“But—”
He placed a finger against her warm, moist lips. “Yes, you are. I’m very strong, Abby.”
“I admit you’re stronger than I thought. I’m not a small person, yet you carried me as if I were a little kid.”
“Exactly. I can easily transport everything in my pack plus everything in yours. So let me do it.”
She kissed his finger and moved it aside. “You may be able to do it, but carrying extra weight has to slow you down. And you can’t maneuver as well, in case we come upon the Sasquatch pair. I have to insist that you let me haul what I’m supposed to.”
He gazed at her, appreciating the grit that she was showing yet wanting to make sure she didn’t hurt herself any more than she already had. “Let me see about your leg, and then we’ll discuss who carries what.”
“It’s a charley horse. Everyone gets them.”
He didn’t, but he chose not to mention that. “They can be painful, though.” Leaning down, he began rolling up her right pant leg. “Are you drinking enough water?”
“Probably not. I get so focused on hiking that I forget. I’ll do better. I promise not to be the weak link, Roarke.”
As he rolled her pant leg up to her knee, he was feeling like the weak link around here. Her skin was like silk as his fingers brushed her calf, and he caught the scent of lotion, soap, and the unmistakable musk of arousal.
“Tell me if this hurts.” He began kneading her calf muscles, taking care not to push too hard or deep. She drew in a quick breath and he stopped. “Too much?”
“No. It . . . helps.”
“Good.” The scent of arousal grew stronger as he applied gentle, rhythmic pressure. His massage became a caress and he leaned forward, placing soft kisses from ankle to knee. He touched the back of her knee, rubbing in tiny circles, and her breathing grew shallow.
Slowly he raised his head and met her gaze. “Better?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded rusty.
Looking into her eyes, he carefully rolled her pant leg down. “From now on, you need to tell me when you have a problem.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Any problem?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Roarke, I have a problem.”
He rested his hands on her knees, as if it were a casual, friendly touch. It was anything but that. “What is it?”
“I want to make love with you.”
His groin tightened. “Why is that a problem?” He brushed lazy circles over her knees when what he really wanted was to rip off her pants and take her.
“You know why!” She sounded impatient. “For starters, it’s not on the agenda. We have a job to do. And it’s obvious you’re attracted to me, but you don’t want to be—I guess because I’m a human, although I don’t quite get that, because it’s not like I’m asking for a commitment or anything, but—”
“Past history.” He stroked her thighs through the Lycra and felt her tremble. Heat danced in his veins. “Not long ago my brother got involved with a woman, thinking they’d just have sex, but the attraction was much stronger than that, and now they’re mated.”
“You mean married?”
“That, too, although it was just a formality.” He continued a slow massage of her thigh muscles. He told himself he was making sure she’d be ready to hike in a few minutes. Yeah, right.
“My brother and Emma had a church ceremony to please her mother and friends, but only for the sake of appearances. The Were bond is more basic and physical than a walk down the aisle and an exchange of rings.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You mean she had to become a werewolf, too?”
“No. There’s no way a human can become a Were. As I mentioned before, you have to be born that way.”
“Will your brother and his . . . his mate have children?”
“I just found out yesterday that Emma’s pregnant. My parents are excited, but with a mixed mating situation, there’s no telling whether the kids will be Were or not, which is—”
Abby gasped. “She could actually give birth to a werewolf ?”
Her horrified expression was exactly why he’d prefer to mate with his own kind. Humans could never truly understand or appreciate what being a Were was all about. Roarke wouldn’t change his status for anything, but a human could easily view him as a freak.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “That reaction was rude.”
He shrugged. “At least you’re being honest. And it’s not quite what you’re picturing. Even if she has a Were baby, the kid will look and act human until puberty.”
“Oh.”
“At that point he or she will develop the ability to shift if they’re Were. If they’re not . . . well, they won’t.” And pity that poor kid, born into a tradition they couldn’t be part of. If Emma and Aidan had more than one child, they could end up with one who was Were and one who wasn’t. Sibling rivalry would be taken to new heights.
“So what about Emma’s mother? Does she know her daughter married a werewolf?”
“God, no. That’s the other major problem. Emma’s not allowed to tell anyone, not her friends or her family. As far as her mother knows, Emma married the son of a wealthy financier. End of story.”
“That would be a tough secret to keep from your family.”
“I’m sure it is tough.”
“And what if her baby turns out to be Were?”
“One grandma will be thrilled and the other one will never know her grandchild can shift.”
“What a weird dynamic that would be.”
“It’s the price Emma pays. A steep price.” The more Roarke talked about his brother and Emma, the more he realized he was courting danger by even kissing Abby, knowing how she affected him.
He didn’t want a human mate, and not because Aidan would never let him live it down. He could handle Aidan’s comments. But he couldn’t handle knowing what he’d done to a woman’s life. To Abby’s life.
Apparently Emma had made the choice willingly and was very happy with her decision. But Abby had just registered shock at the idea of producing a werewolf child and keeping secrets from her family. Abby wasn’t Emma.
And he wasn’t Aidan, either. A werewolf’s life was complicated enough without adding in the human mate element. Weres belonged with Weres, and humans belonged with humans. Mating a human with a werewolf put a terrible burden on everyone.
Beneath his palms Abby’s warmth called to him, and making love to her right now, on this conveniently flat rock, would be so sweet. But he had to resist or they could both suffer serious consequences. She might think she could walk away from him, but she didn’t realize how strong the mating instinct was between them. Humans often didn’t pick up on that kind of thing.
Breaking the contact, he rose to his feet. “Yep, weird dynamics for all concerned. So you can see that it would be risky for us to get involved when it could become intense.” He gazed at her. “I’m afraid it would,” he said softly.
She gave him a lopsided smile. “I don’t know why. I’m a scrawny specimen who can’t even make it three hours on the trail without getting crippled up. I can’t imagine what you see in me.”
If she only knew how sexy she looked right now in her rumpled hiking clothes with her glorious hair curling around her shoulders and her eyes bright as a summer sky. He wanted to kiss every freckle on her nose and then find all the rest that were under wraps so he could kiss those, too.
But he decided not to say any of those things, which would only take them down the very road he’d decided to abandon. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “It’s a werewolf thing.”
“Meaning you like the way I smell.”
“That’s a big part of it.”
She shook her head. “You’re right—I don’t understand that part of the attraction.”
“Which is exactly my point. We’re very different. We’re two different species, to be exact.” He paused and glanced at his watch. It was getting late.
“We need to get going, don’t we?”
“Are you up to it?”
“Of course.”
“You’d better test your leg and see if you can walk without limping.”
“I’m sure I can.” She slid slowly from the rock and stood. Then she walked a few feet, turned, and walked back. “Way better. Thank you, Roarke. You have magic in your fingers.”
“I’m not going to touch that line with a ten-foot pole.”
She smiled at him. “Believe it or not, I do understand why you think it would be a mistake for us to have sex. After listening to your brother’s story, I agree. I could easily fall for you, and then we’d have all those mixed-species problems you just outlined.”
“I’m glad you agree with me.” He should be overjoyed, in fact. So why the sudden letdown because she was giving up the concept of having sex with him? Surely he hadn’t hoped she’d wear him down so he could claim that he’d been tempted beyond all endurance.
“But it’s a shame, in a way,” she continued. “We could have been good together.” She ran her fingers through her hair and lifted it off the back of her neck. “My hair seems to have come undone.”
“I think the tie thing came off while . . . while we were kissing.” The memory of that flooded him with lust all over again. “Do you want me to help you—”
“That’s okay. I know what I’m looking for.” She crossed to the rock and leaned over to search for her hair ribbon.
He had to turn away. If he stood there watching her bending over that rock, no telling what he’d do. Or rather, he knew exactly what he was liable to do, and that would be the end of his resolve not to have sex with her.
So he walked over to his backpack and crouched down to rearrange the contents so he could take on some of her stuff. As he did, he caught another faint whiff of the Sasquatch pair. That might mean they’d stopped to rest somewhere instead of moving on.
“I found it.”
He turned and discovered she was tying up her hair in a ponytail. The motion lifted her breasts, and his fevered brain imagined how much he’d enjoy seeing that same motion if she were standing naked in the forest. Then he could walk over, lean down, and—
“I never told you the other reason we can’t have sex,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”
“No condoms. At least I didn’t bring any. Did you?”
“No.”
“There you go. A built-in guarantee that we will concentrate on the task at hand.”
He started to tell her that it wasn’t a guarantee at all. Whether in human form or wolf form, he wouldn’t be able to procreate until he’d found his mate and completed the binding process. Besides that, he was immune to STDs. He wore condoms only because women expected him to use them.
Fortunately, he caught himself before he blurted out all that info. Letting her believe that a lack of condoms was a legitimate barrier to having sex would be a good thing. Besides, she might not believe him if he told her the truth.
“Obviously that subject caught you flat-footed.” She sounded amused. “You didn’t even think about the fact we don’t have condoms, did you?”
“No, can’t say that I did.”
“You could have picked some up at the store before we left. Grandpa Earl sells them on a top shelf, away from the kids.”
“I noticed that.”
She arched a brow. “You noticed it, but you didn’t act on that knowledge? I guess you really didn’t think we’d get horizontal, then.”
“I knew it would be a bad idea.”
“But you kissed me, anyway.”
He grinned. “You wouldn’t be still.” Then his grin faded. “But it won’t happen again.”
“You’ve got that right. Trust me. I don’t fool around with unplanned pregnancies. And that goes double for interspecies sex. You’re totally safe from me, Roarke.”
He wondered if she was totally safe from him. He’d do his damnedest to keep away from her, but he couldn’t pretend it would be easy.
Chapter 9
When Abby learned they’d have to leave the trail and plow through the forest, she finally gave in and let Roarke carry everything but her toiletries and extra clothes. None of that weighed much, and asking him to take those things seemed wrong. But under the circumstances, transferring the bulk of her stuff made logical sense even if it did hurt her pride a bit.
Roarke led the way and was, she supposed, following his nose. Although it wasn’t raining, that made no difference to the wetness factor as she brushed against wet bushes and walked under dripping trees. The constant exercise and the nice view of Roarke’s backside kept her warm enough, but once they stopped moving and darkness arrived, she knew the chill would set in.
Even though they’d left the trail, she had a fair idea of where they were. As a teenager living out her Indiana Jones fantasies, she’d camped out overnight many times with her brother. Once they’d learned to make cairns to mark their travels, they’d done that incessantly.
Apparently many of them were still there, because she’d already noticed a few. Judging from the cairns, she and Roarke weren’t far from a cave Abby and her brother had discovered. A cave sounded like a nice choice for the night provided it wasn’t occupied by some critter.
Whether they slept in a cave or out in the open, she wouldn’t complain. She’d be the epitome of the happy camper, because thanks to Roarke’s much-discussed sense of smell, they were successfully tracking the Bigfoot pair. Roarke said he’d picked up their scent and she trusted him to know what he was talking about.
According to Roarke, the creatures had a substantial lead on them and the chances of overtaking them today were slim. Abby vowed not to feel guilty about that. She’d been doing her best to keep up when Roarke had turned around and noticed her limping.
And kissed her. Lordy, that werewolf could kiss. Then, as he’d worked the charley horse out of her calf, she’d nearly melted into a puddle on that rock.
He liked to go on about how wonderful she smelled, and she had to admit his scent was an aphrodisiac to her, too. If he used cologne, she wasn’t familiar with the brand. Whatever it was, it made her think of lying on a bed of moss under a fragrant evergreen.
To be more specific, his scent made her think of lying naked on a bed of moss underneath the hot body of one Roarke Wallace. She wasn’t sure if that was due to cologne or pheromones. Maybe it was a combination of both, but the effect was powerful.
She liked to think she wouldn’t have had sex with him since neither of them had brought condoms. She liked to think that, but she wasn’t sure, and that was scary. She always thought of condoms. She wasn’t the sort of girl to get swept away and realize later that she’d had an oops moment.
But Roarke was one lusty guy. He was also a wolf sometimes, and maybe that was part of her fascination. Hey, who was she kidding? Roarke was a larger-than-life fairy-tale hero, the kind she used to dream about when she was a little girl. Of course she wanted him desperately.
And of course she would resist such an insane fantasy. Her parents would love to see her settle down with a nice guy and pop out a couple of kids they could spoil rotten. Abby liked that scenario herself. She definitely didn’t plan to present them with grandchildren who sometimes turned into wolves.
Good thing she and Roarke had gone over that material as part of his Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves course. She couldn’t imagine what life was like for Roarke’s sister-in-law, Emma. All the important aspects of her life had to remain hidden from her friends and family. That would suck. She must really love Roarke’s brother.
Roarke paused again to sniff the air.
“Still smell them?”
“Yep. We’re keeping pace with them, but we haven’t gained any.”
“Then go faster.”
He glanced back at her. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch them.”
“When, sometime next year?”
He rolled his eyes. “Abby, we’re doing fi
ne. They’ll probably stop for the night soon, and then we can make up a little of the distance before we stop.”
“Or we could hike all night and catch them.”
“No, we’re not doing that.” He sniffed again. “Let’s go.”
She couldn’t smell a thing, which meant the Sasquatch pair was quite a distance away. Her grandfather maintained there was nothing worse than the smell of a Sasquatch. But for all Abby knew, Roarke liked it. He was strange that way.
As she trudged through the forest after him, trying to ignore the ache in her legs, her back—pretty much all over—she decided to ask the question and take her mind off her pain-racked body. “So do you like the way a Sasquatch smells?”
“Hell, no. It’s a terrible stench, just like your grandfather said.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Roarke laughed. “Poor hygiene?”
“Maybe. Then again, it might be a way for them to identify each other. Maybe a Sasquatch smells just great to another Sasquatch.”
“Now you’re thinking like an anthropologist.”
That comment pleased her. And talking definitely helped her forget she was a walking mass of misery. “What do you like about your job?”
“The people I meet. Some of the populations my team and I study are dirt poor but have a richness of tradition that more affluent cultures would envy.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It is. Dancing, singing, feasts—all of which promote loyalty to the community. Obviously, as a Were I come from a background that encourages community loyalty. That’s how we’ve survived through the ages. But the people I study often have an even deeper understanding of the meaning of community. I learn a lot from them.”
“And then you teach that to your students at NYU.”
“I hope so.” He held back a branch to give her room to pass.
“I’ll bet you do. Especially if you remember to wear the corduroy jacket and plaid vest.”
“Oh, yeah. My professor costume.” He let the branch go and it whooshed into place, showering both of them with a fine mist. He didn’t seem to notice as he paused to gaze at her. “Do you think the clothes are too over-the-top?”
Werewolf in the North Woods: A Wild About You Novel Page 9
