One block down, Mr. Boone stopped in front of Charlie Ann’s Jewelers. Using his hand to swipe over the glass, he peered inside. And then he waved.
Bingo.
The shopkeeper—an eighty-something male from the smell of his denture glue—pushed open the door and welcomed Mr. Boone inside.
The cheating Mr. Boone was buying jewelry. For his wife, or one of his many mistresses?
Making a mental note of Charlie Ann’s and the time, Ryder turned back and headed for his clothes. He’d make a visit to the store tomorrow, do a little inquiry, and ask Mrs. Boone to let him know if and when she received any expensive tokens of appreciation. Seriously doubted it, though. He hated to ask her, but there was no way around it.
As he circled back for his clothes, he pawed over the top of his pants.
Completely soaked.
He hadn’t really expected them to be dry, but from the feel of his pocket, even his phone and wallet had gotten drenched. Focusing on the energy swirling inside him once again, Ryder shifted back to human form. Watched skin cover his arms and legs, and his proportions return to “normal.” Dressing quickly, he hopped into his pants and shoved his feet into his shoes. Thrusting his arms into his shirt as he ran, Ryder took off toward his car. Only it wasn’t there.
Josie hadn’t waited.
Damn it.
Even though he’d told her not to, some small part of him hoped she would.
A few blocks over he caught a cab and slipped inside. Without thinking, he barked the address to his apartment, and the driver took off. Sliding back against the seat, his gaze skipped over the clock on the dash.
Nine thirty.
“No—wait. Hold up.”
Braking in the middle of the street, the driver glared through the rearview mirror and waited for Ryder to give the next order.
“Is that really the time?”
The driver nodded, cocking an eyebrow.
If he went home now, he could shower and change into dry clothes. But by the time he got back to the winery, the paint night would probably be over. Regret stung his side. Not because he’d skip out on painting his masterpiece, but because he’d miss Josie taking off her shirt.
As his thoughts raced, he went numb, head to toe. It wasn’t from the cold, but from the mental image of Josie stripping out of her tank top. No, it was more than that. He wanted to be in the room when she laughed, to watch everyone warm around her. To be there when she smiled to watch the whole room light up. He craved being near her, having his nerves soothed away from one soft inhale of her natural fragrance.
“Bluxome Street Winery,” he ordered. “No way I’m missing this.”
Chapter Seven
When the driver swerved to the curb in front of the winery, Ryder tossed a wad of cash—extra for a generous tip—into the front seat and pushed out into the night. Rain fell in buckets, filling the gutters and flooding the street. Tourists ran for cover while the locals trudged straight on through, heads hanging down to shield their faces from the onslaught of the storm.
The winery didn’t look like much from the front. It could’ve easily been mistaken for a warehouse with a roll-up front door. If it weren’t for the giant stenciled letters reading Bluxome Street Winery on the side of the building, he might’ve driven right by.
Dripping wet from his mop of hair to the squishing soles of his boots, Ryder strode through the front door into an empty waiting area that was separated from the main room with a thick black curtain. The smell of sweet wine and well-oiled wood hit him hard. The vibe was warm and welcoming. Racks of barrels lined the far wall. Tear-shaped lights dangled from the wood-beamed ceiling, giving the feeling that it was somehow raining inside as it was outside.
Wicked cool effect.
In front of a black cloak hanging from the ceiling, the winery had set out a sign reading Private Event: Oakey/Cole Paint Night.
Eager to find Josie, Ryder pushed through the curtain, a grin glued to his face. In front of the room, a picture of the Bay Bridge at twilight had been put up on display. Rows of chairs had been lined up in front of wooden easels. Painters laughed, drank, and slopped color on canvases. The artwork at the front was stunning, but not a single canvas resembled the piece.
Stifling a laugh, he searched through the seated crowd for Josie.
There.
As if she sensed his eyes on her back, she glanced at him over her shoulder, dropped the paintbrush in her hand, and strode toward him. Damp hair fell over her shoulder. Honey-brown eyes twinkled beneath the lights. Heart-shaped lips pursed as if she was peeved. And as she strode toward him, he was mesmerized. Struck stupid. He couldn’t move, not an inch, as she closed the distance between them. Her hips swayed seductively as her “sprinting” heels clacked over the hardwood floor.
And she still wore his coat.
Sexiest sight ever.
“You’re coming with me,” she said, grabbing him by his sleeve. “Right now.”
Desire flamed in his gut. “No way I’d rather come.”
She glared over her shoulder as she dragged him back through the curtain. Waves of anger flowed off her, heady and sour. Having heightened senses meant he could smell more than regular scents. Werewolves could pick up extreme emotions, too. Anger and hatred. Lust and love. It wasn’t all the time, and sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was picking up something else mistakenly. But as she marched into the entry and veered left, he could almost taste her rage. It was fiercely bitter. Beneath the surface, though, there was something else.
Was it—it almost smelled like…fear.
Opening the only other door in the entry, she swung it open wide and shoved him inside.
“Whoa, whoa, this isn’t the exit,” he said, dragging his feet. “This is a closet.”
“I know what it is. Get”—she pushed, and then slammed the door closed behind her—“in. There. That’s better.”
“If you wanted to play ten minutes in heaven,” he said, reaching over her shoulder to click on the light, “you could’ve just asked.”
As he pulled back his hand and brushed her shoulder, she tsked her tongue against her cheek. Oh, how he wanted to draw her tongue right into his mouth and suck on it for a while.
“This is the only quiet room in the winery other than the men’s room,” she said, examining the paint on her palms, “and I’m not going in there. And I’m not going outside either, because it’s still raining and you’re already soaked. You’ll get sick.”
She shrugged out of his coat and set it aside.
“It’s sweet that you’re worried about my health,” he said, brushing his hands up and down her shoulders. Her skin was silky smooth beneath his fingers. Gooseflesh rose from his touch, and she shivered. The thought struck him that he’d never tire of this, of her. “But I’m not your concern.”
“You are, actually. The wedding is in three days, and the best man has to be there.” She shrugged from beneath his touch as her honey-brown eyes captured his through the dark. “Makes the pictures off-balance if someone from the bridal party is missing. And if you do show up, you’ll be a coughing, sneezing mess.”
She was lying. Her voice ticked up an octave when she stretched the truth.
Was he getting under her skin as she was his?
“Either way,” he said, “I’m not getting sick.”
Werewolves rarely did.
When she stared, her light eyes blazing, he took the brief moment of silence to check out their hideaway. The closet was too small to be a coat check, but a handful of trench coats hung from a rack attached to the back. A few purses and an umbrella were lined up on a bench to their left.
Must’ve belonged to the employees.
“So? What happened to you back there?” She planted her hands on her hips and then caught herself as a smudge of red paint transferred to her pants. “Damn it, I liked these. Anyway, I waited twice as long as I said I would.”
She had?
“I don’t get why you’re upset. I exp
lained everything earlier. I could continue on faster without you.” He glanced down at her heels. “Those things were really slowing you down.”
“They were not.” She exhaled softly, and the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “I was worried. You should’ve called me, or—”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip, sending a ramrod of lust straight to his groin. “That’s not the point. You could’ve called Mitch to have him get me a message.” Digging into the pockets of her skintight pants, she pulled out his keys and handed them over. “I thought I was going to have a panic attack.”
“Why? I told you everything would be fine.”
“Because of that huge dog,” she said plainly. “Or it might’ve been a wolf, I’m not sure. Didn’t you see it?”
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t expand his lungs, not a single inch.
She’d seen him.
Fuck.
“No.” His voice sounded strange, damn it. He took the keys. Focused on them long and hard. Slowly put them in his pocket. Why were movements suddenly difficult? “I didn’t see a dog.”
“I’m surprised. You must’ve walked right by it.” She paused for seconds. Minutes. Hours. Hell if he knew. “Ryder? Are you okay?”
He tried to speak, but a grunting sound came out instead.
“You don’t look it.” She reached out and then stopped herself before touching his cheek. “I’d check your temperature, but I still have some paint on my hands. I don’t want to get it on you. You’re pale, though, and starting to get clammy. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m…” Say you’re fine. Say you’re good. “Did you see it clearly?”
He could barely hear his own words over the pounding of his heart.
“Yeah, it was huge. Black fur. Raised back.”
Monster.
“Stared straight at me,” she went on. “He had these majestic blue eyes…they were intense.” Her gaze captured his, hardening him to stone. “They were a lot like yours, actually. Mesmerizing Blue should totally be a color.”
Goddammit, his heart stopped.
The more he was with her, the more he craved her. Deep down, he knew they were going to end up here tonight. Maybe not in a closet, exactly, but she’d be pressed against him. In his arms. Her scent filling his nose.
“I have to remember to call the zoo in the morning,” she said, though her voice was in a tunnel. Too muffled for him to make out exactly. “Ask them about a wolf escape. See if they know anything about it.”
“No, no, don’t do that.” His head swam. “You can’t.”
“Then I’ll call animal control. Have them search around.”
That wasn’t any better.
His lips went numb, followed by his arms and legs. What the hell was happening? And then it hit him. He’d been holding his breath this whole time.
“Ryder?” His mate’s sweet voice rang in his ears, accompanied by a high-pitched ringing. “Do you need to sit down? Here. Why don’t you sit? There’s the bench. Easy now. I’ve got you.”
He plopped onto something hard. The bench. And then his mate fell over the top of him, right onto his lap. Blood lurched through his veins at the contact, jump-starting his heart back up to full speed. She fit perfectly in his arms.
“You weren’t supposed to drag me down with you.” Her voice was bubbly now. Perky. She was smiling. “Judging from the placement of your hands, I think you’re going to recover quickly.”
Curling his fingers to bring back the blood flow, Ryder grasped something soft and round—oh shit, her rear. On instinct, he pulled back his hand, dropping it to his side.
Silence.
Strands of her silken hair fell near his face. He couldn’t see the vibrant color or the glossy, soft texture that’d slide between his fingers. He didn’t need to. He could smell its sweetness. Could almost envision her mane circling her angelic face.
“You don’t have to move your hand,” she said, breaking the silence. And then she returned his hand to her rear. “If you don’t want to.”
Every muscle in his body seized as he crushed his mouth to hers. She whimpered into the kiss, coiling her arms around his neck as she pressed her chest against his.
Good God, the woman was on fire.
Fighting the desire to take her now, in the closet, on the bench, and against the wall, Ryder grasped her hips with both hands. Lifted her right up. And then brought her back down so that she straddled him. One leg on either side of his. The scent of her arousal struck him, and he groaned.
He was getting her wet—in every way—and it only fueled his desire.
Cupping her face in his hands, he stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. Tilted her head. And plunged his tongue past her lips.
This time she moaned, full-bodied and deep, and then melted right into his arms. Her mouth opened wide, granting him everything. Tiny little movements over his lap had him gasping for air. She was damp. Mewing into his mouth. Wound tight with want. Aching for pleasure and blissful release.
He’d give her all of those things and more, if she’d let him.
Unable to hold back, his hands shot to her breasts as he claimed her mouth. Her lips tasted like wine and rain, a drugging combination. He sucked on her bottom lip, savoring the flavor of her. Kneaded her breasts in his hands. Moved beneath her, giving her the pressure she needed between her legs.
Ryder kissed her neck. Licked her slowly. Tasting her. Feeling her tremble under his tongue.
She moaned, dropping her head back.
Tunneling a finger beneath her sweater, he hooked onto her tank top strap. “Why don’t we take this off?”
She grinned into another wet kiss. “I did lose the race fair and square.”
He dropped down to kiss her breasts over her sweater as she shrugged the rest of the way out of his coat.
“I wasn’t going to make you go through with it,” he said, raw need pulsing through him. “I just wanted to see if you would.”
Grinning, she jerked her sweater over her head and flung it to the recesses of the closet. Her hair fell over her shoulders, stunning him.
“You’ve got the sexiest fucking mouth, you know that?” Raking his fingers through her hair, he gripped the back of her neck to hold her in place.
“And you haven’t even seen everything I can do with it yet.” A tantalizing grin turned up one of the corners.
As his cock twitched, he dragged her mouth to his and thrust his tongue deep inside. This time, she collided against him, meeting him stroke for eager stroke. Her hand dipped between their bodies—what little room there was—and cupped him. She sucked in a clipped breath, frozen for half a second, and then started to roll over his hips.
Scorching heat exploded through his body at the thought of what was to come.
Now.
Sliding the wet shirt off his body, he threw it to the floor. Dug his fingers through her hair and possessed her mouth again. Couldn’t get enough. Would never get enough. He popped the button on his pants. And then hers. All eight of those goddamn annoying buttons. She giggled and then helped him along, slinking out of her tank top and bra.
Pressing against her, he moaned, relishing the feel as rock-hard bare flesh met perfectly unblemished porcelain skin.
“You’re wet,” she said, brushing her hands up and down his back. “You were soaked through.”
His fingers dived between her legs and slid along the ridge of her cotton panties. “You are, too.”
She twitched from the initial contact, but as he swirled his fingers outside the cloth and kissed her, matching the movement with his tongue, she loosened. Relaxed into his touch. And when her hips started to rock against his hand, he dived beneath the ridge and touched the slickest, softest bare skin.
Mine.
The primal need to take her here and now reared up inside him.
Dropping her head back with a whimper, she clung to his shoulders. He teased and swirled her pleasure spot,
drawing the orgasm out of her. As he drove his fingers inside her core, she reared up and whimpered, biting her lip to quiet the screams. When her rocking slowed, she planted her hands on the wall over his shoulder, pinning him in place.
“Tell me you brought a condom,” she rasped out.
Actually, he hadn’t. Werewolves couldn’t pass diseases, and males couldn’t procreate unless the female was in heat. But she didn’t know that.
Cursing himself, he shook his head.
“That’s okay. I told you I can do other things with my mouth.” She licked her lips, causing him physical pain. “It’s time to show you.”
Rather than dropping to her knees, she unstraddled his lap and stood over him, bending at the waist. Unable to tear his eyes away from her curves, he lifted his hips and jerked down his underwear, releasing his swollen and throbbing shaft.
She eyed him hungrily as she bent over. “You’re huge,” she said, her voice low. “In case you can’t understand what I’m saying when my mouth’s full later.”
The woman was a dream.
And then her lips circled his cock. Wet heat enveloped him. He jerked. Sucked in a breath. Tightened from balls to bone. She moved over him, working her hand in circles around the base of his shaft.
Now—finally now—he knew the definition of ecstasy.
But it was the vision of her that made him seize.
She was bent over him. Hair falling over her face. Breasts bobbing as she licked him from base to tip and back down again. Nipples drawn to tight buds. Her sweet wet mouth engulfing him.
Mine.
Pinching his eyes closed to emblazon the memory of her only heightened the sensations, drawing him dangerously close to the edge. He tapped her on the shoulder.
Universal sign.
She worked her hand over him. Flicked her tongue out over his tip.
Good…God.
Gripping her shoulders to pull her away, he sucked in a clipped breath. At the last second, she pulled back and guided his cock between her breasts. Sensation overload. Between the scent of her arousal, the wine and rain, and the dim light dancing over the perfect curves of her body, he pitched over the edge. As he cried her name, she gasped, crushing her mouth to his to silence him. But it was too late to care. Nothing mattered but this. Lost in her, he emptied himself onto her gloriously soft breasts.
What a Werewolf Wants (San Francisco Wolf Pack) Page 6
