by Keri Arthur
tablet into your coffee this afternoon. I want to see if she
left the cup lying around.”
“I put it down beside my chair, so she could have
missed it.” She frowned. “But why would she bother? Even
if she’s decided she doesn’t like sharing you, what point
would there be in drugging me?”
“For the last time, she and I have never exchanged
promises, nor did I have more than one dance with her.”
His voice was tight, and anger flicked briefly behind the
shutters. “And you could have died if I hadn’t found you
so quickly.”
His anger burned her skin and made her throat go
dry. Lord, it would be so easy to believe he actually cared.
Which was ridiculous. He was a lone wolf—a man who
enjoyed the dance and wanted nothing more from a
relationship. “So how did you find me?”
“I was lucky.” He pointed his fork at her barely touched
meal. “Now eat, before it gets cold.”
She ate, but could only get halfway through the huge
bowl he’d given her. She pushed the rest of it away and
leaned back with a sigh. “Thank you.”
He nodded and rose, collecting both bowls and taking
them over to the sink. She watched him walk away,
admiring the way his faded jeans clung to his butt and
wishing she had the courage to actually admit out loud
what she really wanted right now. The wolf within might
be free, but she wasn’t totally courageous. Not yet.
“What else do you hope to find at the hair salon?” she
asked, more out of a need to fill the heated silence than
any real curiosity. “Because if she did drop sleeping tablets
in my drink, they probably came from her handbag. I doubt
she’d keep something like that at the salon.”
“No. Which is why I want to head on over to her house
afterwards.” He handed her a cup of coffee and sat back
down.
She wrapped her fingers around the mug and frowned.
“I think her mother is living with her. I doubt she’d leave
to head up to the mansion, even if Betise does.”
“No. But she might head out to a dinner invitation
with an old friend.”
Neva raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Iyona had any
friends—old or new.”
“According to Neeson Jones, she has two. Neeson’s
helped me arrange a little get together tonight at the Blue
Moon.”
The Blue Moon was the bigger of Ripple Creek’s two
bars and usually packed with partygoers when the full
moon was rising. “You were lucky to get a table.”
“Called in a favor. The owner’s an old friend of mine.”
She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee.
His gaze drifted down her body, lingering on the folds of
silk covering her breasts. Anticipation tingled across her
skin, and the deep down ache sprang to life.
And all because of a look. It was almost scary just
how attuned she was to this man.
“Why do you want to search Betise’s house? What do
you hope to find?” She stretched out her legs, her feet
touching his. Warmth sprung between them, prickling up
her leg.
“I don’t know. Something strange is going on with that
pair, not the least of which are the lies she’s spreading
about me. A clandestine search might uncover a few handy
secrets.”
“You don’t think she’s linked to the murders, do you?”
She ran her toes up the long lean length of his foot. She’d
never found feet arousing before, but just touching his
was doing strange things to her breathing. As was the
sexy smile that tugged at his lips, daring her to be bolder.
“At this point, no, though Iyona obviously hates my
pack. It’s always possible she does know something.”
She slipped her foot up his leg, enjoying the contrasts
of soft denim and taut muscle under her toes and half
wishing those powerful legs were entwined around her.
She reached as far as his muscular thighs but couldn’t go
any further without slipping off the chair. “Have you asked
her about the Bitterroot incident?”
“Yes.”
He reached under the table and began to knead her
instep with his thumb. A tremor shot up her leg, jumping
her pulse into a triple-time dance.
“She claims she wasn’t there,” he continued, his rich
voice deeper by several notches, and as seductive as the
moon itself.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle but insistent
press of his hand against her skin. “You don’t believe her?”
“No.”
“I could get Savannah to check it out, if you want.”
“I already have a friend checking it out. He should be
calling back soon.” He wrapped his hand around her foot,
his fingers so warm against her flesh it felt like she was
being held by hot iron. “Are you ticklish?”
Her eyes flashed open. His grin radiated enough heat
to melt the snow drifting past the kitchen window, and
devilment shone in his dark eyes. Her heart did an odd
tumble. She had a feeling she was seeing a side of him so
very few did. “No, I’m not.” She tried to jerk her foot away,
but he held her tight.
“Really?” His ran a finger lightly down the sole of her
foot, and she bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh.
“Really. Now let go.”
“I don’t think so.”
He flicked a fingernail across her instep and the laugh
escaped. She squirmed on the chair, an odd flush of
trepidation and desire running through her.
He raised an eyebrow. “For someone who’s not ticklish,
that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.”
“Well, maybe I am a little ticklish.”
He ran his finger across her foot again. Laughter
bubbled through her and broke free. He stopped, dark
eyes a heated mix of desire and amusement.
“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Maybe I’m a lot
ticklish.”
“Just on the foot?” His fingers slid enticingly up her
calf, and pinpricks of desire fled across her skin, leaving
her hotter than she’d ever thought possible.
“Yes.” Her reply was little more than a pant of air.
“You sure about that?”
No. “Yes.”
“So you’re definitely not ticklish behind your knee?”
His fingers teased her skin as he spoke, and she
couldn’t contain her laughter. He stopped again, his grin
as delicious as the look in his eyes. “Shall we explore where
else you might be ticklish?”
“Not in my lifetime.” Grinning, she ripped her leg from
his grasp and jumped up from the table, bolting for the
stairs.
He caught her in the hall and she laughed,
halfheartedly fighting his hold on her. He pressed her back
against the wall, his hands on either side of her body,
neatly corralling her. His masculine odor filled her every
breath, and the desire that scorched the air between them
left her bre
athless and aching.
He leaned close, his gaze all but devouring her. “I never
could resist a challenge.”
His mouth brushed hers, a tender caress that left her
lips tingling and her wanting more. But before she could
react in any way, his hands had slipped to her waist and
she was being tickled unmercifully.
She laughed, long and loud. Laughed until her knees
felt as if they were going to give way and tears were
streaming down her face.
“Stop, stop,” she begged between gasps for air.
He did, bracing his hands on either side of her again.
“I think we can safely say you’re ticklish all over.” His grin
was boyishly cheeky.
“You think?” she managed to say.
“I think.” He leaned a little closer, and his cheeky grin
melted into something far more dangerous, far more
luscious. “We can’t risk heading out to Betise’s for another
hour or so. Any idea what we should do until then?”
She hesitated, her pulse zooming, the need to give in
to desire warring with the instinct to keep safe and keep
her distance—emotionally, if not physically—from this
man.
“We could go back to the kitchen and finish our coffee.”
But her voice came out with a betraying huskiness, and
the heat singeing the air became a tempest that blasted
them both.
His smile faded, but his dark eyes burned bright in
the hall’s semidarkness. “We could. Or you could tell me
what you really want.”
She could. But she wouldn’t. The wolf within might
be free, and it might want him with a fierceness she’d
never felt before, but she suspected if she openly admitted
that, she might also be forced to admit other things. Like
how much she didn’t hate him. Or, how she was beginning
to fear the thought of him walking away at the end of this
moon phase.
“Tell me.” He dropped one hand and began undoing
the knot at her waist.
A tremor of anticipation ran through her. “No.”
“I can taste your desire on the air, little wolf. What
harm is there in admitting it?”
“Plenty.”
The knot fell away and her gown slipped apart. The
warm air caressed her even warmer skin, and her breath
caught, then quickened. But he didn’t touch her. Instead,
he caught the left edge of the gown and gently flicked it
back and forth across one erect nipple. The sensation was
like nothing she’d ever felt before—erotic, arousing,
torturous.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
She swallowed, but it didn’t seem to ease the dryness
in her throat or the trembling in her belly. “Why do you
care? I’m yours for this phase, no matter what I do or
don’t admit.”
“Is that what you want? For me to just take you any
time I want? Right here and now?”
She licked her lips, and his gaze jumped to her mouth.
Pinpricks of sweat danced across her skin. She needed
him so badly she ached to scream, Yes. But she’d sworn
not so long ago never to admit her needs to this man, and
for the sake of sanity, for the sake of her heart, she had to
stick to that vow.
“Does it really matter what I want?”
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No.”
“Why not?” He switched his attentions to her right
nipple. She all but moaned at the sweet sensuality of the
silk snapping across her skin.
“Because it’s just another game. Just another way to
destroy me.”
His pause was brief, but nevertheless there. “Would it
make any difference if I apologize?”
She briefly closed her eyes. He sounded sincere, and
she so desperately wanted to believe that he was. But in
the end, it didn’t really matter, because he was still leaving
once the murderer was caught, and she’d still be left here
alone to clean up the mess. “An apology won’t rectify the
damage you’ve done.”
“Perhaps if I explained—”
“Oh yeah, that’ll work.” Her voice was sharp with
sarcasm. “Tell my dad I went to the moon dance for the
sole purpose of seducing you to gain entry into the
mansion. That’ll surely make everything all right.”
He leaned forward, brushing another sweet kiss across
her mouth. “I wasn’t intending to tell him that.”
His warm breath tingled across her lips. She breathed
in as he breathed out, until it seemed as if the spicy taste
of him was filling every pore. She swallowed heavily. “I
wouldn’t tell him anything. If he sees you right now, he’s
likely to run for the nearest gun.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “I didn’t think your dad
believed in that sort of thing.”
“He’s a wolf, and I’m his little girl.”
“And I’m nothing but trash taking advantage of you.”
There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that suggested
he’d heard that sentiment more than once.
Part of her ached to deny the words, to tell him that
he was so much more than his reputation had led her to
believe. But she didn’t. Salvation and survival lay in
silence. He was a lone wolf who didn’t want anything more
than this moon dance. Except, perhaps, for an admission
that she did need, just as badly as anyone else at the
mansion, despite all the high ideals of her pack.
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” she said softly.
“No,” he agreed after a moment. “But it matters what
you think.”
Why? That’s what she ached to ask. Especially when
he had already admitted he wanted nothing from her but
the next few nights. “Right now, I don’t want to think.”
She just needed his touch—on her skin, and deep inside.
“Then tell me what you do want,” he whispered,
bringing them right back to square one.
He stopped teasing her breasts with the silk, but before
she could murmur her disappointment, he dipped his
head, his tongue circling the dark ring of one nipple,
teasing but not touching the oversensitive center.
Every inch of her trembled—ached—with expectation.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the
wall, enjoying his touch and the sensations storming
through her.
“Not that,” she said after a moment. Because as much
as she was enjoying it, the moon and she both knew she
wanted a whole lot more.
“No?”
The liquid touch left her skin as he shifted his attention
to her other breast. This time, he nipped, drawing her
nipple deep into his mouth, sucking on it hard. She gasped,
her knees almost collapsing at the rush of unexpected
pleasure.
“Nor that,” she somehow said.
“Then perhaps this?” His tongue teased her skin again,
and slowly, tormentingly, he worked his way down her
belly. Goose bumps scurried across her sweat-beaded skin,
an
d her heart hammered so loudly its beat seemed to echo
through the silence.
When his tongue finally delved into her moistness,
she moaned, and had to fight to keep her knees locked
and her body upright. His fingers pressed against her
thighs. Trembling, she widened her stance, allowing him
greater access. His tongue delved deeper, and pleasure
flowed like liquid fire through her veins, until her whole
body quivered and throbbed to the tune of that gentle yet
insistent touch. A touch that quickly created a tide
threatening to overload her senses.
But at the precise moment she needed that touch the
most, it left her. She groaned and opened her eyes,
wondering what weird, tortuous game he was playing now.
His gaze caught hers, seeming to delve deep into her soul.
The intent, the hunger, so evident in his dark gaze assured
her this was no game, but a carefully controlled seduction.
Not only of her senses, but of her mind.
And perhaps, if she wasn’t very careful, her heart.
Holding her gaze, he slowly, almost leisurely, stripped
off his jeans and shorts and tossed them to one side. He
was as hard as she was wet, and the sight of him made
her throat go dry. Moons, how she ached to feel that
hardness deep inside.
Placing his hands on either side of her again, he leaned
forward and claimed her mouth. He tasted of lust, of love,
and of her, and it stirred her in ways she never thought
possible. When he finally pulled away, she could barely
even breathe, and the throbbing ache was so fierce she
thought she’d die.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice soft but as
fierce as his gaze.
She swallowed but could no longer deny the need
pounding through her veins. “You.”
Elation winged through the darkness of his eyes. “How
do you want me?”
His touch slid through her slickness and delved deep.
She moaned, arching into his hand but wanting so much
more.
“Like this?” he asked, his voice little more than a husky
growl.
She shook her head, too consumed by the sensations
of pleasure shooting through her to do anything more.
“Then perhaps we’ll try this.” The heat of his flesh, the
heaviness of his desire, pressed hard against her, until all
she could smell was the spicy mix of man and lust, and
