by Keri Arthur
skin and caressed his face, making him appear more like
a dark angel than ever. His obsidian eyes were almost
otherworldly.
And so hot. So hungry.
Her throat went dry, and she stopped. His gaze swept
down her body, and he might as well have been caressing
her with his hand, because every inch of her responded
with heated delight.
“What happened to the plate of food I requested?” Her
voice came out little more than a husky whisper, and his
eyes gleamed in response.
“The buffet has been sitting there for a while. I thought
something fresher would be better.”
“A burger would be good right now.” And though she
doubted he’d comply, at least the suggestion kept up the
illusion that she was here unwillingly. If what he’d said to
her at her parents’ place was any indication, he was
suspicious about her reasons for being with him, and the
more she did to waylay those suspicions, the more chance
she’d have to snoop.
His slow smile made her stomach flip-flop. “I had
something more substantial in mind.”
She let her gaze roam down the firm planes of his
body until she came to the very visible evidence of his
arousal under his jeans.
“So I can see,” she murmured, and even as she said it,
she wondered where her mind was. Playing games with
this man was not a good idea.
Not when his need blanketed the air, making it difficult
to even breathe. Not when desire skated across her skin
and it felt like her heart was going to race out of her chest.
And she knew it wasn’t the moon’s influence, but the man
himself. She might hate him, but the wolf within wanted
him. Badly.
But she didn’t dare give that part of herself complete
freedom. Not here, and definitely not with Duncan. Once
the murderer was caught and this moon phase was over,
she had bridges to mend and a life to get back to. A life he
had practically destroyed.
“Why don’t we take this discussion somewhere a little
warmer?” His voice was soft and sexy enough to melt
chocolate.
She nodded mutely. He touched a hand to her back,
searing heat past her spine. A tremor ran through her.
What was it about this man that got to her so badly?
Surely it was more than just his experience and skill when
it came to the art of lovemaking. Lord, she might be new
to the mansion and its environs, but she wasn’t new to
the dance itself. She’d had several mates over the years
since puberty, but none of them had ever affected her this
deeply. This quickly.
There again, none of them had the reputation that
Duncan had, either.
He led her along the path and past several doors. The
caress of music from the ballroom gradually died, and the
only sound to be heard was the soft crunch of gravel under
their shoes. The moon caressed the night with its silver
light, and the heat of it raced through her veins, seeming
to pool where his fingers pressed so lightly, so tenderly,
against her back.
He guided her through an arch, then opened a door
and ushered her inside. Though the room was dark, her
night sight was wolf keen. They were in what looked like a
commercial kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances
and bench tops.
“We’re raiding the kitchen?” she asked, amused.
“Can you think of a better place to get fresh food?”
“I guess not.”
She pulled herself onto the bench and caught the loaf
of bread he tossed her. He turned on a small light near
the stove then continued on to the refrigerator, pulling
out a platter of cold meats and a platter of fruit. Which
was exactly what she’d wanted five minutes ago, but
definitely not what she wanted right now. The thought
sent a shiver across her skin. Being with this man, in this
place, was dangerous. It made her hunger for things that
just weren’t safe. Or sane.
He placed the two platters on the table, then met her
gaze. His dark eyes were shuttered, his face shadowed. If
not for the hunger that burned through the night, she
might have thought him immune to the moon fever and
her.
So why was he even with her? Especially when Betise
was at the mansion? It didn’t make sense, particularly
given the loathing she’d sensed in him earlier.
Or was there more to the story than what Betise had
said? Did Duncan celebrate the rising of the moon with
casual partners because he had no other choice? Had she
turned away from him rather than him her?
She didn’t know, and she suspected he wouldn’t tell
her if she asked.
He pressed her knees open then stepped between her
legs and pulled her close. Her breasts were lightly squashed
against his chest, and she could feel the wild thumping of
his heart. Could feel the heat radiating off his skin,
surrounding her in a furnace that was desire.
“Anything else you want?”
His breath caressed her lips, and a tremor ran through
her. “A knife to cut the bread would be good.”
“And a soda?”
She nodded. She couldn’t do anything else because
her voice seemed to have fled.
His mouth brushed hers, a tingling, tantalizing
promise of what was to come, then he stepped back and
returned to the refrigerator. “Ice?”
Again she nodded. Within seconds, he was back with
two drinks and a bread knife. He cut several slices of bread,
offering one to her as he slid the meat platter closer. She
made herself a sandwich and ate it, her skin tingling with
awareness as his gaze did a slow tour of her body.
She finished her drink and put the glass down on the
bench. The remaining ice clinked softly, a sound that
seemed to reverberate in the tense, overheated silence.
Or maybe it was just she who was overheated.
He stepped closer again. She instinctively inched back.
A smile touched his sensual lips, and he reached out,
gently running his fingers down her neck and across her
shoulder, displacing the thin strap of her dress as he
continued on down her arm.
She swallowed, but it didn’t seem to help the dryness
in her throat. Didn’t seem to help the dizzy tripping of her
pulse. He was far too close. All she could smell was the
earthy spice of him, all she could feel were his breath on
her skin and the caress of his hand. And all she wanted
was to feel him inside.
It was crazy. Totally and utterly crazy. For seemingly
no good reason, this man had, at the very least, forever
altered her relationship with her parents. And while that
might have happened eventually, it was a change she
hadn’t been prepared to deal with just yet. Especially when
the man by her side was Duncan—a wolf so totally opposite
to everything she wanted in a mate.
But the moon was burning through her veins, and at
this particular moment she didn’t care who he was or
what he’d done. In all the years since puberty she’d never
felt anything this strong. And that in itself was a scary
thought. But maybe it was nothing more than a
combination of the moon and being in the presence of a
wolf well versed in the art of seduction.
His fingers slipped back up her arm and across to her
other shoulder. The second strap slid down her arm, and
her breath caught as her dress shimmied to her waist.
His gaze met hers, and in those dark depths she saw a
desire so intense it made her squirm.
“You feel hot,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush
the line of her neck with feather soft kisses.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. “It’s warm
in the kitchen.”
“Very warm. Perhaps we should try to cool you a little.”
The glass clinked again, and she opened her eyes. “Ice
is not a good idea.”
He raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing his lips. “Really?”
He ran his hand up her arm, the cube of ice trapped in his
palm. The momentary chill of the ice was quickly lost to
the heat of his touch, and the overall sensation was
incredibly arousing.
His hand reached her chest and moved down. She
tensed, her breath catching in her throat. The cube
skimmed one breast, then the other, and she gasped,
jerking back from his touch. He chuckled, then his mouth
enclosed on one hard nub, and she forgot the chill, forgot
everything, and simply enjoyed as he sucked and nipped.
When she was all but squirming with need, he
continued on, past her breasts, down toward her stomach.
The ice had become little more than droplets of water
running past the heat of his fingers, quickly soaked up by
the folds of her dress. But the silky material provided no
barrier to his hand, and as his fingers slid into her moist
heat, she groaned and leaned back, giving him greater
access.
“You want me, little wolf. Say it.”
“No.” It was obvious that she wanted him, but she
was never going to admit it. Because if she admitted that
she’d have to admit just how badly he affected her. And
that was one pleasure she refused to give him.
“What harm is there in admitting you have needs like
everyone else?”
He continued to slide a finger through her moistness,
every stroke providing just the right amount of pressure.
Ripples of pleasure radiated across her body.
“Great harm,” she somehow managed to croak, “when
the man who asks seems intent on destroying my life.”
“Freedom always has its price.” He leaned forward,
nuzzling her ear, nipping lightly at her earlobe, all the
while continuing his gentle, insistent stroking, sending
her insane with need.
“I didn’t come here to find freedom.” Did she say the
words out loud or merely in her mind?
His tongue skimmed her skin, trailing fire down to
her breasts. When he flicked one aching nipple with that
rough moistness, she shuddered and thrust toward him,
wanting to feel more than just his tongue on her breasts.
He chuckled softly and captured them in both his hands,
lightly pushing them together. His gaze held hers as he
ran his tongue from one aching nub to the other. She
shuddered and shifted, not sure how much more sweet
torment she could take.
“What did you come here to find, then?” he said softly.
You, she thought. Only he’d turned out to be a whole
lot more dangerous than she’d ever imagined. “Not this.”
“Then what?” He lightly nipped one nipple, then the
other, and sweat prickled across her skin. Her heart was
hammering so loudly its cadence seemed to fill the silence,
and every muscle in her body was quivering. Aching. For
him.
“I was just curious. Nothing more, nothing less. I never
meant for this to happen.”
“You’re lying, little wolf.”
And the fact that he sensed it was scary, because it
meant he was reading her far better than she was reading
him.
“I’m not lying,” she said, almost desperately.
He released her breasts, and his fingers slipped into
her moistness again. She gasped, arching into his touch.
“You will tell me the truth, you know. And before this
night is over.”
Mutely, she shook her head. His steady stroking was
taking her higher and higher, until the need for him was
so strong her whole body was shaking and she could barely
even breathe.
The sound of a zipper being pulled down was almost
lost in the frantic beating of her heart. Anticipation raced
through her.
He pulled her closer, but nowhere near close enough.
The quivering tip of him pressed against her moist heat,
but went no further. His hands slid to her rear, cupping
her lightly. The effort of control had him trembling, and
she wondered what, exactly, he thought she was up to.
Perhaps she should tell him why she was here. But if
she did, she had no doubt he’d force her from the mansion.
These murders fell under the category of pack business,
and he’d already made it perfectly clear he had no intention
of letting outsiders get involved in such matters—that
included not only her, but the police as well.
And if she told him, she’d have basically destroyed
her life for no damn reason at all. At least by withholding
the truth a little bit longer, she had a chance of discovering
something—anything—that might give her a clue as to
the murderer’s identity.
She’d made her promise. She intended to stick to it.
Though in many ways, she had no other choice now.
His hands tightened on her rump, pulling her forward.
His hardness slipped inside a little more, and it felt so
good she moaned.
“Tell me what you seek, Neva.” His words were harsh,
his breathing heavy. He was punishing himself as much
as he was her.
She shook her head and knew she had to end this
before the need for release overwhelmed common sense
and loosened her tongue. She wrapped her legs around
his waist and pulled herself forward, taking him deep
inside.
He groaned and began to move, his strokes quickly
becoming fierce, hungry thrusts that shook her entire
body. The sweet pressure built and built, until it felt as if
she would explode with sheer pleasure.
Then she did.
“Oh moons, yes!” Her body bucked wildly against his.
He came with her, his roar echoing across the silence, his
body slamming hers so hard the whole bench seemed to
shake.
He caught her lips, kissing her fiercely as their orgasms
ebbed and sanity returned. She opened her eyes and stared
into his. For the briefest of moments, the shutters were
/> opened, and in those black depths she saw compassion
and surprise and warmth. It was almost easy to believe
they were lovers who actually cared about each other, then
the shutters slammed home and the cold stranger came
back.
But before either of them could say anything, a scream
rent the silence.
It was the scream of a woman in pain.
Six
For a heartbeat, Duncan didn’t react, too lost in the
warm aftermath of loving Neva to really register what he
was hearing.
Until the scream came again. The voice sounded
vaguely familiar, yet it brought no immediate images to
mind. He stepped back from Neva and wondered who in
hell was playing it a little too rough. He hoped it wasn’t
René. “Stay here,” he said, fastening his jeans.
“No.” She slipped off the bench and pulled up her dress.
“Neva—”
“No,” she repeated, her expression determined as her
gaze met his. “I know the voice—I was talking to her just
before we came here. I may be able to help.”
He frowned. Given her reluctance to let anyone know
she was here at the mansion, it was surprising that she’d
risk talking to anyone. “Who?”
“Betise.”
She gave him a strange look as she said the name,
and he wondered why. The voice might have sounded
familiar, but the name certainly wasn’t. And while he had
no desire to drag her into any pack business, she was
right about one thing. If there was an hysterical female to
deal with, she could be of some assistance. He had no
doubt this was nothing more than a wolf playing the dance
a little too hard, simply because it broke the well-
established pattern set by the murderer. As another scream
sounded, he grabbed her hand, and they raced out the
door.
The night air was glacial against his lust-heated skin,
and the wind had sharpened. Overhead, the moon was
lost to the gathering of thick, dark clouds. There would be
a storm by morning. Part of him hoped it was one of those
early spring monsters Ripple Creek was renowned for. At
the very least, it would keep everyone indoors and the
rangers away a bit longer, giving him the chance to find
and deal with the monster behind the murders.
They raced past the row of aspens and pines and across
the well-manicured lawn, heading toward the pavilion
