Black Mesa Wolves Complete Series Boxset Bks 1-7

by J. K Harper

  “And sometimes not?” Her voice was soft, but he heard the raggedness in it.

  “Sometimes not, Claire,” he said, looking at her full on, letting her feel the force of his keen desire for her. As they stared at one another, the air between them growing heavy with the hormones dancing wildly on it, her tongue slid out to the corner of her mouth, licking her lush lips.

  Tate almost swallowed his own tongue. Trembling, he banished his rationale and decided to dare laying things on the table. Quietly, not taking his gaze from hers, he said, “I think I made that pretty clear the other night.”

  From the slow yet unmistakeable curve upward of that beautiful mouth and the flash of her wolf brightening her eyes, he knew she was extremely clear on what he was talking about. The hot memory of their uncontrolled encounter of wild abandon arced between them, seeming to sizzle even in the solid light of day. Tate felt his breathing speed up, saw Claire's pulse beating rapidly in her delicate, kissable neck. Silence draped over them. The sizzling physical connection, though, was almost like a living thing.

  This time, she surprised him by taking a few deep breaths, then changing the subject. “So when is it?”

  Uncertain, he felt a tiny furrow in his brow. “When's what?”

  Pleasure shot through him as her light laugh pealed into the room. He'd enjoyed that about her so much.

  “When is our second date?” She grinned at his startled look. “I thought I was pretty clear when I left you my calling card.”

  Tate nodded, remembering the sharp, mingled sense of loss and determination as he stood alone in the Denver hotel room, smelling Claire's scent all over his clothes, knowing she wanted him to find her.

  “I thought if you found me, we could go on a real date,” she went on. “Because—that was amazing. But we hardly know one another.” Now she frowned a bit, looking down to stir her coffee.

  “But we will,” he said. She looked back up at him, the white-blonde swing of her uncombed hair sliding over one cheek. The rest of her gorgeous mass of hair clung to the side of her neck, tumbled down over the collar of her sweater. He really, really wanted to grab it and gently pull her in close for that missed kiss. Instead, he went on, “That was the craziest thing I've ever experienced, and it made no sense, amazing as it was. Same for you, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said candidly, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. Wind whispered outside, dragging a tree branch across one of her windows. Setting her mug back on the table, Claire folded her hands in front of her, seeming to come to an agreement with herself. “Yes. Okay, yes. I've never experienced something like that before.”

  Tate exhaled as quietly as he could. Thank god he hadn't just screwed it all up again. Very carefully, he took it a step further. “I'm pretty sure I know what that was, Claire. Do you?”

  Wrapping her fingers around her mug, lightly tapping their short, ragged nails on the side, she slowly shook her head. Her expression, though, said she had a very good idea what he was about to say.

  Leaning back a bit but being as clear as he could, Tate said, “That was a mating frenzy, darlin'. It's what happens when two wolves meet, recognize one another for what they are, and come together to seal the deal.”

  She huffed out a tiny laugh, relaxing even more. “Seal the deal?”

  Tate grinned back at her as his wolf made excited circles in his mind. Shrugging a bit, he said, “Sorry. Sometimes I go for humor when maybe I shouldn't.”

  “No, it's okay.” Her voice was soft, though her eyes were definitely darkening with her clear arousal. “You mean because we're—mates.” She stumbled just a bit over the word, but kept his gaze.

  She knew. She one hundred percent knew.

  Keep calm, keep calm, he warned himself. His wolf was practically doing backflips of joy. “Yes,” he said, striving to keep his tone careful yet casual at the same time. “You and I are mates, and that night was us realizing it and doing what wolves do in order to create the bond.”

  The only sounds were the wind lightly scratching outside and the soft clink of Claire's spoon still stirring her coffee. She didn't take her gaze from him, though. After the longest single moment of his life, she nodded.

  “I know.” She said it so quietly he barely breathed in order to hear her. Letting another heart-stopping moment go by, she finally said in a very tentative voice, “I have no idea what comes next, though. Do you?”

  Tate's heart about melted all over the place at the seeking quality of her tone. Wild wolf, he reminded himself, even though she hadn't outright admitted it to him yet. Despite the sizzle of the mate connection between them, he knew on that bone-deep, instinctive level she wasn't quite ready for that conversation yet. Approach and retreat was one of his favorite training techniques. He'd see how well it would work right now.

  Wolf. Not horse, his wolf said, half snarling in exasperation.

  Yes, okay. Right. Keep it real, but keep it slow. Slow-ish, he amended, caught again by her luscious lips. But what the hell should he say next? He leaned back in his chair to settle himself as his thoughts leapt around again in a mishmash of directions to choose from. Eyes landing on the painting again, a fresh idea came to him. Slowly smiling, he relaxed a bit.

  “Okay,” he said. Taking a sip of the excellent coffee, keeping their eye contact while trying to appear as unthreatening as possible, he smiled at Claire. “How about Saturday morning?”

  “I—what?” Confusion came off of her in waves.

  “For our second date. As mates. I supposed we should get to know another a bit more. What do you think?”

  Fingers wrapping around her mug in a way that suddenly had Tate's mind reeling off in an entirely different direction, Claire thought about it, then nodded. “Okay. Um, what kind of a date is in the morning?”

  Thanking whatever saints watched over wolf shifters, Tate reverted to his humor and used his best “aw, shucks, ma'am” drawl to answer. “The kind a cowboy goes on. Trust me, you'll like it.”

  “Think you know me so well already?” The teasing was back in her voice again. It was a little uncertain, but it was there.

  “I know some of you very well at this point, Claire.” This time, the drawl vanished, leaving nothing but very interested male in its place.

  Claire swallowed, her eyes suddenly dark with what Tate knew was pure need again. They sat in a silence wrapped by hot tension. He wondered if images of their lovemaking were racing through her head the way they suddenly raced through his.

  Her voice wavered when she spoke. “I don't for a second regret that. I just—I don't—I mean—darn it,” she finished, staring at her coffee mug.

  The slight huskiness to her voice made Tate's insides flip around. Keeping his voice casual, he said, “Saturday morning because I'd like to take you horseback riding. You up for that, darlin'?”

  Claire's breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened with excitement. The amazed smile that exploded across her face about stopped his heart, she was so beautiful when she did that. Then she deflated somewhat.

  “They'll know I'm a shifter. I'm not special, like you are.”

  Tate forgot about subtlety. Sitting up straight, he reached across the table to grab her hand. Letting the spark between them race up his skin when he touched her, he said, “The hell you aren't, Claire. Trust me on this one. I promise you.”

  He willed his intensity to leap across to her, binding its truth to her and making her understand how genuine he was being. Slowly, she nodded her head. “Okay,” she said simply. “I believe you.”

  Exhaling hard, Tate managed not to behave like a giddy idiot. She had willingly—his skin flashed hot with the remembered thrill of just how willingly—shared her body with him. He knew she understood that connection. Even so, he still wanted to tread lightly around her. Claire was strong, and certain of herself, and definitely self-reliant. He got that. But that hint of wariness clinging to her was just as present. He might have found her home, at her request, but she could still vanish if
she decided he was pushing her too fast.

  “It's a date, then,” he said.

  14

  Two mornings later, a strong breeze trailed over Claire's face as she stood awkwardly off to the side of Tate's horse trailer. Her nerves jangling from excitement and a small amount of trepidation, she watched his efficient, skilled movements as he readied their calm, sweet-seeming steeds.

  The little girl in her was utterly thrilled. The adult wolf shifter, though, worried he was wrong about this. That the horses would snort and bolt when they realized what she was: a predator, one that could hunt them as prey.

  So far, though, the creatures seemed anything but upset. They stood quietly as Tate checked their saddles, seeming as unconcerned about her presence as that of the sunshine. The small, pretty reddish-brown one she assumed was for her. The taller one, though, kept catching her eye. Red and white, it bore a resemblance to the leaping horse in her painting at home.

  “Ready, beautiful?” Tate grinned at her, his entire face open and at ease. He looked like such a cowboy, so perfectly at home in his boots and leather chaps, here on the desert range, that for a moment Claire simply looked at him. She'd had this man in her bed. He was her mate. A memory of his rough voice, crying out her name in blind passion, raced over her, leaving her with a suddenly dry mouth and quickened breathing.

  From the sudden extra curve up of his lips, Tate knew exactly what she'd just imagined. Her feelings were apparently broadcast in bright neon lights around him. Swallowing once, twice, to make her throat work, she gave up on words and just nodded. The breeze stiffened and whipped strands of her hair into her eyes. Tate stepped toward her to gently brush them away. Just the touch of his fingers on her face set her wolf to sitting up, completely fixated on the gorgeous male wolf before her.

  “Hmm. You sure are ready, aren't you?” Despite the knowing words, his tone was casual. Something danced beneath it, though, that set Claire's nerves on fire again.

  Finding her voice, which came out slightly scratchy, she said, “I'll be too ready if you keep doing this.”

  Tate laughed, the rich sound of it surrounding Claire in warmth. “One thing at a time, then, darlin'. So. Let's introduce you to Luna.”

  To her surprise, he gently steered her in the direction of the tall, two-colored horse. “Luna?” she asked, tentatively reaching out her hand, expecting the creature to throw up its head in alarm and strain away from her. But the beautiful animal merely sniffed delicately at her touch. She smiled in utter delight. “Does this mean she likes me?”

  Tate's hand gently rubbed her lower back in reassurance. “She sure does. Luna's a sweet girl. She'll take good care of you today.”

  “I thought I'd be on the smaller one.” Claire eyed the other horse, who looked back at her with its large, velvet brown eyes.

  “Not today. Maybe someday, if we manage to make a decent hand out of you.” Tate untied Luna from the side of the trailer and, gently steering Claire on his other side, walked them both several feet away.

  “Hand?” Claire asked, mystified. She reached out again to Luna, this time to pet the horse's pretty neck.

  “Like a ranch hand. Someone who's good with horses.”

  Claire snorted. “All I've done around a horse is drool at them in movies and books. If you expect me to be your ranch hand, you might be taking on a bigger challenge than you think.”

  Her sweet dark cowboy looked at her, a flicker of something hot and smoldering in his gaze. “I have no illusions about what a challenge you are, darlin'. But,” and that perpetual twinkle returned to his eyes, “I do know how to sweet talk the horses. Guess it'll work on you, too.”

  A surprised laugh huffed out of her. No matter how much he teased her, never once did it ruff her fur. In fact, she enjoyed it. A lot.

  “Okay, here's how we do this.” With the same practiced, gently efficiency he'd used on the horses, Tate showed Claire how to get in the saddle, sit, hold the leather reins, and manage basic control of her horse, which he told her was called a mare because she was a girl. For her part, Luna stood calmly through the process, as unalarmed as a prey animal could possibly be in the presence of a predator.

  With each passing second, Claire felt her heart melting a bit more. For the horse or the man, she wasn't entirely sure.

  Both, her wolf murmured very quietly. She'd kept her presence as muted as possible around the horses.

  “And hi-ho Silver, away,” Tate said once they were both mounted. His horse moved off, with Claire's immediately following as soon as she lightly pressed it with her legs as he'd instructed. “Look at you,” he said, smiling at Claire. “A natural already.”

  “Hmm,” she returned, but she could feel her own huge smile splitting her face.

  They rode in an easy silence for several minutes, Claire focusing on her balance and trying to remember everything Tate had told her to do, watching her horse's head and the trail immediately before her ears. With each passing moment, however, she relaxed a little more, then a little more, until finally she found herself looking up and watching the scenery instead.

  Most of the scenery, of course, was Tate's back. She studied his broad shoulders beneath the sky-blue button-down shirt and black vest he wore. His seat in the saddle was as graceful as if he'd been born there. They rounded a curve in the trail, allowing the spread of canyons, buttes, and distant mountains to frame the man on his horse. Despite the breeze, the day promised to be beautiful in that crisp, clear way of fall. Claire let the landscape suffuse her every sense. The reds and creamy tans of the sandstone walls in the canyons ahead, the soft russety dirt the horses trod over, the sharp tang of crushed sagebrush from underneath the horses' hooves all filled Claire with a sense of heady peace. This was her home, her landscape—yet it was also undeniably Tate's. He fit here with as much ease as she did. Maybe she'd somehow entered a Western fantasyland, she thought with a contented sigh. Complete with sexy cowboy who could ride a horse as well as he rode—

  Claire broke off her train of thought with a quick shake of her head despite the sudden heat in her thighs. If she went down that path in her mind, she'd jump the man as soon as they took a break. Her mate. Just the thought made her giddy with a wild wash of desire.

  Tate turned his body and his head toward her, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. “It's pretty quiet back there. You having fun?”

  “Are you kidding?” The laughing words spilled forth so effortlessly Claire couldn't contain her joy at the moment. “This is perhaps the best date I've ever been on.”

  “Only perhaps? You're killing me here, woman. Killing me.”

  “One thing would make this absolutely the most perfect date,” she said, watching with a bit of envy at how effortlessly he sat half-turned in the saddle, still facing her while his horse walked on.

  “What's that, darlin'?” The velvet smooth tones of his voice slipped over her skin, making her shiver with a quick rush of pleasure.

  “Well...I've always wanted to run on a horse. Luna's pretty sweet so far. Aren't you, girl?” Claire crooned to the pretty mare she rode, reaching down for what must have been the seventeenth time in the past ten minutes to stroke that soft neck again.

  Tate grinned at her. “We can probably make that happen. Let's just keep walking for a bit here, though. She's a sweetheart for sure, but I want you to get a little more comfortable in that saddle before we whoop it up down there by the mesas.”

  He swung his arm in the general direction before them. Claire looked ahead. Three mesas, the ones she privately called the Sentinels for their imposing stances, as if they guarded a castle, squared off against the deep blue sky. And flat ground beneath them, she recalled. Tate easily turned back in the saddle to look ahead. Claire watched the play of muscles in his neck as he rode. Remembering the taste of his skin there as she'd softly nibbled it between her lips and teeth, she managed to not fall off as her thoughts wandered purposefully toward the point of no return.

  Really, just being the ma
n's presence was turning her into a mushy-brained female.

  He is good, her wolf gently thought. Mate.

  Yes, very true, that. And she'd spent the last two nights very restlessly, imagining Tate's tongue on her breasts, kissing his way down her stomach, gently reaching to play between her spread legs as she senselessly begged him to tumble right over the brink into that screaming ecstasy once again. And then again. Why he hadn't come back to her before today was making her crazy.

  Which, she suddenly thought as she narrowed her eyes at his back, was probably his intention. He wanted her to come to him. To be very honest, if that was his plan, it was working.

  Her horse snorted at something and moved suddenly to the side. Startled, Claire exclaimed and grabbed onto the horn Tate had told her to hold if she felt remotely uncomfortable. She slipped around a bit in the saddle, but didn't fall. The second she shifted her weight, Luna stopped cold and stood stock still.

  “Hey, now, what's going on back here, hmm?” Tate had swung around at Claire's gasp, quickly assessing the situation. “Ah, sweet Luna, you've got a cactus spine in your leg.”

  “What?” Horrified, Claire started to dismount.

  “No, stay on her,” Tate said. He swung to the ground himself in a smooth motion, his dusty black boots thumping on the ground as he strode up to Claire and his mare. “She's okay, I just have to pull it out.”

  “Won't that hurt her?” Claire automatically started stroking the mare's neck, again admiring its softness and the sleek lay of red and white hairs beneath her hand. She also admired the man, who might have strode in from a Marlboro Man commercial, sans the nasty cigarette. Damn, he was gorgeous.

  Already bent down by Luna's front leg, Tate's hatted head shook no. “She'll barely feel it. In fact,” he stood up and flourished his hand at her, “it's already out. Kinda wicked little thing, isn't it?”

  Claire stared at the thin, sharp cactus needle on his palm. She'd met up with her share of cactus spines in her paws over the years, but she could pull them out with her teeth or, if that failed, shift back to human to deal with them. Luna had no such resources.