by Dani Harper
She snorted at that. “We’re Changelings. Something really weird is always going on. We’ll talk about it after the party, Connor. For now, go get yourself a drink.”
Chapter Twelve
Zoey finished the last bite of her chicken and put the plate on the little table beside her, settling back into her chair with a happy sigh. This was so what she needed. Great food, a little relaxation, good company. Normally she would have made the rounds, made sure she met everyone, but her leg was bothering her and she was more tired than she’d initially thought. To her delight, most of the party guests wandered over to her and said hello or introduced themselves. For someone who was new in town, she couldn’t have felt more welcomed. Geoff and Melly Lassiter had invited her to their goat farm. Holt LaLonde had offered to fly her over the Peace River valley in his Cessna. Martin Beauchamp and René Ghostkeeper had brought over samples from the dessert table, most of which they’d baked themselves. Zoey grinned as she pulled a small notepad from her purse and scribbled a couple of story tips she’d received from Jeannie Rousseau, the bookstore owner. Her grin faded when Connor appeared out of nowhere and sat in the chair next to her.
“So,” he said, looking over at the patio where some couples were dancing under bright lanterns. He was pointedly not looking at her. “I was wanting to tell you that I’m sorry for having left so abruptly the other day, but I haven’t figured out how.”
She considered his words carefully. “You were tired,” she offered at last.
“No excuse.”
“Okay, then you could have picked up the phone.”
“I certainly should have. Birkie was right.”
“I thought she was in Scotland. She told you to call me?”
“No, no. She’s been warning me for quite a while that I’ve been too wrapped up in my work and need to make time for a life.”
That was something she could relate to.“Seems to be the challenge of the twenty-first century. Most of us have to learn how to do that. She sounds very wise.”
“There’s an understatement. I should pay more attention to what she says, a lot more and a lot sooner.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her then. “You know, I came here tonight hoping to get you alone long enough to apologize, then Bill told me what that Helfren character did and I just saw red. Then, in the kitchen, you saw something . . . .” He let it hang.
“Jessie told you?”
“I twisted her arm.”
Zoey snorted. “Jessie? Try again.”
“Okay, maybe I acted pathetic until she felt sorry for me and told me what I wanted to know.”
She wasn’t sure she could picture that either. “And what do you know?”
“That you thought you saw a wolf when you looked at me.”
“That’s hardly your fault, Connor. Jessie was right, I was tired and my blood sugar had sunk to my shoes. I haven’t been sleeping well, so it’s not all that surprising that I started seeing things. Pretty disturbing, mind you, but not surprising.” She had decided to ignore the fact that the vision had come through her psychic gift, since surely the gift was influenced by her own physical and emotional condition, and therefore suspect. She sighed and shared the conclusion she’d come to. “I hope this doesn’t sound dramatic—I’m wondering if I might have a mild case of post-traumatic stress after all.”
He nodded. “Makes perfect sense. The wolf attack was a very intense and terrifying experience, and it’s going to take some time to fade. But I sure don’t like the thought of you being frightened by me.”
“It wasn’t really you. And besides, I’ll have you know I wasn’t scared, I was just startled.”
“Startled?” There was a pause. “Is that your story?” His expression lightened considerably.
“And I’m sticking to it,” she said. She slid her hand over his on the armrest. Heat radiated from his skin and she caught her breath as her mind painted pictures of other places she’d like to be touching.
“So things are okay between us?” he asked. There was no mistaking the hopeful note in his voice.
“Only if you dance with me.” She grinned at him. “Cruel I know, but it’s a strict policy of mine. Can’t accept an apology that doesn’t come with a dance. Sorry.”
“What about your leg?”
“I’m light on my feet, and besides, I was hoping for a slow dance.”
His hand seized hers at once, and she was pulled from the chair and into his powerful arms in the blink of an eye. The heat, the scent of him, surrounded her, filled her senses, as they began to move together. Her sore leg cooperated to the point that she could almost forget it.
“Hey, the dance floor’s way over there.” Zoey said with a weak laugh. Every hormone she had was in overdrive at the proximity of Connor’s powerful body. She half-expected spontaneous combustion to claim her clothing as her body brushed against his. And didn’t that just paint a picture in her mind?
“We’ll get there. Eventually.” He guided her subtly but unerringly through the crowd. She was amazed at how smoothly he moved in spite of his size, and for a moment she had a vivid impression of a powerful predator stalking silently in the shadows—
“Zoey?”
“What?” The impression disappeared like a soap bubble, and she shook her head a little to clear it. “Mind’s wandering, I guess. Sorry.”
He laughed then, and she could feel the rumble of it in his chest. Something deep and low within her clenched delightfully at the vibration, and she gripped his broad shoulder hard. Her bruised arm protested a little but she was too busy watching Connor’s eyes go from gray to silver as he lowered his head. Her arms traveled up of their own volition to circle his neck.
Within two seconds she realized it wasn’t going to be like the last time. There was no trading here, no gentle testing, no give and take. And she was so not in control. Connor’s mouth was hot and soft yet relentless all at the same time. Wrapped tightly in his powerful arms, held against his well-muscled frame, her body was not her own. Not hers at all. She was already pressed against him from chin to toe but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She wanted to wrap herself in that luscious glowing heat that radiated from him. Something between a whimper and a moan escaped her throat as his large, strong hands massaged her back and shoulders, leaving that delicious warmth behind. His heated hands moved lower to knead her bottom. She wound her fingers in his long dark hair. Her breasts felt strangely tight, almost tingly, and she wanted his mouth on them. Needed it.
A burst of distant laughter snapped her to her senses and Zoey pushed away from Connor. She didn’t get far—she was pretty much caged in those arms. But frantic glances around her revealed nothing but shadow. She could hear the party somewhere off to her right but she couldn’t see much.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Side of the house. Behind the garden shed to be exact.”
“I thought we were headed to the dance floor.”
“We are,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “This is the scenic route.”
She breathed him in, felt her insides melting. He pulled back for a moment and as she looked up into his face, all she could think was damn fine scenery. “Well, then”—she grinned—“sign me up for the full tour.”
Moments later Zoey’s blouse was open and she was thanking the lingerie gods for front-hooking bras. Connor’s large hands were hot, one at the small of her back pressing her to him and the other engulfing her breast. He was trailing kisses along her collarbone, working his way lower and lower with his lips and tongue. She could hardly breathe for the anticipation. A low moan escaped her as he closed his questing lips around a nipple.
Oh yes. Yes-yes-yes. Her hands worked through Connor’s wavy hair, twisting and tangling, as he worked her tender nipple with his tongue, nibbled it delicately with his teeth. Drew her breast strongly into his mouth, again and again, until answering pulls from deep within her core had Zoey gasping for breath. He flicked open her jeans then and slid them slo
wly down her hips, with his mouth still working her breast. A hot burst of moisture dampened her thong just before it went south and she wondered why the cool evening air didn’t flash into steam as soon as it brushed her skin. Then Connor’s mouth was on hers again. A picture blossomed in her mind, showed her plainly how the subtle thrust of his tongue was symbolic of another, more complete, possession.
And she wanted it. Needed it. Needed everything. Needed him. She parted her legs for his hand, rocked her pelvis forward to meet his questing fingers. Moaned deep in her throat as one slid inside her. She gripped his shoulders and rode first one finger, then two. She was soaking wet, desperately hot to the point of aching—and nearly cheered when he crooked his fingers just so, dragging his fingertips across her most sensitive spot as she moved. She could feel the approaching storm now, bearing down on her like thunderheads on a hot summer night. Oh geez, oh Connor, oh— He sealed his lips over hers and she screamed into his mouth, as the violent orgasm flashed through her like sheet lightning.
Tad Helfren was fuming by the time he found Bernard Gervais. The old drunk was in a corner booth of the Jersey Pub with half a dozen empty draft glasses in front of him.
The investigator was in a rotten mood. The huge lump on the back of his head ached like a bitch, and his lip stung as he took a sip of his imported German beer. “Where the hell have you been? I’m paying you for your help, not to drink yourself into a stupor.”
“If I wanted a stupor, I’d have started a hell of a lot earlier.” Bernie’s speech was intelligible, his eyes reasonably clear. “What d’ya want, Helfren?”
“There were a bunch of cattle killed tonight, just west of town. I picked it up on the scanner and the police are saying it was an animal attack. Fish and Wildlife are going out first thing in the morning.” Helfren leaned over the table, his voice dropping. “I know they’re going to find wolf prints. It’s werewolves, isn’t it?”
Bernie’s scarred face stretched uncomfortably with a slow deliberate smile. “Yeah, must be. Natural killers, those things. The vet’s not home tonight either.”
“You still think Macleod’s the one? I’ve had his office under surveillance for three stinking weeks but so far I haven’t got a thing on him. And that little gift you suggested we leave in his office hasn’t been touched yet.”
“He’s the one. And the newspaper bitch is out tonight too. I’m betting the two of them went after the cattle just for fun.”
“But it isn’t the full moon yet—would she turn so soon?”
“He’s her sire, he can make it happen whenever he likes. You can bet he’s initiating her to the kill. Just like he made her cut my face.”
Helfren refrained from mentioning that Little Miss Editor had nearly cracked his own skull and Macleod had been nowhere in sight. Gingerly, he fingered the fresh stitches in the midst of the swelling. “But she will turn when the moon’s full? ’Cause, dammit, I want those photos. You called me, remember? Got me to come all the way up here to the middle of nowhere, claiming there would be proof that werewolves exist.”
“You said you’d pay for it.” Gervais finished his glass.
“When I get proof, you’ll get your money. That’s the agreement.”
“You’d best be prepared to make a down payment then. You still have that equipment set up where I told you? It’s turned on?”
“For all the good it’s doing,” Helfren snorted.
“Make sure you check it in the morning.” The old man got to his feet.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Gervais chuckled low in his throat, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Just going to stir the pot a little. And the next time you see me, you better have your fucking checkbook.”
As Zoey’s senses returned she found herself draped against Connor like a wet beach towel, and his talented mouth was doing wonderful things to her neck. Her body was weightless, boneless, breathless, a hollowed-out shell blasted clean by the sheer force of release. She was strangely ravenous in spite of the meal she’d had, but that could wait. There were other hungers to be satisfied, she thought and smiled as her fingers worked the buttons of Connor’s shirt. She spread the material aside, running her hands over his chest, exploring the dusting of dark hair that accentuated the powerful muscles. God, the man was built, and she couldn’t help grinning as she leaned forward to circle her tongue around a nipple. A sudden craving to cover that chest with soft, openmouthed kisses surfaced but was deflected as Connor’s big hands drew her close, pressing her skin firmly against his. She’d just experienced the best orgasm of her life, yet the heat of his body seemed to incite a whole new level of languor in her. She just wanted to bask in it, melt into it, become one with it. . . .
Zoey was just starting to fiddle with the zipper of his obviously straining jeans when he stiffened and seized her hands. “What? What is it?” Her hands were still captive but he wasn’t paying attention to her, wasn’t even looking at her. Instead every fiber of him seemed to be alert. Watching. Listening. She glanced around him frantically. “Is someone coming?” Holy crap, that was all she needed—to be caught with her pants down literally in a very small town. Ha, and she’d been worried about werewolf rumors. The post office gossips would have a field day with—
Connor released her so abruptly that she lost her balance and had to grab the side of the house for support. “Hey!” She yanked her clothes together. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
She buttoned frantically as she watched him take a couple of steps forward, all his attention focused outward. Certainly not on her. Zoey listened hard yet heard nothing but the party carrying on in the yard beyond. Saw nothing either, since there were no lights on this side of the house. Her psychic gift also failed to make an appearance but she wasn’t surprised by that. After, all, it hadn’t warned her of the wolf attack either. When she didn’t want the gift, it crowded in on her senses. When she could really use it, it couldn’t be found. She wondered crossly what was the point of having a psychic talent if it was going to be so damn unreliable. Wondered with even more annoyance what was the point of trying to be close to Connor—then sudden agony seared through her injured leg like hot metal through butter.
In every novel she’d read, things went black at times like these. Instead the world had gone white. Brilliant, blinding white. She hovered in the heart of the sun for long moments, until the pain released her as abruptly as it had seized her.
Zoey didn’t feel herself hit the ground. She was much too busy gasping in great lungfuls of air. She was vaguely aware of Connor kneeling beside her, holding her by the shoulders, his face near hers. A hard shake jarred her senses, made her eyes fly open and her temper flare. “Quit that! I’m okay, goddammit. Let go.”
“I thought you were passing out.”
“Sorry, I’m not the fainting type. Go find a princess.” She sat and rested her arms on her knees, content to just practice breathing for a while. A sudden burst of laughter from the party reached her ears and she looked up to find that Connor was gone. “Hey, I didn’t mean now!”
She’d heard of men who ignored their partner’s need for foreplay in favor of their own satisfaction, but she’d never heard of a man totally satisfying, then abandoning, his partner. It made no sense. It was too much like what had happened—or rather, not happened, in her apartment. At least she had had an orgasm this time, but even though it was definitely the best one she’d ever had, she was still pissed off. What was Connor Macleod’s problem? He wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was he hesitant about touching her—and boy, oh boy, did he know how to touch her. Impotence wasn’t a factor either. He’d had a hell of an impressive erection that made her core clench just thinking about it.
“So why the goddamn disappearing act?” she muttered crossly, rubbing her throbbing leg as she struggled to think. If Connor wasn’t interested in her, then why seek her out to apologize in the first place? Or why be so angry at the bruise on her arm f
rom that asshole reporter? For that matter, why would he be upset that she’d briefly imagined a wolf’s face when she looked at him? If he really wasn’t into her, that should have been the perfect excuse to back away. Just leave the crazy lady alone. . . .
No, he’d had ample opportunity to walk away and he hadn’t. Zoey didn’t need any psychic gifts to tell her that Connor cared, that he had feelings for her. She was sure of it and sure of what she’d seen in his face when she’d suggested the dance, sure of what she’d felt in his touch. She didn’t know what Connor’s problem was, but she was so going to hunt him down and find out!
Her leg still hurt like hell—and just what was that all about?—but she managed to limp around the house to the backyard. She leaned on a planting bench and scanned the crowd for Connor under the glowing strings of patio lanterns that crisscrossed the yard. Instead she caught sight of an enormous canine shape as it made an impossible leap over the wall of lilacs. Terror jammed her heart into her throat and she couldn’t have shouted a warning if there’d been time. Tumult erupted as the creature landed inside the yard and ran through the party. Someone screamed. People turned to look, some tripped trying to get out of the way and others were knocked down as the huge wolf raced around the yard with snarling, snapping jaws. Jessie’s normally placid dog exploded with primal rage and lunged for the intruder, but the wolf was far too fast.
She knew, knew, it was coming for her but running had suddenly become impossible. The pain in her leg was now overriding everything, even adrenaline. Slowly she sank to the ground, fighting to stay conscious above the agony, fighting even to draw a breath, yet her fingers walked along the grass and closed over a fallen garden trowel just as the wolf reached the end of the far walkway. It wheeled and headed straight toward her.
Her vision faltered, grayed as she struggled to kneel on her good leg, holding the trowel in front of her with both hands. Then the sudden clarity of the doomed kicked in and she could see everything in vivid detail. The hellish green light in the creature’s eyes, the grizzled and scarred muzzle, the gleam on its long pointed teeth—
