Damn, he already liked Lindsey as a person, but in this she was wrong. A woman willing to sacrifice herself to save her sister or kill to protect her small band of captives was not a woman incapable of love. Lindsey, like him, was wounded.
Yeah, he could definitely do far worse than Lindsey. They danced for another couple of songs, and Bryce was beginning to imagine what she’d look like naked, when it happened again.
This time, the familiar scent was accompanied by… laughter. Bryce would recognize that lusty alto chuckle anywhere. When he’d first met Murphy, it had driven him mad with lust. Then later, when the team had been held captive, the memory of that laugh was all that had kept him sane during the darkest days before the escape.
“Be right back,” Bryce whispered in Lindsey’s ear before walking off.
As he pushed and wove through the crowd, the scent grew stronger and the memories more vivid. Candy piloting her helicopter, the grin on her beautiful face as she flew like a madwoman, and how fucking sweet she looked sleeping, with those plaits all over the place and her face relaxed.
He remembered everything.
Ten years. Ten motherfucking years he had been looking for Murphy.
Yesterday, the private detective had given Bryce an address. Earlier today he’d gone to an empty apartment. Tonight, his prayers had been answered.
Must she look so damn… happy?
Had she not suffered?
The way Murphy laughed, her thick hair swaying as she danced with Wyatt’s sister, Michelle, and a couple of the other cougars from the pride, it appeared she had not a care in the world.
As if she wasn’t aware that she held his heart captive.
Michelle spotted him and grinned. Then she waved and leaned closer to Murphy saying something.
Lt. Candace Murphy turned.
Bryce’s wolf howled in elation.
And the man?
The man was flummoxed. Holy fuck. If he thought she’d been beautiful at twenty-five, the woman she’d become was magnificent. Her hair… long and loose… damn. The memory of burying his fingers in her soft curls took center stage. And her lips. Oh fuck.
But those lips, the ones he’d imagined kissing every morning when he awoke, instead of widening into a smile, tightened then turned down at the corners.
Did she even care?
Bryce moved. Each step closer to his target drove his anger higher, darker, deadlier. All of her talk of love, had it all been a lie? Three feet felt like three years, but finally, he reached her, breathless as if he’d run a marathon.
He inhaled, and… what in the holy fuck?
Wyatt’s scent was all over her. Unacceptable.
So what did he do? Kissing her would have been a good start. Wrapping her in a hug to make sure she wasn’t an illusion would have worked too. Instead, Bryce tried to wound. “Well, I guess Jake was right, you always do manage to land on your feet.” She frowned, and he decided that wounding wasn’t good enough, so he added, “or should I say on your back?”
* * *
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About the Author
Annalise has worked with explosives, been a singing waitress, and an actress, but continues insisting to her friends she’s an introvert. For some odd reason they disbelieve her.
So far, she’s traveled to five of the seven continents, and honestly—only wishes to visit one more. Of all the places she has experienced, falling into fictional worlds feels most like home.
Annalise loves to create tales of flawed and diverse characters meeting the individual, while not be perfect, somehow is the person for them. Incapable of committing to a single genre, A.C. pens love stories without fur and fang as Annalise Nixon.
When she’s not abusing those on the road to a happy ever after, she’s hanging out in Texas, with her wild, wacky and wonderful friends, and searching for the best beef brisket on the planet, while simultaneously pondering why she can’t lose weight. Her personal prince charming wore cammies rather than armour and now drives a truck, not a trusty steed, but she'll keep him all the same.
For more information, or to chill and hang out
www.acnixon.net
[email protected]
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