by Amy Redwood
His She-wolf
Amy Redwood
Ropes, guns, secrets—and one overprotective hit man. Sometimes, only life-changing sex will do.
It’s nothing personal, it’s just sex. At least that’s what I thought, meeting Seth. You see, I have a personality problem every full moon. My shifter genes urge me to hunt. And to mate. It’s an itch I can’t scratch during business meetings, obviously. What I want is my name on a lucrative contract, but this is where my life really takes a turn for the worse. The last thing I need is a hero, risking his life to save mine, but that’s exactly what I got.
Seth, hit man-cum-journalist, is on the run after securing a crucial piece of evidence against a known kingpin. Still trying to figure out how Candace is involved, he is even more puzzled at her strength, fast reflexes and appetite for sex. But he’s ready and able to save her—even if he has to tie her up to make her see reason—and heal her heart along the way.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
His She-wolf
ISBN 9781419927737
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
His She-wolf Copyright © 2010 Amy Redwood
Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication March 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
His She-wolf
Amy Redwood
Chapter One
The moon was already rising in the east—the tingling in my bones was a telltale sign—and the last rays of sunlight flickered like flames into my small apartment. I squirmed on my desk chair, my shifter genes willing me on to hunt and prowl and mate. Especially to mate. While I had mastered the urge to shift involuntarily—mostly—I was helpless to the unquenchable desire within me each full moon. Embarrassing but, thank goodness, preventable.
I brushed my index finger over the top of a picture frame, removing a thin layer of dust. “Miss you, Tim,” I whispered, almost hearing him say Love you, honey. Looking at his blue-eyed face, I expected my heart to hurt, but the pain was muted, less sharp.
Sighing, I opened the desk drawer and retrieved a small paper sachet from its depths. I made a mental note to stock up tomorrow, ripped the sachet open and poured the finely ground powder into a full water glass. Stirring with my finger, I stifled a gag as the faint aroma of rotten fruit reached my heightened senses.
If given the choice, I’d prefer to be tied down to rail tracks with a train approaching before I was caught without my drink on a full moon night.
Still, I eyed the glass warily—it needed to steep for full potency—and fished a praline from the open box sitting on my desk. I’d made them yesterday. Coated pecan in white chocolate. Closing my eyes, I savored the buttery crunchiness while the loud humming of my outdated computer drilled a hole in my head.
Drink in one hand, mouse in the other, I clicked the browser window shut, which had educated me about the maximum sentence for arsonists, and tried not to think about the gasoline canister hidden in the basement.
If tonight’s meeting went well, I wouldn’t need to follow in Nero’s footsteps—not that my conscience would ever let me do it anyway.
After opening my email account, I switched on my laser printer then hit the print button. Clicking softly, the needle printer got busy. Lowering my forehead to the desk, I listened as the printer gave an unhealthy cough. The smell of paper burning wafted.
I jerked my head up. The display flashed red, and no matter how hard I tugged, the e-invitation to tonight’s entrepreneur meeting was stuck. Counting to ten, I resisted hurling the printer out the window.
Violence was never the answer.
One floor below, the sound of a doorbell rang and carried over fifteen crooked steps and through the two paper-thin doors that separated my shoebox apartment from my shop. The day had gone by without anyone buying a single anything, so I jumped to my feet and made my way down the staircase to greet my first, hopefully buying customer of the day. Placing my drink carefully next to the register and smoothing down my hair, I made an effort to smile as I stepped into the storefront that held all my hopes. And lots of unsold chocolate.
Instead of the face of a paying customer, I stared right into the barrel of a gun.
“Don’t scream.”
Why would I? Nevertheless, my stomach did a somersault, but I kept my mouth shut. Baffled, I glanced along the cold, glinting metal and up an arm, over a broad chest under a navy shirt, and then found the face behind the gun.
Like a sudden sugar rush, delirious pleasure spread through me.
“You?” I whispered, my heart beating in my throat as I gave him another quick once-over. He was fetching in a hard, square-jawed, dark-eyed brooding way. Hard was the operative word, I thought—and was thinking it not for the first time.
“You,” I said again, balling my fists, ignoring how lust welled in my body.
Recognition sparked in his dark gaze. He lowered the gun and murmured a curse, a vein throbbing in his temple. As if he had made up his mind, he took a step back and raised the weapon again.
Yes, he remembered me all right. Probably even remembered how he had dumped me, even though he was a step ahead, because he knew why he had dumped me in the middle of a date, leaving me to pick up the check. That night, he had injured more than just my pride.
“Seth, wasn’t it?” I asked, knowing damn well his name and ignoring that he still held the gun trained at my heart. “Should I call the police or will you leave on your own?” I couldn’t even begin to guess what went on inside him, but then his features smoothed into a poker face.
“You mistake me for someone else.”
“Ha, right.” Granted, it had been dark that night, but not that dark. Bet he hadn’t figured on bumping into someone who knew him while he… What exactly was he doing?
“Are you trying to rob me?” Laughable. Naked women had no pockets, so to speak.
“Calm down,” he said, obviously thinking I was about to lose it. After squinting at me, he glanced over his shoulder at the street.
“Um, listen, buddy,” I said, calculating how high the chance was that the gun contained silver bullets. “I don’t have a lot of money in the register but anyway, if I were you, I’d pick another store to rob.” I gave him what I hoped to be a convincing glare. “Get lost or I will beat you up.”
His answer was a snort, as if my threat amused him, which was bad judgment on his part.
After another look over his shoulder, he pushed past me and dived—cursing—behind the counter and out of sight. “Listen, honey,” he said quietly, “close the front door and lower the blinds. And mind that the
gun is pointed at your ass, so behave.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” I muttered, thinking of Tim and how he used to call me “honey”, my gaze drawn to the street.
Two guys built like brick walls headed toward my shop. They moved with a certain grace, like cold-blooded predators. As if someone walked over my grave, sudden dread came over me. I wrapped my arms around my middle, skin itching just looking at them. Taking it up with Seth hiding behind me, yes, anytime. But these two I didn’t care to cross.
Before I could move, the door swung open.
“Afternoon, miss,” Brick wall number one said while number two stood facing the street.
“Afternoon,” I said, forcing a smile. “Coated pecan pralines are on special today.”
“DEA.” Brick wall flashed a square piece of plastic—too fast for me to read. “You didn’t happen to see a man running by your shop? My height, dark hair, navy shirt, somewhat shifty?”
“What did he do?”
“Sorry, that’s confidential.” He stank of dishonesty from every pore. His ID was probably as fake as a porn star’s boobs. “But he’s dangerous.”
“Goodness, now you’ve got me scared.” Nose tingling, I rubbed my hand across it to get rid of his body odor. “I better close shop for today.”
He gave a curt nod, saying, “If you see anyone suspicious, call,” and offered me a business card. “There’s a reward for any information that will help us catch this guy.”
“Sure thing.” I took the card and locked the door behind them. Through the window, I watched them making their way across the street. I lowered and closed the blinds, shutting off most of the light, and switched on the light above the register.
“So,” I said, flicking the card into the paper bin, “a simple thanks will do.” I placed both hands on the countertop, leaned over, expecting to find him hiding behind the counter. Besides a piece of lint skittering across the polished wood floor, nothing. Warm breath hit my neck just beneath my ear.
“Thanks,” he whispered, sending a shiver of goose bumps along my back. The shivers stopped abruptly when he pressed the gun against my spine. Exasperated, I slowly turned to face him. If it weren’t for the barrel now pressed into my stomach, the sight was actually a pleasant one.
“I just covered your ass,” I pressed through my teeth. “Put the fricking gun away.”
It sure as hell would hurt if he pulled the trigger.
As if he was sorry to have bothered me, he lifted both arms.
“Sorry, some habits die hard,” he said, pocketing the gun in an ankle holster. He took two steps away from me, giving me another opportunity to check out what the wind had so suddenly blown to my doorstep.
“What’s going on?” I said. “Why were you running from them?”
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s best you don’t know.”
About six-foot something of lean, muscled male met my gaze. His stance was relaxed, feet hip-width apart, his legs clad in snug jeans. I resisted working my hand through my hair. Another shiver worked its way over my skin from the soles of my feet upward to my center, sending a jolt through my clit. I bit my lip to refrain from moaning. Licking him over the face and then working my way down to his cock seemed like an excellent idea.
Shit.
I needed my drink or I’d eat him alive, or worse, I’d beg him on my knees to fuck me for the rest of the night, or—
“Listen,” he said, interrupting my out-of-control thoughts, “this is how it will work.”
“Work?” I replied, and dragged my focus back to the situation at hand. “Do you remember at all that we met twenty-three days ago at—”
“Don’t remember,” he said, walking up and down the room as if he had trouble standing still. “You’ve kept count?”
Dark eyes met mine with a mischievous expression.
“Very funny,” I said, blood rushing to my cheeks. No, I hadn’t kept count, or maybe I had, but I remembered the evening rather vividly.
“I need to crash here,” he said, all playfulness forgotten, and I got a glimpse of the man I’d thought he was when I first met him—an honest, sensitive, courteous, quietly strong man. Boy, had he fooled me. “For a few hours, until tomorrow morning tops. Agreed?”
“Certainly not.”
“You don’t have much of a choice, honey.” He raised his eyebrow, probably referring to his stupid gun.
“Call me ‘honey’ one more time,” I said, pointing my finger at his face, “and you’ll suffer a violent death.”
“Sure, pumpkin,” he said, grinning. “But I am pretty much having a perfect day today, so excuse me that I won’t let you spoil it.”
“This is what you call a perfect day?”
I caught his gaze, noticing his dilated pupils—he was high on adrenaline. My gaze slid lower to examine his body language. He was practically vibrating with restlessness. Finding the distinct outline of his hard cock pushed tight against the denim didn’t even surprise me—no wonder he was oozing sex appeal. All that suppressed male energy trapped in my tiny store. If I’d been wearing a skirt today instead of a pair of pants, then I could have hiked it up and bent over the counter, presenting him with my bare backside—surely, he would know how to carry on from there. I sucked in my lower lip, reveling in the idea of his hands wrapped around my hips while he pounded into my pussy from behind.
“I need my drink,” I whispered, which brought a quizzical look to his eyes.
“You all right?”
“No, not really.” Shaken, I slid on top of the counter, my panties uncomfortably damp.
He stepped between my legs, leaning in. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He lifted his hand to rest it against my cheek, a sudden gentleness in his gaze.
His touch zinged across my skin. There it was again—the same chemistry I’d felt toward him before. In my current condition, it was increased tenfold. Fuck, I needed my drink, but instead stared transfixed into his eyes, fearing he would kiss me.
“Despite appearances, I’m very glad to see you again.” He cupped my jaw, lifting my head, his breath feathering over my lips. “Really sorry about the gun. I got carried away in the moment. Anything I can do to convince you I’m harmless?”
That’s bullshit, I thought. He was so high on adrenaline, I could practically hear it coursing through his veins. He would definitely not mind some hot and heavy sex to celebrate his perfect day. I placed both hands against his chest.
“No,” I said, shoving him two steps away. “Hell, no.”
He cocked his head as if weighing his options. “Well, I guess that was a rejection on several levels.”
I watched him walk up and down the length of the room while he was scanning every shelf and corner, as if checking for deathtraps.
He looked even more delicious when he moved but that was hardly the point. I was the master of my body, not the beast inside me. Fucking armed strangers of questionable character wasn’t an option. Thoughts of Why the hell not? floated up in my mind and an embarrassed flush tingled over my face as I realized I had deliberately delayed what must be done. My drink solved two problems at once—it put a damper on my increased libido during full moon and helped me stay human.
Sliding from the counter, I grabbed a bar of milk chocolate from the shelf and tore into the wrapper. Biting into the bar, I reached out to grab my drink while the chocolate still coated my taste buds. And grabbed hold of nothing but air. I gazed at the spot where the glass had stood and went dead cold.
Turning my head, I saw him lifting the glass to his mouth, his Adam’s apple moving as he deeply drank.
“Nooo!” I yelled, voice breaking.
“That water was rotten or something.” He spit to the floor, holding the glass in his hand, and brushed the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked dizzy, as if the water clouded his senses, which, come to think of it, it definitely did.
With a whimper, I snatched the glass from his hands and drained the last drops of liquid, swallo
wing and licking up every droplet I could reach with my tongue.
It wasn’t enough.
“What the…” Astonishment was etched across his face.
I lowered the glass. “That,” I said, a growl vibrating in my throat, “was a mistake.”
“Mistake?” He clutched his stomach. “You poison guys just for fun, or—”
Slumping forward, he fell into my waiting arms.
After one heartbeat’s hesitation, I half carried, half dragged him up the stairs and toward my bedroom.
Chapter Two
God, I’ve killed him.
He looked utterly out of place on top of my purple bedspread. I slumped down on my desk chair, keeping my gaze on his still face, but couldn’t fail to notice the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Okay, so I didn’t kill him outright.
Still, I felt like giving it another try.
I could count on one hand what I knew about him. He was a journalist for the local paper, he had really bad manners, he carried a gun, he was on the run from people who made my blood freeze. And even unconscious he was sexy as hell.
I jumped up and gave him a nudge against his foot with my knee. “Hey, you, wake up.”
He didn’t do me the favor of course.
I moved to the headboard and placed the tip of my index finger against his temple. Steady pulse, searing-hot skin. Frying eggs on his forehead wouldn’t be a problem.
Flicking the first two buttons of his shirt open to cool him down, I considered forcing some acetaminophen against the fever down his throat. But who knew how that would interact with the drug mix he’d just downed.
After throwing the window wide open and getting a cold, wet towel, I came back to the bed and blotted his forehead. His breath came steady and deep, despite his fever. Placing the towel on his forehead, I tried hard not to notice the dark chest hair curling from the top of his shirt. Such a male thing, chest hair, I thought, flicking open another button. Then another. Surely, allowing cold air to reach his skin would soothe the fever.
