Werewolf in the North Woods: A Wild About You Novel

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I do, although I’ve lived in the Phoenix area all my life and lately I’ve been thinking I should experience something else.” Right now she’d like to experience a full-body massage, which wouldn’t be happening, either. But prolonging this topic of conversation meant she wouldn’t have to get up yet. “How do you like New York?”

  “The city or the state?”

  “Both, I guess. I’ve never been there. You get a fair amount of snow in the winter, I would think.”

  “We do. I don’t mind the snow.”

  “You must live in the city if you’re a professor at NYU.” She was almost finished with her sandwich, so she slowed down to prolong the break.

  Roarke didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, either. “Mostly I do live in the city,” he said, “except when I’m out in the field. But my normal routine is to stay in the city during the week and then head out to the family place on weekends. The city’s all hustle and bustle, but the country is relaxing. It’s a nice contrast.”

  Of course. It all clicked into place. His family, which she assumed was wealthy given the extravagant watch he wore, had a place in the country. She’d already concluded that Roarke’s family tree included other werewolves like him.

  The Gentrys were also wealthy and owned a place in the country. Maybe she was making too big a leap, but she had a hunch that some of the Gentrys were werewolves, too.

  A chill traveled up her spine. In all these years, the Gentrys hadn’t been a problem to Grandpa Earl, but still . . . she’d feel so much better if he sold out and moved to Arizona.

  Roarke gave her a questioning glance. “You’re quiet all of a sudden. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I was just wondering what it would be like to live where it snowed all winter.”

  “Sorry, but your eyes flickered. Try again.”

  So much for small talk. “I just wondered if any of the Gentrys are werewolves.”

  He met that statement with stony silence. But he didn’t deny it.

  A second chill shot up her spine. “So some of them are?”

  “Abby, it’s better if we don’t discuss this.”

  “Just answer me one thing. Is—is my grandfather in danger?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Werewolves avoid calling attention to ourselves. Harming your grandfather would be a very stupid move on Cameron’s part, and he’s not stupid.”

  She thought of something else. “Don’t wolves live in packs?”

  “Generally.”

  “Do you?”

  “You know what? We should probably get going. It’s late.”

  “Your family is a pack, isn’t it? And so are the Gentrys. Are there more werewolf packs in other cities?”

  “Abby . . .”

  “There are, aren’t there? Are all the families wealthy, too?”

  Roarke sighed and looked out over the damp forest. “I had some crazy idea that during this trip we might be able to have simple, normal conversations, but that’s ridiculous. Every conversation will wind back around to this subject, won’t it?”

  “Well, excuse me all to hell, but how can it not? Show me the woman who could carry on a simple, normal conversation with a werewolf and I’ll show you Malibu Barbie!”

  His mouth twitched, as if he might be trying not to laugh.

  “I mean, really. I didn’t try to spy on you, but it happened, and now I can’t help thinking about it. You’ve told me not to ask questions, but if I were in your shoes—or in your paws—I’d want the person who knew the big secret to at least draw the correct conclusions.”

  He gazed at her. “So you think I should give you more information about Weres?”

  “I do. The cat’s out of the bag, the horse is out of the barn, and the werewolf’s out of the woods. I think at this point the more I know, the better chance I’ll have of avoiding disaster.”

  “Or the more ammunition you’ll have to blackmail me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not naturally a blackmail kind of person, Roarke. I did it this one time so you’d have to bring me along on your search. If you’re worried I’ll milk you and your rich werewolf family for the rest of my life, forget it. That’s not me.”

  “I know, and I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Apology accepted. Besides, I don’t need more ammunition to blackmail you if I were so inclined, which I’m not. Those pictures say all there is to say. Anyone who’s met you would recognize you, and the news would be out.”

  He seemed to consider that. “You have a point. The pictures are pretty damning.” He glanced at her. “You are so lucky it was me you saw and not someone who would have a . . . different response to the threat of exposure.”

  “Are we talking about Cameron Gentry?”

  “He’s not someone to mess with.”

  “You said werewolves wouldn’t harm humans.”

  “No, I said we don’t like to call attention to ourselves. But if a human learns about us, the potential for unwanted attention already exists and we have to initiate damage control in whatever way we see fit.”

  She became aware that she was alone in the woods with a werewolf who saw her as a threat to his kind. She told herself not to panic. “Do you have a damage control plan for me?”

  “Don’t look scared, Abby. I’ve promised you that you’ll be okay. This is my fault, my problem.” He balled up the sandwich wrapper and leaned over to tuck it in a pocket of his backpack.

  “I still need information.” She put her wrapper in her backpack, too. “I think it’s ducky that you’ve sworn to protect me with your life, but unless you plan to hang around twenty-four-seven for the next fifty or sixty years, I’m not sure how you’d do that.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Okay, but in the meantime, if you’d give me a crash course, sort of an Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves, I’d be better able to protect myself.”

  “The thing is, I’m not supposed to tell you—”

  “I realize that. But you weren’t supposed to allow me to see you change into a wolf, either, were you?”

  “No. That was a careless mistake I regret more than you can imagine.”

  “Oh, I can probably imagine more than you think, and that’s the crux of my argument. I have a whale of an imagination. If you don’t tell me how the werewolf world actually works, I’ll concoct my own version. Is that what you want?”

  He met her gaze and held it. “No, that’s not what I want.” His kiss-worthy lips tightened into a grim line of determination.

  “What do you want?”

  He stared at her in stoic silence. But gradually his green eyes warmed, and emotion thickened his voice. “Use your imagination.”

  Desire rose in her, hot and fast, touching her in intimate places, making her ache in ways that had nothing to do with hiking.

  His gaze smoldered for an instant longer. Then he blew out a breath and got to his feet. “We need to push on. So far I haven’t detected any evidence of the Sasquatch, so we’ll have to go deeper into the forest.”

  “That’s fine.” She was still slightly dazed by the realization that he wanted her, even though he was fighting the attraction tooth and nail. Ha. That phrase took on a whole new meaning when referring to a werewolf. Still, knowing Roarke was attracted to her would keep her ego warm for a good long time.

  But it didn’t do much for her stiff muscles. She winced as she got to her feet and hoped he’d missed seeing that. A quick glance in his direction confirmed that he was watching her and frowning.

  “I suppose you’ll argue if I suggest redistributing the load,” he said.

  “You suppose right.” She picked up her backpack and ignored the jab of pain between her shoulder blades as she put it on. “I invited myself along on this search and I intend to be an asset, not a liability.”

  He chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

  “Hey!”

  “Face it, Abby. No matter what you
r stated intentions, your very presence here fries my brain. I’m afraid you’re a liability whether you intend to be or not.”

  She liked the idea of frying his brain, but she didn’t like being labeled a handicap. “I’m handy with a camp stove. I’ll cook our dinner.”

  He glanced at her as he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. His very broad shoulders. “Thanks. That would be great. Cooking’s not my strong suit.”

  She wondered what he’d be doing if he were out here searching as a wolf instead of as a man. Better not to think about that. But she still believed she should have more information about this hidden community of werewolves. She’d ask him again over dinner.

  He swept an arm toward the trail. “After you.”

  “Maybe you’d rather lead.”

  “Nope. You know the area. I’ll follow you.”

  “Okay.” She suspected he was also letting her lead because then she could set the pace. Although she appreciated the chivalrous gesture, it only emphasized how her presence was hampering him.

  As she started up the trail, she battled her conscience. He’d be so much better off out here without her. But then she pictured going back to Grandpa Earl and explaining that she had abandoned the Bigfoot search to Roarke.

  While her grandfather would be happy to hear of a positive sighting from Roarke, it wouldn’t be the same as if Abby saw the Bigfoot pair. She was Grandpa Earl’s eyes and ears on this trip.

  That meant she had to maintain a brisk pace even if it killed her. As the trail wound upward, she took a deep breath and walked faster.

  Roarke tried to keep his mind off sex as he followed Abby up the trail, but his constant view of her cute little tush wasn’t helping. The navy material stretched temptingly across her backside as she trudged doggedly up the incline. He figured she was pushing herself to keep from holding him back, which was endearing but could make her a basket case by tonight.

  That wasn’t the only problem with having Abby out in front. They were heading into a slight breeze, which neatly blew her intoxicating aroma smack into his face. Not only did that add to his lusty thoughts, but the sensory overload from Abby might prevent him from picking up the scent of the Sasquatch.

  He paused. “Hold up a minute.”

  She stopped and turned, her breathing labored. “Is something wrong?”

  “I want to lead, after all. Your scent is interfering with my ability to track the Sasquatch pair.”

  “Oh! That’s not good.” Her cheeks grew pink. “Sorry about that. I used deodorant this morning, but I suppose with all the physical exertion I might—”

  “Abby, it’s not that you smell bad.” He smiled at her assumption, which showed how truly human she was. “If anything, you smell way too good.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. I’m starting to work up a sweat, and if we end up camping near running water, I’ll take a sponge bath. That should help.”

  “I don’t think you understand. Your natural scent is . . . very attractive to me.”

  She stared at him in obvious disbelief.

  “I told you both my sight and sense of smell are better, even when I’m in human form, than the average man’s.”

  “Then you should be more easily grossed out.”

  “Oh, I can be, especially if a woman wears a lot of heavy perfume.”

  She grimaced. “Or has been on the hiking trail a little too long.”

  “No, that only makes your scent more arousing.”

  “Roarke, that’s crazy.”

  “No, it’s your first lesson in the Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves. When we first met, I’d recorded your scent and found it pleasing long before I paid attention to how you looked. The stronger your natural aroma, the more I like it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” And if he didn’t get moving right now he’d have to do something about the lust boiling through his veins. “Follow me. I’ll take it easy.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he stepped around her and started up the trail. Another second of standing there and he would have reached for her. Once he did that, he was liable to forget about everything else, and he had a job to do.

  Chapter 8

  Roarke forced himself to go slow for Abby’s sake. The snail’s pace frustrated him, but he wasn’t about to make her more miserable than she already was. She was determined and brave, sexy and smart.

  In fact, she had just about every quality he admired in a human being. He could do without her stubborn streak; but then, he wasn’t exactly perfect himself. He liked her way too much.

  God, what a mess he’d made for himself. Finding the Sasquatch pair would be a challenge under these conditions. Keeping his hands off Abby, who was quickly turning into ideal-mate material, might be impossible.

  How Aidan would laugh if he could see his younger brother now. Aidan would say it served him right for being so critical of Aidan’s infatuation with the lovely Emma. Karma was a bitch.

  Even though he was walking in front of Abby, he couldn’t let himself get too far ahead of her because that would be her signal to speed up. So he could still smell her—and he still wanted her with the heat of a thousand suns. When he’d agreed to this hike, he’d neglected to factor in the added allure of a sweaty Abby.

  He doubted that she believed him, even after his explanation. Modern-day humans were so conditioned to rid themselves of their natural scent that most of them didn’t understand what an aphrodisiac it could be. But he was constructed differently, to say the least, and he should have remembered this would be a side effect of the hike.

  Because he was so involved with thoughts of Abby, he nearly missed the faint trace of Sasquatch scent that came to him on the gentle breeze. Naturally it crossed the path, which meant if Abby and Roarke intended to follow it, they’d have to leave the trail.

  He’d been afraid of that. The Sasquatch pair wouldn’t bother with trails. They’d go cross-country, but he’d hoped for Abby’s sake that the trail would bring them into the general vicinity. He paused to sniff again. Yep, faint, but there and off to the right, through what looked like pretty rugged terrain. Shit.

  At least the rain had stopped for now. That would make things slightly easier, although he realized it could start up again at any moment. For now, though, the sky was overcast but no longer dripping on them.

  Turning back to Abby, he was confronted with a pitiful sight. She was limping. Noticeably. Of course she hadn’t said anything, stubborn and foolish woman that she was.

  Now what? Leaving the trail would have been a challenge for her before, but now he couldn’t ask her to attempt it.

  She glanced up, as if just noticing that he’d stopped.

  He took off his pack and set it beside the trail. “You’re limping.”

  “No big deal. Why did you take off your pack?”

  “Because it is a big deal, and I want to help.” He closed the distance between them. “Did you trip?”

  “No. I have a charley horse in my right calf. I’m walking it out.” She backed away from him and made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go get your backpack and we can continue on.”

  “Stand still for a minute, Abby.”

  “Look, I’m perfectly capable of—” She cried out a protest as he scooped her up in his arms, pack and all. “Stop this! I’m too big for you to carry!”

  “You’re not if you’ll stop struggling.” He was amazed at how right she felt in his arms, even wearing the damned backpack. “My plan is to carry you over to that rock and work on your leg.”

  “Damn it, no! That’s wasting valuable time. Put me down, Roarke. I’m fine!”

  “I beg to differ.” He tightened his grip, but she stubbornly continued to wiggle and protest as he crossed to a rock about the size of a coffee table. As he started to lower her onto it, she pinched his earlobe.

  “Let me go! We need to move on!”

  Making an impatient sound low in his throat, he did what he’d been longing t
o do ever since he’d met her. He kissed her full on the mouth. She went perfectly still, which had been part of his goal. The other part involved taking that brief, almost chaste kiss she’d given him yesterday and turning it into something that wasn’t even slightly chaste.

  Because he’d surprised her, he’d caught her with her mouth partly open, and he took advantage of that to mount an invasion with his tongue. She trembled on the knife edge between surrender and resistance. Then she lost that delicate balancing act and tumbled into a surrender that took his breath away.

  Clutching his shoulder with one hand, she used the other to cup the back of his head and urge him deeper. With a moan of triumph he changed the angle of the kiss and claimed her with a boldness that left no doubt of his ultimate intentions. She welcomed him with such passion that he was afraid he’d drop her. Not cool.

  Summoning what little reasoning power he had left, he settled her on the rock, but he didn’t end the kiss. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to. She tasted like rain, but she also tasted like licorice, which she must have been sucking on while she battled her gimpy leg.

  Arousal made swift work of any remaining composure on his part. He was hard and aching, and he’d decided licorice was his favorite flavor. Sinking to his knees on a cushion of wet pine needles, he cradled her head in both hands as he continued to plunder her mouth. As he combed eager fingers through her silky hair, her ponytail came undone.

  Freeing her hair gave him a jolt of desire, as if he’d started taking off her clothes. Now there was an idea. Except she still had a heavy backpack anchored to her shoulders, and his original purpose had been to relieve a pain in her calf.

  With immense regret, he ended the kiss, although he couldn’t seem to stop running his fingers through her hair. He looked into her blue eyes, smoky with desire. “I knew this would happen,” he murmured.

  “So did I.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “And just so you know, I liked it a lot.”

  “So did I.”

  “But if I don’t take off this backpack, my shoulders are going to fall off.”

  “Damn.” Cursing himself for being a moron, he eased the pack from her shoulders and set it beside the rock. “You’re finished carrying that.”