the better to kiss her with. “But there is an evening still ahead of us, isn't there?”
She took his arm and flashed that sudden smile again, melting Tate's brain in the process. “So. Your hotel or mine?”
* * *
Claire kept stealing sidelong glances at Tate as they walked the few blocks to her hotel. Her awareness of everything else around them was present as always, but she was alarmingly distracted by him. She found his easy stride, his natural gentleness, and his obvious interest in her all fascinating, although she still didn't completely understand why. It went beyond pure physical attraction, although that was definitely high on her radar. Something in him made her feel comfortable, relaxed, and centered in a way she never felt unless she was out running in the desert canyons.
“After you,” his deep, soft voice said as he opened the door to the quaint old hotel her publisher had put her up in.
> She slid another glance at him as she entered. Quivering slightly from sheer hormonal reaction as she passed his very male self, she also felt even more curious. Good old-fashioned manners weren't something she found in a lot of men anymore. Granted, she'd usually stuck to very casual relationships, with the exception of two—her very first boyfriend, and her most recent ex. That one had been courteous as well, although it always seemed as if he had an ulterior motive to being gentlemanly. As if he thought he was supposed to do it, rather than he did it because it meant something to him.
She could tell Tate was genuine when he held open the door for her to pass through first. He cared more for her comfort than for his own image. Despite the fact he was paying so much attention to her, she didn't feel overwhelmed at all. He was sincere in his motions, but it wasn't as if his entire being was pinpointed on her in a way that would feel uncomfortable.
Real. The content voice of her wolf drifted through her mind.
Yes. Tate Bardou seemed like the real deal. Whatever that might mean for Claire.
As her wolf rolled in excitement, Claire realized she was thinking in terms of the future. Filing that away for more examination later, she passed through the doorway ahead of him, skin buzzing when she moved past him and took a quick, surreptitious inhale of his light yet unmistakably male scent. After giving her another one of his seemingly endless natural smiles, he breezed into the hotel after her. This was a man who seemed completely confident in his own skin.
And what a magnificent skin he had, she admitted to herself as she continued her admiration while she walked to the hotel's sole elevator. She could scent the desert of home on him, though the wildness of the mountains also touched him. A healthy tan spoke of significant time spent outdoors, as did the faintest crinkles at the corners of his eyes, although he looked to be right around her age of only mid-twenties.
