Wolf at the Door

by Christine Warren

  “And he was a lousy lay? What happened? Was his little leprechaun just a bit too wee for your taste?”

  Good God! Cassidy could testify firsthand that there was nothing wee about Sullivan Quinn. In fact, the idea of him being any less wee made her thighs clench together in protest.

  Clearing her throat, she put one hand to her temple as if trying to press away a headache. “Don’t you have better things to do than harass me on a Sunday morning? I think I’m getting a sinus thing, and I didn’t get much sleep last night, so—”

  “Well, I hope the hell not! So what was it like? What did you do? What did he do? Tell, tell, tell!”

  Cassidy’s look of wide-eyed horror probably didn’t add much weight to her headache story. “For God’s sake, Randy, I’m not giving you a blow-by-blow account of my sexual experiences.”

  “Oooooh! So there was blowing?”

  “RANDY!”

  Her cousin gave Cassidy a look of wide-eyed confusion. “What?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. If you want that much detail about sex, go rent an adult DVD.”

  “You won’t even give me a little bitty hint about it? Say, if your toes curled or something? Prude!”

  “Slut.”

  The familiar and meaningless exchange brought them back to their traditional Mexican standoff.

  “All right,” Randy said to break the silence. “I can accept that you want to keep some things private. I don’t understand it, but I can accept it. But you have to give me something.”

  “No. And I’d really appreciate it if you let me get—”

  “Come on,” her cousin wheedled. “I won’t ask what it was like anymore, or even what sort of ‘its’ it entailed. Just answer one question. Would you do it again?”

  Cassidy pursed her lips to hide her Cheshire cat grin. “Standing on my head in Grand Central Station.”

  Randy cheered and raised her hand for a high five. “So then where is he now? Did he turn tail and run, or did you kick him out of bed when you’d finished using him for your own lewd purposes?”

  Cassidy shifted awkwardly. “Well, uh . . . I, um . . .”

  “Or are you still hiding him in the bedroom?”

  Choked silence.

  “You are? No way! You’re shitting me.” Randy rocked back on her heels as if she’d just been told the earth was flat. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you?”

  Cassidy stood mortified in her kitchen doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other until an amused, male brogue cut through the tension like a chain saw.

  “Why, Cassie love, if you had wanted to go dancing you should have said something. I’d take you and be glad of it.”

  Cassidy squeezed her eyes closed, but she swore she could hear the wind caused by her cousin’s head whipping around so fast. Randy would be wearing a neck brace by the end of the day. She also didn’t need to be watching to guess that right about now, Sullivan Quinn would be flashing Randy one of his boyishly charming grins and shaking her hand, while politely ignoring the fact that her cousin was drooling over his bare, muscled chest. Why the hell hadn’t he put on something more than his jeans before he decided to go prancing around her apartment?

  “Sullivan Quinn,” he drawled. ‘I’m happy to meet you.”

  “Thanks. I’m Randy Berry, and trust me, I’m absolutely delighted to meet you.”

  “Wonderful.” Gritting her teeth, Cassidy forced her eyes open and pasted a huge, fake smile on her lips as she grabbed her cousin by the arm and began dragging her toward the door. “Now that the introductions are made, I’m sorry to hear you have to be on your way, Randy. Thanks so much for stopping by!”

  “But—”

  “It was great to see you, too.” Cassidy yanked open the door and all but shoved her cousin out into the hall. “No, it’s fine. I understand how busy you are. I couldn’t possibly ask you to stay, what with your schedule. You go ahead and don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Hey! Wait—”

  “I love you, too, sweetie.” She threw Randy’s things out after her. “Come back and see me another time. Smooches! Bye!”

  Then she slammed the door right in her favorite cousin’s face and slumped against it, exhausted. She indulged in one drawn-out moan before she looked up to find Quinn watching her, chuckling his damned-fool head off.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, Cassie love,” he managed, pausing for air, “I don’t think I’ve seen anything so rude or so amusing as that in all my born days. Lord, but you’re a riot, darling.”

  “I’m glad you find my predicament so damned amusing,” she snapped. “How would you like it if one of your relatives walked into your apartment without so much as a by-your-leave and then proceeded to drool all over the man you had just slept with?”

  Quinn only laughed harder, stepping forward until he could pull her snugly into his arms. “First of all, no one in my family would ever enter my personal territory like that without permission. And second of all, I imagine that if they did and they found me with a man I’d just slept with, we’d all die of shock right then and there.”

  She swatted at his shoulder. “You know what I meant.”

  “I do, love, though I’ve not decided quite yet whether or not that frightens me.”

  “Har-har.”

  Still chuckling softly, he leaned down to nuzzle the tousled hair at her temple. She was almost prepared to let him make things up to her when her phone rang again. Lips poised halfway to his, Cassidy groaned and dropped back onto her heels.

  “Damn it,” she growled. “It’s Sunday morning! What the heck did I do to become so damned popular all of a sudden?”

  Quinn just shook his head and followed her over to the end table where she kept the cordless phone, nibbling the side of her neck while she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Cassidy, how lovely it is to hear your voice, dear.” Patricia Phillips sounded as warm and affectionate over the phone as Cassidy knew the woman to be in person. “How are you?”

  Trish had been Adele Berry’s housekeeper since before Cassidy had come to live with her. The daughter of two minor witches, she had inherited a kind of magic that wouldn’t thrill many spectators but that enabled her to keep the tidiest, most orderly house in Manhattan. Compared to her spells, the kitchen scene in Fantasia looked like an inefficient debacle. She was a medium sort of woman—medium height, medium build, medium brown hair—but she had a heart the size of any ten people and a smile that could light up at least three out of the Five Boroughs. Cassidy had loved her since the moment she’d set eyes on her.

  “I’m fine, Trish, thanks.” Actually, Cassidy felt a lot more than fine with Quinn scraping his teeth along the delicate skin of her neck, but she wasn’t about to discuss that with her grandmother’s housekeeper. “Is there something I can do for you? Does Nana need me for something?”

  Quinn’s teeth closed around the plump, tender lobe of her ear and began tugging. Cassidy’s knees turned to Jell-O.

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. Mrs. Berry is perfectly fine. I was just passing on a message. It sounded important, so I didn’t want to wait until you arrived for Sunday dinner.”

  Quinn smirked as Cassidy’s knees buckled beneath her and left her a sagging lump of hormones. For all of the five seconds it took for Trish’s words to really register.

  “Sunday dinner!” Damn. She’d forgotten all about it. “Oh, Trish, I’m so sorry. I meant to call and tell you I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Something’s . . . come up.”

  As he laughed softly against her neck, Quinn’s hips gave a slow, deliberate roll against her backside that nearly had her swallowing her tongue.

  Lord! That was something, all right!

  “I’ll do my best to stop by for a drink afterward,” she added hastily, trying to keep her voice from quivering, “but it probably won’t be till after nine.”

  “Oh, that’s a
shame. I’m making roast lamb. Your favorite.”

  It was her favorite, but tonight Cassidy was focused on an entirely different appetite. “That sounds delicious, Trish. I’m sorry to miss it. Will you apologize to Nana for me? Let her know I’ll be by next week if I don’t make it later.”

  “Of course I will.” Trish was probably the only person Cassidy had ever met who wasn’t afraid to tell Adele Berry bad news to her face. With great respect, of course.

  “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.”

  “Wait!” Trish stopped her before she could hang up. “There’s still the reason I called, Miss Cassidy. Your phone message.”

  Cassidy frowned. “Someone tried to call me at Nana’s?”

  She hadn’t lived with Adele since she started college.

  “I thought it was a bit odd at first,” Trish said, “but when he mentioned the Council, it made a bit more sense.”

  Not really, but Cassidy shrugged. “Okay. What was the message?”

  “It was a gentleman, but he didn’t leave his name. He said he was calling on Council business, and the voice sounded familiar, though I couldn’t place it. He left a number and asked you to call as soon as possible.”

  Cassidy pinched the telephone receiver against her shoulder and reached for a pen. Quinn grumbled and switched to the other side of her neck. “All right. Go ahead and give me the number.”

  Trish rattled it off. “I hope I wasn’t wrong to call you and let you know immediately . . .”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll give him a call and see what’s going on. Give Nana my love.”

  “I will, dear. Good-bye.”

  Cassidy murmured a response and dropped the phone back into the cradle, before rounding on Quinn with fire in her eyes.

  “You’re going to have to pay for that,” she said, trying to muster up a glare when her mouth kept trying to grin.

  “Oh, am I?” He smiled right back and snaked his arms around her waist, tugging until her hips bumped hard against his.

  “Yes, you are,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck and plunging her fingers into his hair. “In fact, I think you’d better put down a deposit right this very minute.”

  He chuckled, his mouth lowering slowly to hers. “Whatever you say, darling. Whatever you say.”

  She didn’t say anything for a good solid hour at least.

  Seventeen

  Quinn lay in the darkness of Cassidy’s bedroom and watched the rise and fall of her breathing. The clock on the nightstand read just after five P.M. He could see the rosy-gray light of sunset filter in around the edges of the window shades, but since she hadn’t stirred in the last hour at least, he doubted the subtle glow now was going to disturb her.

  A wave of russet hair lay across her cheek, and he brushed it away with a careful finger. Her skin felt smooth and warm, urging him to linger and trace the silky texture. She murmured in her sleep and shifted, a soft sigh passing her lips, her head turning into his touch. He loved that, loved her responsiveness. Even when she had been half-afraid he planned to snack on her liver, she still hadn’t been able to stop herself from reacting to his touch. Now, in her sleep, she couldn’t stop from turning to him. It made him feel like a god.

  He laughed softly at his own thoughts and settled back into the mattress, tugging her against his chest. She nestled close beside him like a puzzle piece designed to fit. One of his arms curled under their shared pillow, and the other draped over her waist, his hand cupped around the soft curve of her belly. He loved the feminine feel of it, all warm and yielding. His hand stroked, and he imagined it taut and swollen with his seed.

  The vision overwhelmed him, fierce and violent, and he buried his face in the tangle of her hair to wait out the trembling that overtook him. He’d gone through his whole life and never really understood what it would feel like when he found his mate. All of a sudden, the theoretical had become real enough to drive him to his knees, and his head spun with the impact.

  In his family, in his world, matings had happened all around him. It was instinctive and natural and a cause of celebration among the pack, but no one spent too much time thinking about it. A wolf met a bitch, he smelled something tasty, he tasted it. And if it tasted good enough, he kept it around. Quinn had never waxed philosophical on the issue, because where he came from, mating wasn’t a philosophy. It was an action. Quinn had known it would act on him one day, but he hadn’t thought it would happen now, here, with this woman.

  He wasn’t sure whether he felt terrified or exhilarated. There in the dark, feeling Cassidy’s bare skin against his, the sweetness of her scent filling his senses, he leaned toward exhilaration.

  His hand swept down the curve of her belly until the tips of his fingers tangled in the soft curls at the apex of her legs. He couldn’t help it. He loved the textures of her, soft skin, silky hair, sweet liquid secrets.

  He loved her.

  The knowledge stole over him, slipping into his thoughts so naturally that it almost didn’t register. It tickled the edges of his mind until his hand froze and his breathing stilled and his heart expanded, threatening to burst from his chest. For the first time, he understood the part of mating no one had ever explained to him, the part that kept his parents curling together every night after almost forty years. Quinn had been so focused on the heat and drive of the mating instinct, he’d never stopped to wonder what it signified.

  He’d been so busy concentrating on possessing Cassidy, he hadn’t noticed when she took possession of his heart.

  Overwhelmed, breathless, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and pulled her tighter. He could never get her close enough, never get his fill of her. He needed her in a hundred ways he couldn’t define, wanted her in a thousand more.

  Cassidy stirred and shifted back against him. Her legs slid open until she lay half-draped across him like a blanket. Could any man resist the temptation? Would any man want to try?

  He eased his hand lower until it cupped the slick warmth between her legs. God, she amazed him. They should both be unconscious, considering the amount of energy they had expended trying to devour each other for most of the afternoon. They’d finally drifted to sleep with no more than a drowsy kiss between them, but now all he had to do was touch her and her body reacted without hesitation. Instinct had her softening and melting for him, and he matched the anticipation with the watering in his mouth and the deep hunger at his core.

  The hunger took on a life of its own, stirring and stretching inside him. He felt it flex its claws into his gut, taking hold and sending potent images of his woman spread and writhing beneath him. He saw sweat sheening their skin, bodies twisting together. He felt her body wrapped around him, his fingers biting into her hips. His temperature spiked, and he was just about ready to toss her onto her back and have at it when he saw the flutter of dark brown lashes against her pale cheeks.

  He took a deep breath and fought for self-control, a battle he won the instant her golden eyes opened and smiled sleepily up into his.

  “Mm. G’morning.”

  Her voice was rough and husky with sleep, and Quinn cleared his throat as his heart pounded in his chest. “Evening, really.”

  “It is? What time is it?” She craned her head to read the clock on the nightstand. “Yikes. I can’t believe I slept so long. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Quinn shrugged and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. It looked so pale and soft and warm he couldn’t resist. “You were tired. You needed the rest.”

  She laughed. “I got enough rest for a three-toed tree sloth.” She turned to face him and snuggled into his chest. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Plenty.” Damn. Is her neck always this luscious? He leaned down to nibble, his body tightening as she murmured in sleepy contentment. Her fingers sifted into his hair, cradling him against her. As if he wanted to be anywhere else.

  “You do seem to have a bit of energy.”

  “What can I say? I�
��m inspired.”

  She chuckled, a sleepy sound that tightened parts of him that didn’t need tightening. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He growled and slid down to trail kisses along her neck, over the hollow of her throat to the space between her breasts. “It’s a bloody benediction.”

  “Well, hallelujah.”

  Quinn heard the laughter in her voice, but he was too focused on lapping the sweet, salty Cassidy taste off her chest to notice the hand she slipped between them to curl around his erection. Well, he didn’t notice until the moment of the actual curl. Then he noticed plenty.

  As his breath hissed between clenched teeth, his head fell backward and his body arched into her touch like a bowstring. “Sweet, merciful Christ!”

  “Uh-uh. Just me. And I’m not feeling even remotely merciful.” Her voice purred against his ear a moment before she shimmied her way under the covers to close her mouth over the head of his cock.

  “Shit!”

  He hadn’t intended to speak—hadn’t actually known he was capable of it—and as soon as the word was out of his mouth, he regretted it. Only because Cassidy seemed to find it deeply amusing, and her muffled chuckle sent vibrations strumming against nerve endings that already felt liable to implode.

  “Wwwwwitch!”

  Tensed like a racehorse, Quinn gave himself up to the torture and sank his fingers into her hair while she tried to kill him with swirling motions of her tongue. And deep, heavy suction. And—Mary, mother of God!—were those her fingernails scraping up the insides of his thighs?

  How much of this was a man supposed to endure? Does she think I’m made of iron, for the love of—

  Auuggghhhhh!

  Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall much of the next few minutes. He blacked out like a drunk after happy hour and heard, saw, felt nothing but the roaring in his ears and the painful tightening in his groin. He didn’t remember pulling her off him or flipping her to the mattress beneath him. He didn’t remember yanking her thighs up over his shoulders, or bracing his hands on the bed, or the claws sprouting out of the tips of his fingers and shredding her sheets to confetti. The only things that managed to penetrate the fog of his lust were the sensation of sinking balls-deep in her lush warmth and the long, high-pitched scream of pleasure she gave when he did.