A Highland Wolf Christmas

by Terry Spear

  Calla chuckled again, and he glanced her way, his brow furrowed. She grinned at him, and he shook his head.

  Chapter 9

  When they arrived home, Ethan gave Guthrie a slight nod, as if saying he would tell Ian what had happened with regard to Baird so that Guthrie could speak with the lass alone. Guthrie was certain that Ethan would also tell Ian about the half-naked woman. He and Oran were grinning so broadly that Guthrie was convinced they’d both ask Ian to ensure that Guthrie was always in charge of the guard detail for Calla. And that Ian always picked them to go with Guthrie when he had to watch over her.

  “Calla, can I speak with you for a minute?” Guthrie asked, opening the door to the keep for her.

  “About?”

  “Let’s go someplace more…private. The study? Or the garden room?”

  Her body tense, she looked a little wary. “The garden room will be fine.”

  They walked through the keep to the kitchen, but before they reached the door, they discovered Cearnach and Duncan eating pork sandwiches at the table and drinking mulled wine. Both stopped talking to acknowledge Guthrie and Calla with smiles.

  “How’d the party go?” Duncan asked, smirking.

  Duncan couldn’t have heard what had happened at this party yet, so Guthrie assumed he was still amused about the reunion fiasco—as if anytime that Guthrie went to one of her scheduled events, he’d cause trouble. Even if that had been the case so far.

  Her brows raised, Calla said, “I’m sure Guthrie is dying to tell you about it. You’ll most likely find it as entertaining as the other.” She moved outside into the cold.

  Guthrie’s brothers grinned broadly at him. “Not another sword fight, eh, Brother?” Cearnach asked, sounding like he was dying to know what had happened this time.

  Guthrie shook his head, then followed Calla out the door. When he closed the door behind them, she said, “You know they’ll learn about it shortly. They’re probably already calling Ethan or Oran to discover what exactly did happen.”

  Guthrie looked down at Calla’s impish expression as he walked her down the path to the outdoor garden room. She was enjoying this a little too much.

  When he looked down at the toga caressing her ankles, he realized he should have asked if she wanted to change into something more comfortable first, or at least something he wouldn’t be staring at so hard once she removed her coat. He had to admit she looked damned hot as a Grecian woman.

  He opened the door to the garden room, glad to see it was deserted. He turned on the light, then closed the door after them. After taking her coat and wool scarf and hanging them on the coatrack, he started a fire in the fire pit to warm the place.

  “I need to speak with you about Baird,” Guthrie said.

  “Why do you want to talk about him again?” she asked, suddenly sounding wary.

  “I saw Baird in his wolf coat watching the cottage tonight while you were inside orchestrating the toga party.”

  Calla’s eyes widened a bit. Then she shook her head and walked over to a rack of wine and motioned to the bottles. “Want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Anything that you would like is fine with me.”

  She handed him a bottle of merlot.

  He removed the cork and poured each of them a glass.

  “Aye, so I wondered again if there is some other reason why he keeps stalking you.”

  “I…I don’t know. Was anyone else with him?”

  “Nay. His pack may be disillusioned with him over chasing after you and not resolving the issue. If you have any other notions why he won’t leave you alone, let us know.”

  “I will.” Calla took a seat on one of the soft moss-colored sofas that wound around the fire pit.

  The Celtic gold embroidered pillows had been replaced with Christmas ones—the Santas on them wearing the blue and green kilt of the MacNeill clan. The scent of Christmas spice filled the air, making Guthrie think the ladies had been there earlier, burning their cinnamon-scented candles. He was trying to figure out whether to sit closer to Calla and be able to better breathe in her sweet scent, which would be a mistake, or to sit farther away and have a better view of her toga, which could be just as much of a mistake.

  He sighed and took a seat across from her. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

  She took another sip of her wine and set her glass down on the coffee table. “I’m going with Julia, Heather, and a few other ladies to pick up Christmas gifts.”

  She slipped off one sandal and then the other. He glanced at her toga, thinking about her removing it next, although he shouldn’t have allowed his thoughts to stray in that direction. She pulled her bare feet up on the couch and tucked them beneath her. Then she lifted the plaid throw over her lap. He wished he was curled up beside her.

  “Who’s watching over you?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Ian always sets the guard schedule.”

  Guthrie hadn’t heard anything about it so he assumed Ian had assigned someone else to watch them. Still, if Guthrie had the free time… “When are you going?”

  She hesitated to say, as if weighing the reasons he’d ask.

  “I have to teach the older kids math in the morning,” he said, hinting that he’d go with her if the time was right.

  She smiled a little. “If you want to come with us, we’ll go after you’re done.”

  Guthrie warmed at that, but the warm feeling he got from her reminded him of something. He backed off. He had to give her time to get over Baird. No more doomed-from-the-start rebounds for him. He and Calla really had to just…be friends for now. He had to try harder to remember that when he was around her.

  “Like you said, it’s up to Ian,” Guthrie said. Even if Ian had selected another team to watch over her, Guthrie could go, just as extra muscle. Looking comfortable now, she lifted her glass and took another swallow of wine. She sighed deeply. “I’m really tired and I guess it’s about time to call it a night.”

  Guthrie wanted to kiss her. After the night he’d had with Rosalind’s unwanted display of bearing her breasts and Calla’s own amusement because of it, plus the wine, the fire, and the way Calla looked so damned appealing in that slinky toga, he wanted to kiss her.

  They both finished their wine, then she rose to her feet and he stood. The kiss they had shared when they were pinned under the tree…that was different. They’d had an audience of girls. Though he hadn’t expected that. Most likely some of the adults had also seen something of what was going on. That kiss had been impulsive, when he never was that way, ever. But there he’d been, lying on top of her, unable to move off her, breathing in her sweet scent, feeling her soft curves, becoming aroused, and well, it just…happened.

  Here, they were alone. The reason for wanting this kiss was something entirely different.

  He was used to analyzing the pros and cons of a financial situation, deliberating any alternative courses of action. This had nothing to do with money, but still he found himself evaluating the situation like he would in considering an investment. Because in a way, kissing her again indicated that he wanted to invest more in the relationship.

  Calla knew just what Guthrie wanted—to kiss her as if they’d been on a date, which they hadn’t been. Just because they’d shared some wine and talked a little about past relationships earlier, that didn’t mean anything, although she was feeling relaxed and comfortable with him. And she felt sexy in her toga. That didn’t mean they should kiss or anything. Probably shouldn’t. Yes, she was certain they shouldn’t.

  So why was she eagerly waiting for him to do something?

  Rebound, she kept reminding herself. She wasn’t going to encourage him in any way—not by mannerism, speech, or eye contact. Nothing. And then he smiled. And she smiled back.

  And that was it.

  They quickly closed the distance between them, though she didn’t remember moving. But she must have because she wasn’t standing next to the sofa any longer and their lips were melded toge
ther as if they were meant to be that way. The wine on his lips and tongue tasted as divine as he did. His hands were on her bare shoulders, holding her in place while he worked miracles with his kisses.

  He swept his mouth over her jaw and down her neck, and licked the hollow of her throat, making her tingle with his touch. Standing next to the fire, she was burning up, scorched inside and out by his sensuous kisses. His warm mouth stroked across her bare shoulder, his hands holding her still, lest she melt onto the sofa. She felt ready to collapse, and she was afraid of where this might lead.

  Wolves could not have sex without mating for life. It was a condition of their wolf nature. It wasn’t a moral issue, but the natural order of things, an inborn trait, a way to continue their lupus garou species, just like strictly wolves continued theirs.

  Yet, damn, if she didn’t want to take this all the way with Guthrie. Not to mate with him, but to satisfy a sexual craving she couldn’t deny. They were both breathing hard, their hearts pounding, their pheromones kicking each other’s into higher gear—and she knew she had to stop this. He was getting close to brushing his mouth against her breast, her nipples surely visible beneath the silky gown, as aroused as she was already.

  She should have reminded him that she was tired and going to bed, yet she barely breathed as his warm breath caressed her breast.

  He brushed his cheek against her aroused breast and she touched his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her breath hitched as she waited for him to take her nipple in his mouth. The feel of his warm face rubbing against it, the silky fabric of her toga sliding over it made her wet for him.

  She kept telling herself they couldn’t go too far, yet she wanted to pull down the top of her toga, letting it fall over her gold braided belt, to bare herself to him.

  His hand cupped her breast and he moved his mouth back to hers, his thumb sliding over the nipple, teasing it. His tongue pushed between her lips, and she sucked him in like a ravenous wolf, making him moan. She ground her hips against him, wanting to feel his arousal. His cock was as hard now as it had been when he’d been pressed against her under the Christmas tree. Despite knowing they shouldn’t indulge in the fantasy, she didn’t want to stop—couldn’t stop.

  His thumb was doing wicked things to her nipple, just as she moved wickedly against his erection.

  Then he pulled away and she wanted to scream, “Don’t stop!”

  His green eyes were cloudy with lust, his look unreadable otherwise, and she thought for a moment he was worried about taking things too far. But then he looked down at her breasts, leaned down, and licked a nipple through the fabric of her toga, and oh my God, she thought she would come right then and there. She’d never experienced anything so erotic in her life.

  He pulled down the shoulder-less part of the gown and massaged her bare breast with his big hand, while he suckled her other nipple through the fabric.

  Somehow he’d maneuvered her back to the soft sofa.

  The next thing she knew, he was pulling her gown off the other breast and then his mouth was again on it—the sensation of his tongue and mouth touching her flesh too pleasurable for words.

  He paused, taking her in with his hot-blooded gaze, then held her face in his hands, his touch tender.

  He was waiting for her to tell him how far she wanted to take this. Surprised, she hesitated. She was used to Baird lunging right ahead, even if she wasn’t quite ready.

  With Guthrie, she wanted this. She appreciated how he took her feelings into consideration and allowed her to set the pace and boundaries. She should have pulled up her gown, smiled sweetly, said her good night, and vamoosed back to the safety of her guest bedchamber.

  Instead, her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. The next thing she knew, she was pulling off his wool sweater and he was helping her. He tossed it onto another part of the sectional sofa, and then she helped him off with his shirt.

  Chest to chest they began kissing again, her hands on his back, his on her arms, sliding, caressing, enjoying the intimacy. She ran her hands over his hard muscles rippling beneath her fingertips.

  It didn’t take long before he leaned her back onto the sofa, his leg wedged between hers. Keeping most of his weight off her, he kissed her mouth with ardent enthusiasm, their breathing heavy, his tongue and hers passionately dueling.

  His hand swept down her leg once, twice, his warm fingers sizzling against her skin, sliding the silky fabric up her thigh, making her feel erotically sexy. He took deep breaths, smelling how wet she was for him, how much she wanted him. It could only turn him on more—wolf that he was. He slid his hand down her thigh again, except this time he pulled her gown up slowly, seductively, his hand brushing it up so that his touch against her skin continued to scald her.

  He ran his hand over her bare thigh, stroking higher. She already ached for completion, and if he didn’t finish what he’d begun, she would never forgive him. Ever.

  Then his hand slid between her legs. Her breath caught. At first, he cupped her mound and began kissing her mouth again, as if he’d captured her and she was his. Without warning, he pressed two fingers into her wet sheath and she nearly came unglued.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she breathed out, and then he nibbled on her lip, her ear, her chin, stroking her at the same time that he rubbed her sweet spot and alternating that with inserting his fingers into her. She felt the building crescendo, the peak so close that she wanted to race to the top. And then it happened—the sweet, wondrous climax hit, and she shattered into a million glorious, sated pieces, crying out with pleasure.

  He was still kissing her when he began to unzip his pants. They couldn’t have sex—even though she desperately wanted to. Oh how she wanted to feel him buried to the hilt deep inside her, thrusting, feeling his own pleasure, but…they couldn’t. Not as lupus garous. Not unless they had decided on a mating. Which, of course, they had not. And this wasn’t supposed to be happening in the first place. But she wouldn’t have put a stop to it for the world.

  He suddenly stopped what he was doing, grabbed the throw blanket at her feet, and tucked it under her. What was he doing? Too eager to know, she stroked his trousered legs.

  He studied her for a moment, came to a decision, and yanked down his pants, then reached for her hand. He squeezed her fingers around his aroused length, guiding her to stroke him. They could do this, she thought with relief and a measure of excitement. She loved being able to give him pleasure too.

  She stroked him, their tongues dancing. He groaned at her touch. She loved how he kissed her, continuing the more intimate connection between them. She’d already primed him so much with their kissing and then her coming that he quickly came.

  For a moment, they breathed in each other’s scents, their hearts beating pell-mell, their skin moist with perspiration as they came off their exhilarating sexual high. She wished they could cuddle and wake up together in each other’s arms, as much as she knew they shouldn’t and couldn’t.

  But now, she didn’t know what to say or do—and felt a little uneasy. He seemed to feel the same way as he studied her back, but didn’t say anything. He leaned down and kissed her lips sweetly, and she fought the impulse to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight—which would indicate she didn’t want to let go of him or the moment.

  She kissed him back lightly, her hands gently stroking his arms in a way that wasn’t possessive or indicating she wanted to stay with him longer. Just a nice ending to an otherwise awkward moment.

  “I guess it’s really time for bed now,” she said and instantly felt her skin warm, as if she was referring to going to bed with him now.

  “Uh, yeah.” He moved off her, grabbed his shirt, and cleaned up, then pulled up his pants. At the same time, she worked on getting her toga back in place. He pulled on his sweater, gazing at her, not looking away as if he was ashamed. He was analyzing the way she was feeling like a wolf would, smelling her scent and watching her expression. Yet he looked a little worried. Was he
concerned that they had done this? That he shouldn’t have? Or maybe he was bothered that he had come so fast and couldn’t hold on any longer.

  Her emotions were all over the place, and she didn’t want to overthink what had happened between them. They’d just needed a release. That was all. They’d both been available—convenient. Nothing more than that. She refused to feel any remorse for what had happened between them here tonight.

  He got her coat and helped her into it. She wanted to say something about it not meaning anything and not to regret it. But she didn’t want him to think she was saying that what they’d done meant nothing to her.

  “Calla,” Guthrie said as they stood at the door. He didn’t say anything more, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

  She smiled, though her smile probably didn’t appear very genuine. She didn’t much feel like smiling. “Thanks for the nice evening and the chance to unwind. I always need to do so after a big event.” God, did that sound like she had sex with a guy just to unwind after a party? And that she did it regularly? Feeling mortified, she felt her face heat, but she didn’t want to say anything else and make it worse.

  He studied her for a moment as if judging or attempting to judge how she was feeling. But he left it at that and escorted her back to the keep in silence.

  That was the hardest part, she thought. She immediately thought of what Baird would have done in a situation like this. Which was truly a case of not looking forward but looking back, and she couldn’t afford to do that. She had to remind herself that Baird was not Guthrie, and vice versa. That Baird wanted to mate with her from the beginning, so he’d eagerly attempted to push a mating whenever they were together. And she remembered how much she had stalled him by saying she was too busy to see him when sometimes she had not been. But she’d needed her space. And she hadn’t been ready.