He pressed her against the door and kissed her as though he’d been waiting a century for the taste of her. His mouth and hands were greedy and restless, persistent and relentless. “Sweet little girls like you shouldn’t let wolves in,” he wheezed, as he kissed his way to the top button of her shirt. “You could get eaten up.”
“What big hands you have, Mr. Wolf,” she said. What naughty hands! What wonderful hands.
“The better to take off your clothes with,” he said, pulling his hands from inside the back of her shirt to undo the buttons. The fronts parted, and he shoved her pajama top down over her shoulders, baring her from the waist up. He stared at her breasts with the same hunger with which he’d kissed her.
“What...big eyes you have,” she murmured, feeling his gaze as vividly as she would a touch, tasting his desire on her tongue, which still tingled from the touch of his.
“The better to see you with,” he said, pushing her boxer shorts down until the elastic cleared her hips and floated to the floor, leaving her clad only in her bikini panties.
He tossed his head back and howled, then slapped his hands over her buttocks and pulled her against him.
Holly slid her arms around his waist and cupped his behind as he was cupping hers. She looked up at him and licked her lips very slowly. “Oh, Mr. Wolf—what a big...bushy tail,” she said as the synthetic fur brushed the tops of her fingers.
“The better to...tickle you with.”
“But Mr. Wolf—I’m not ticklish.”
He bowed his head to kiss the spot where her neck sloped into her shoulder, then moved steadily upward until he reached her ear. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m n—” Her protest was swallowed by surprise when he unexpectedly bent at the waist, thrust his shoulder into her midsection, stretched his arm across the backs of her knees and lifted her the way a fireman would.
He took her only as far as the couch, then tossed her on her back and stood over her, unfastening the belt that held the tail. “Not ticklish, huh?” he asked.
Holly shook her head.
“How about here?” he said, flicking the tip of the tail over her instep.
She issued a totally female squeak and pulled her foot away. He whisked the fur over her other foot.
“That’s a blatant abuse of county property!” she said.
He looked down at her and grinned diabolically. “I’m the Big Bad Wolf, sweetmeats. I don’t give a damn about county property.”
To prove it, he dragged the tail up her shin, past her knee, over her thigh, up to her midriff, then circled her breasts. Finally, as she held her breath in anticipation, he teased the hairy tip over her nipples until she wondered if a woman could die from pure arousal.
It was not just the feather softness of the fake tail driving her to the edge of madness. It was the way he caressed her with his eyes, memorizing her, adoring her. It was the way he moved with deliberate slowness, as if he had nothing else in the world to do except pleasure her. It was the way his eyes darkened to a velvety blue and he smiled gently, as if there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. It was being almost naked and feeling vulnerable when he was fully dressed, but trusting, deep in her heart, that he would not hurt her.
“Did you notice my big teeth?” he said.
Words lodged in Holly’s throat when she tried to speak, but she managed to nod.
“They’re to bite little girls with,” he said. He drew the tail along her shoulder. “I’m especially fond of shoulders.”
He let her feel his teeth as he nipped her flesh again and again, never punishing, apologizing with a kiss after every nibble. “Ah! Fingers!” he said. “I love fingers.” He pretended to gobble them, but licked and sucked instead.
Holly wanted to tell him how magic his touch was, but when she tried to speak, I sounded more like, Ahhhh, and everything else got lost in a sigh.
“The advantage of big ears,” Craig said, pausing to study her face, “is being able to hear the sweet little sounds you make.”
Releasing her hand, he grabbed her ankle and guided it to his mouth. Then, growling fiercely, he bit her instep playfully. Still growling, he gnawed on the fullness of her calf before moving higher to abuse her knee with a series of little nips.
“You smell like flowers,” he said, his voice wavering enough to show that he was not unaffected by his play.
“Bath...gel,” Holly said breathlessly.
“Uh-uh,” he replied, before sliding his tongue up her thigh. “You.” He nibbled then, pinching tender flesh with his teeth just until she was aware of the pressure, tantalizing and torturing with sensation that spread tendrils of fire through her.
He rose, removed his shirt and tossed it aside, then grinned down at her as he reached for the snap on his jeans. “Do you know what else big bad wolves have?”
“Show me,” she whispered hoarsely.
Seconds later, he stood in front of her, proud, virile and magnificent.
Spreading her arms in invitation, she said, “I’m yours, Mr. Wolf.”
He stared at her a moment, drinking in her beauty, scalding her with the bold yearning in his gaze. “Sweetmeats, this wolf is going to eat you up.”
He joined her on the couch, threading his fingers into her hair and kissing her while his weight pinned her to the cushions. As the heat of their bodies merged in an inferno of need and yearning, Holly’s last conscious thought was that the fire between them might consume them both.
* * *
SHE AWOKE EARLY the next morning and stole out of bed, careful not to disturb Craig, who was still sleeping soundly. Sometime during the night they’d moved from the couch to the bedroom. Standing next to him, she looked at his face for a long moment, moved almost to tears by the male beauty of his features, wondering how many women had looked at him the same way, with the same swelling of affection for him. She imagined him as a small boy, with plumpness in his cheeks instead of the shadow of dark beard. His hair would have looked the same, rumpled and unruly. Had his mother stood next to his bed, looking at him the way she was doing now? She could not imagine that a man with his humor and innate kindness could have been raised without the warmth of humor and kindness in his life.
Where is your mother now? she asked silently. Why hasn’t she reported you missing?
She tiptoed to the dresser and eased open the drawer, taking out what she would need after her shower, then crept to the bathroom with a sly smile curving her lips,
Half an hour later, Craig was roused by three juvenile voices singing, “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” Groaning, he rolled over to check on the source and saw the tape player on the floor. Next to the tape player was a pair of black high-heeled pumps. Emerging from the shoes were shapely legs encased in shimmery black stockings held up by lace-trimmed garter tabs suspended from a black-and-red strapless garment of see-through lace. The bustier hugged lush female curves.
The woman in the garment was leaning against the wall, twirling a bushy tail in her hand like a stripper with a long strand of pearls. Wolf ears sprouted from hair that looked as if she’d just emerged from bed, and her lips glistened cherry red.
He stared. And stared.
She continued to twirl the tail. “What the matter, Big Bad?” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen a She-Wolf before?”
8
“HOLLY.”
An ominous note in Sarah’s voice sent shivers of dread up Holly’s spine. She looked up from the stack of new books she was working on. “What is it?”
There was nothing reassuring in Sarah’s manner as she replied, “You’re wanted in the break room.” She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip, before adding, “It’s...Craig.”
It couldn’t have happened again, Holly thought frantically. Not twice to the same woman in a single lifetime. She couldn’t even bear to think about it. “But I just saw him. He was in the stacks. He can’t be—”
“He’s okay. Physically, I mean. But something’s going on. Tw
o cops—one of them is Craig’s old partner. I can’t remember his name.”
“Josh,” Holly said,
“They came to the front desk and asked if there was somewhere they could talk to Craig privately. Now they’re asking for you, too.”
Holly felt as though she’d turned to wood. Getting out of the chair required concentrated effort.
“Holly?”
Holly’s gaze met her friend’s.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Holly shook her head. “I’m not in trouble with the law, if that’s what you mean.” Emotional trouble was a different matter; one Holly didn’t want to discuss.
“It’s just,” Sarah said, “we don’t really know much about Craig.”
Not facts, Holly thought. She didn’t even know his real name. But, deep in her heart, she knew the man he was, the person he was, as well as she’d ever known anyone.
“Don’t jump to wild conclusions,” Holly said. “It’s probably not at all what it looks like.”
Sarah frowned. “Well, if you ever want to talk it over, you know Meryl and I—”
“I know,” Holly said. “And I’ll explain once I know what’s going on.”
The door to the break room, usually open, was closed. Holly swallowed the lump in her throat, then knocked tentatively.
Josh opened the door. “Holly. Good. I think you need to hear this, and your...friend has agreed to have you listen in.”
“Craig?” Holly said, catching sight of him. He was seated at the table in the center of the room, his face pale and skin ashen.
“And this is Mick Scalisi,” Josh said. “He’s in charge of the John Doe case.”
Scalisi, a stocky man with graying black hair, held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Holly shook his hand, but her attention was focused on Craig, and it was to him she addressed her question. “What’s this about?”
Craig drew in a deep breath and released it wearily.
“Show her,” Josh ordered.
“Craig?” she asked, apprehension choking her. She’d always been able to read his frame of mind through his eyes, and his eyes were tragic and defeated as he picked up a sheet of paper on the table in front of him and held it out to her. With trembling fingers, she took what appeared to be a computer-generated form.
“It’s a missing persons report that came in this morning,” Josh said. “Take a look at the description.”
She read it with growing unease. Age: 32. Height: 6 feet, 3 inches. Hair: black. Eyes: blue. Distinguishing marks: scar on left chest extending to shoulder.
Her gaze locked with Craig’s. “It sounds like you.”
“Check out the last date seen,” Josh said.
It was over two months earlier. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head in rejection of the entire situation. “Is that supposed to be significant?”
“It was a week before my accident,” Craig said.
“Then it could be you,” Holly said, settling into a chair next to his and reaching for his hands. “This is good news, isn’t it?”
His eyes told her it wasn’t. For that matter, so did the grim faces of Josh and Scalisi. “What?” she asked, wishing with every fiber of her being that she didn’t have to hear.
“He’s married,” Josh said. “His wife filed the report.”
“They aren’t sure about anything yet,” Craig said, curling his fingers around hers.
“Six foot three,” Josh said. “Scar on the chest. Same hair. Same eyes.”
“We haven’t verified anything,” Scalisi said. He turned to Holly. “We faxed a photo to the authorities in Virginia. They’re going to have the wife take a look at them.”
“I talked to the officer in charge of the case in Virginia,” Josh said. “Wifey didn’t report him missing right away because she threw him out. They went to a party, had a little too much to drink and she took exception to his flirting with another woman. They fought when they got home and he popped her one, giving her a black eye.”
“Craig would never do anything like that,” Holly said.
Dismissing her protest with a shrug, Josh continued, “He left on a two-week sales trip the next day, and she told him not to bother coming back. She insists she never really thought he’d stay away. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time they’d been through some rough waters. Or the first black eye.”
“It’s not him,” Holly said. “It couldn’t be.”
“She had a change of heart once she cooled off,” Josh persisted. “Especially when she started to get overdraft notices from the bank because the direct deposits from his paychecks had stopped, and she discovered he’d cleaned out their safe-deposit box and cashed in their stocks. Then she called his boss and found out he’d quit showing up for work. That’s when she called the cops. It has all the earmarks of a voluntary departure. No laws have been broken, but she insists something’s happened to him, that he wouldn’t trash his job and abandon his wife and kiddies.”
“Children?” Holly asked.
“Two daughters,” Josh said.
Holly shivered. “I don’t believe it.” She met Craig’s eyes. “I could believe that you’re married. And maybe even that you have children. But not that you would get drunk, flirt in front of your wife and then give her a black eye when she complained.”
Josh scowled. “For God’s sake, Holly! You’re an intelligent woman. What does it take to make you see the truth?”
“More than a piece of paper!” she said.
“A piece of paper with a description of lover boy here, right down to the scar.”
Holly looked at Craig. “You’re not six-three, are you?”
“Six one and a half,” Craig said. “They measured at the hospital.”
Josh shrugged. “Men exaggerate. If this guy told his wife he was six-three, she wouldn’t question it.”
“You want it to be him!” Holly accused.
“Damn it, Holly! Quit blaming me. I don’t like seeing you get hurt. But I can’t ignore the truth when it bites me on the butt.”
“You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it did bite you on the butt!” she retorted.
Josh vented his frustration in a sigh. “I’m only the messenger, honey. You’re the one who asked me to check into things. I didn’t make up the report.”
“He’s right, Holly,” Craig said. “He’s only doing his job. You can’t blame him for what he finds out.”
“Actually, it’s my job,” Scalisi said. “And until we get a callback on the fax, I have to agree with the lady. All we have is a piece of paper.” He pinned Craig with an interrogative scowl. “Unless you suddenly remember something.”
Craig shook his head.
“The name Thomas Martin McClure doesn’t sound familiar at all?”
Another shake of the head.
“The names Amanda McClure, Jennifer McClure or Elizabeth McClure?”
“No!” Craig said. “No. I don’t recognize any of them.”
“In that case,” Scalisi said, “I suggest we all go back to work until we hear whether your picture rings any bells with Mrs. McClure.”
“When do you expect to hear?” Holly asked.
“Could be any time,” Scalisi said. “We’ll let you know the minute I find out.”
“Josh?” Holly said when the two cops moved to leave.
He turned to look at her.
“Thanks for your help,” she said.
He grinned affably and bobbed his chin, then followed Scalisi out of the room, closing the door, leaving Craig and Holly alone.
The familiar room suddenly seemed too quiet. Holding her hands in his, Craig rose, and urged her to do the same, guiding her into his arms as she got up. “I need to hold you.”
“Just try to pry me away!” she replied, pressing her face into his chest, noting at once his hard strength, his warmth and the scent of him, faintly musky and distinctively male.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
; “So are you.”
“I was so sure,” he said. “So certain that I was incapable of forgetting a wife and children, so sure that I wasn’t being unfair to you.”
“You’ve never lied to me,” she said, quieting him by lifting her fingers to his mouth. “I’ve known about the question marks from the beginning.”
“I just assumed that even without memories, I would know myself, what kind of person I am. But if it’s true, if I’m Thomas Martin McClure, if I left my wife and kids destitute, if I’m a wife beater—”
“You’re not.”
His eyes searched her face for a long moment. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”
“I’ve never seen you drink anything but very good wine, and then only responsibly. Now, if the story was that you ate too much ice cream and hit your wife in a sugar-induced psychotic state—”
She’d succeeded in making him smile. “I have been consuming a lot of ice cream lately.”
“I’m considering buying stock in the dairy.” They’d spent every nonworking hour together in the week and a half since the Big Bad Wolf had appeared at her door. They’d picnicked in the park, watched countless movies, talked for hours on end and made love every chance they got.
Craig was into his fifth half-gallon carton of ice cream.
“Do you want to take the rest of the day off?” she asked. “I’m sure if we asked—”
“We’ve only got another hour before closing,” he said. “I’d rather stay busy, anyway.”
Nodding, she took a step back, but he stopped her retreat by wrapping his hands loosely around her arms. “Holly?”
Her eyes met his questioningly.
“No matter what happens—”
After several beats of silence, she nodded.
“God!” he said, flinging his arms around her.
He held her next to him for a very long time before letting her go with no words spoken, but with volumes understood between them.
After work, they rode most of the way to her apartment in thoughtful silence. Finally, Craig said, “How long would it take her to look at a photo?”
Look into My Eyes Page 10
